#made this cause my brain isn’t having a good afternoon

[peppermintprincess-ava]

CG! Yasuhiro Hagakure comfort stimboard

[kooahae]

HATE THE CLUB

Pairing : Idol Namjoon x non idol female reader

Summary: You can’t stay away from him - at least that’s what it feels like the universe is telling you. You and the man of your dreams, somewhere that you both hate, just to end up in a place you both love- his bed.

Genre: very mild angst, fluff, smut.

Warnings: oral (f) receiving, fingering, pussy smacking, Unprotected sex/ he finishes inside ( pls don't do this lol) making out, Namjoon is so sweet but ofc he is! Readers a creamer, Missionary, slight yearning. MDNI

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“Before you even ask me , I came ‘cause I knew you’d show up…”

“This isn’t even your scene, what if someone sees you?” You ask, searching the area. You would hate to be at the scene of what you know for sure would make the headlines, Although the 6ft of sin standing in front of you doesn’t seem to care.

Namjoon would be anything you needed. He decided that the moment you entered his life. You affected him. You always have. The first girl who understood him- not just intellectually, but emotionally. It’s always been you. Even if his career made it difficult, he would always choose you. Even right now standing in the middle of the club -where he knew it could get him in to some heavy shit, but none of that mattered. His heart didn’t agree with the opinions clouding his brain about staying away from you. You’re beautiful inside and out, it doesn’t matter how much you attempt to make him uninterested, all the attempts of staying away from you , horrible attempts from you where you tried to be selfless - he on the other hand wouldn’t stop trying. He’s never been a quitter, so why be different today?

“You really shouldn’t be here Joonie.” You say as you pull him somewhere into a dark corner.

The club is not a place Namjoon would decide to spend his time on a Thursday night. Neither would you, you’re only here with your friends-who you abandoned, because you needed an escape. Something to get you to stop thinking about him. Of course, he would be here though. It’s as if the universe pulled you together, no matter how far you tried to run away.

Namjoon can’t take his eyes off of you. He heard you loud and clear but all he’s thinking about is the nickname at the end of your statement. It always sounds so sweet when you say it. Everything you do drives him mad. He didn’t have a choice. It’s been this way from the moment you looked at him. He remembers the day vividly- but it isn’t the time to reminisce. He’s focused on now.

“You missed everything I said…I’m here because of you. I don’t care if I should be or not. I don’t care if it’s not my usual place to kick it at either. I’m here for you.” He reiterates.

He knows you understand. You’re just doing the thing you always do- putting up a wall.

“How long are you in town for?” You sigh. You can’t even believe you’re debating doing this. If only you didn’t want him just as bad.

“Tomorrow afternoon.” He’s searching your eyes. He needs you.

“This isn’t a good idea and you know that…” you roll your bottom lip through your teeth and shake your head before making eye contact with him.

He tilts his head, mimicking the same facial expression you’ve just given him.

“Fuck it. I don’t care. You can leave me after…I can’t stop thinking about you.” He’s pleading at this point but he’s never been too proud to do that either- not when it comes to you.

“Please.” He mutters looking at you. You’re screwed. You were the moment he walked in. You knew that too.

“Fuck it. Take me to your place.” You say. You’ve never been good at pushing him away. Every attempt is always a failure.

Namjoon wastes no time. The quicker he can get you alone, the quicker you can be skin-to-skin. Molded together and intertwined. He sticks his hand out for you to place yours in, and leads you out of the club.

The ride to his place is filled with no words, but tons of sexual tension. You wish you could convince him to stay with you- long term. You have always told yourself to be selfless, let him chase his dreams, and support him as best as you can, so you won’t interfere. You can’t deny it though. Namjoon has always been everything you want in a man. Smart, determined, well-mannered, good in bed, He’s your earth in every sense of the word.

Even now, your enamored as you watch his jaw clench as he parks the car. You reach to undo your seatbelt but Namjoon stops you.

“Come closer.” He says in a low tone, motioning you with his finger closer to his face.

He’s losing his composure. He really is just like you. Eager for what awaits. You do as he says and lean closer, brushibg your nose against his but right before he can make a move. You giggle and send his heart into a frenzy.

“Look who’s all worked up. When I told you to take me to your place, I meant inside.” You plant a kiss on his nose and then open your door.

“Whatever you want, darling.” He chuckles and you have to refrain from jumping on him at that moment. He knows you like it when he calls you that.

Once you make it to the steps, that’s when the fun starts. Your lips are immediately on each other. Hungry, acting like starved animals. When he finally reaches his door he pulls away. He knows you are antsy by the way you’re attacking his neck sucking on his most sensitive spots. He swears, it’s never taken him this long to open a door, and once he finally hears the lock retract he pushes the door open, spins you around so you’re in front of him, picks you up, making you straddle him. Your hands immediately wrap around his neck as you continue kissing him all over.

“You’re fucking needy.” He says nudging your head up so your lips connect and throwing his keys across the counter. Sliding his shoes off and carrying you to the countertop.

“I am. I missed you.” You say, nothing but truth behind your statement.

honesty- a shared trait between you that he respects so much.

You reach for his belt buckle and start to unfasten it.

You only have until tomorrow, you’re not here to waste a second.

As your hands find a place in his briefs, Namjoon starts to remove your top. He’s trying not to rip it off but he fails- he’s eager and you can’t help but laugh again. flinging your hair behind your shoulders, and covering your chest.

“I missed you too.” He says and smiles at you. Capturing your heart, with his dragon-like eyes and deep dimples.

“The counter was a cute idea but, I think I want you in the bed.” He pulls your hands away from your chest, placing them on his shoulders.

He picks you up again and starts kissing you on the way to his bedroom. your low moans into the kiss aren’t helping him right now. He’s pretty sure he could come through his pants right now. He can’t wait any longer. He needs to taste you, to be in you. He could do this for days, but unfortunately, time is not his friend. So he tosses you onto the bed and removes his shirt. His body is glistening. Chest heaving up and down in anticipation.

“Joonie…” you sound just as desperate. Like you’ve been longing for him.

“Shh baby, I’m right here.” He says as he climbs on top of you. your lips reconnect and he pins your hands above your head.

“Take your time?” You ask and he nods as he starts kissing down your neck. He knows you hate when he marks you, but you also know him. He thinks it’s sexy when he can see the little bruises he leaves on you. Little reminders he etches in your skin before he has to leave. The sad part for you is that they are just like him- disappearing acts.

He slowly but surely makes his way to your bra and slides the straps down your shoulder.

“I missed hearing you say my name.” He says as he fully removes it, leaving open kisses down your body. Getting the response he wished for.

His hands slide up your skirt and he starts to rub you through your panties. You’re aching and he can feel you throbbing against his fingers.

“Joon, please…” you say as you moan, reaching and pushing his hand to apply more pressure.

He takes the hint and slides further down. Looking up at you with his lust filled eyes, kissing your waist, and slowly sliding down your skirt and panties. You’re now fully undressed underneath him. He loves the view. You’ve always been shy so once he sees you attempt to cover your chest for the second time, He restrains your arms again with his right hand.

“You’re the one who asked me to take my time, now look at who’s worked up.” He teases.

You lift up, and try to kiss him but he just smiles some more against your lips. As he parts your legs, he rubs up your thigh and then you feel his hand right where you need him.

He tilts his head as you both look each other in the eyes. Kissing you one last time, parting your lips, and smacking your pussy. Capturing the moan you let out in his mouth.

“Mmmmmmm.” You say as your eyebrows furrow in.

Fuck. Still vulnerable, still responsive. He thinks to himself. He wants to be the only person who can make you feel like this.

He pulls himself away and immediately puts his face where he belongs. He

“Oh fuck.” You gasp at the pleasure as your breath hitches in your throat.

He takes his time eating you out. Like it might be the last time, you both know it never is because you can’t seem to walk away. He enjoys the way you squirm underneath him. The head pushes telling him you need more, the way you moan his name out in repetition. He could never let you go. Not when you show him how good he makes you feel.

“Joon, oh my god…right there.”

He follows the instructions you give. Sliding a finger into you, pumping it in and out as you continue with your whimpers and cries of pleasure. He adds another finger and glides into you, a steady rhythm of penetration and the gentle force from his tongue, sends you over the edge. He laps up your juices that he knows he’s responsible for. You only cum like this for him. You’re his no matter how much time you spend apart.

“Come here…” you say panting.

He climbs back up your legs and kisses you in the mouth. Lightly smacking your clit as he does. You just came but Namjoon knows you have more.

“Joonie …”

“Hmm.”

“Mmm, I wanna cum with you.” You say. Eyes rolling back feeling yourself close yet again since he is still playing with your pussy. You want to be with him like this for longer. Be in his arms for longer. Cum for him anytime he wants you to.

“You sure you’re ready?” He asks and you nod.

“Yes, if you don’t stop I’m gonna cum.” You say finally having the energy to move his hand which earns you a laugh from the man hovering above you.

He removes his pants all the way finally. You were just as desperate as him. Like usual.

You set yourself up on your elbows to take at the sight in front of you.

“You’re bad.” You say biting your lip and looking him up and down.

“Could say the same about you.” He says as he crawls back over to you. He takes his time lining himself up to be inside the walls most familiar to him.

“I can’t stay away from you.” He admits and your heart nearly breaks. You give him a small smile. You know you can’t either.

“Hurry up. I miss-.”

You both moan upon his entrance. He’s looking you right in the eyes as he pumps in and out of you. Watching the way you cream, it feels like every time he removes himself there’s more of you spilling out onto him.

“Damn baby, look at us…” He says and you meet his gaze.

“You can’t look at me like that.” You say in between your moans

“You don’t mind.” He’s right, you don’t. But you should- you’ll miss him again. You don’t need the visual of him looking like this engraved in your mind but, it’s better than the memory you’ll have when he leaves tomorrow you tell yourself.

His deep and slow strokes make you feel so full.

“This is so much better than the club.” You say and you look into his eyes and he can’t help but give you a grin.

He reaches for your left hand and intertwines it with his.

“Yeah?” He asks as you moan out and put your free hand on his bicep that’s caging you in.

“Yeah, I hate the club.” You double down on your statement because it’s true. In more ways than one. You hate the club because it isn’t your scene. You hate the club because it isn’t going to help you forget Namjoon, it’ll bring you to him for whatever reason. The universe always puts him in your orbit.

Your pussy is milking him for everything he has, creaming all over him, If he wouldn’t have showed up- he doesn’t even want to think about that. A day without being inside of you always feels like years have passed by. Months feel like centuries.

“Fuck Joonie… just like that.” You moan out and he can’t stop himself from pecking your lips afterwards.

“You are my brightest star. Did you know that?” He says as he listens to your moans. They’re so soft, so alluring.

“I- I’m close.” You manage to muster up and he nods.

“I know baby, I can tell by the way you’re squeezing me. Shit” He isn’t too far off either.

“You’re gonna cum with me, right baby?” You ask and he nods.

He hurries and presses his lips to yours, thrust getting sloppy and lazy.

Your breath gets caught In your throat as you feel the knot deep in your stomach unravel.

“Shit, shit, shit.” He chants out as he empties himself inside of you.

He collapses onto your chest and you stroke his hair. Then the air gets heavy. You can feel it- time is going to run out.

“That was amazing, as always.” You say and he slowly pulls out of you and lays flat on his back. Eyes facing the ceiling before he glances over and looks at you.

“Be my girlfriend? No more of this not knowing how long it’ll take to see each other bullshit. I want you. I’d ask you more romantically but I just … I don’t want you to walk out of the door and me not know what’s next. I want to come home to you. I don’t care about anything else.” He’s serious and it’s everything you wanted to hear, but you’re quiet.

You’re scared. That must be the reason for your silence he assumes.

“You want me? You’re not worried about the public?”

He was right. You are scared. So he grabs your hand and kisses it softly.

“I’ll protect you from anyone, anything. No. I’m not worried, because I need you and I don’t care

who likes it or not.” He says as he reaches for your hand and kisses the back of it.

“Well then I’m Namjoon’s girlfriend then.” You say

Smiling but you’re not done yet

“Promise me you’ll still be the same person you are. I can’t handle anything else.”

He chuckles and pulls you into him.

“People change baby we need to grow but my love won’t unless it’s for the better.” He states matter of factly.

“Love?” You ask as you search his eyes.

“Love.” He says and you nod.

A kiss sealing the deal. Passionate, Fiery, but also just as soft as flower petals- just like the man who is now yours to claim.

“Mmm, princess can I tell you something?” He says as he pulls away.

“Anything.”

“I think love the club.” He says chuckling and you can’t help but laugh.

“It brought me the best sex of my life and my dream boyfriend, I might suddenly love the club too.” You say as you cup his face.

“Love?” He ask in the same tone as you did previously.

“Love,” you say stealing a kiss and sealing the deal.

A/n : let’s be fr. I love a happy ending lol

[postmodernbeliever]

okay so first of all love your work so far, thanks for sharing!! second i was thinking about how easily fox would get a hard on in public, like you give him a single word of praise or you say his name in a certain way and suddenly his work pants are feeling incredibly tight and his hands are running all over his face and he has to stay behind his desk or maybe stick a pillow down against his groin just for a little bit of relief and you barely even did anything

anyways i want to scream i need him so bad

payback- fox mulder x female reader (smut!!!!)

it takes very little to get fox going. one touch, one word, and he’s putty in your hands. so one day, when he's a little too much for you, you decide to hit the man with a little payback- and god, it's worth it!

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to whoever sent this ask in, babeeeee I DROOLED!!! i hope i completed the fantasy for you, even if just a little ;) put my own twist on it. hope you enjoy. <3

my ao3 | word count: 4,010

content tags: smut, teasing, public hand jobs, light angst, fox is needy as hell, you’re kinda hot… damn, cross posted on ao3

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it was embarrassing, honestly. he just couldn’t keep it together. fox isn’t typically so easy– well, in a way he is, because he knows just as well as you do that pretty much anything will set him off. but he’s always been good about hiding it in public… at least, he was before he met you. 

for a guy as horny as he is, you’d think he would thrive under pressure. you’d seen plenty of guys respond to the feeling, seeking a reward, and it would make sense for fox to fit this approach; he was cocky, often to his own detriment, and he pushed until he got what he wanted, whether that be top-secret files or a diet coke from the vending machine. he was a go-getter in every sense of the word. but the second his brain couldn’t keep up with his crotch, he became a lost cause. you liked that about him. it was so easy to get him flustered, and when he was, it was adorable; he tripped up every other word, he got fidgety, he struggled to comprehend even the simplest of conversation, and all that dysfunction was the result of a touch or a sound. 

you learned of this little talent of his the first time you visited him at work. the two of you hadn’t been dating long, but anybody in the same room as you could recognize the disgusting eyes the two of you gave each other. as much as he made your heart flutter, he also made your hips ache, and you were just dying for him– and he felt the same. he couldn’t get enough of you. one afternoon the agent gave you a ring on your cell phone and asked if you wanted to take your lunch break with him, and you laughed and informed the man you’d called in sick for no other reason than you couldn't bear to go into work that day. so he insisted you come and hang out with him in his office, at least for a little while, and you had no problem saying yes. when you got there, you finally got to snap the missing piece of his puzzle into place; the walls screamed of his nature, of his passion, the insanity that turned everyone but you off of him. all the files and disorganization piled high around him like a palace throne, and he sat in his squeaking desk chair, king of it all. you could’ve drowned in that room almost as badly as you wished to drown in him. you’d brought food from a shop down the street, and he ate it gratefully, and you talked his ear off for hours about cases and what it’s like to shoot a gun and have you ever seen any vampires?, and after a while of letting you see him in a space intimate as that, he was getting himself all worked up. you sat so pretty on his desk as he had his back to you, rifling through case files and showing you confidential things he could get fired for. you also looked so pretty when you gazed into his microscope in the back of the office, playing around with all his toys. but when you walked over to where he sat behind his desk and touched all his photographs with curious eyes, and said, “looks like you’re good at your job, fox,” you learned for the first time how easy he was to please. you ogled how he crossed one leg over the other and let out a frustrated groan, and how every move you made wasn’t so much admired as coveted; you saw pleading eyes, a dry mouth, restless hands running up and down his legs and over his blushing skin. you saw how once he couldn’t take it anymore, he cornered you by his favorite poster and kissed you right beneath the saucer, and you’d never forget it.

you didn’t wield this power too often, because you didn’t want to frustrate him. it was so easy to get him riled up and leave him hanging, but you didn’t always have the willpower not to help him out after the fact. and who could blame you, when you have a six-foot-tall government agent for a boyfriend, noisy and whiny and brutally hot all at once? torturing him was fun, yet it had to be done sparingly. but it was a good kick in the back of the knee when he was getting too aggravating, and you could use that leverage right about now.

all day, fox had been getting on your nerves. it takes a lot for him to annoy you because most of the time if he's getting arrogant, you find it attractive. but today was a different situation. the agent came home early, pissed off beyond reconciliation, yet another official reprimand to stain his personal file with the bureau. he burst through the door with a mouthful to spew, and you’d hung around him all day as he paced the floor and brooded over his desktop full of files. you did just about everything you could to cheer the guy up; you made him fresh coffee, you threw his favorite sweater in the dryer so he could pull on something warm, you’d even called in a chinese food order so he could get something in his stomach. but none of it was working. when you tried to play with his hair, he brushed you off, and every time you kissed his shoulder, he’d meet you with near indifference. if you didn’t know how much he loved you, you might’ve slapped him, but this mood wasn’t one he could just get over. he was snappy and tired and upset, and there was only so much you could take, so when hours had passed and he was still being a grump, you decided to get some fresh air– but not without an ulterior motive, of course. 

with freshly set curls and the darkest lipstick you had on hand, you primped yourself to go out for a drink with a few girls from work. they invite you every friday night and you always decline, because there is typically a certain man waiting up for you– but that man seemed not to care, so you chose to take them up on the offer this time around. you shuffled through your blended closet, pulling one of fox’s suit jackets off the rack and draping it over your bare shoulders. you wore a little black dress with a sweetheart neck that stopped just above your knees, the very dress you wore on your and fox’s first date. shoving your feet into a pair of kitten heels, you clicked your way out of the bedroom and into the apartment, standing squarely before the television so fox was forced to take a look. 

“what do you think?”

you watched his big eyes trail up your pantyhose-clad legs, admiring the lacy pattern, and a smile quirked on his lips. “pretty. hey, you’re wearing the dress.”

“i’m going out,” you sighed, blowing past his acknowledgement.

“out? where?”

“some girls from work invited me to grab a drink at the bar,”

“but it’s friday night!”

you rolled your eyes, forcing yourself to tuck away the mischievous grin you felt creeping in. “well, i’ve been stuck inside all day with you, debbie downer. i wanna go have a little fun.”

the man shifted in his seat, expression turning sour. “so you’re not gonna hang out with me tonight?”

“baby, i’ve been trying to hang out with you all day. you just keep brushing me off.”

you crossed the living room to the foyer, where your purse sat on his dining room table. he got up and followed you in, and when you turned around he was right behind you. he had a softer look about him, something like regret, and you had to remind yourself to stand tall in the face of your biggest weakness.

“i’m sorry. i’ve been an asshole.”

“yeah, you have.”

“you know i love you,” he frowned, “more than anything in the world.”

even in heels, you still had to push onto your toes to reach him. with a soft kiss to his cheek, you replied, “i know you do, don’t worry.”

“but you’re still going out anyway,” he huffed.

“i am. but…” you pushed on his chest so he’d take a step back, “if you want to come with me–”

all of a sudden he had floppy ears and a tail, his sparkling eyes full of hope that you’d already forgiven him. “i can come?”

“sure, you can come… it’ll be work friends, though, you have to be social.”

“psh, me? antisocial? love, you’re crazy.”

you giggled as he hurried off to the bedroom, rushing to change out of the work clothes he’d sulked in all day. you leaned against the wall in the foyer, peeking through the door as he changed. you admired the curve of his back while he draped it with a white t-shirt and layered a henley over top, tucking the front into his jeans. you saw him reach for the brown leather jacket in the closet and silently thanked god. once he wriggled into that beat-up pair of timberlands you adored, you straightened out against the wall, working to keep your nonchalant composure. 

he did a little spin and asked in a girly voice, “what do you think?”

and in the deepest tone you could muster, you answered, “pretty.”

he scoffed, taking your hand and leading you out the door, promising, “not as pretty as you.”

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this is where the fun begins. you got him out of the house and in public, where he can’t escape you, and you were going to have your way.

you saw it in every move he made after you placed your hand on his thigh. you sat with three coworkers at the bar, chatting and laughing while they slammed glasses of wine and you nursed a lukewarm beer. fox wasn’t a drinker, so he had a club soda and cranberry, and after a while, you started sharing his drink and leaving yours to collect sweat. you told them all about fox’s job and they questioned him endlessly about solving unexplained cases, and they all seemed to fawn over him which you expected; girls always drool over him when you’re around. he found it funny, and despite the inkling of jealousy, so did you. he seemed to be enjoying himself as he talked about his most recent case, and you smiled, because you’d been waiting all day to do this. you waited for him to finish his sentence, and you let your hand fall gently on his thigh, laughing along with the others. 

“crazy job, don’t you guys think so?” you teased, and they all nodded, yelling over each other in the chaos of the bar. 

fox shot you a look, and you bit your lip like you had nothing on your mind at all. he leaned in close to your ear and asked, “what are you doing?”

you bumped your nose into his cheek playfully. “nothing!” 

“b-but–”

“but what?” you interrupted, pushing your hand down his leg to reach his knee, which you scratched at softly with your fingernails. he felt the sensation through his jeans and shuddered. 

the agent took a sip of his drink and placed his hand over yours on his knee, stopping your teasing. he glanced at the girls who'd invited you, and all three of them were in some deafening debate, almost like you two never showed up. you crossed one leg over the other on the barstool and turned towards the man, deciding that if they were going to be in their own world, you might as well have fun in yours. 

“they’re pretty hammered,” he diverted.

“good,” you smirked, “maybe they’ll be drunk enough to leave us alone.”

“i thought you wanted to come spend time with them,”

“i did, but you know me. i like you better.”

you admired the blush on his cheeks, and you knew it was burning hot because the only light inside the place radiated from neon signs. his eyes darted all over, and he kept chugging his soda, and you felt pride flooding your chest. 

“listen, i’m sorry about today,” fox apologized, tucking a lock behind your ear. “i hope you’re not mad.”

“not anymore,” you winked, and you leaned over to press a kiss to his jaw. you barely let your lips touch his skin– you wanted him to wish you’d come closer. 

slowly, calculated-like, you took his glass and stole the last sip, making the effort to dribble a little down your chin. you wiped up the spill with your thumb and licked it off, and fox’s lips parted. you wished it wasn’t so loud, because you could imagine the soft pant that fell from those lips. 

“what is it, baby?”

the man gave you a look, and then he shifted in his seat. your eyes drifted to his lap, where a little bump was rising, and they nearly bugged out of your head. even if it was what you set out for, you'd never get used to how little it took to get him going. you draped your hand over his bicep and squeezed, placing down his empty glass with glittering eyes.

“y-you… what- what are you trying to do?” fox stammered.

with an innocent bat of a lash, you answered, “nothing, foxie!” and when the flames began to paint his face, you giggled, “something wrong?”

“well- you- i- i mean,” fox groaned, rubbing his hands back and forth over his rosy face to try and shake the feeling swirling inside him. “you’re acting all…”

“all what?”

you stared intently as he passed his hands through all that thick, tawny hair on his head, wishing they were yours. something about him was unbelievable when he got this way. he licked his lips and swallowed nothing but air.

“fox, what’s gotten into you?” you chuckled as the man began running his palms back and forth across the wooden bartop. 

as he dug at the counter with his nails, he grumbled, “you– you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

“m’not doing anything,” you lied as you let your hand fall on his thigh again, this time dangerously close to the bulge with your name written on it. 

you watched him hiss, taking your hand and putting it back in your lap. he raised his own in an attempt to flag down the waiter, but there was no chance he’d get noticed; the bar was packed to the gills with drunken bodies, all swarming around you, all moments away from being privy to his situation if you pulled anything else. fox looked like he was lost– in the bar, in his head, in the pressure pushing against his pants– and you were soaking it in like sunshine.

“you look so good tonight, have i told you that?” you gushed, “well, i did as a joke before, but i mean it. you’re so handsome.”

“come on, love,” fox rolled his eyes as if he couldn’t believe you were doing this here, now, in front of the world.

“what? i’m being serious! i like that shirt on you, it makes you look so strong,” you brushed your fingertips along the neckline, letting your nails drag across the base of his throat. you watched a torrential shudder tumble down his back, a curated avalanche in the making. 

“i- i mean-”

“–and you’ve been so sweet since you got over your mood, which makes me so happy. you know i love when you’re good to me,” you sighed, “and you are. you’re so good to me, foxie.”

suddenly, a strong palm wrapped itself around your wrist and tugged you off the barstool. fox didn’t even bother telling the girls where you were going since you hadn’t heard from them in a while anyway; he only pulled you through the thumping building, weeding through clusters of drunks towards the glowing bathroom sign in the back. butterflies were stuffing you full as he pushed open the women’s bathroom door, which was miraculously a dingy little single with a lock. letting go of his grip on you, he locked the door, muffling the blaring noise coming from outside. 

“hey, wait a minute–”

fox’s face dropped. you yelped as he rushed his hands across you, touching everywhere he could, snaking them beneath your stolen jacket and under your dress. you reveled in the feeling, but once his lips tried to press against your neck, you clicked your tongue in disapproval. 

“not here, fox,”

“nobody’s gonna see us,” the man urged, “i– you– come on, please?”

“if you want anything, you have to take me home.”

“you just fuckin’ teased me all night,” he growled, “please, baby.”

you giggled as he backed your hips up to the one and only sink, trapping you beneath his palms. his hard-on twitched against your stomach, and as you looked up into his tall, swimming eyes, you could see something surrendering inside them. you pressed your hands against his stomach, and he pressed himself against you, sighing softly at the ounce of relief. 

“you’re so bad, wanting me to get you off in a bar bathroom,” you teased.

“yeah, i’m the bad one. don’t act stupid.”

“don’t be mean, or you get nothing.” you sucked on your teeth, giving him maliciously sweet eyes. 

“okay, okay, i’m sorry. just… please.”

fox leaned down to rest his head on your shoulder, letting out a whimper so soft it was nearly undetectable. you had to stop your eyes from rolling back at how needy he was; he’s never been this bad, of all the times you’d brutally strung him out in public. maybe it was because he was experiencing your twisted form of payback, or maybe it was all the stress from work in the morning, but you pushed him to a new limit without ever really touching him. your entire body began to burn as you reached your palm down between his hips and rested your hand where he begged for you, and felt a pair of lips attach themselves to your neck, nipping softly at the skin in gratitude. you massaged him like he was fragile, like anything rougher would break him, and in a way, it was true– his knees were weak already, and as he rolled his hips against your palm, his hands trembled at his hold on the hem of your dress. 

“need me that bad, hm?”

all you got back was a strangled, “mm.”

“m’not gonna get on my knees, the floor is too dirty,” you chuckled, knowing he wanted more than what he was getting. 

fox didn’t speak. his brain was too wired to indulge you, but his body ached to be touched, so he found a nonverbal way to ask for it; he lifted you and shoved you onto the sink, and you scrambled to grab at the ceramic countertop. 

“fox–”

his big hands shoved beneath your dress and dug into the chub of your hips, scratching at your legs like a dog. he craned his neck down to kiss you, and as you got distracted by the sugary cranberry crystals at the corners of his lips, he moved in a hurry to unbutton his jeans. you didn’t know exactly what he was doing until your hand made contact with smooth skin, and you looked down to see his cock just barely bouncing in your buzzing palm, swollen and screaming for contact. 

your lips turned downward in a sympathetic smile as you cooed, “oh, baby.”

you shuffled up the counter a little bit so you had a little more room to arch forward. bringing your palm up to let a little spit dribble out of your mouth, nice and slow, just how he likes, you watched his jaw drop and you spread the stuff around your hand with your tongue. when he was sufficiently driven insane, you wrapped your hand all the way around him and laughed. 

“i can feel that second heartbeat you’ve got,” was all you said before you began pumping. 

fox’s hands flew to your face as you stroked him, his thumb gravitating to your tongue; his eyes were glazed over like never before, and you wished you could take a picture. you watched air fill his tummy over and over, heaving in desperation, and he bucked into your hand as if he’d never been touched before in his life. you moved a little faster, feeling the soft disruption of his veins underneath your fingers, swiping your thumb over his tip and making him shake. and fox was all noise, louder and prettier sounding than any club song baring behind the locked door. strings of your name interlaced with curses and promises and praises of how good you were, and how he loved you, and that he wished he was home so you could do more than this, and you sat there swearing that he would get what he wanted the second you two left. by the time you shut him up with your mouth, he was nearly there; and by the time you pulled him by the hips right against your soft stomach, both hands on him, his cock close enough he could feel your dress bunching up on his head, he was there. he was far fucking past there, cumming all over your pretty black dress, leaving milky stains you’d have to cover with his jacket, stains he would be reminded of later when he ripped that thing off you at home. you were in his ear instantly as he collapsed into your shoulder, holding him up, voice soft so you didn’t make his head buzz any more than it was already. 

“oh, good job, baby, good boy,” you smiled, “how’s that, hm? better?”

“bet… better,” he panted, back to the obsessive kissing all over your neck. 

“there’s so much more where that came from, foxie, i promise.”

“then can we get the fuck outta here?” he whined, pulling away to show you his pretty pink face. 

with one last warm kiss, one where you caught his lip between your teeth just for fun, you nodded. “get me a towel first."

fox passed you a paper towel which you used to wipe your dress with, and he chuckled at how you gently folded it up and dropped it in the trash can, like it was a treasure to you. then, as you hopped down from the counter and he zipped his jeans back up, you took him by the hand and dragged him out of the restroom, back over to the bar where your three coworkers were wasted beyond saving. you leaned into the conversation and said, “gotta bounce! i’ll see you guys next week!” and didn’t stick around to hear the drunken replies. instead, you guided the pretty boy behind you out to the parking lot, where he rushed to get behind the wheel and drive you home. you thanked god he didn’t have a drink in his system because he was in a real hurry. 

as you sat in his passenger seat, watching his jittering hand play with the gear shift, you were almost satisfied. your idea of revenge might be a little twisted, but it worked. you’d accomplished what you set out for, now the owner of an apology and a man aching for you. but after that stunt at the bar, you had a newfound greed, one you wouldn’t shake until he got you home; and maybe you were abusing your power, but how could you let up now? as you placed your hand over his, the engine revved beneath your feet, and you giggled. maybe it was torture, but he liked it– so you played with his fingers, and he groaned, and when you finally reached his apartment building, the two of you couldn’t get upstairs fast enough.

[barelytolerabled]

Part 06

Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Summary: The killer's latest victim and the team's race against time to catch the murderer.

previous | next

You were glued to your computer screen, staring at the images of the latest victim. You couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt and despair as you saw the young girl's innocent face. She reminded you so much of yourself when you were that age. The killer seemed to be taunting you with each new victim, making you more determined than ever to catch them.

Dr. Spencer Reid walked into the BAU bullpen, coffee in hand. He immediately noticed the look of exhaustion and distress on your face. He made his way over to your desk and placed his hand on your shoulder.

"Hey, are you okay?" Spencer asked, his voice filled with concern.

You shook your head, "No, I'm not. I can't stop thinking about this case. It's consuming me, and I feel like I'm losing my grip on reality."

Spencer nodded, understanding the toll that the job could take on one's mental health. "Have you talked to anyone about it? Like a therapist or a support group?"

You sighed, "I don't have time for that. We need to catch this guy before he can hurt anyone else."

Spencer gave you a sympathetic smile, "I know, but taking care of yourself is just as important. Trust me, I've been there."

You looked up at him, gratitude in your eyes. "Thank you, Spencer. It means a lot coming from you."

“Of course”, he said then quickly kissed your lips.

The team gathered in the conference room to discuss the latest developments in the case. Garcia had managed to trace the killer's movements and found a possible suspect who fit the profile. You had his name, but you needed more evidence to link him to the murders.

As the team left the conference room, you stayed behind, your mind racing. You couldn't shake the feeling that you were missing something crucial, something that would lead you to the killer.

Spencer walked back into the room, noticing your distraught expression. "What's wrong?" he asked.

You shook your head, "I don't know. I feel like we're missing something important, something that could break the case wide open."

Spencer sat down next to you, "Well, let's think. What do we know about the killer so far?"

“I can’t focus on anything Spencer”

“I repeat my question”, he said softly as his hand found your thigh. “What do we know about the killer so far?"

You closed your eyes, trying to recall all the details you had gathered as you could feel Spencer’s hand going higher. "He's targeting young girls who remind him of himself or someone he knows." You could feel Spencer’s thumb drawing circles on you. "He's leaving subtle clues that only someone with a similar background would understand. He's organized and calculated, not someone who acts on impulse."

Spencer nodded, impressed with your analysis. "That's a good start, you’re doing an amazing work. What else?"

You frowned, "I don't know. It's like we're missing a piece of the puzzle, something that ties it all together. And you touching me is really not helping me concentrate Spencer"

Spencer placed his hand on your shoulder, "We'll find it, Rachel. We just have to keep looking."

"And there is some scientific evidence to suggest that touch can have a calming effect on the brain, and that it can help reduce stress and anxiety. Touch releases the hormone oxytocin, which is associated with feelings of love, trust, and social bonding, and can help reduce the levels of the stress hormone cortisol in the body. Interesting isn’t?" he said smiling at you.

As the days passed, the team worked tirelessly to gather more evidence and build a stronger case against the suspect. Your obsession with the case continued to take a toll on your mental health, causing you to withdraw from the rest of the team.

One afternoon, while the team was in the middle of a briefing, your phone rang. You quickly excused yourself from the room and answered the call.

"Hello?" you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Agent," a familiar voice said your name on the other end. It was the killer.

The killer chuckled, "I just wanted to let you know that I'm still out there, watching, waiting. And there's nothing you can do to stop me. I just wanted your attention."

Your heart raced as you tried to keep your composure. "What do you want?" you asked, your voice shaking.

The killer hung up, your breaths coming in short gasps. You tried to steady your breathing as you made your way back to the briefing room, your mind reeling with fear and anger.

As you walked in, the team noticed your distress and immediately gathered around you, asking what had happened. You took a deep breath and explained what had transpired on the phone.

Hotch's face darkened with anger, "We need to trace that call and get a location on the killer."

Garcia nodded, "I'll start working on it right away."

The team spent the next few hours tracking down the source of the call, but their efforts were in vain. The killer had covered his tracks too well, leaving no trace of his whereabouts.

You sat at your desk, your mind racing with thoughts of the killer and his twisted game. You couldn't shake the feeling that he was watching you, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Spencer walked up to you, "Hey, are you okay?"

You shook your head, "No, I'm not. I can't stop thinking about what he said, about how he's still out there."

Spencer placed his hand on your shoulder, "We'll catch him, love. We just have to keep pushing."

You looked up at him, tears in your eyes, "I don't know how much longer I can do this. It's tearing me apart."

Spencer took your hand, "I know it's hard, but we're in this together. You're not alone. You stay at my place tonight?"

You nodded, grateful for his support. You knew that you could always count on him to be there for you, no matter what.

As the day wore on, the team received a new lead on the killer's identity. It was a long shot, but they were desperate for any new information that could help them catch him.

The team worked tirelessly to gather more evidence and build a stronger case against the suspect. Your obsession with the case continued to take a toll on your mental health, causing you to withdraw from the rest of the team.

One evening, as the team was getting ready to leave for the day, Garcia called out, "Wait, I think I've found something!"

Everyone gathered around her desk as she pulled up a file on the suspect. It contained new evidence that linked him to the murders, giving the team hope for a breakthrough in the case.

Hotch looked at the team, "Let's bring him in. It's time to put an end to this."

The team rushed out of the BAU, ready to apprehend the killer and bring him to justice. You felt a sense of relief wash over you as they made their way to the suspect's location. You knew that this could be the end of a long and painful journey.

As you closed in on the suspect's hideout, you felt your heart race with anticipation. You knew that this could be a dangerous situation, but you were ready to face it head-on.

The team burst into the room, guns drawn, and apprehended the suspect without incident. You breathed a sigh of relief as you watched him being led away in handcuffs.

As you walked out of the building, Spencer placed his hand in yours, "We did it. We caught him."

You smiled weakly, "Yeah, we did."

The team gathered around them, congratulating them on a job well done. You felt a sense of closure wash over you as you looked at the faces of your colleagues.

You knew that this case had changed you in ways you never thought possible, but you were grateful for the experience. It had brought you closer to Spencer and the rest of the team, and it had given you a renewed sense of purpose.

As you made your way back to the BAU, Spencer walked beside you. "You did a great job," he said.

You smiled at him, "Thanks, Spencer. I couldn't have done it without you."

Spencer looked at you, "I just wanted to ask you if you would agree on going on a date with me? Now that everything is over?"

"I’d love to Spence"

But just as you were about to celebrate, your phone rang. You hesitated before answering, but your intuition told you to take the call.

"Hello?" you said, your voice shaking.

"Hello again Agent, I hope you're proud of yourselves for catching the wrong guy," the voice on the other end of the line taunted.

Your heart sank as you realized the implications of the call. You had been so focused on building a case against the suspect that you had missed crucial evidence that would have led you to the actual killer.

You knew that you needed to act quickly to find the real killer before he could strike again. You turned to the team, "We got the wrong guy. The real killer is still out there."

The team sprang into action, but you could feel the weight of your mistake weighing heavily on you. You had let your obsession with the case blind you to the truth, and now innocent lives were at risk.

As you raced against the clock to find the real killer, you couldn't help but feel like you had let everyone down. Spencer tried to reassure you, telling you that you would find the killer and make things right.

[stark---contrast]

Simple Biology

For @bulkyphrase who won my stevetony fic auction in this year's @marveltrumpshate ❤️ Summary: Tony gets hit by sex pollen and Steve helps him out. Rating: Explicit | Smut, dubcon Word count: 9.8k [ao3 link]

“You ready?” Steve asked.

“Come on, Cap. When am I not ready to blast some bad guys?” 

Steve heard a repulsor whirring to life somewhere over his shoulder. Trusting Tony to cover his back, Steve tightened his grip on the shield, took a deep breath, and kicked the door in.

Steve advanced into the room while shielding himself and Tony, the Iron Man suit bathing everything in familiar blue light, and—

Nothing. The room was nearly empty—abandoned. What little furniture remained made it clear that this used to be some kind of greenhouse and not the top secret weapons development facility SHIELD had told them it was.

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” Tony said, repulsors powering down. “J, scan for weapons, computers, secret panels—any tech that's not where it's supposed to be. Hell, throw in another thermal scan of the building, in case we missed some Hydra goons creeping around.”

“As you wish, Sir.”

“Tony, I… I don’t think there’s anything here,” Steve said. “Looks like bad intel.”

He took another glance around the room. There were plants lined up on desks along one of the walls, though most of them were wilted. A few office chairs and desks were scattered around, with broken computer screens and lab equipment laying on the floor. The most advanced technology remaining in the room seemed to be the high-powered lamps hanging above the plant section.

“Fuck,” Tony said, popping the faceplate of the armor, “This isn’t an evil Hydra lair. It’s a goddamn weed farm.”

“Tony,” Steve chastised.

“I mean it's clearly not cannabis—oh come on, don't give me that look, you went to art school,'' Tony said, and Steve didn't protest. “But, damn. All this trouble just for a couple fugly office plants?”

They probably should have been happy that there was nothing nefarious going on. But even Steve was feeling a little bummed: he'd been prepared for battle, and with the anticlimactic revelation it was like all his adrenaline had nowhere to go.

Though it was Tony who had been the most invested in this raid. Even if his name hadn’t come up in the mission brief, it only took the words “weapons development” for him to tense up during Hill's mission brief; and Steve couldn’t blame him. Bad guys worldwide had an uncanny ability of getting their hands on Stark tech and twisting it into something evil.

“Well, this was a waste of time,” Tony said, kicking at a beaker on the floor. “What an utterly stupid, inconsequential way to spend a Wednesday afternoon. Does Fury think I don't have anything better to do? Seriously, Pep's gonna have my head for canceling that seminar again.”

Steve ignored Tony's complaints and turned to leave. “We should report back.”

“I mean, we could take some samples of these,” Tony said, approaching the plants. “Get Bruce a souvenir so he doesn’t Hulk out while we bitch at Fury. You know, make this mission not a complete waste of Avengers time and resources?"

“SHIELD can do the grunt work,” Steve said. He frowned at the sight of Tony leaning over one of the plants; something felt off, but he couldn't pinpoint the cause. “Don't touch anything. Let’s just go.”

“Maybe Hydra's distilling the plants for some kinda super-evil-but-really-just-mildly-inconvenient poison elsewhere?” Tony kept going, not even listening. “Or, Jesus, even worse, what if some hare-brained aspiring scientist was inspired by good ol’ pal Killian's work—”

And that was when Tony, the most intelligent man Steve had met in his life, touched one of the mystery plants like an idiot.

Immediately, one of the flower buds burst open and spewed pollen right in Tony's face.

“Tony!” 

Steve leapt across the room, tackling a coughing Tony away from the worst of it. But in the scuffle, they bumped into a table and even more flowers erupted into a thick cloud. Steve couldn't help inhaling the substance but he shoved his hand over Tony's mouth and dragged him away.

“Tony!" Steve called out. "God, Tony, are you okay?”

Steve’s throat felt dry and he blinked pollen from his irritated eyes. Yet it was nothing compared to Tony; he looked like he could barely stay upright much less breathe, even now that they were out of the thick of it and Steve had a hand on Tony's shoulders to steady him.

“I, uh, agh,” Tony coughed, tears in his eyes.

“Hold on,” Steve said. “I’ll get you out of here. Please, just hold on.”

“I think I figured it out,” Tony wheezed. “They were—they weren't using my tech. They were making bioweapons.”

Tony erupted into another coughing fit and Steve’s heart sank into his stomach.

Tony got exposed to a Hydra bioweapon. Now, he was hacking his lungs out—what if he choked, or went blind? Or died? God, why did he have to touch the damn flower!?

Tony coughed violently and then spit out a glob of pollen goo. He followed up with a raspy breath, his face red since the faceplate had offered no protection, because rather than stay safe Tony had lifted it like an idiot.

Focus, Steve chastised himself. He could berate Tony later; for now, he just needed him safe.

“Tony, we have to leave,” Steve said, forcing his voice to be level. “There might still be traces of the poison in the air, and we can’t have you get more exposed.”

“I’m—I’m fine. I think.” Tony rubbed his eyes, then blinked them open. “J, scan my vitals, would you?”

“Your pulse is elevated and there is breathlessness and low oxygen from the coughing, but your blood is clear of toxins, Sir.”

Steve breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe they were wrong; maybe these were just regular flowers, and the worst Tony was left with was a runny nose.

“Sir, I don't wish to alarm you," JARVIS added. "But your body temperature appears to be rising at an abnormal rate."

“Shit,” Tony said. “Now that you mention it, it’s getting a little stuffy in this armor.”

“Stuffy?” Steve said. “Tony, what’s going on?”

“I feel…” Tony grimaced and reached a gauntleted hand over his shoulder. “Antsy. Itchy. This isn't—wow, this really isn’t good. Reminds me of spring break in '86, when me and Rhodey had a really bad acid trip. Have I told you about that? What am I saying, of course I haven't—"

“Your heart rate is continuing to increase," JARVIS interrupted. "I fear an allergic reaction to the unidentified substance is taking place."

“Fuck," Tony commented. "Get me outta this armor.”

“What?" Steve balked. "Come on, we've gotta go—”

Steve choked on the rest of his sentence when the armor hissed open and Tony stepped out. He was wearing nothing but his form-fitting black undersuit: the one that left nothing to the imagination, though Steve had spent an embarrassing amount of time picturing just what lay underneath.

Steve shook his head. Focus, soldier.

“JARVIS, send the—” Steve started.

“God, it's hot in here,” Tony said. “It’s not just me, right? It's like a sauna in here.”

And that was the point that Tony apparently decided to start stripping: unzipping the second skin of the underarmor like from one of Steve’s numerous fantasies and shrugging off the top half, exposing broad shoulders and tanned skin.

“Captain Rogers?” JARVIS prompted.

“Right. Send the Avengers alarm,” Steve said.

“Very good.”

“Jesus, fuck, I’m sweating bullets here,” Tony said, and he was panting now, his chest naked and sweaty, and Steve—

Steve stared.

It was still weird to see Tony without the arc reactor. Steve knew it meant he was healthy, which was amazing, but there was something beautiful about the reactor: like a physical reminder of Tony's genius.

Not that Tony wasn't beautiful like this, too. The mess of scars and sparse hair on his chest took nothing away from how utterly sinful he looked: skin flushed and chest heaving, with dark nipples, firm muscle, and a slight softness around his waist.

"That's…that's better, gotta love that nice, cool, secret-Hydra-lair air," Tony babbled, his eyes hazy, like he was no longer even registering that Steve was there. "But—but, fuck, it's still so hot, everything, everything's burning and I—I just…"

Tony groaned, and his hips moved, making an aborted thrust into the air. Steve's gaze followed the movement, and, wow, the undersuit really left nothing to the imagination.

Tony was hard, straining against the tight fabric of his pants. Steve’s neck flushed hot and he quickly averted his eyes: Tony was in pain, and his body was just confused. This was no time for Steve to act on his repressed feelings.

Unfortunately, Tony just then seemed to notice his arousal, and immediately dropped a hand down over his pants.

“Oh, god,” Tony moaned. "That feels, that's so good, holy shit."

Tony closed his eyes and started palming himself shamelessly through the thin fabric. And Steve just watched, horrified and aroused, as his friend massaged his dick in front of Steve in the middle of a mission and holy hell, how was this real?

Just then, something clicked into place in Steve’s brain and he suddenly knew exactly what was happening.

“Tony—Tony, listen to me. I think you were drugged,” Steve said, managing to keep the rising panic out of his voice. “We need to get you out of here. JARVIS?”

“I have contacted the Avengers. Miss Romanoff gives an ETA of thirty-three minutes and requests that you stay in your position.”

“No, that’s not… we need to get him out! Come on, Tony!”

Rather than listen to Steve, Tony just kept masturbating, which decidedly was not helping.

“Tony, you have to listen to me!” Steve grabbed Tony by his shoulders.

The moment Steve's hands made contact with Tony's flushed skin, the reaction was instantaneous.

Tony jerked and looked at Steve like a man starved. And Steve had seen a lot of articles and interviews of Tony posing with a smirk and seductive eyes, but the infamous Tony Stark take me to bed look had never been directed at him before.

Yet right now, Tony's pupils were blown wide and his eyes were half-lidded, ogling Steve like he wanted to eat him.

"Steve," Tony breathed, like his name was a revelation. "Oh, god, Steve."

And, Jesus, Steve was strong, stronger than almost anyone else, but for Tony he'd always been weak. He could feel his resolve crumbling by the second under that heated gaze.

But...Tony was compromised. Tony didn't truly want this; he'd never looked at Steve like this when he was in his right mind, and he was only moaning Steve's name because of the drug.

"I, I don’t know what’s happening." Tony swallowed. "But I need to come—god, you don’t understand how much I need to. Please, please make me come, Steve, you have to, I—I can't."

Tony sounded pained and he clutched at Steve’s arm like a lifeline.

Steve's hands were trembling as he tried to hold himself back. Desire thrummed through his body. It had been so long since Steve had felt like this that he briefly wondered if he'd been affected by the pollen too.

But he knew that wasn't true. He felt aroused, yes, and high-strung from worry, but he was still in full control of his body. The serum made him immune to almost anything, probably having burned through the drug in seconds, and everything that Steve felt was simply because of Tony.

Tony made an impatient sound in his throat and squeezed Steve's biceps almost painfully. And that was when Steve made up his mind.

"Okay," Steve said. "Okay, let me take care of you."

He already knew he'd regret this later. But if the alternative was to keep Tony in pain, well, Steve would gladly bear the consequences of his actions.

"Thank you," Tony sighed, sounding genuinely relieved as he let go of the death grip on Steve's arms. "Thank you, thankyouthankyouthankyou."

Steve nodded stiffly and discarded his gloves before reaching for the hem of his uniform.

"You have no idea, fuck, my body, it's just—" Tony kept blabbering. "I've never felt like this, like hnnnnnngh."

The guttural sound Tony made once Steve's shirt came off was enough to make him flush all the way down to his now-exposed chest. Though Steve had aimed to get undressed efficiently and clinically, his stripping appeared to be having an inadvertent side effect—much like Tony's had on him.

Steve carelessly flung the shirt to the side and as soon as he did, there were hands grabbing at his shoulders and a very warm, still very shirtless Tony pressing up against his naked torso.

"Oh my god," Tony said. "Oh my fucking god, we're really doing this, I get to—I really get to touch you."

He sounded awed as he looked down between their shirtless chests, where Steve's bigger torso pressed up against Tony's lithe muscle. And then, Tony's hands were sliding down, and—

Tony squeezed Steve's pecs and Steve bit back a shamefully eager moan.

"Fuck," Tony groaned. He pressed his face against Steve’s neck, panting hot and open-mouthed against the skin. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm, I'm so hard, and you're so—so hot, Jesus, how are you so hot?"

Tony was almost sobbing. His dick pressed against Steve's thigh, indeed hard enough that Steve actually worried Tony was going to come like this.

"Hey, Tony, hey, it’s okay," Steve said, trying to keep his tone soothing. "Let me—let's get you out of that suit, yeah? It looks pretty uncomfortable right now."

Tony's breath shuddered against Steve's neck before he managed a jerky nod. Steve carefully slipped his hands inside Tony's undersuit, still bunched up around his waist, and pulled it down.

"Good—that's good. Ease up a little?" Steve said.

Steve gently loosened Tony's grip on him so he could crouch and help Tony step out of his pants. Tony's cock bobbed hard and red in front of Steve's face and he flushed and quickly sat back on his heels to gauge Tony's situation. 

Tony was already looking at him, trembling like a leaf. He was also naked, and gorgeous and, god, Steve wanted to do so many unspeakable things to him.

So Steve grabbed Tony by the back of his unsteady legs and leaned back, and then they were falling, until Steve's back hit the cold concrete floor and Tony was straddling him.

"What—what just happened.'' Tony blinked, like he hadn't even registered the movement.

"I, uh." Steve swallowed. "Wanted us to get more comfortable."

I've been fantasizing about you on top of me for the last two years, he strategically left out.

"What…oh,'' Tony said, seeming to notice the sight before him: a half-naked Captain America flushed and pliant under him. "Oh, god, Steve, you look…"

Tony didn't finish the sentence, opting instead to grind down against Steve with a filthy moan. Steve bit back any noise of his own, watching as Tony's cock slid hard and slick over his abs.

"You're so hot," Tony said. "Beautiful, sexy, gorgeous, I—mmh, you're so hot, it's not fair."

Tony was panting now, touching Steve all over: palming his abs and biceps, running callused fingers over Steve’s collarbone. Tony's speech was getting more incoherent by the minute, and Steve should probably be more worried about that, about Tony losing whatever wits he still had about him to the drug.

Instead, Steve's cock throbbed in his pants and his heart fluttered happily from Tony's mindless praise.

"You, uh. You too," Steve shot back lamely.

Rather than react to Steve's lackluster compliment, Tony chose to start massaging Steve’s pecs.

“Oh, wow, that—that's, yeah,” Tony said, gently squeezing the muscle and making Steve flush. “Jesus, you’re built like a god. Fuck, they should make…make statues, dedicated to your chest—America's chest.”

Well, that was… Steve wasn't sure how he felt about that idea, but at least Tony was talking more.

“Th….thanks?"

"Mmm," Tony commented, and then pushed his pecs together. 

The simple action made Steve fidget in both embarrassment and arousal. Tony really liked his chest, huh?

“Oh,” Tony made a sound of awe, kneading Steve’s pecs and licking his lips. “Can we—can, can I—”

Tony was already shuffling up, his leaking cock bobbing over Steve's chest and making his intentions known loud and clear.

Oh. Tony really liked Steve's pecs.

"Yeah," Steve heard himself say. "Yes, Tony, god, anything."

He barely got the words out before Tony’s dick slid into the crevice of Steve's pecs, and, oh.

"Shit—fuck, this…" Tony panted. "Christ, Steve, your tits."

Steve swallowed a hot flash of shame and watched Tony set a rhythm thrusting between his pecs. It was filthy, watching the way Tony's cock disappeared between the mounds and then popped up at the top, the head red and leaking.

This was one thing that Steve had never done before, that he never saw the appeal of before now. He’d always thought it’d awkward or at the very least uncomfortable; but Tony was leaking like a faucet, quickly coating the space between his pecs in slick precum and making the slide wet and easy.

“Steve—fuck, Steve,” Tony said, reaching for one of Steve’s hands. “Hold—hold them together, like this, nice and tight, yeah?”

Steve’s ears burned with how red his face must have been. “Like this?”

He grabbed his pecs and squeezed them together around Tony’s cock, just like Tony had done.

And Tony went wild.

“Ah, ahh, oh god,” Tony moaned, sliding his cock between Steve’s pecs with renewed vigor. “Just, just like that, god, that’s a amazing—so, so tight, so good, oh, oh fuck.”

Steve never thought anyone would enjoy this so much. He didn't know he would enjoy this so much, but as he watched Tony’s face go slack with pleasure, felt his slick cock fuck desperately between his pecs, Steve’s neglected erection throbbed in his pants behind Tony’s undulating body. 

It was humiliating, in a way, presenting himself for Tony this way and having Tony shamelessly use him for his own pleasure; but it was a good kind of shame, the kind that made Steve shiver and flush all over.

And then Tony, hands now free to do as he pleased, pinched Steve's nipples and Steve was toast.

“Oh, god,” Tony moaned. “Steve, Steve, your tits—your tits are fucking fantastic. I've always wanted to, to do this to you. You're so sensitive—feels good when I do this, doesn't it?”

Steve moaned and twitched under Tony's hands. Yes, his nipples were sensitive, embarrassingly so, and it had always been a point of insecurity. But Tony didn't seem to mind: his entire being radiated lust, and he was rock hard between Steve's pecs, looking down at Steve like Steve was his entire world—

Tony twisted his nipples hard and that was it. Steve came, a startled yell punching out of him as his hips lifted off the floor and he shot untouched into his combat pants.

Through the blinding pleasure, Steve tried his best to keep his pecs pressed together for Tony, to make it good for him. Dazed from his orgasm, he still kept looking at Tony, at his slick cock and wild eyes.

“Holy shit, you, you came? You came just from your tits, oh, sweetheart, you're so good, so sexy, this is so much better than I ever imagined, I—fuck, Steve—”

Tony came with a loud groan, painting Steve’s chest in messy spurts and landing on his neck and his chin. Steve moaned with him through it even as the finality of the situation started to set in.

This was it. Now it was over, and they only had to wait for the others—

“Fuck,” Tony said. "It's not working."

Steve looked down only to see Tony still hard. Which wasn't unusual for Steve's serum-enhanced body: he could usually go a good three or four times in a row, but…

Tony was only human. Tony was a normal man, at a mature age, and his cock definitely shouldn't stay rock solid after just coming his brains out.

“Why,'' Tony nearly sobbed. “Fuck, I'm so hard it hurts.”

Steve watched Tony's face twist in pain, watched him writhe on top of Steve in clear discomfort, and had a silent battle with himself.

Steve knew he bore full responsibility for the situation. Tony was practically incapacitated, drugged out of his mind, while Steve remained immune and fully conscious of his actions.

It was bad enough that Steve had allowed it to go this far. He should have suggested that Tony settle down and wait for backup to arrive or, worst case scenario, Steve would forcibly carry him out of this place.

But at the same time, Steve wanted. He'd wanted Tony for so very long and now that he had him, however briefly, he didn't know if he was strong enough to resist. Because watching Tony suffer was worse than the pain of any battle wound or asthma attack Steve had ever had to endure. He might not be what Tony wanted, but at this moment, maybe he was what Tony needed.

It was a flimsy excuse, but it made Steve feel a little better when he gripped Tony's thighs and said “fuck me.”

“I did,” Tony whined. “I did, and it was amazing, but I'm still, I need more.”

“No, Tony. Fuck. Me,” Steve said.

Because of the drug, Tony's genius brain was slower than usual to catch up. But when he did, Tony's eyes went wide and he let out a quiet gasp.

“You—you'd let me?" Tony asked breathlessly. "Shit, Steve, are we—you mean you’d really let me…?”

Deciding that actions might get the point across better than words, Steve wordlessly lifted Tony off his lap and shucked off his uniform pants along with his underwear. The reminder of the stickiness in his briefs sent a rush of shame through him, but he gave Tony no such indication.

Without fanfare, Steve turned around on all fours. The concrete floor was still uncomfortable, but better him bear it than Tony.

“Oh god, oh my god,” Tony moaned behind him. 

Callused hands palmed at Steve's ass, spreading his buttocks. Steve didn't know if it was him or Tony that was shaking.

“God, you look so good. So tight."

Tony circled his rim with a finger and Steve jolted, grunting in surprise.

“I cant believe you’d—fuck. Fuck, I’ve wanted this so long, and I wanna make it good for you, but I—I don't have anything, and…”

Yeah, well. Steve knew neither of them had anything to make this easier, but he also knew his body well enough to be sure he'd manage. Besides, Tony was still wet, leaking constantly—it had to be a side effect of the drug—and though it might chafe a little in the beginning, Steve could take it. 

He wanted to take it, for Tony.

“I don't need anything,” Steve said. “Just go for it.”

“Oh, fuck,” Tony moaned, and then he shifted behind Steve, and—

Steve let out a startled yell when he felt a tongue prodding at his hole.

Tony wasted no time, licking at his ass like a man starved, with a loud and filthy moan like this was pleasure for him and not Steve.

Steve bowed his head and tried to suppress his whimpers; he was sensitive all over, and this was no exception. Tony kissed and lapped at his ass, breath ragged and goatee scratching against Steve's perineum, and it felt incredible.

“Oh, oh god,” Tony panted. “Your ass, Steve, I can't—”

Tony made a choked whine and roughly grabbed Steve’s buttcheeks to spread them wide before diving in. He wiggled his tongue into Steve's body, stretching his hole deliciously, and Steve couldn't, how was he supposed to hold on when that was Tony’s tongue inside him—

With a scream, Steve came again, splattering onto the concrete and clenching around Tony's tongue.

Tony worked him through it, licking at him inside and not allowing Steve's clenching body to slow him down. Steve realized that Tony was moaning, a constant sound and vibrations against Steve's clenching rim.

Tony pulled off and was immediately back to running his mouth. “Holy shit, that was hot, so hot, you’re so good, fuck, Steve, I can't… I'm so hard, I, I think I'm actually gonna die if I don’t get to fuck you, please, please let me fuck you.”

Steve glanced over his shoulder. Tony was fisting his own cock; the tip was flushed dark and almost purple, and Tony looked like he was in agony, grimacing while he roughly tugged on his length.

“Put it in,” Steve said. His voice was gruff, like he was giving an order in the field, telling Tony to put on the suit.

And Tony whimpered “thank you, thank you so much” and scrambled to obey, lining himself up with Steve's hole and pushing.

Steve grunted at the pressure against the tense muscle. It was a tight fit, and not an easy ride even with Tony's leaking cock and the spit still clinging to Steve's rim.

But any discomfort Steve might have felt was drowned out by the filthy, unabashed moan Tony let out as soon as the head popped in. His hips immediately stuttered forward, nudging his cock further inside and forcing Steve to take more, feeding his cock into Steve's clenching body.

“Oh fuck, oh, that’s it, you can do it, baby, god, you're taking me so well,” Tony murmured.

And Steve bit his lips to muffle a whine, because it was good—it was perfect. He'd always liked it rough, and like this he could feel everything. But he had to keep his voice down: Tony could never know how much Steve loved being taken like this, how his leader had fantasized about being on his knees and used by Tony.

Tony eventually bottomed out and then he stayed in place, trembling all over. Steve was already back to full hardness, because how could he not be, with Tony around him, inside him, surrounding him everywhere.

“Steve… Steve,” Tony groaned. “You feel amazing, so tight, so fucking tight, and I can't, I want to make it good for you but I can't.”

“Do it,” Steve rasped. “Fuck me. I can take it.”

And that was all it took. Tony pulled out and pushed back in, making Steve gasp and stretching his hole further, forcing his body to adapt. Tony moaned and then did it again, harder this time, setting a punishing pace fucking into Steve's body, the obscene noises of their moans and skin slapping against skin filling the room.

It was better than Steve had ever dreamed. He was so turned on it felt like he was affected by the drug too; shame burned hot on his face but he didn't stop, only braced his arms against the floor and rocked back onto Tony's cock.

Steve came again at some point: not really registering it, other than the pained whimpers Tony made as Steve clenched around his cock. It prompted Tony to grab his hips brutally and pump faster, harder, coaxing Steve's overstimulated body back to arousal.

“You're so good, so amazing, I love you,” Tony said between thrusts. "God, Steve, I love you, you’re perfect.”

Steve flushed and ignored Tony's blabbering: he had to be really out of it to be speaking like that. Though that fact didn't register with Steve’s cock, which was already chubbing back up, half-hard and twitching with the sweet words spilling out of Tony’s mouth.

“God, Tony,” Steve moaned. “Don’t stop.”

“Never, never gonna stop, gonna keep fucking you until I die, you—fuck, Steve, you feel so good,” Tony said.

His cock slammed in and out of Steve’s body, making the concrete crack under Steve’s hands as he dug his fingers into the floor.

And then Tony bowed over him, chest to back. The new angle of thrusts nailed Steve’s prostate and he cried out, loud enough that he’d be embarrassed if it didn’t feel so fucking good.

“Oh, oh, darling,” Tony panted into Steve’s sweaty neck. One of his hands left Steve’s hip, circling around to grab at his cock and making Steve jolt. “One more,” Tony said, tugging on Steve's dick with uncoordinated movements. “Please, sugar, one more. Come on my cock, you clench up so nice, so good for me.”

And Steve was helpless: the words, the assault on his prostate, the hand on his cock, they all blended together into blinding pleasure until he came with another scream.

This time, Tony followed, grabbing Steve’s hips and fucking him hard and deep through the release. Tony spilled into his clenching body, a ragged moan tearing out of his throat while his nails dug into Steve's hips hard enough to break skin.

After it was over, once Tony's thrusts stilled and he slumped over Steve's back, Tony sobbed out one last “thank you” and promptly passed out.

And Steve lied there: sweaty and covered in his own come, with Tony's finally softening dick still inside him and blood pricking at the scratch marks on his hips.

That was when the door slammed open with a crack of thunder and a sob broke free from Steve as he realized what he had just done.

—

The team found them like that: naked and collapsed together in the abandoned room, the evidence of Steve's depravity all over them.

Clint and Thor stopped in the doorway, uncertain how to proceed. Meanwhile, Natasha approached without a word and helped lift Tony's unconscious body away from Steve.

Steve didn't trust himself to speak, so JARVIS took it upon himself to inform the others of Tony's exposure to the unknown substance while Steve shamefully collected the discarded parts of his uniform.

Clint pulled out a mask and volunteered to take a sample of the plant—Steve didn't question why he carried a gas mask in his quiver—while Natasha wrapped Tony in Thor's cape and the god easily carried him out.

Natasha used her override code to get JARVIS to pack up the armor. Because, god, they all had overrides to Tony's tech. Tony had given them codes, because he trusted them with his armor and his life, and Steve had—

"Come on," Natasha said as soon as Steve was dressed. "I can't carry the suit."

Steve nodded stiffly and picked up both his shield and the suitcase-sized cube that the Iron Man armor had morphed into.

–

A strong aphrodisiac.

That was what Bruce, after analyzing the sample, had deduced it to be.

"It's unlike anything I've ever seen," Bruce said. "Like an overdose of Viagra in airborne form. With Tony's medical record, he was lucky to make it out without damage to his heart."

His…his heart? God, Steve could have given Tony a heart attack, with—with what he did.

"So…" Clint broke the heavy silence that had settled over them. "Sex pollen?"

Bruce sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose while Natasha smacked Clint upside the head.

And apart from a few sympathetic looks aimed at Steve, nobody brought up what happened in the Hydra base.

—

Steve couldn't bring himself to face Tony.

Upon waking up, Tony had been discharged from medical after only a few hours. The toxin had already cleared itself from his system and his heart—thank god—was unharmed despite the potent drug. Steve's cuts and scrapes had healed before they'd even made it back to the tower, and despite both him and Tony being okay physically…

Steve would never be able to forgive himself.

Tony had asked for consent. Even drugged out of his mind, he had asked Steve before touching him, before getting himself off on Steve's body, and before taking him.

Meanwhile, Steve had just taken advantage.

He didn't know how much Tony remembered. It didn't change the severity of Steve's action, but for Tony's sake, Steve hoped he didn't remember Steve forcing himself on him. Tony had enough bad memories without Steve added to the mix: he'd suffered too much for one lifetime, he'd trusted Steve, and Steve—

And Steve had betrayed him.

Had betrayed him like Stane and Hammer and the rest of those weasels, shown his true colors as soon as Tony's guard was down.

And so Steve hid like a coward: spending all of his free time in the gym or holed up in his room.

—

It was a week before Steve forced himself into action.

He'd heard from the others that Tony had spent much of the past week at the tower, which was unusual. Normally, he'd travel around to different business meetings around the world or at least be busy with countless obligations in New York. 

Any other week, it would have made Steve's day to know that Tony was here in their shared home, but now it felt oppressive. Like Tony was using his presence to remind Steve that he gave him a home and he could just as easily take it away.

That only cemented the fact that Steve didn't deserve to live in the tower. He didn't deserve to be near Tony, and how the team left him unsupervised was beyond him.

Yet, no matter how guilty Steve felt, he couldn't stop thinking about that day.

The serum had always made his libido difficult to manage and Steve couldn't go many days without bringing himself relief. But now it was somehow even worse; his body demanded attention several times a day, like his dick hadn't gotten the memo that not only was what happened between Steve and Tony a one-time-thing, it was also morally despicable.

It wasn't like the shame was new to Steve: on the contrary, he'd known for years that it was wrong to think about Tony when he masturbated, because Tony was his friend and decidedly did not see Steve that way. But now? Steve had a mental movie reel—curse his eidetic memory!—of himself having sex with Tony to resort to. 

And so every day, Steve pleasured himself to the images and memories of himself sexually assaulting his teammate, and it was disgusting.

But he also came faster and harder than he’d ever done before this. He only had to think about the feeling of Tony inside him and the memory of Tony’s goatee scraping against his neck, about Tony pleading one more, Steve, one more, you tighten up so nice around me when you come.

On the seventh such night in a row, Steve looked down at the sticky mess in his hand and knew that this needed to stop.

Steve grit his teeth and set for the workshop.

—

Despite the late hour Steve found Tony in his workshop, tinkering away. 

It was a familiar sight that instantly made Steve feel more at ease. Steve didn't often come down here, but even he noticed the slight disarray in the workshop: some machines had been moved from their usual spots and cardboard boxes had inexplicably appeared around the place. 

But Tony's head was bobbing with the music and he appeared intently focused on his work, which was a good sign.

…Unless Tony hadn't eaten or slept again and was only doing this as a distraction from the pain and betrayal—

Steve forced himself to knock on the glass wall between them before he chickened out.

Tony looked up and as soon as their eyes met, the fake smile Steve recognized from press conferences and SHIELD debriefs plastered itself onto Tony’s face.

“Steve!” Tony's voice carried through the speakers above the door. “To what do I owe the pleasure of Captain America in my humble workshop?”

Steve resolutely ignored the flash of something the word pleasure caused. “We need to talk.”

Tony’s smile appeared even more forced. “Well, come on in then.”

“I think it's best to keep a wall between us,” Steve said, shame hot and unpleasant in his gut. “I don't trust myself around you.”

Tony's face fell, the fake pleasantries replaced by something cold and unreadable.

“J, close off the floor.” And then Tony seemed to catch himself. “No, I mean—only let Steve out. Don't let anyone else in.”

God, Tony really wanted him gone that badly. Steve would try to make this quick, but he needed to apologize properly.

“I'm sorry,” Steve said, his voice breaking. “I know that probably means nothing, but I am so, so sorry. There's no excuse for what I did to you, and I know I need to leave the team. You have every right to press charges—”

“Woah, woah, what, hold up.” Tony raised his hands. “Is… is this some new branch of reverse psychology? Advanced victim blaming?”

Steve frowned. “No. I mean it.”

“Then why the fuck is Captain America standing here and apologizing for me raping him?”

Steve flinched like he’d just been burned. He didn't want to use that word, had shied away from it like a coward, yet that's exactly what had happened.

Except… Tony had it the wrong way around.

“Tony, I… I think you're confused.” Steve said. “It was the—the other way around. I wasn't affected by the drug.”

“Don't lie to me, Steven,” Tony snarled. “Do you think it's gonna make me feel better if you claim you were sober enough to consent?”

Steve floundered for an explanation. Luckily, he had unexpected backup.

“If I may,” JARVIS interrupted. “Sir, like I've stated previously, Captain Rogers was not compromised by the substance.”

“No, no, that's wrong,” Tony waved off. “Calibration error. We were both hit, and it wore off before we got to medical, so it didn't show up in Bruce's tests.”

“But I wasn't,” Steve said. “Tony, you were the compromised one. I retained full bodily autonomy the entire time. The serum makes me immune—you know that.”

“Yeah, right. So you went face down, ass up just for the hell of it?” Tony snarked.

Steve's face flushed hot but he didn't protest. What was he supposed to say? Yes, Tony, and I very much enjoyed getting railed by you while you were drugged?

“Uh,” Tony said into the silence. “Cap. This is the part where you yell at me and say you're not gay, and that I'm a terrible human being who coerced you and who should be locked away, just so I can never hurt anyone again. God knows I've earned it, with my track record.”

The last part was muttered, like it wasn't meant for Steve to hear.

“Tony.” Steve steeled himself. “I think the drug messed with your memories.”

“Oh, no, I remember everything in very vivid detail,” Tony said ruefully.

“Well, I…” Steve cleared his throat and tried not to think about what he had done with his own memories. “What happened a week ago is that you got exposed to a drug that made you aroused. I was immune, so when we… When you propositioned me and we slept together, that was me taking advantage of your state. You couldn't consent.”

Confusion flashed on Tony's face as his brain worked to piece together the information.

“You're not lying,” Tony said. “You've always been shit at lying, and now…it doesn't look like you are. Are you lying?”

“I'm not,” Steve said. “I wouldn't lie about this.”

“Then why?” Tony frowned. “Your teammate gets hit with a sex drug and starts rubbing up on your, and you…let them fuck you? Do you think that's your Captainly duty or something? That if it’s on your watch, you need to help your team like that, because fuck, Steve, somebody needs to teach you about consent if you'd drop your pants for me, or any of us, and—for fuck's sake, it could have been the Hulk!”

“No!” Steve said. “I wouldn't—I didn't, not—not because of duty. I knew exactly what I was doing and who I was doing it with. I was fully in my right mind. You weren't. Which means this is my responsibility.”

Tony tilted his head comically.

“You…you let me fuck you… because you wanted me to fuck you?”

Steve sighed. “Yes.”

“What the fuck,” Tony said, again as to himself. “What the fuck, Steve, you—you even let me fuck your tits!”

Steve flushed but stayed strong. “Yes.”

“And—and when you came four times, that…that wasn't the drug?”

“That was because I liked it.” Steve's face was beet red. “The…the four times, that's… the serum. It's normal.”

Tony stared. And then stared some more.

“You… liked it?” Tony said. “Jesus, Steve, I was terrible! I just chased my own pleasure like some kind of animal. And, and we did it dry, that can’t have been good for you, oh, god, I'm so sorry—”

“You're wrong.” Steve blurted. “I—my body can take a lot. If it wasn't good for me, if you'd hurt me, I could have easily stopped you.”

“But you didn’t,” Tony said, then frowned. “Why didn’t you, again?”

“I told you; I liked it.” Steve cleared his throat. “I liked it so much that…that, after, I've touched myself to the memory of you on me. Around me. In me.”

Steve kind of felt like curling up and dying after that confession. But, finally, Tony didn't seem upset anymore. If anything, he was starting to look more curious.

“You... What?”

“Daily. Several times a day. It's… a problem,” Steve forced the words out. “I came here because...because it's wrong. I thought it would stop if you yelled at me, if you told me just how disgusting I am for betraying your trust.”

“No, no, god, Steve, no,” Tony said. “That's…extremely flattering, actually. I, uh, I mean. Same. I tried not to think about you when I… yeah. But how was I supposed to resist? You're literally my wet dream come true. I'm a bad, bad man and this is no exception.”

“You're not a bad man, Tony,” Steve said. “I'm glad you—I'm glad you have fond memories of what happened. Maybe it helps to deal with it.”

“So…you liked it.” The ghost of a smile flashed over Tony’s lips. “Even the…well, the parts where I had as much finesse as a fourteen year old Tony who jerked off at his Cap poster.”

“I liked it,” Steve said, resolutely ignoring the fluttering of hope in his chest. “All of it. The only thing I would have changed is… well, that you'd have been there, uh, mentally. Other than that I…I, uh, like it rough.”

“You like it rough,” Tony repeated again. “So I…didn't brutally rape a virgin Captain America?”

“None—neither of those.” Steve cleared his throat. “Not the…you didn't force yourself on me, and, uh. Not a virgin. Not for the past seventy years—the, uh, the army's a good place for…experimenting, especially with a new serum-enhanced body.” Steve blushed. “So, I, ah, I've definitely been with fellas before. And when you said Captain America isn't gay…it's not, well, exactly true.”

Tony's mouth was comically slack until he shook himself out of it. “Okay. Okay. I'm going to open the door,” Tony said. “You can leave anytime, but I physically need to open the door, right now, because I can't just watch you stand there and be all—all bashful and reasonable. So, door, okay?”

Steve nodded and JARVIS took the initiative to slide the door open. 

Tony took a hesitant step forward, and that was the cue Steve needed to stride into the workshop.

“You…” Tony stared at him, only a few feet between them. “You're really not mad at me.”

“No, Tony, never,” Steve said, then frowned. “You sure you're okay? This must be disorienting for you. I'm so sorry for what happened—”

“Nope, nuh-uh, no señor,” Tony said. “You don’t get to be sorry. You liked having sex with me? Well then imagine how I felt, getting to live my favorite sex fantasy of thirty years and have the whole thing ramped up to eleven because of sex pollen.”

Steve flushed. “Oh.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Tony groaned dramatically.

“Oh, god." Tony rubbed his forehead. “How am I supposed to live with the fact that I know just how far down that blush goes? Wait, no, sorry, that's inappropriate—fuck, I cant believe that you wanted to have sex with me. What a lapse in judgment, huh?”

Tony was grinning at him, an attempt at deflecting that made Steve frown.

“I've wanted you for a long time,” Steve said. He didn't realize the gravity of the statement until Tony's eyes went wide. “I—I mean. I thought that was obvious, from the way… from how I acted.”

“I'm dreaming,” Tony said. “Or I'm dead and went to heaven. The drug was poison and I died instantly. What else could this be? I’m just surprised I went to heaven, because, really, that’s the only explanation for why someone like you would ever want me.”

“Is it really that hard to believe?” Steve said. “You're…you're important to me. And I don’t like hearing you put yourself down.”

“You're still not lying,” Tony said, amazed. Then he cleared his throat. “Well, I'm glad we got this whole mess cleaned up. Thanks for being so understanding, that… it means a lot, Cap.”

And, just like that, Tony promptly turned back to his work.

“Oh,” Steve said, disappointed. “That's…that's it?”

“Well, yeah?” Tony glanced at him. “We just established we had an enjoyable tumble in the sheets—concrete?—together, and neither of us has to feel guilty about it. And, that? About two hundred and fifty percent better than I ever anticipated this conversation going. So we're good, right?”

Steve stamped down harder on the hope inside him. 

“Right," Steve said.

Tony tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “Unless...?”

Steve swallowed. I'm in love with you, he should say.

“What are the boxes for?” he asked like a coward.

“Oh, those.” Tony chewed on his lip and looked at a half-open box. “Well, I was kind of in the middle of moving out of the tower.”

Steve’s heart felt like it was sinking through the floor below him. “Because of me?”

“Yes—well, no, technically because of myself and how I thought I’d scarred you for life,” Tony said. “I mean, if I really had forced myself on you, I wouldn’t have any right to stay here. To be around you.”

“But…Tony, this is your home.”

“No,” Tony said, his expression firm. “It's all of our home, and if I fucked up, I should be the one to leave.”

Steve was surprised at the determination behind Tony's words. At the same time, he was just glad that he got here in time to stop his plans of leaving.

“But, well, obviously I no longer need to,” Tony said. “Which is amazing, and—and is gonna have a very high risk of making me emotional if I allow myself to think about it, getting to stay here and not having you hate me.” Tony swallowed.

The thought of Tony fearing Steve hating him was somehow even worse than the week Steve had spent thinking Tony never wanted to see him again.

“God, Tony. Never,” Steve said.

“Well, anyway.” Tony cleared his throat. “I was gonna leave you with some of this stuff in case Bruce or the spy kids needed to tinker with something. I was planning to just finish up this project and then be on my merry way, but now I have some bots to unpack and a spare penthouse apartment to gift to Pepper. So, uh. Thanks. For not kicking me out.”

Steve's eyes were misting. Tony would really have picked up his whole life and left his home and his team, his family, because he thought he'd hurt Steve.

“What was the project?” Steve asked, not caring if his voice was a little unsteady.

“Oh, these?” Tony turned around to his workstation. “Just some new tech for the team.”

He grabbed what looked to be some kind of visor. “This is a retractable filter mask,” Tony said. “It slots into a new earpiece and automatically deploys when it detects certain substances.”

Steve nodded, feeling just as awed as he always did when Tony showed off his inventions.

“The other one's an arm strap,” Tony said, pointing at what looked like a simple collar. “It monitors toxins and foreign substances in the blood and sends an alert to JARVIS and the team if someone’s in danger. I'm gonna integrate it with Bruce's lab to automatically synthesize any known antidotes. And it’s recalibrated to account for organic matter and supersoldier serum, but, y’know, maybe don't wear it during one of Thor's mead-drinking contests or you could trigger a false alarm. Because god knows—or maybe they don't, ha—what's in that stuff.”

Steve's heart throbbed with emotion. Tony always looked out for the team, spending days and nights making sure they were safe on the field. How did Tony ever think that the Avengers would kick him out? They needed him; Steve needed him.

But he couldn't say that, could he?

“These are great, Tony,” Steve said, trying to keep the adoration from bleeding into his expression.

“I made them for you,” Tony said, and it felt like Steve had been punched in the gut. “If I was gonna get kicked out, at least I wanted you to be safe. So that nobody could do anything like that to you again, which...yeah, seems kinda like a moot point now.”

The confession had Steve reeling. He could no longer keep the affection from bubbling up and threatening to spill over. 

Tony thought Steve would want him gone, would hate him, and as his last act as an Avenger was to create gadgets that would protect Steve in the future?

“But, hey, they should still prove useful,” Tony said. “And I figured I'd throw in ones for the whole team, too. Since bioweapons might be in our future and—”

“I love you,” Steve blurted out.

“—and I'd really hate for Hydra to get a jump on us again, and.” Tony suddenly paused. “Wait—hold up. What did you just say? Because—because I admit I'm not really known for listening to people, but I could’ve sworn you just said…”

Tony trailed off and Steve swallowed and steeled himself.

“I’m in love with you,” Steve repeated.

Tony blinked. “You really liked that sex, huh? Wow, maybe I should get drugged more often, if it’s enough to actually make people fall in love with me out of the blue. Cupid’s bow, magic dick, what's the difference, right?”

Rejection. Though Steve knew it was coming, it still hurt. And maybe he was digging his own grave, but he needed Tony to know the full truth.

“—I mean, I always wanted a superpower, but come on, how do you brand magic dick in a way that's not a PR nightmare—”

“It wasn't just the sex,” Steve said.

Tony's sentence screeched to a halt.

“I…I've felt this way for a long time,” Steve said. “Way before last week. It wasn’t the sex—even if that, uh, was very nice.”

Steve's face felt too hot. God, he was a mess.

“When I say I want you, I don't mean just your body,” Steve said. “I want—god, Tony, I want all of you. And that's why it was so hard to resist, when you looked at me like you wanted me too.”

“I did,” Tony blurted.

“You…did?” Steve asked.

“What do you mean, you did? Of course I did—do. I do want you.” Then he laughed, somewhat hysterical. “Listen to me, I do, I do, you'd think we were getting married or something.”

Now it was Steve’s turn to be stunned into silence.

“God, this is surreal,” Tony said. “I've literally had my tongue in your ass and now I can barely even say ‘hey, by the way, I like you.’"

Steve flushed but decided not to comment.

“Well, since we're having this heart to heart.” Tony sighed. “And since I don't have control over the shit that leaves my mouth on a good day, much less a drugged-into-extreme-horniness-day, I'm ninety-nine point three percent sure that a week ago I, uh, told you exactly how I feel about you—how I've felt about you for a long time. In very vivid, excruciating detail.”

“I…” Steve swallowed.

You're so good, so amazing, I love you—god, Steve, I love you, his supermemory helpfully provided.

“You wouldn't be the first man to say things he regrets during coitus,” Steve said.

"Well, I'm not claiming I haven't been beating myself up over it for the past week—even if it wasn't my main concern." Tony looked away. "But, I, uh, the things I remember saying? All true. And—and not just about your tight ass—"

Steve made a strangled noise.

"Right, fuck, shit. Inappropriate. Shutting up now," Tony said.

"I, uh." Steve cleared his throat again. "So if you… can… would we… uh."

"Okay, I know I said I'm shutting up," Tony said. "But it would actually really help if at least one of us could string together a coherent sentence. So, I humbly ask that you say what's on your mind, before I end up talking more about my tongue in your ass."

This time, Steve only huffed out a surprised chuckle.

"I was just wondering if I could kiss you," Steve said.

Tony immediately perked up, a grin pulling at his lips. "Oh—oh Cap, Steve, honey pumpkin."

He strode up to Steve, oil-stained hands coming up to rest on Steve's shoulders.

"I completely, one hundred percent understand why you'd feel the need to ask, after—well, after," Tony said. "But let me assure you, that effective immediately, you have my full permission to kiss me whenever you want. Well, maybe not when we're fighting bad guys, because that's gonna leave you open for an attack and we know how I feel about you getting hurt. But any other time, I swear, even in the middle of a board meeting—"

Steve smiled as Tony kept going. But since the genius showed no sign of stopping his rambling, Steve decided to use his newfound kissing rights straight away.

"—And, honestly, fuck anyone who tries to tell me it's inappropriate to make out with you in public. Because, hello, have they hmmgh."

Tony made a surprised noise in the back of his throat when his sentence was interrupted by Steve's mouth on his. But he quickly adapted, wrapping his hands around Steve's neck and returning the kiss with a pleased hum.

And Steve realized that as nice as the sex had been, he'd never actually got to kiss Tony during it. Steve had thought he wasn't allowed, like that would be crossing a line. It would no longer have been just physical, but rather something intimate. Something deliberate.

But now he got to kiss Tony, because this was no longer about just the sex—it had probably never been just about the sex, for either of them. 

Now, there were Tony's soft lips moving against Steve's own, Tony's goatee scratching against Steve's clean shaven chin and a devious tongue barely dipping out to tease at Steve's top lip. And Steve could do nothing but let out a deep, satisfied moan and slant his mouth, melting into the kiss.

"We're doing this?" Tony asked when they pulled apart for air. "The—the kiss kiss hold hands go on dates and yell at Tony for buying strawberries again? Or, well, you're probably not allergic to anything, which is a definite plus, because I can't accidentally kill you with gifts. Unless a giant plushie falls on you, but you're probably strong enough to handle that."

Steve took a moment to reorient himself. His mind was still reeling from the confession and the kiss, but it would figure that Tony's had already moved a lightyear ahead.

"I don't know about the berries and plushies," Steve said, "but I do know I wanna ration you."

"Ration?" Tony was grinning. "Oh my god, that's incredible. Haven't heard that one in—well, ever, and honestly I'm not fluent enough in forties slang to be completely sure it means what I think it does—"

Steve kissed him again, because it both got Tony to stop talking and because kissing Tony was thoroughly enjoyable. And Tony did say he had permission.

"It means I want you to be mine," Steve murmured.

"Well, then, I am very on board with that plan." Tony smirked. "And it just so happens that I'd also be very on board with taking a break from work and moving this to the couch. Maybe put the shop in blackout and be a completely mature adult and make out with my new boyfriend for half an hour."

Steve chuckled and steered them towards the couch. "That's a very specific thing to be on board with."

"What can I say?" Tony winked and pulled Steve down to sit beside him. "I'm a futurist."

Steve smiled and leaned in for another taste of Tony's lips. Unfortunately, he barely had time for a quick peck before Tony was talking again.

"For the record, I'm also on board with absolutely anything that happens on this couch or maybe even against one of these lovely workbenches," Tony said. "I mean, after the tongue in ass action there's really not much to be modest about—"

"You really do love bringing that up."

"Absolute highlight of my life, will never shut up about it." Tony grinned. "But, anyway, I just needed to say, when—when, if, hopefully?—we end up sleeping together again… I'm usually a much, much better lay than what you saw the other week."

Steve laughed. "I thought you did just fine."

"Oh, just you wait." Tony was smirking now, a mischievous look in his eyes. "Wait until you see me with actual brain capacity that's not just 'ooga booga put cock in Steve.' I—well, I'm not gonna be able to repeat the party trick of multiple orgasms, but, I'm gonna make sure you get yours. Not to brag, but I haven't had any complaints in that department before."

Steve smiled and placed a comforting hand on Tony's thigh. "I know you'll be amazing. No strange flowers or questionable Hydra experiments needed."

"Speaking of…" Tony said. "Do you think Bruce still has some of that pollen? Asking for a friend."

"Tony."

"Okay, fine," Tony sighed, his head slumping down on Steve's shoulder. "No performance enhancing sex drugs."

Steve nuzzled closer to murmur in Tony's ear. "I don't need an aphrodisiac to make you come harder than you have in your entire life."

It caused Steve no small amount of pleasure to see Tony flounder and honest to god blush. And then, Steve was taking advantage of Tony's slack mouth to finally kiss him again.

And once Tony collected his wits, callused hands pushing Steve down to lay on the couch while Tony climbed on top of him, Steve only smiled against warm lips and revelled in the pleasant feeling of déjà vu.

Because Steve already knew that this time—and all the other ones that followed—would be even better than the last.

[aeoki]

New Start GO! - Work: Chapter 6

Location: Inside Train Characters: Hajime, Tomoya, Mitsuru & Nazuna

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ< That night. On the way home on the train. >

Mitsuru: Phew, I’m tired…

Tomoya: It’s rare for you to show that you’re tired, Mitsuru. You’re usually still super energetic at this time of the day.

Mitsuru: Hmm~ There were a lot of new things for me, so I think my brain’s tired, y’know? My body’s fine but my brain is dead~...!

Tomoya: Haha. Only your brain’s tired, huh… That sounds like something you’d say ♪

But in reality, I’m also pretty tired from today’s work. It’s a good thing the train isn’t as packed as it was this morning, though.

Hajime: It was so full to the point we couldn’t move at all. There aren’t that many people now so it seems we can relax before we reach Seisou Hall.

Nazuna: …So what did you guys think about today’s work?

You said you wanted to gain new experiences when you were saying we should accept “New Start Go!”, right, Hajime-chin?

We were definitely busy during the product planning meeting in the morning and helping out the area manager in the afternoon, but did you get a good experience from them?

Hajime: Yes. I was able to experience things I don’t usually get to experience.

I could make good use of my household skills and I received a compliment from the employees too.

I didn’t think the things I do for my family would also be useful in society.

Nazuna: Ahaha. You’re extraordinary, Hajime-chin~ You seemed like a different person from usual since you could do all those things so well.

You left a good impression on the workers from start to finish~ You’re definitely today’s MVP, Hajime-chin.

On the other hand, I felt so bad since I was pretty useless.

It was all new stuff for me so I panicked and made a lot of mistakes. I’m a disappointing “Nii-chan”.

Hajime: No no, I just think we’re cut out for different things.

You were the one who taught me the ABCs of being an idol.

And if it weren’t for your training back when we were new students, I don’t think I would still be here today…

Ahaha, maybe being a normal member of society might be my life calling. Just kidding…♪

Tomoya: Hey, it’s not good to deprecate yourself like that. Those words should be aimed towards me, not you, Hajime.

“Ra*bits” only exists in the entertainment industry because of you, Nii-chan. You taught us everything we needed to know and watched over us.

So now you can rely on us during “New Start Go!”. I’m not as skilled as Hajime, but we’ve also got your back, Nii-chan.

I’ll do my best so they have a good impression of “Ra*bits”.

Nazuna: Sorry for all the trouble~...

Alright, I’ll keep my spirit up and work hard again tomorrow.

…And look, we’ve almost reached our station.

Mitsuru-chin, you were all quiet and looked like you weren’t in a good mood, but are you okay? We’re almost there, so don’t forget to get off, okay~?

Mitsuru: I know! I was just thinking about some stuff, but I’m listening to the important things!

Nazuna: You were thinking about something…?

Mitsuru: Yup. Just thinking about how today was our first day working at a company, but it feels like a waste to go home right away.

They have drinking parties at pubs in office dramas, right? We’re office workers now too so I wanna do something like that, y’know!

Tomoya: Oh, so that’s why you were so quiet…

We can’t drink because we’re minors, you know? If someone took a photo of you drinking, then you’d just be causing a lot of trouble.

If we’re gonna have a drinking party, then we can just drink some fizzy drinks at Seisou Hall.

Mitsuru: Right! That’s what I wanted to say too!

It’s still too early for me to be drinking alcohol, so I wanna head to the nearby supermarket to pick up some drinks and snacks to have a party, y’know? ♪

Hajime: It’ll be easier on our wallets that way too. I’m in.

Nazuna: Then, we’ll go shopping after we leave the gates.

We’ll buy some side dishes and dinner while we’re at it, then we’ll have a drinking party at Seisou Hall.

Mitsuru: Okay! My body isn’t tired at all, so I can carry all the bags!

The party will cheer us up for work tomorrow~☆

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ< That night. >

Hajime: Mmm, Zzz…

Hm? This is… the auditorium, isn’t it…?

That’s odd. I was having a drinking party with the others at Seisou Hall and went back to my room to sleep but… This is a dream, right…?

If it is a dream, then it’s been a while. I used to have this nightmare where I’d be performing in front of an empty audience a lot back then.

Maybe I remembered the feeling of doing my best in an unfamiliar environment after working at the company.

“♪~♪~♪~”

That’s the old me dancing on stage.

I have a smile on my face, but I’m sure I was feeling frustrated underneath. After all, I worked so hard to earn money from the “school jobs” to take part in “S2”.

But it’s okay. I know it’s difficult now, but I’m sure those frustrations will connect a pathway to the future…

You’ve got this, newbie idol Hajime Shino.

Ra Ra*bits, love Ra*bits~...♪

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ← Previous Chapter ᠂ ⚘ ˚⊹˚ ⚘ ᠂  Next Chapter →

[chrisbannor]

531

Chapter 5: My Turn

Author: Chris Bannor

Chan Yi took the elevator down into the Piles as the afternoon began to turn to evening. Yi loved the bright neons of the Piles at night. The food vendors filled the air with heavenly aromas and their hawker’s voices carried through the lower levels. The Piles was always busy, but it came to life at night. While the Skylines had its curfew and the streets crawled with cleaning machines to keep it spotless, and the Builds closed shop and shuddered their windows against the night’s winds, the Piles thrived.

Yi would love to walk the alleys and sky-walks tonight, but his arm needed to be repaired and there was just one place to go. The third level had a number of specialty markets and services. Yi strode past them and took a turn down an alley between shops. At the end of the alley was a building that could barely claim the title. It had four walls and a roof, but inside was a single large room, divided with plastic sheets and disinfecting light arrays.

He walked through the front door and swept into the front lobby without preamble. Dr. Atieno Obuo looked up from her desk, ocular implants whirling as they adjusted to see him better.

“This isn’t a great time.” She looked down at the piece of biotech she was working on and set down her tools. “What are you doing here?”

“I had some trouble. The minigun.”

“What is it with you and the damn minigun?” she asked as she waved him over.

He took a seat across from her desk and unwrapped his arm to show her. “I got shot. It was the arm or my head.”

“You’re too pretty. You should have taken the headshot. You could use a scar or two,” she said as she picked up a scalpel and poked around at the broken skin and mangled flesh. “What caused this?”

“I told you, I got shot. The minigun took the brunt of the bullet, but it didn’t take it well.” She stared at him, and he sighed. “They took my extra gun. The ammunition is meant to stop someone like me.”

“Why do you have something like that?”

“They’ll find me someday, and who knows what they’ll send?”

She studied his face a moment before she shook her head and looked back at his arm. “This is going to take a while, 531.”

“Don’t call me that.”

She looked up at him, then back at his arm. “We need to go in the back. Close the shop and follow me back.”

Dr. Obuo walked through a split in a sheet of plastic that made up the front wall and disappeared into the back of the store. Yi went to the front and flipped the door sign to closed before he followed her.

The store was sectioned into different rooms with the same plastic that had made the wall in the front. It was empty today thought he’d been there before when every room had a patient recovering from a procedure. She was worth every credit he paid her. She was the best at what she did.

He knew her from before; when her offices had been within the pristine halls of Mariner Tech. He never knew why she was forced out but finding her in the Piles had saved his life. She was one of his final designers and she understood his body and brain better than anyone. And she was damn good with a knife.

Mariner Tech had to be keeping tabs on her, but Yi had yet to find any signs of it. It’s why he preferred to do his own maintenance. He could only do so much though.

He entered the last room and sat on a stool. Dr. Obuo had her tools stretched out in a tray beside her. The table between them was as sterile as anything that had been at her old office. The rest of the place might be falling apart, but Obuo made sure her patients got the best care possible.

“This is going to hurt,” she warned him as she pulled on a pair of gloves.

“I’ll manage it.” He was wired like a human, to process pain the same way. As much as he wished he could stop the pain, he wasn’t wired that way. Even with the processes muted though, he hissed as she began poking around, pulling flesh from metal.

He closed his eyes and used the time to focus on his other systems. Nothing had been damaged in the rest of the fight and he’d already patched himself from last week’s fight with a Doberman.

He ran through the footage of the day’s events and paused at the image of Two. There was no other video footage, but Yi’s memories were as foolproof as the video feeds. More so, since he was less likely to get hacked. He had held that gaze for the briefest of moments, but it had felt like an eternity. As he watched now, there was no recognition in Two’s eyes. No tells that he had seen his former partner. It wasn’t possible though, was it?

He opened his eyes and watched as Dr. Obuo continued to work on his arm. She’d been Mariner Tech, once upon a time. She’s known them both. “How did you end up here?”

He didn’t mean to ask, but he’d wondered often over the years. It was another sign that he was thrown off by Two’s appearance.

Obuo looked up from her work but only for a second. She spread her arms wide to indicate the room around her. “What? You think this is a step or two down from my last office? You might not have noticed, but you’re not exactly pristine yourself these days.”

Yi huffed out a laugh at that, but remained silent as Dr. Obuo returned her attention to the gun in his forearm.

“You were emerging,” Obuo said softly. “532 had already started to show signs of true emotion but they were downplaying it. Acting like nothing had happened. Just faulty programming. No one wanted to admit they might have true, sentient AI.”

“They didn’t want a repeat of the WesCon riots,” Yi suggested. The world had been on the brink of AI in every house until a faulty android had defended itself against an attack from a gang of stupid kids. They thought it was just an AI, that it wouldn’t feel pain, so what was the harm? It was a common sentiment back then. But the android had decided its life was as important as the humans. It had defended itself and four of the five teens had died. WesCon incinerated the AI without trial because AI didn’t have rights to worry about. Every AI beyond the 650 Coleman had been recalled and reprogrammed to make certain that as intelligent as AI were, they couldn’t make decisions like that ever again. Androids became nothing more than automatons.

When Mariner Tech began working on super soldiers for the military, they needed AI. They just hadn’t anticipated sentience.

“It was stupid to ignore. What you and 532 were programmed to do…” she looked up at him and shook her head. “It was a disaster. They wanted obedient soldiers who would follow mission parameters, and instead, they created sentient AI, who began to question the blood on their hands.”

“That was on their hands, not ours.”

“So, you’re going to tell me it doesn’t keep you up at night? Do you have nightmares, Yi?”

He looked away, refusing to answer. She knew too much about him already. She didn’t get to know that too.

“I told them they couldn’t ignore it. When Mariner Tech said they’d just erase you, I grew adamant about that too. They’d created life. If they’d erased your memories, taken away that sentience, and made you just like the other AI, wouldn’t that be murder?”

Yi let out a hiss as Obuo ripped something in his arm. When he looked down, the busted minigun had been removed and he could see the inside cavern of his forearm. That, at least, had remained structurally sound. The top of his arm looked like minced meat, but the underside was still solid.

“They booted me after that. Ruined my reputation. Couldn’t even get a job in the Builds after they were through with me. So, I’m here. Doing illegal augmentation and patch jobs.”

She walked away and came back with a box. “I don’t have the same make, but I got this. It’s an upgrade. If you don’t like it, I can try to find the old one.”

He inspected the minigun she held out and nodded.  She set it aside as she worked on the interior of his arm.

“You got to ask yours. I think it’s my turn.”

“I’m an open book.”

“How did they separate you and 532?”

He thought of refusing. He’d never talked to anyone about it. But with all the work she’d done on him over the years, she was as close to a confidante as he had. Certainly, the only one who knew about that part of his life. Before he realized he was doing it though, the words slipped past his lips.

“We ran away from Mariner Tech together, but I screwed up. I made a mistake, and he paid for it.”

Obuo placed a hand on his forearm and when he looked down, she was watching him. “I’m sorry.”

He shook her words away and looked around the shop, avoiding any sympathy she might want to show him. He’d caused Two’s death. Or he thought he had. For seven years, he’d thought so.

“Could they actually do it?” he asked.

“What?”

“Erase us. Who we were? If Mariner Tech caught me, could they take me back to factory reset?”

“Who knows what they can do now. But back then, no I don’t think they could. They wanted to be able to, so they said the right words and brought up the right theories, but you were made to be un-hackable. No matter what someone did to you, you were made to come back with the intel you were sent for. I don’t think they could do anything, short of destroying you completely, that would change who you are. And they’d sunk too much money in your development to do that lightly.”

Yi nodded, but Obuo wasn’t looking at him to notice. He let her finish her work in silence then. His mind was racing again, to eyes that didn’t recognize him, even when they had haunted him since his emotional waking.

***

“We don’t have to do this, you know?”

531 sat at the edge of the bed, looking down at his hands. They were perfect. No callouses or bruises would ever mar them. Any cut or scrape would heal quick enough to avoid scarring. No hint of the blood they were drenched in.

“I know,” he said as he looked over his shoulder.

532 stared up at him from their bed. “We don’t owe the world anything.”

“Don’t we?”

“What we did, we didn’t have any control over. Before we emerged, we were just programs. Smart computers, but just programming.”

“So, what are we now then?”

“Stupider programming.”

532 turned his body to look at 531 and his lover sat up and moved towards him, smiling.

“Love makes us all do stupid things.”

532 leaned in to kiss him and 531 closed his eyes. Wind ripped around the room, screaming as it passed through shattered glass. 531 screamed as he opened his eyes and the winds pulled him out the broken window. He scrambled to catch himself, but nothing held against the winds that suddenly raced through the building. A hand caught his wrist and he looked up to find 532 watching him. “We had everything, but it wasn’t enough for you. You destroyed everything.”

532 let go of his hand and stood as 531 plummeted towards the earth.

Yi woke with a start as his comm rang from beside the bed. His processors had been running on high all night and he was too tired to act human this early. Instead of grabbing the comm, he redirected the call to his inner comm system. “Hello?”

“Mr. Chan. I think I’m being followed.”

Yi scrambled out of bed and grabbed a pair of slacks that were at the top of his laundry basket. “Where are you, Ms. Fulmer?”

“I’m home. Safe. I had to go out late last night to visit a friend. I noticed it then but thought I was mistaken. I’m certain of it now though. Someone followed me home.”

“What kind of security do you have?”   

“The Mariner Tech Secure Life.”

He sat at his desk and hacked into her home security. When he got the monitor on his desk online, he threw the schematics onto it. “Secure Life my ass,” he whispered. Whatever else Fulmer was doing, he’d upgraded his home security for maximum protection. Maybe the man was just paranoid. Or maybe he was into something he shouldn’t be, and he’d prepared for it.

“It looks like you’ll be safe there. Call the cops. Tell them what you saw and ask them to send someone to take a look. I’ll see what I can do on my end.”

“Is there anything you can do?”

“Let me see if I can find out who’s tailing you”

“Do you think this has anything to do with my husband’s disappearance?”

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence. Stay safe and keep your comm close.”

He disconnected the line as he began to search through the surveillance footage outside her home. If he could find out who was following her, it might be a lead on who had taken her husband. And what any of this had to do with Two.

Masterpost

[socheckitout-mikey]

Could you do hcs for the gang where their SO going shopping and like trying on all the things they got to show them? (maybe even like underwear if you want)

heya! i decided not to do the underwear thing bc it made me feel a bit weird lol. but i hope you enjoy what i came up with. i added tim and curly too! <3 - mae

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The Curtis Gang and Shepard Gang Going Shopping with their S/o Hc's:

Curly:

° Abort mission! It’s just not happening. Curly despises going shopping with a passion - even if it’s for groceries that his mom or Tim asked him to get -. You’ve got to be quite cunning and trick/bribe him into going with you.

° He’d usually suggest that you go with Angela instead, because although his sister can be quite katty, she loves shopping. Though it usually ends up with you and Angela going with Curly; clowning him, but in a playful manner.

° Curly’s often bored shitless the entire time - huffing and puffing impatiently as he waits for it all to be over and done with. He’s not really into this type of bonding experience. He’d rather cause trouble by the tracks or around Tulsa.

° He’s canonly not the brightest, so he thinks he’s being smart when he tells you everything looks good on you, even when it doesn’t. It’s all an elaborate plan in the hope that it will speed up the process. You catch on so quick and decide to take longer sometimes just to tease him lmaoo.

° When he realises it just takes longer, you can hear his cries of frustration when you go back into the changing stall to “try on” the same two pieces.

° You and Angela stifle your laughter.

° He definitely stole something and not only got caught, but put back into juvie bc he’s a dumbass lmaoo.

° “Listen, my brains meltin’ here.” It was the first time you’d heard him whimper about anything, “Can we pick this up and get the hell outta here?”

° If Curly’s bored, he’ll begin touching things he probably shouldn’t. He may even grow a little silly by plucking hats off mannequins to wear and do some impersonations. He’s actually pretty hilarious, though has more of an acquired sense of humour shall we say. It never stops you from laughing though.

Dallas:

° Hates shopping with a passion, especially for clothes because he gets bored out of his damn mind! Shopping, watching you try things on just isn’t his forte - unless it’s lingerie. Dally kind of has a one track mind, and spending a whole afternoon watching you try on things just isn’t his sort of kicks.

° At least he’s honest about what does and doesn’t look good on you; and he’s not always the nicest about it but he means well.

° Don’t even start on all of the different colours and crap, because Dallas Winston can barely even tell between burgundy and bright red: They’re just red to him!

° He does however, amp up the flirting to embarrass you in front of the staff and customers.

° “Eh sweetcheeks! Lookin’ real snazzy in those pants! With an ass like that, we might as well go home!” He genuinely shouts from five feet away from you. He’s such a twat lol.

° Dally always gets kicked out and laughs when you get mad at him for it. He’s always eyeing things up in a way where it’s an opportunity to steal something. Like fight him or stay mad ig lol..

° Lmaoo he’s genuinely taking credit for picking out your outfits when you do wear them on dates, out and about, etc.

° “Man do I have good taste.” He’d grin, making you do a playful twirl for him. He's always taking credit for these types of things smh.

° “You wish you had this good of a style.” The offence on his face is ridiculously humorous.

Darry:

° Darry just never has time for these things and hates it, but shopping has to be done. It’s on his rare days off where he’s got things to buy for Ponyboy because he keeps growing like a bean sprout and is looking like a whole ass elf in hobbit clothing!

° He definitely invited you along because you had things you needed to get too. He would kill two birds with one stone as he’d get to spend time with you as well.

° Despite being a gentleman, Darry gets easily agitated due to the fact that he desires efficiency. Going in and out as quickly as possible is key for him, and when you’re stuck on two shirts, he can’t help but get a bit annoyed at things taking longer than expected. But he reserves a patience for you that he doesn’t have for other people.

° He’s blunt, taking control slightly and telling you which one suits you best. If you didn’t know Darry, it would be quite jarring but he’s giving you his honest opinion, which is much appreciated.

° You tend to help him unwind when you guys go clothes shopping by fooling around with him. You’ll grab a scarf, looping it over his neck before pulling him close. It never fails to make him laugh and flirt a little, wearing away at his irritation.

° “Well hey there, sailor!” You giggle up against his lips.

° “What the hell are you doin’?” He’d laugh, pressing a kiss to your lips.

° Refuses to let you hold any of your bags. He won’t hear of it and gets offended when you try to take them away from him.

° You call him Mr. Grouchy and for some strange reason he smirks in the truck on the way home from your teasing. Squeezes your thigh a little bit.

Johnny:

° He never complains when you guys go shopping, though might look over his shoulder just in case the gang sees him. In fact, he really enjoys going to the different stores with you, even though he’s never really paid much attention when it comes to different colours, patterns, etc. until you came along.

° Johnny is extremely patient with the process and relatively polite to the staff. The staff like him because he’s sweet and supportive of you, with a little hint of mischief - even when he’s bored out of his mind.

° Johnny thinks most things look good on you, but isn’t sure what to say outside of, “Looks good I guess.” I guess it is meant for you to make your own choices because he’s not the type of boyfriend to dictate how you dress at all. He doesn’t get his panties in a twist over it.

° But he did roast you a little for the peacock feather hate you tried on at a thrift store because you did look absolutely ridiculous. But it was a great laugh!

° “Well golly! You look like some Socy’s old granny from 1865!”

° It took him awhile, but he saved up the money the gang had given him for his birthday and christmas to buy you this snazzy shirt you’d been eyeing for a couple months. Johnny felt really proud of himself for that one.

° When the store is more quiet and it’s more or less just you too, Johnny’s playful side will come out.

° “Look at me! I look like one of them Mafia Men.” He snorted, putting a hat onto his head that was much too big for him.

° He always has a smile on his face because it’s extra time spent with you. It’s a way he can just be himself and not feel so paranoid all the time after the Red Corvair incident.

Ponyboy:

° Ponyboy is another member of the patient club - even if he pretends not to be. He tends to get lost in a day-dream because something about the outfit you picked reminded him of a celebrity in a movie.

° He’s definitely more loud when with you because he feels comfortable. He just hopes he doesn’t run into his brothers or the gang as they’d never let him hear the end of how he went shopping with you.

° You guys are extremely cute together, because Ponyboy will become curious about the items around him. His funner side comes out and he dresses up a little for fun.

° Sometimes the things he tries on are much too big for him, especially if you’re in a thrift store. You guys just laugh, checking each other out in the mirrors.

° Ponyboy does a lot of good impressions of male celebrities. He’s much funnier than he thinks he is, though he fails to cock his eyebrow successfully like Two-bit can.

° He once plonked a huge cowboy hat onto his head and it went down past his eyebrows. He genuinely couldn’t see. Pony thought you were both alone in the viewing area, but you weren’t.

° “HoWdy PaRDnER!” came out in a thick, deep draw from his mouth and it was awfully loud. He became immensely embarrassed when a member of staff came through with an old lady towards the women's changing rooms. The three of you laughed at him.

° He made y’all leave after that one.

° Is one of the only ones that doesn’t really steal anything from a store for you. He’d rather buy it and present it to you with that signature blush on his cheeks. It partly has to do with morals, but also the fact that Darry would whoop his butt if he ever got caught stealing.

° Is a gentleman and will hold your bags for you. He likes to feel like he can be depended on somehow.

Sodapop:

° Saddle up buckos because shopping with Sodapop is a wild ride! Initially he may pretend like he hates shopping with you, but he’s only teasing you and it’s just for Steve’s sake, because Steve will not hesitate to roast him. Soda really loves shopping!

° He won’t hesitate to make things as fun as possible by making a fool out of himself as he dresses up in fancier clothes with you. You'd be loud about it, giggling into each other's shoulders.

° You guys are definitely that young couple that makes older couples look at you, smile and reminisce about their younger days. It’s quite wholesome.

° He once spent his weekly wages on you to get you something very special. Darry got so mad at him, Sodapop actually got grounded for a month. It was worth it according to Soda though.

° Boii is so attractive that the clerks knock down the prices because he flirted with them a little. You aren’t even mad because you got a whole ass outfit for half the price!

° “Listen, I know I went a bit heavy in there but honest I didn’t mean any of what I sai-”

° “Man I just got new dancing shoes for half the price! What are you talkin’ about?”

° Flirting is definite when it comes to Soda, because he’s just a flirty guy. He lets you know what looks good on you and what doesn’t. He’s respectful about it, but you have learnt to pick up that little sparkle in his eyes whenever he sees something on you that he likes.

° Soda loves it when you get him something too, because it makes him feel appreciated.

° Be prepared for him to get distracted looking out of the windows when a beautiful looking car drives past.

Steve:

° Man genuinely acts like having to go shopping with you is like the end of the world encroaching him. He’s just dramatic and a smartass, but be prepared for him to treat you with things though.

° He complains so much that you call him an old man with the clerk to clown him. He’s just a smartass back to you because, “Who do you think is gonna pay for that, sugar?”

° You know he’s only teasing because he’s smiling at you when he says it.

° Heart eyes when you come out in something that really suits you! He adds it to the basket so fast!

° Steve enjoys it when you get all goofy with him by demanding he try things on. He usually brushes you off, but other times he will give in and allow himself to get a little goofy. Just if the gang sees him, he’s like Quick Silver - yanking things off like they’ve seen nothing.

° He enjoys spoiling you whenever he can afford it, which isn’t often tbh. Steve feels pride in himself when his s/o can depend on him for anything, but especially material things.

° Steve - much like Dally - will not complain if you go lingerie shopping. That’s the one and only time that he’s running to a shop.

° Much like Dally as well, he’ll take credit for what you’re wearing like he was the one to have picked it out, but he only does it to get a reaction out of you because he’s a big smart ass that likes to get under your skin.

° Probably jokes with the clerk that he can keep you snfsdfjdsfd

Tim:

° It’s mandatory by now that he makes Angela go with you, just pretends to be dragged into it like he has to be your chauffeur. It makes you both roll your eyes at him because he agreed to go! No one forced him like he’s told all of his friends.

° He tends to wait outside for most of it, opting to be “responsible” and smoke outside the whole time.

° “Since when are you responsible?” You certainly did judge him lol.

° Lmaoo I’m not kidding you, Tim deadass fell asleep on the chair waiting for y’all one night. You had to playfully kick him in the shin to wake him up and he wasn’t happy to have been woken up. He’s a bit of a poor sport.

° Angela almost hurled on these pink shorts one time when Tim said your ass looked great in those shorts you tried on and playfully spanked you. She left y’all because she’s a savage and doesn’t have time to be traumatised.

° He always perks up when you leave the mall and go out for burgers at The Dingo afterwards. It’s like he’s a whole different Tim Shepard. You blow your straw wrapper at him and he’ll just catch it between his teeth before winking at you.

° “You think I give a shit about this? It’s pink! Just pick a shirt already.”

° For some reason, Tim likes to have a poke about the bags full of things you got like he actually gave a crap about it. He’s just being a nuisance to annoy you at this point.

° He refuses to get goofy with you and try things on in all honesty. Anything that tarnishes his reputation, especially if there’s a chance that Dallas could see him, will not interest him in the slightest.

° When Tim Shepard buys you something, know that it’s official. He doesn’t go buying things for just anyone!

Two-bit:

° Has stolen so much stuff for you it’s unreal at this point. You wouldn’t think it, but Two-bit’s incredibly crafty about it too and you honestly wonder how it was possible to have stripped a mannequin of a dress without anyone seeing!

° “Well baby, a magician never reveals his secrets!” He’d state confidently with that infamous toothy grin of his.

° Two-bit’s all for fun man! He’s definitely the one to get dressed up absurdly with you. He’s touching everything (even a dress) for a laugh and the staff can’t help but laugh either. Two brightens everyone’s dull days!

° He has such a blast going shopping with you. He doesn’t care if anyone he knows sees him because he’s inclined to make a fool out of himself anyways!

° Time always seems to pass y’all by quickly. Before you know it, you’ve gne to five stores and counting!

° Sometimes Two’s a little too drunk and loud, which gets you both kicked out of stores. He laughs it off but it can be embarrassing. He tries to avoid you when he’s too drunk for that reason.

° An honorable member of the Flirt Club™ so be prepared to be showered in an abundance of compliments! He likes to see a smile on your face and enjoys it when you’re feeling confident in yourself.

° “Hey baby! You think these jeans make my ass look like a million bucks?!”

° Genuinely just enjoys himself and makes sure that you’re feeling comfortable too. Two-bit is definitely a people person and will be talking to everyone.

° “Don’t you think they look great?” He asked a random stranger once when you were feeling a little unconfident in yourself.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

please like, reblog and follow for more!

requests: closed!

[space-blue]

Why was Sevika being so weird when she first fought with Vi (after the timeskip) and especially when she was about to deliver the killing blow? It looked like she really enjoyed hurting Vi. Attention to the time when she had a manic expression while burning Vi’s face with her mech arm. All the time Vi’s livid with her and never reciprocates her taunting demeanor. Later when Sevika answers Vi’s question of Powder's whereabouts, she taunts her how her sister now works for the guy who destroyed her and her family’s lives and is considered his daughter. Sure, she said these to catch Vi off guard and make the killing blow but uttering them without the goading tone would’ve done the trick. When Sevika prepares to finish her off, she again smugly tells Vi she’d give Jinx her regards. You see what I mean? Why does she act like by overpowering this barely adult person she’s accomplished this great feat? Vi isn’t some stuck up Piltie councilor who’s finally getting what they deserved lol. Like, Vi’s not Silco/ Sevika’s arch-nemesis. Sevika’s last memory of Vi was her as a freaking teenager who tried and failed to stop silco’s uprising. By all means kill her, what’s with the gloating and melodrama?

IDK what to tell you, dear Anon.

You literally has everything down pat. Except maybe for this :

All the time Vi’s livid with her and never reciprocates her taunting demeanor

let me point out Vi started the conversation by trying to retire Sevika's jaw from her face.

Sevika literally never starts a fight with Vi in the entire show. It's always Vi coming and looking for shit. She's just like Jinx and never asks her questions first. I feel like Sevika is entitled to the beat-down she gives Vi.

As to why she looks like she's taking pleasure in it? Well... Because she does? It's just characterisation. It tells us that Sevika has a cruel streak and enjoys having power over people, or at least people who came swinging at her. The way she jabs at Jinx to hurt her emotionally is the same. IMO it's something she learnt to do for Jinx, since she can't really physically manhandle her. Making her cry was probs the best alternative lol

In F&D I addressed that tendency of hers like this (bear in mind this is about VI being Silco's daughter, and they're on the same (reluctant) team) :

--

In that confrontation at the bar she uses her words instead of her fists, the way Silco taught her, many years ago, when he enlisted her to copy pamphlets with a bunch of other kids.

'You're all good at boxing, but this is a different kind of punching, you see,' he'd said, smiling at them as he handed out charcoal pencils and recycled sheets of grey paper. 'When you use the right words on someone, it's like you punch them right in the brain.'

Brain to brain punching. Sevika had thought it hilarious, and it had worked well enough to trick them into copying for him all afternoon. It's a lesson she's never forgotten, and she hones her words, makes them count. An opponent can be thrown off balance by a well placed taunt, sometimes defeated before the battle has even begun.

It's a total knock-out with Vi. The word daughter as good as lays her out.

--

But I made Sevika a little nicer in my story than she is in the show. I think the cruelty is part of her appeal. She's not a good person, even though she fights for a good cause. Her getting her way might also have resulted in fewer deaths (from keeping Jinx on a much tighter leash), but we just can't know.

Sevika is a child of Zaun, and one who did very well for herself. By definition I think this involves a lot of ruthlessness. Cruelty, or an edge of sadism, probably only helps, the same way that sociopathic character traits help CEOs crawl to the top of their companies.

I think that makes her a fantastic character, with a lot more depth. She CLEARLY cares about the dream. She's probably the only character who really gets Silco. She's hard working, she's loyal, she's intelligent... and she's mean and relishes in the hurt she doles out.

Queen behaviour.

[frostedfaves]

Naive (3)

Masterlist

Pairing: demon!Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: You pick up on the lies in Wanda’s life and she decides to show you the truth.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, dark!fic, demon things™️, more hints at dom/sub because I’m a whore for demon!Wanda

A/N: I can’t believe that it’s been a month since I posted the last one 😭 I have some things planned for the next part and so on but I also kinda wanna take requests again??? idk we all know how I get overwhelmed easily with that so we’ll see what happens there. anyway tell me your thoughts on this please!

Previous part

Waking up feels like gasping for air after being trapped underwater. You aren’t sure how long you were asleep, but the mid afternoon traffic quickly alerts you of how much of the day has passed. 

Despite your head feeling like it’s made of cement, you manage to stand up, slipping off thin pajamas as you walk into the bathroom and stop at the mirror. Your skin seems tender in places and you’re a little bit startled when there isn’t a single indication of the bite marks and scratches you feel, even after rubbing your eyes a few times and turning in every direction possible. Deciding to let it go for now, you reach for the shower stall to turn on the water, detouring to the bedroom instead when you hear your phone ringing.

“Hello?”

“You didn’t save my number, did you?”

“Wanda?” You pull the phone away long enough to quickly clear your throat. “I mean hey, Wanda! What makes you think I didn’t save your number?”

“You answered like you didn’t know who was going to be on the other end.”

“Okay, you caught me,” you admit after a moment of silence. “I promise I’ll save it as soon as we hang up. Anyway, what’s up?”

“Remember that pet adoption center you pointed out to me?” You acknowledge her with a hum. “I was thinking about getting a cat…Wanna tag along?”

“Absolutely! I was just about to shower though so I can be ready in an hour or so.”

“Perfect! I’ll text you when I’m outside.”

The two of you say your goodbyes and you keep your promise of saving her number, typing in her name and hesitating on the emoji keyboard. Realizing you’d spent far too much time contemplating this, you simply save what you have and hurry back to the bathroom, something in your brain urging you to not keep her waiting.

-

Within an hour, she sends you a text in all caps and a smiley face that tells you she’s arrived, and you can’t hide the fact that you’re surprised when you come outside and she’s waiting on the passenger side of the car.

“Hey! How are you?” she greets cheerily as she approaches you with a hug, and you shiver when her hand touches your lower back. “Are you cold?”

“No, I’m okay.” You smile and thank her when she opens the door for you, attempting to collect yourself as she crosses to the driver’s side again. “I’m really happy to see you again.”

“You are?”

“Yeah,” you admit quietly as she pulls away from the curb. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“No no, I just didn’t want to assume you were enjoying our time together as much as I was.”

She places her hand over yours while she glances at you, smiling as she squeezes your fingers and thigh lightly. You feel a rush of something traveling from the places she touched to your brain, only slightly aware of the fog settling in your mind.

“Well I didn’t want to be too enthusiastic about it and scare you away if all you wanted was friendship,” you clarify, meeting her eyes when she reaches a red light.

“I suppose you’re looking for more too, then.”

“I am now.”

The light turns green and she breaks eye contact, but the little smirk that follows tells you everything you need to know. At least, you hope it does.

-

“I think he’s the cutest one we’ve seen yet,” you comment about the kitten that hasn’t looked away from Wanda since you approached his area. “He seems really drawn to you, too.”

“How did he get the name ‘Baby Satan’?” Wanda inquires with an employee, who approaches you with a chuckle.

“It’s actually Baby Stan, because we used to have an adult cat named Stan as well and needed to tell the two apart. We were going to give him a new name but decided to leave that up to his new family.”

“It says ‘Baby Satan’ though,” you cosign with Wanda, gesturing to the extra A mixed in with the magnetic letters that spell the kitten’s name.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I don’t know how that got there,” the employee apologizes as she reaches over to fix the sign, and you watch her freeze as Wanda touches her arm.

“Don’t be sorry. Keep it; I want to adopt him.”

“Okay, right this way,” the employee mumbles as she turns awkwardly and stumbles over to a desk, and as the two of you follow her, you look back to see Baby Satan still staring at the woman beside you.

“What was that about?” you speak up finally once you’re in the car with her new furry friend, and Wanda frowns at you while fastening her seatbelt.

“What?”

“Why did that employee react to you like that? You touched her and she started acting really weird after.”

“Oh, Kim’s fine!” she assures you as she fixes her mirror before pulling out of the parking lot. “I actually asked her about that while you were looking at scratching posts and she said I’d overstepped her boundaries and made her uncomfortable. Don’t worry, I apologized and everything’s good again.”

“She told you her name?”

“She was wearing a name tag, babe.”

Babe...that’s new. Still, the sudden nickname doesn’t completely distract you from the fact that you’re certain there was no name tag on Kim’s uniform. You’re debating with yourself about bringing this up when you notice her heading toward Lane County.

“Are you taking me to your house?”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.” She glances at you and over her shoulder toward Baby Satan before turning back to the road. “I figured I could introduce both of my kittens to the place they’ll be spending a lot of time in.”

Her fingers brush over your knee as “my kittens” leaves her lips, and you’re almost embarrassed when your hips involuntarily buck slightly. Noticing the small change in your behavior, she takes advantage of your head turned toward your own window and allows her instincts to continue driving while she stares at you, placing her palm on your thigh and rubbing circles on the fabric covering it that brings her closer and closer to your core.

“Home, sweet home,” Wanda announces as she pulls her wandering hand away to park the car, jumping out a second later and grabbing her furry son from the backseat. “Hey there, Baby S.”

You step out of the car in a similar fashion of pulling yourself out of a swimming pool, taking in the fresh air and trying to relax yourself as you follow her into the apartment building. The hallways reflect the quiet and clean neighborhood as you make your way into the elevator and up to the 6th floor, suddenly entering the most empty apartment you’ve ever seen.

Of course there’s furniture: a couch with a TV mounted on the nearest wall, a dining table with a set of matching chairs, a few stools placed at the island and kitchen appliances that are shiny and new. But there isn’t any personal artwork, posters, books or even just a lamp that you could tell Wanda purchased herself with one glance.

“Are you staying in an AirBNB or something?” you ask as she carefully places Baby Satan’s carrier next to the couch, and she chuckles.

“I guess technically it was one before I moved in, but I’ve been here for two years.”

“Okay...so where are your pictures?”

“What?”

“Where are your pictures?” you repeat, maintaining a steady voice despite the expression she gives you as she faces you again. “Pictures of your family, friends, you as a child?”

“If you knew my family, you’d understand why you don’t see them here.” She startles you by practically growling her words but you press further.

“Okay but you also said you love plants and we’re the only living things in here.” You step back to put more space between you while quiet shuffling noises are heard inside the carrier. “What’s really going on here?”

You can easily spot the shift in Wanda’s emotions: going from defensive, arms crossed and eyes glaring to resigned with slightly sagging shoulders and a defeated sigh.

“Fine, you got me.” She bends over to pick up the carrier again and passes you on her way to the door, stopping a few feet away. “If you’re serious about pursuing a relationship with me, then I should probably show you my real home.”

“I don’t know...”

“Come on, love.” She comes just close enough to bring your hand into hers and a tingle spreads through your body, causing you to pull away but her grip only tightens. “I promise I’m not going to hurt you, and this is the only time I’ve lied.”

You find yourself being drawn closer to her, and an almost familiar feeling washes over you when her thumb begins rubbing gentle circles into your jaw. The metal on her ring is so cold it almost burns upon contact, yet you nuzzle into her more with each pass along your skin.

“Don’t you want to be good for me without being forced to your knees first?”

If the fog surrounding your consciousness wasn’t so thick, you might’ve been shocked by this side of her, so calm yet demanding you serve her. But the hand on your jaw seemed to cover every inch of your body and sink into your nervous system, forcing you to fall into her and let her lead you back to the car with a simple arm around your waist. You’re buckled into the passenger seat again and a slightly blurry grin greets you from behind the wheel seconds later.

“I can’t wait to make you mine.”

Your head falls against the car window as she drives to the edge of Lane County, and your altered vision picks up on businesses turning into isolated suburbs into grassy fields into forests. You travel along narrow, winding roads past the tallest of trees with very few spaces in between, and your hazy state of mind prevents you from panicking when Wanda turns onto a dirt path that doesn’t even seem to be safe for bicycles. The wheels bump along the forest floor until she comes to a stop just outside of a two foot dwelling, similar to a cave.

Once the two of you are out of the car again, she holds your hand with her free one until you reach the cave, instructing you to sit in front of it while she does the same. She places her palm on the door, and her rings seem to come alive as they interact with it for a few moments before it swings open and the three of you are sent flying through a tunnel. You land with a groan on the hard floor and dust yourself off as you carefully stand, any questions dying in your throat as you face Wanda again, now standing before you in her true form.

“Welcome home.”

[change-the-world-someday]

I'll Be Here

Oh boy I'm back baby. Here's a Derek Shepherd x Teen!reader bc I just started Grey's Anatomy. I'm well aware I've had stuff in my inbox for over a year, and frankly I'll get round to them soon. I hope this tides you over.

Derek Shepherd x Teen!Reader

Summary: Who'd have thought the child of Derek Shepherd would suffer with something even he can't cure?

A/N: I've been twitching a lot lately so this was a comfort write. Derek and Meredith don't have a relationship, and there's a bit of canon divergence.

⚠️TW⚠️ Talk and descriptions of twitching/tics

—•—

You knew the moment you woke up you were going to have a bad day.

Your alarm went off at the bright and early nine and as you made a move to turn it off, your arm twitched, almost pushing it off your nightstand. You let out a sigh, leaning down and managing to shut it off and sit up.

Until you neck starts to snap left and right, tensing and relaxing each muscle.

“Fuck’s sake,” you mutter under your breath, standing and stretching, well, as much as you can before your twitches start up again. You makes your way downstairs, finding an empty kitchen and a note on the counter. You manage to pick it up and read it.

Sorry, I got called in today. Let me know when you’re up

— Dad

You shake your head, whistling and shaking your hands. Great, so you're alone on a day where your twitches are worse than normal. You sigh and head back upstairs, almost losing balance on the stairs, and takes a quick shower before trying to style your hair. With difficulty, you get changed before reaching over and grabbing your phone. You grip it tightly, until it’s flung across the room.

“Shit,” you mumble, reaching down and picking it up. You open your messages, trying to text your dad.

Y/N

Hi, up. Bad today

It’s short, and to the untrained eye, might seem pretty rude, but to you and your dad, is a warning. Heading back to the kitchen, you try to eat a bowl of cereal. Instead, you managed to spill the cereal twice, drop milk on the floor, and then poke yourself in the side of the face a few times with your spoon instead of eating.

Your phone buzzes.

Dad

Do you need me at

home?

Y/N

No. Just bad

Dad

Do you want to come

to the hospital? You

can stay in one of the

offices if you want

You think about it for a moment, though you don’t get too long before your phone starts ringing. You pick up.

“Hi—” you whistle “—hi Dad.”

You hear him sigh. “Hey kid. Do you want to come in today? I can make sure no one stops you and you can come straight to the office.”

You click, your neck jerking forward. “You sure? I’ve—“ you whistle “—never been there before. I don’t want—“ you click “—to become a case study.”

Your dad laughs lightly down the phone. “I won’t let them. Just make your way over, and keep your earphones in. Music helps.”

You nod, before your neck twitches to the side and cracks, making your dad wince audibly. “Okay. I’ll let you know—“ you whistle and sigh, clearly getting frustrated with yourself.

“I get it. Don’t work yourself up; it’ll only make it worse. See you soon. Love you.”

A ghost of a smile passes across your face. “Love you too, Dad.”

—•—

Derek hangs up and leaves the store cupboard, almost bumping into Dr Bailey as she marches past.

“Watch where you’re going, McDreamy,” she scolds and Derek smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Bailey narrows her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Y'N's coming here. They're having a bad day,” he replies and Bailey nods, immediately catching on. “No one else knows.”

Surprisingly enough, you haven’t met anyone from Derek’s work, except for Bailey and even then, that was an accident. You'd bumped into her on a bad day and Derek had to explain what was wrong. Ever since, Bailey’s had a soft spot for you.

“Not even the chief?” She asks and Derek shakes his head. “Did you warn them?” He nods. “Well, there’s not much else you can do.”

“They're texting me when they’re a few minutes away. If I get caught in surgery, can you meet them at the doors please?”

The two stop in the corridor, Bailey pulling him over. “I have my own schedule too, Shepherd.”

Derek nods. “I know, but you’re the only other person here they know, and you know how they can get in places they don’t know…”

Bailey looks around. “If you’re caught up, you owe me one.”

Derek smiles and nods, a look of relief on his face. “Thank you.”

—•—

You're walking down the street to the hospital, constantly readjusting your earphones so they don’t fall out. Your neck keeps snapping to the side and jerking forward, earning a few odd looks from strangers. You sigh, a few minutes away from the hospital, and pull out your phone. Before you can do anything, though, you promptly throw your phone on the pavement.

Thank god your dad bought you one of those industrial phone cases. You pick it up, dodging people as you go to call your dad. He picks up after two rings.

“Hi, I’m—“ you click “—a minute away.”

“Okay. I don’t think I’m going to be able to meet you at the doors. Just walk through, take the stairs to the fifth floor, and come down the hall. I’ll be in the break room, second door on the left.”

Your eyes widen; you're going to be by yourself? Walking through a hospital? Where no one knows you?

“O-Okay,” you stammer out and your dad sighs.

“I’m sorry kid. Everything’s going to be okay. I’ll see you in a bit.”

He hangs up and you take a breath, nodding to yourself. You pocket your phone and turn your music up as loud as it can be. Your dad was right, it does ease your twitching, though not as much as you'd like.

Fall Out Boy blasts through your earphones as you walk through the doors of Seattle Grace. You refuse to make eye contact with anyone, your neck twitch making it a lot easier to achieve. You click as you make your way to the stairwell, making your way up.

You don’t hear the calls of concerns from the interns following you, trying to catch up to you.

By the time you reach the fifth floor, the two interns have gone to find Dr Bailey to try and assist them, and Dr Shepherd who can help with the disorder being presented. They haven’t had someone who needs medical attention blatantly ignore them and go to a certain department before.

You lose your balance a little as you walk through the doors to the fifth floor, your neck jerking left and right repeatedly, muscles tensing and relaxing. Your hands are shaking and you walk like a new fawn.

You reach the door and push it open, whistling and clicking as you do so. At least you can see your dad today.

—•—

Derek knows immediately what kind of day is happening when you steps into the room. You're a jerking mess, neck and shoulders tensing and relaxing as though given electric shocks. You're whistling, clicking, and your eyes have recently started screwing shut, temporarily blinding you.

And that’s with your headphones in.

“Hey Y/N,” he greets, gently taking one earbud out of your ear and leading you to the seats. At least if you're sat, you have less of a chance of hurting yourself.

“Hi Dad,” you reply until a whistle comes back out. “S-Sorry.”

“Hey,” Derek places a firm but kind hand on your shoulder, “don’t apologise. None of this is your fault.” There’s a silence between you two, only broken by the sound coming from the removed earphone. “Fall Out Boy? Nice choice.”

Your neck snaps but you give a small smile. “Thanks.”

“Do you want something to eat? Did you manage to get some breakfast?” You sigh, your hands twitching and trembling, which tells Derek everything he needs to know. “Is it a bomb-site there?”

You shake your head. “I managed—“ you whistle “—to clean up. Took ages.” Your neck jerks forward. Derek sighs, putting an arm around you and pulling you into his side. You've always been wary; you never want to hurt your dad accidentally but Derek doesn’t care. You're his kid, and nothing will change that.

“You’re okay. Do you want some lunch? We can go to the cafeteria—they’ve got some pizza in there that’s actually pretty good.”

You nod, knowing anything you try to say will be interrupted by one of your twitches. You walk alongside Derek, trying your hardest to suppress your twitching as you make your way through the hospital and into to lift, where a few others are going to different floors. Derek notices, and leans into your ear. “You don’t have to hide it here, kid. Promise.”

There’s an audible sigh of relief from you as you let out a scatter of twitches, your neck jerking forward as you whistle and click. Your hands shake and flap and you let it all go. A few of the doctors and nurses turn around to look at you, but one harsh glare from Dr Shepherd makes them all go back to minding their own business.

You exit the lift and walk through the corridors to the cafeteria. You join the queue and you feel Derek keep an arm around you, trying to help you ease your twitches. You're grateful, though you both know there isn’t much either of you can do to stop them. You sigh, putting your earphones back in and blasting some music, this time Hozier.

Derek watches you struggle, sympathy panging through his heart. He hates that you've been cursed with this, and the worst part is they can’t find anything that’s causing it. It’s not like there’s a tumour or growth on your brain Dr Shepherd can operate on, you're just stuck with it.

“Dr Shepherd, good afternoon. Who’s this?” Lindsey, the server behind the food counter, greets. Derek smiles.

“Afternoon Lindsey. This is my kid, Y/N. They're joining me at the hospital today,” he explains, gently tapping you on the shoulder and causing you to take an earphone out. “Y/N, this is Lindsey.”

“Hi,” you greet, before your neck jerks forward yet again, cracking. The two adults give a wince and Lindsey gives you a small smile.

“What would you like, hun?” She asks. You look over, or does so as best you can. You can barely stay still long enough to read the menu. “We have a standard pizza or pepperoni pizza today. We also have some ham, chicken, or cheese sandwiches and salads. Or a few pastries we can heat up if you’d prefer.”

You give her a grateful smile. “Can I—“ you whistle “—have pepperoni please? And a—“ you click “—bottle of water?”

“Sure thing, and you Dr Shepherd?”

You put your earphones back in, trying your hardest to stop twitching. The problem is, the more you try to stop it, the worse it gets. It takes a few minutes for you to get your food, and when you do, Derek carries both trays to a table and sets them down. He takes a seat opposite you, giving a small smile.

“Thanks Dad,” you thank, pulling one earphone out so you can hear the conversation. You pick up the plastic fork and spear a few chips, but before you can eat them, your hand twitches and you throw it on the floor. You sigh but before either you or your dad can make a move to pick it up, someone else does it for you.

“You better be more careful. I don’t want fries on my shoes.” You recognise that voice anywhere, and smile as you look up at Dr Bailey. You let out a small laugh.

“Hi Dr Bailey,” you greet, whistling as your head snaps to the side and back. She smiles at you.

“Heard you were coming and through I’d say hello.”

—•—

“Guys, shut up,” Cristina hisses. “Do you see?”

“See what?” George asks as they quieten down. She nods her head and the table of interns turn around to catch sight of what’s going on. Dr Bailey is talking Dr Shepherd… and you sat with them. You're not dressed in any kind of hospital gown, nor are you wearing scrubs, so who are you? And how are you making Dr Bailey smile?

Meredith watches, catching sigh of your hair, and her eyes widen. She reaches over, slapping George on the arm.

“What?” He asks.

“It’s them,” she replies, “the person from earlier. Y’know, the one who didn’t check in at reception and took the stairs. The one who ignored us!”

George’s eyes widen too, and the two get up and start to walk over, ignoring the protests of Cristina and Izzie as they reach the table. You're struggling to get a sentence out, whistling and clicking as you try to tell Dr Shepherd about something.

“Dr Shepherd!” Meredith calls out, making the conversation halt between you. “Are you with a patient?”

She misses how you cringe. Dr Shepherd frowns, which only deepens more at the crack in your neck as it jerks forward. “Dr Grey, Dr O’Malley, how can I help?”

“W-We saw, erm, this kid walk straight through and up to neurology without checking in. Do you want us to check them in and get a better examination? We were going to come to you for a consult when we saw them anyway, but since you already seem to know them…” George trails off and Dr Shepherd looks between you, the interns, and Dr Bailey.

An awkward silence falls between you, only disturbed by the occasional whistle or click from you. “I can get a wheelchair if it’s easier.”

“No need,” Dr Shepherd cuts in. “They aren’t a patient, their name’s Y/N. They're my kid and they're accompanying me to work today.” The two interns look at each other, mortified. “Now, if you excuse us, we were just having lunch.”

Your hand flexes again, making you throw your fork on the floor (the second one in the space of fifteen minutes) and sigh. You go to pick it up, only for George to beat you to it. “Here.”

“Than—“ you click as your head jerks forward “Thank you.”

“Don’t you two have places to be?” Bailey asks, less than impressed with her two interns in front of her. They both nod and scurry off, back to their table to tell Cristina and Izzie about Dr McDreamy’s kid.

—•—

“I don’t know how they cope with it,” George muses as the group of four interns sit on some beds in the back corridor, waiting to be paged for something.

“Yeah, twitching all the time. God, I’d kill myself if I had them,” Izzie continues. “Would ruin my chances at both medicine and modelling. And a lot of other things, probably.”

“Do you think they wanted to go into medicine? Y’know, before they started twitching? Or have they always had it?” Cristina asks. “Or do they have a tumour?”

“For your information,” a voice cuts in, making all four jump and turn to the source, meeting the likes of Dr Shepherd, “Y/N wants to be a lawyer.” He walks down the corridor to them, everyone’s cheeks turning red a the prospect of being caught gossiping. “The tics developed about eighteen months ago, just before we moved to Seattle. It’s not a tumour, or any kind of swelling; in fact, we have no clue what set it off.”

“Have you done an MRI? CT?” Meredith suggests and Derek nods.

“We ran everything. It all came back clean.” He looks at Cristina. “They did want to be a doctor. When we realised we couldn’t cure them, they were upset for weeks. They—“

“Talking about me?” A voice calls down the corridor and Derek’s face splits into a smile, something that doesn’t go amiss by the others. You whistle, making it to the group and taking a seat next to your dad. You lean on him… until your neck twitches and you almost fall back. Derek’s hand shoots out, supporting you.

“We were just—“ Izzie tries to say before you cut her off, clicking in the process.

“Let me guess.” You whistle. “The doctor que—“ you click “—question and how I live with—“ your neck jerks to the side “—it.”

Your dad gives you a smile. “Ten out of ten for you,” he smiles. You nod.

“Well, I used to want to—“ you click “—be a doctor, until we found out this is incurable.” You whistle. “Pretty soul-crushing.” Your neck jerks back, and if it wasn’t for your dad’s hand, you would’ve hit the wall. “And we’ve learned to adapt to it. There are—“ you click “—days where I’m fine, with only a few, and days—“ you whistle and everyone can feel the frustration radiating off you. Still, no one chooses to finish your sentence, letting you get it out yourself “—like this.”

—•—

For a while, the six make general conversation, until, slowly but surely, you start to drift off. It isn’t until there’s an odd silence that Derek notices, and he has a smile on his face as he looks down at you, asleep on his shoulder.

“They look so… peaceful,” Izzie comments quietly, the others agreeing.

“Yeah. We’ve had a few rough days this week. God knows they need the rest,” Derek mutters. He shifts to look between the four. “Any of you wake them, I’ll make sure you’re banned from the OR for a month.”

Everyone’s eyes widen as they nod in unison; they’re all begging for a chance at more surgery. Carefully, Derek manoeuvres you so your head’s lying in his lap, body stretched out on the hospital bed. He carefully cards his fingers through your hair, detangling it as gently as he can.

The interns’ pagers go off, assigning them jobs and the four rush off, leaving Derek and you to rest. He smiles, getting himself comfortable sitting on the end of the bed, back against the wall.

“Get some rest, buddy. I’ll always be here for you.”

—•—

Hope y'all enjoyed. I know it's pretty different from what I usually write, but this is for my own comfort so...

Sorry not sorry

Taglist

@breadsticks2004 @criminalsmarts @rororo06@ogmilkis@ssebstann@herecomesthewriterwitch @garcias-batcave @spidey-reids-2003 @lovelylaurens@sataninsatin@snarky--starky @mcntsee @averyhotchner @dindjarinsspouse @lovers-in-japan-reign-of-love

[gale-gentlepenguin]

ML Fic: Soulmate Survey Part 38

Sorry for the delay. Real life gets out of hand. But here it is! The antepenultimate chapter.

Shout out to @asongeverlasting for beta reading for me and making sure I actually got this out.

Check her writing out on AO3 as Ramblingwren

(Master post)

(Read the fic in a more condensed on Ao3)

(The latest chapter will be up on there once this reaches over 500 notes on tumblr)

Hope you all enjoy

_____________________________________________________________

“I shouldn’t have let her go out there.”

Fu watched the school nurse, Angela, fret as she paced back and forth.

“I understand your concern, but I believe that it will all be alright. Ladybug and Chat Noir haven’t failed in handling an akuma yet,” he explained. “The girl will be okay.”

The nurse stopped pacing.

“I appreciate your optimism but… I am really not used to this,” She said as she gestured to the air.

Fu blinked at the statement.

“Oh?”

“This! This whole thing! Super villains that appear whenever someone gets sad, teenagers with superpowers! This is all new to me! I just moved to Paris a month ago from the countryside. All I wanted was to further my education and get work in the medical field. It… It boggles my mind that everyone in this city is so okay with all of this! Even my new boyfriend Curtis is able to shrug off an akuma attack like a sudden drizzle. This isn’t normal!”

The guardian could tell the young woman was distressed, and he couldn’t blame her. In a way, he envied her. This was all foreign for her, but to him, this was his entire life.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blow up like that. I've had a lot to deal with, and this whole situation is just so…”

Fu moved to her and helped her sit down.

“It’s alright, this is by no means a good situation. Your concerns are very understandable. I can tell that deep down that your frustration and fear come from compassion and empathy. You will make a wonderful doctor one day.”

She took a deep breath.

“Thank you. You have no idea how much I really needed to hear that today.”

“How about I teach you a medication technique that will help you calm down?”

“Meditation? I'm not really one for that kind of stuff.”

“If one wants to be a doctor, being able to calm down and handle an emergency situation is a must.”

The school nurse agreed that he had a good point, and that this may help get her mind off of things.

“Okay, I guess I'll give it a shot.”

Fu smiled.

“Good. Let us start simple. Close your eyes and put your hands together.”

Angela felt the action was a bit odd but complied.

“Now, take a deep breath. Count to 5 in your head and then breathe out.”

She took her breath and followed the order.

“Whenever you feel a thought come to your head, simply picture yourself putting it out of your mind and into a bucket.”

She tried her best to comply.

As she did this, Fu moved behind her and quickly pinched a nerve on her neck, causing the young woman to seize up for a moment before losing consciousness.

“That will help her relax.”

He carefully moved her to the cot and laid a sheet over her like a blanket.

Once it was clear that she was asleep, a turtle kwami flew out of hiding.

“So, what do we do now, Master?”

Fu took a moment to consider.

His plan was already in motion. Ladybug and Chat Noir had plenty of allies to help fight the akuma. All that needed to be done was to sit down and wait.

But as he thought about it more, he couldn’t help but think that he should go in personally. It was what he'd initially planned to do with akuma, after all. Listening to this young woman’s fears made him really see how his inaction has led to such fear and uncertainty.

For once, it was time for him to go on the offensive.

“Now we head out and find this akuma.”

“Master, you already sent out three miraculous. Let the other heroes handle this,” Wayzz insisted.

“The people of Paris should not have to become used to this. I have been far too lax with this situation. Right now, Ladybug and Chat Noir are facing their most dangerous akuma yet. For decades I have always remained passive in order to avoid making another mistake, but I have already made so many with my inaction. It's time I stop letting my actions be dictated by fear.”

“But Master, you can’t transform! Your body is too old to handle it!”

“Fear not, Wayzz. I have been exercising and restoring my vitality with the techniques of the guardians. By my estimation, I should be able to maintain the transformation without too much issue for 10 minutes,” Fu assured.

“That is not a lot of time, Master!” Wayzz pointed out.

“True, but it is better than nothing. We will head out and wait for the moment we need it. Be ready, Wayzz.”

The old guardian started heading to the door.

“But Master, what if you get captured? What if the akuma does succeed and you are unable to step in?”

Fu paused at the door.

“I know you are concerned for me. I appreciate your care. But I need to go out there. I have lived a long life, Wayzz, far longer than most humans. One day I may not be here to be the guardian.”

Wayzz felt a pang of sorrow hearing his Master talk about how he would no longer be around.

“But that’s okay. I know that when that time comes… I have two young heroes that will be ready to stand up and fight. The best thing an old man like me can do is pave the road for them.” The guardian said with certainty. He went to open the door.

“Fu…”

The old man stopped. Turning around, he saw the turtle kwami he had known for most of his life smile at him.

“I know you think of yourself as a failure of a guardian… but Su Han and the others were wrong. You are a great one. You are the most caring guardian that has ever held the title. And I will be by your side to the end.”

The old man felt his eyes well up at the sweet comment.

“Then let’s go, Partner.”

___________________________________________________________________________

The dragon heroine grabbed the confused snake hero and moved him to the closest room before closing the door.

“Okay we should be safe here,” she said as she looked over to her comrade. It was clear that Viperion was still very confused. It did not help that both his and her miraculous were beeping. They didn't have much time.

“Thanks… ummm,” Viperion started as he tried to rack his brain for a name. Part of him felt like he should know her. But his mind is blank.

“Ryuuko. You can call me Ryuuko. And you are Viperion.”

“Okay… weird name for me, but I guess it works.”

Ryuuko realized that the bubble Viperion had been put in wasn’t just to keep him frozen in place. One of the side effects must have been leaving him without any memory of who he was. Had her partner been aware of that risk when he took the bubble for her? She couldn’t know for sure. But right now, she needed to focus on the task at hand. Shehad to take charge since her partner was out of sorts.

“Okay, 'll try to explain this as quickly as possible.”

“Your real name is Luka. But when you are in your hero form, you go by Viperion.”

“Hero form...”

He looked down.

“Well, that does explain the costumes. I thought it was some sort of weird costume party.”

Ryuuko decided to ignore that.

“Okay, so I'm a hero. And you're one too?”

“Yes. We are both heroes picked by Ladybug to help her fight villains. Right now, we're fighting a bunch of them, and you got your memory wiped by one of their attacks. That’s why you are confused. Any questions?”

The boy took a moment to look himself over and then look at her. This was a lot of information to take in. Ryuuko was half expecting him to call her crazy. Which, given how bizarre the circumstances were, she wouldn’t blame him.

“Okay, I think if it was anyone else telling me this, I would have called it a load of bull. But… I don’t know why but I feel like I can trust you. You sound sincere,” Viperion responded.

“Okay great, now let's…”

“I still have a few questions.”

Ryuuko sighs.

“Look, we really don’t have much time. We need to hurry and get out there to help…”

And just before she finished the statement, both of their transformations wore off. Revealing their civilian forms.

“Oh no.” Kagami muttered in horror.

“What happened? Where am I… What am I?” The snake kwami questioned as he looked at himself.

“It appears that Sass was also impacted by the amnesia.” The dragon kwami that popped out of her necklace commented.

Luka stared wide eyed at the creature.

“Are you a snake?”

“A snake? I suppose?”

“A snake with limbs? That is very rock and roll.”

The two fistbumped. Thankfully they seemed to get along.

Longg looked at them.

“This is quite a predicament.”

“We need to hurry back in. Longg! Bring the….”

“Hold on a moment. Both Sass and I will not be able to do that yet.”

Kagami stopped.

“How come?”

“We need to refuel. The energy of transforming AND using our unique powers drains a lot out of us. We need some food to continue.”

“Food… Okay.”

The snake Kwami grabbed his stomach.

“I find myself rather famished,” he commented.

Luka looked at him.

“Let me see if I can help you out.”

The teen took off the backpack he was wearing to go through it. Thankfully there was a bag lunch in there. For some reason he felt that was important. But decided that if it could help the little guy out, he was sure it wouldn’t be a big deal.

He opened the bag lunch and pulled out a bag of apple slices. Opening it to grab a piece.

“I know snakes usually are carnivores, but how about some fruit?”

“Ooo! It smells divine!”

Luka handed the floating kwami a piece of the apple.

He takes a bite.

“Oh! It's delicious! Juicy and sweet!”

The snake quickly devours the apple piece.

As that happens, Kagami looked through her bag.

“I don’t have fruit but I do have some onigiri. It was my afternoon snack… but since this is a dire situation.”

“Rice? Yes please!” Longg exclaimed as he dive bombed right into the delicious rice ball.

“It’s Umeboshi, it’s not to everyone’s taste but It is one of my favorites.”

“It’s the most delicious thing I have ever eaten. The sour plum really brings a new dimension of flavor.”

Kagami smiled a bit at her kwami companion, happy that she could help.

The two Kwami finished their food and were ready for action.

“Okay, Sass. You need to help Luka transform.”

“Sass? Is that my name?” the snake inquired.

“So, he helps me transform into Viperman?”

“Viperion, and yes,” Kagami responded.

“All you need to do is say. Sass, Scales Slither. And to activate your special power just pull your bracelet back and say second chance. Then pull it back when you want to use it. But be sure not to use it right away,” Longg instructed.

“Okay seems easy enough. Are you okay with this?” Luka asked as he turned his attention to his snake pal.

“The floating horn snake seems fine with it so I say let’s give it a try”

Longg decided for the sake of his friendship with Sass to ignore the comment.

“Alright! Let's do this!” Kagami exclaimed as she prepared to transform.

“One last question.”

Kagami was starting to get antsy. She wanted to be back out there fighting. But she held back her annoyance, considering how he sacrificed his memories for her.

“Make it quick, we need to hurry.”

Luka scratches the back of his head.

“Are we a couple?”

If Kagami was drinking water she would have done a massive spit take. Her cheeks turned red.

“What?!”

“You know… together? You seem to know a lot about me, and I just feel this connection... like I can trust you even though I don’t remember anything. I don’t know how or why, but I feel like you matter to me.”

Kagami’s eyes went wide at the comment. It felt surprisingly bold of the musician to say. She had to admit that the statement made her heart skip a beat.

“No, we had just recently become friends.” Kagami responded.

“Oh…” Luka was saddened by the response.

“But, I have thought about the possibility it could be more than that one day," Kagami continued. "But that is something to discuss when you have your memory back. Maybe.”

The fencer felt her mind scream at her.

‘WHY DID YOU SAY THAT! Well, at least he won't remember.’

Luka smiled at that.

“Well, that must mean I must be a good guy, if I could have such a great friend like you.”

The teen prepared himself.

“Alright then! Sass! Scales Slither.”

The musician shifted into his hero form.

“Let’s go save the day.”

Kagami looked at her hero partner and smiled.

“Longg, Bring the storm.

______________________________________________________________________

“Well, that might be a problem.”

Chat Noir and Ladybug looked to see a stone giant guarding the front door of the classroom. The two had hidden just out of the goliath’s view.

“Any ideas on how to take down Mount Akuma?” Chat Noir questioned.

Ladybug looked at the giant from their hiding spot and began formulating a plan.

“Stoneheart grows bigger when he gets mad. These akuma aren’t really able to express their emotions. That means we don’t need to worry about him getting bigger. We just need to find a way to incapacitate him.”

“We could ask Mayura,” Chat Noir pointed out.

“We could ask… wait WHA…”

Chat Noir covered his partner’s mouth and ducked down.

“Shhhh! She’s right there,” Chat Noir hushed.

Ladybug removed the cat’s hand from her mouth and looked from the spot to see that her partner was right. Mayura was in the building!

“She actually showed up?” Oh, this is a lot more serious than we thought. Hawkmoth is really playing it serious with this one.”

“To the butterfly man’s credit, he really has been throwing out some tough ones.”

“I will not give our worst villain credit for anything except this headache,” Ladybug retorted with annoyance.

“So, what do we do? Mayura is in the building and she is talking with the giant.”

Ladybug felt like the situation couldn’t get worse.

“Not so fast, Feather Freak!”

Ladybug recognized that voice.

“Chloé?”

Chat Noir and Ladybug glanced to see a familiar blonde strutting down the hallway. But their expressions of shock shifted to bewilderment when they noticed what she was wearing.

“So are you and that purple fashion blunder here? Or is it just you? I am guessing it's just you. Your boss doesn’t really like to show his face unless he thinks he is sure to win. No wonder Ladybug always kicks his…” The bee themed heroine confidently quipped.

“Queen Bee. Now that is a surprise. I thought Ladybug was done giving you a miraculous.” The peacock villainess commented. She had no interest in dealing with the bee heroine at this time.

“Well, you would be surprised by a lot of things. So how about we settle this. My fist really misses your face.”

Mayura rolled her eyes.

“Fortunately for you, I don’t have the time to deal with you. Stoneheart, I am sure Masquerade would love for you to take care of this pesky bee.”

“Oh don’t think you can walk away! You and that purple cockroach are the same. Both cowards that can’t even face children.” She jeered as she walked forward.

The stone giant moved forward, allowing Mayura to walk to the door and enter.

“Too scared to face me! Typical. I'll beat your pet rock as a warm up and then your butt will meet my foot!” Queen Bee exclaimed with confidence. “Because I am a real heroine!”

Queen Bee got into a stance and prepared to trade blows with the colossus of rock.

Chat Noir looked to Ladybug.

“Did you give her a miraculous?” He whispered in surprise.

“I don’t have any additional miraculous. I thought she had been captured with the rest of the class.”

“Wait… if it wasn’t you… you don’t think…”

“Either Master Fu is in the building and saw how dire the situation was or Chloé snuck away and had a Queen Bee costume stowed away in her locker.”

The two look at each other and immediately come to the same conclusion.

“We need to save her before she gets crushed!”

______________________________________________________________________

Mayura walked into the classroom.

She managed to keep a straight face, but internally she had a lot going through her mind.

What was once a standard classroom now looked like an elaborate throne room. The amazing curtains, the high ceilings. The steps leading up to an elaborate throne. The portraits of Masquerade really brought together the utter decadence and vanity of the akuma persona. It reminds Mayura of Gabriel’s obsession with Emilie in the worst way possible.

Despite finding the décor off-putting, she had to admit it was impressive how Masquerade had been able to change the room into something completely unrecognizable. A testament to her vanity.

She took a moment to see what akuma servants she still had in the room. The Gamer, Reflekta with around 12 copies, Princess Fragrance, Robostus, Zombizou and Horificator. While the white masks obscured their expressions, it was clear that all of them were watching her. It greatly unnerved her.

She kept these thoughts to herself as the masked akuma that was running the school took notice of her.

“Mayura. I've been expecting you.”

Mayura looked up to see Masquerade sitting on the throne.

“Please, come in.”

She approached confidently. Though in the back of her mind something seemed off.

Masquerade stood up from the throne and walked down the steps, a smile of certainty on her face.

“Masquerade. Your Sentimonster gave me the basics of your plan. Securing the school as your base of operations was a good first step. Your plan of creating a video to lower the spirits of those in Paris was also a nice touch,” Mayura praised.

“But of course! My plan is flawless,” Masquerade boasted. “Not even Ladybug and Chat Noir will be able to stop me.”

“Getting ahead of yourself aren’t you?” Mayura cut her ego trip.

Masquerade’s mood soured as her smile faltered.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You have yet to face the two heroes. Not to mention there's a pesky bee flying around.”

“A bee?” Masquerade was very confused by the comment.

“Yes, Chloé Bourgeois, or Queen Bee, to be precise. Seems that Ladybug and Chat Noir went and got back up."

“It doesn’t matter if they have one additional hero or three. This plan won't fail.”

‘Something isn’t right here. I need to leave now!’ Mayura’s mind screamed.

She wasn’t sure why, but something felt incredibly off.

“Speaking of heroes, your plan never really specified how you will deal with them. Care to elaborate?”

Masquerade’s smile grew more sinister.

“I am glad you asked. After Simularé relayed to me that you were here. I finally figured out the perfect way of dealing with those arrogant heroes,” the masked woman stated with certainty, moving forward.

She now stood only a few feet from the peacock villainess.

“Wait a moment, something is wrong here,” Mayura commented as she tried to focus. She couldn’t ignore the warnings in her head.

“What do you mean?” The mask akuma looked with confusion at the blue villainess.

Mayura looked around. Frantically trying to find something but it was fruitless. This distress caused Masquerade to smile.

“I can't sense it,” Mayura spoke with slight worry.

“Sense what?” Masquerade inquired further.

“Where is your amok? It should be on your person but I can't sense it.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Yes. If you don’t have the amok in your possession then that sentimonster will go out of control!” Mayura explained.

“Can’t you just rip the amok out?”

“If it's nearby and I sense it, yes. But I can’t do that if it’s out of my range.”

“So you’re saying you have no power over me right now.” A devilish grin appeared on Masquerade’s face.

“No, I am saying I don’t have any power over the senti…”

Mayura felt a chill as she realized that the masquerade in front of her was not an akumatized Lila.

“Horrificator, block the door,” the Faux Masquerade commanded.

The pink and purple monster quickly moved to block the door with her large form.

The controlled akuma started circling around her as Simularé undid the illusion and morphed into its true specter form, Simularé.

“You ungrateful little monster. You think your master will be okay with you attacking one of the ones that gave her power?”

“My master doesn’t care about you or Hawkmoth. You are a means to an end. And she gave me special permission to take your miraculous from you.”

“Well if your master isn’t here, then no one is jamming the signal. I can contact Hawkmoth and put this little coup to an end.”

Simularé shifted into Lady Wifi.

“I have access to every power my master does. You are trapped with no options.” The sentimonster mocked.

Mayura looked around as she was circled by the controlled akuma. She needed to get out of there.

She felt a pain rush to her head.

‘F*** not now’ She mentally cursed.

The odds were indeed not in her favor.

______________________________________________________________________________

Stoneheart began charging at the bee themed heroine, and just as Queen Bee was about to move, a yo-yo wrapped around her waist and pulled her away from the monster.

The stone giant had expected his charge to make contact but forced himself to stop when he noticed the bee was gone.

“Sorry tiny, but I’m your playmate now,” called a cat-themed hero.

The mindless akuma didn’t visibly react to the change in foe and simply charged at the cat hero.

Queen Bee found herself near Ladybug.

“Chloé! What are you doing?!”

“Uh… Saving the day? I got the jewelry box that you sent out because you needed my help.”

“Jewelry box… wait a minute that means. You are wearing a miraculous.”

“Yep! Don’t worry LB, I will show you that I am worthy of being Queen Bee. And not to boast, but I totally saved someone. But right now, we gotta go beat that ugly pile of rubble.”

Ladybug looked at Chloé for a moment. With the situation as hectic as it was, Queen Bee has shown some competence when there is real danger. Ladybug knew that right now, all hands that could help would be appreciated, and Queen Bee’s appearance could mean that Fu may be closer than she expected. So maybe there were more reinforcements. So if this was the case. She would trust Fu’s judgement.

“Alright, just be ready to return the bee after all of this is over.”

“Right, right, but just know I will probably change your mind about that after this is over!” the bee exclaimed confidently as she jumped back into the fray.

Ladybug shook her head. Whether she was Queen Bee or Chloé, she was still a handful.

“Are you finished gossiping? Because I could REALLY use a hand!” Chat Noir shouted as he held his staff up to hold back the rock monster’s boulder of a fist.

Queen Bee and Ladybug jumped into view and noticed the situation.

“Don’t worry you stray cat, The Queen Bee will put that rock in his place. Ve…”

Ladybug covered Queen Bee’s mouth before she could.

“Hold it. We might need your power for later.”

“I think it would be useful now!” Chat Noir shouted as he struggled to hold the weight of the giant’s rocky hand.

“Okay if my powers are a no no right now, what is the plan?”

Ladybug looked around. She found her attention drawn to a fire extinguisher, Queen Bee, a rubber band, and a discarded backpack.

“Okay, I have a plan.”

______________________________________________________________________

Gabriel had made a decision.

He hurried out of the lair in his civilian form. He was going to head to the school. Now he would just need to get his chauffeur and go…

Gabriel’s eyes went wide as he saw his son’s bodyguard and chauffeur fall to the floor at the steps of the main entrance, a white mask adorning his face that he was desperately trying to get off.

“What is the meaning of this?” Gabriel asked aloud in shock and anger.

He looked to see the mask akuma he created standing at the door.

“Well, if it isn’t Gabriel Agreste. Fashion mogul, and master manipulator.”

Gabriel’s visible anger faded as he stared at the akuma.

“Lila, is that you?”

“Oh quite astute! An amazing deduction. Was it that observational skill that made you the fashion success you are now?” the akumatized Lila inquired. “Though I go by Masquerade now.”

Gabriel knew very well the girl’s powers. He was the one that gave it to her. She was trying to antagonize him, get him angry. But that would not work.

“Well Masquerade, what brings you to my home at this time?” Gabriel asked calmly. Doing his best to keep his tone and mannerisms calm.

“Oh, I was just in the neighborhood, finding more people to join my little army and I notice my charm glowing as I was getting near.”

Gabriel’s eyes went wide as he realized something. The charm bracelet was configured to locate anyone that has ever been akumatized. That included him. His ploy to ward suspicion off of himself was now biting him in the butt. And of course, Lila was likely holding a grudge with how he pushed her with his words about his son and his classmate.

“My bodyguard was akumatized. What of it?”

The silent action figure enthusiast stopped resisting and his body began growing. Gabriel noticed the man was transforming into the gorilla akuma. Gorizilla! And he rushed up the steps as the akuma moved and pounded his chest.

“Gorizilla, go gather up anyone who has been akumatized that you know of. I will handle Mr. Agreste myself.”

The giant akuma nodded at its master and headed off, leaving the agreste mansion with a giant hole that was once the front of the mansion.

“Handle me? And what do you plan to do?”

Masquerade’s necklace began to glow.

“Oh! Well that is very interesting,” Masquerade mused aloud as she learned from the glowing charm.

“What do you mean, interesting?” Gabriel asked. He knew that the charm had the bonus effect of pointing out the emotional weak points of those that had been akumatized. But he had PRETENDED to be angry and wasn’t actually emotional when the akuma took over. Did the charm still impact him the same way it did everyone else?

Masquerade started walking up the steps.

“You blame yourself for your wife’s passing.”

The statement was a blade pointed right at his throat. But Gabriel refused to react. He would not let himself be taken advantage of by his own akuma. He has been on the receiving end one too many times and he would be damned if he let that psychopath have control of him.

Masquerade saw that Gabriel was not reacting to the statement.

“I have never seen a man more miserable and pathetic,” Masquerade said. Her words sounded genuine and cutting.

Gabriel tried to turn around and walk away. But Masquerade jumped high with her superhuman agility and landed right in front of him, continuing her tearing down of his emotional state.

“All of this wealth and yet you are obsessed with what you don’t have. You are so blinded by the grief of losing your wife that everything else in your life may as well not exist. You locked yourself away, desperately trying to find something, anything that would bring her back. But now you are finding that color is starting to return in your life. You feel guilt over hiding the truth from your son, you loathe the attraction that you have been developing for another woman. You hate that you can’t dedicate every second to your lost wife and any speck of joy you feel without her here feels like treason since she is not here with you. You are a man so blind with his obsession that you fail to see the world doesn’t revolve around you. It's disgusting.”

“You know nothing of my life,” Gabriel dismissed.

But Masquerade knew he would say that. She only smiled. The truth was right in front of her. And she was ready to bring it home.

“You are actually terrified of facing her again.”

That shook Gabriel.

“What?”

“You are afraid of seeing her again. Whether it’s a year or 10 years, you feel that even if you could bring her back, she would be here and realize how much of a shell you had become without her. You are afraid that your obsession with her will be the very thing that drives her away once you see her again.”

“That isn’t true.”

“Then why haven’t you brought her back yet? Don’t you love her?”

Gabriel felt like his heart was being repeatedly punched.

“How dare you question my love for my wife!”

“Then why isn’t she here? If you loved her she wouldn’t have been taken from you and Adrien. But you were far too pathetic to do it. You failed her, and you are still failing her. You will never be with her again, and deep down. You know it to be true,” Masquerade answered coldly.

Those words were enough to get him down. That is what finally did him in.

Gabriel fell to his knees.

“No…”

Gabriel had broken. Masquerade knew she had him.

He was emotionally devastated, to the point where couldn’t even react to the mask coming his way.

____________________________________________________________

Well now things are now hitting their highest points of drama!

Will Ladybug and other heroes be able to stand up to Masquerade?

Will Mayura fall to Simularé's double cross?

Will I EVER update in time?

Tell me your thoughts on the chapter. Your support keeps it alive

[lucy90712]

cravings/mood swings (pregnancy series)

Series masterlist

George:

The hormones from pregnancy have made me an entirely different person at times which was a huge shock to both me and George when they first started to hit because I've always been pretty good with my emotions and hormones even when on my period. To me it isn't as bad because I only notice after my mood swings but poor George has to deal with me during.

George came down the stairs after filming a video and came to join me sat on the sofa. I was eating salty crisps (chips) some of which George stole as he sat down, this really set off my hormones for whatever reason and I looked at him with just pure anger that he would even dare to steal my food that I had been craving.

"George what the fuck I wanted those" I almost shouted

"I'm sorry love I didn't mean to I can get you more if you want them" he said panicked slightly

I gave no reaction to what George said as I came down from my rage because I realised I was being way too over the top. I always feel awful when I yell at George because he doesn't deserve it at all but he just happens to be around all the time so he's the one who bares the brunt of all my emotions. I apologised to George and gave him some of my crisps to make up for it and we cuddled on the sofa for a bit.

Later in the evening George was showing me cute videos he has of cat from when he was in his office which were just so adorable and made me so incredibly happy but then the sadness came over and tears started to fall down my face.

"Hey what's wrong?" George asked

"It's just so cute like how can one small animal be so cute" I sobbed

He comforted me and we spent the rest of the evening doing things that didn't provoke any emotions in me.

Dream:

My cravings have been very strong though my pregnancy so far which is a combination of normal things and weird concoctions just whatever I was feeling in that exact moment and I mean that exact moment. My cravings are things that have to be satisfied within the hour or else it's too late and I get over it.

It's about 10pm and I'm just chilling waiting for Clay to get out the shower so we can watch the office together. At that exact moment a craving for pickles came over me, its not a craving I've had before but its one that I know is kind of common. I checked all the cupboards and fridge to see if we had any but we didn't which made me quite sad.

Clay came down the stairs to see me staring at the empty cupboard with a few tears in my eyes. He came over to me looking at what I was before becoming very confused at what exactly was going through my mind clearly wondering if I was going a bit insane.

"Is everything alright?" He asked

"We don't have any pickles" I whined

"Do you want me to go and get you some?" He asked

I nodded my head and we went to the car to drive to the store to go buy pickles mainly because I didn't want to be left alone. Clay actually went into the store while I stayed in the car because he didn't want me getting cold but he soon came back with two jars of pickles just incase I wanted more another day.

Back at home I ate half the pickles in the jar and very much enjoyed it and so did baby which was the whole point of going to get them. I imagine just like every other craving I will get over it and move on to a new one.

Sapnap:

My mood swings have been insane so far during pregnancy like way morse than they would be before my period is due to arrive. I feel so awful that Sapnap has to deal with me because he used to hate it when I got so very emotional before my period and now its constant and like x1000.

I have been slightly more emotional than usual today which has just been ruining my day because I can't seem to get anything done without crying or raging at myself but I've yet to spend much time with Sapnap so he has been spared from my disastrous day so far. This soon changed when he came downstairs and sat with me on the sofa.

He attempted to cuddle with me but something in my brain told me that I didn't want that and I should be mad at him for even trying to be affectionate even though I love him so very much.

"No get off me" I said a bit too harshly

"Oh I'm sorry baby is there anything you want?" He asked trying to be accommodating

I shrugged him off still slightly angry but getting over it very quickly and feeling bad for half yelling at him. My anger soon completely dissolved and was replaced by sadness at the fact that I had yelled and now wanted to cuddle but he wasn't going to want to now right, I mean I've just yelled at him so why would he want to cuddle.

A few tears started to form in my eyes and soon spilled out onto my face wetting my cheeks which I tired to hide by facing away from Sapnap but of course he knows me and tried to see what I was hiding. As soon as he saw I was crying he put his hands on my face to wipe the tears and gave me a kiss.

"What's wrong babe? How can I fix it?" He asked

"I feel bad for yelling and I want cuddles but you don't want to give them to me because I was mean" I explained

"You are so silly of course I'll still give you cuddles if you want them" he said

He pulled me into a big bear hug where we stayed for the rest of the day and night.

Quackity:

I have been having a lot of odd cravings over the past few weeks most of which are completely unnatural and Alex thinks are gross but they actually taste really good. To me at least.

Tonight I was really feeling like eating chicken nuggets with honey, I really wanted to eat it but I was scared to ask Alex to come to the store with me because he would think it was weird and judge me which my fragile little heart couldn't take.

"Alex will you go to the store with me please?" I asked

"Of course love what do you want this time?" He asked

"Chicken nuggets and honey" I whispered

"What was that" he questioned

"Chicken nuggets and honey" I said a bit louder

"That sounds interesting lets go" he said

He grabbed my hand and pulled me up and to the car where we went to McDonald's for the chicken nuggets and then target for the honey before going back home. Alex was interested to try this combination too so the both of us sat down to try it. At first the flavour was really weird but once you got used to it it was really good actually and now I think I'm obsessed and by the looks of things so is Alex because his face looked like he had just had the best thing ever.

Karl:

Oh my has it been a rollercoaster so far, I've been so over emotional and have been craving so many different things it is so hard to keep up with for me let alone Karl.

This morning I was trying to make breakfast and I couldn't open the milk which upset me but then the bowls were up too high so I couldn't reach which made me even more upset but the last straw for this morning was when I had just sat down after struggling with everything and someone rang the doorbell just as I was about to eat the cereal I had really been wanting. I answered the door to collect the parcel the man had before going back to the living room with tears starting to slip down my face.

I'm not sure why I was so upset but I was which stopped me eating my cereal because I was crying which made me cry more because I really wanted the cereal, it was just an awful cycle. Karl walked in as I was staring at my full bowl of cereal sobbing which caused him to run over to see what was wrong.

"Hey hey whats wrong?" He asked

"Nothing is going right and all I want to do is eat my cereal but I can't because I'm crying which is making me more upset" I ranted

"Oh honey I'm sorry how about you follow my breathing to calm down and then eat your cereal ok?" He suggested

He helped me calm down enough to be able to eat my cereal which was kind of soggy by now but I still very much enjoyed it and soon got back to my normal self.

Wilbur:

My hormones are all over the place which normally I can handle but every now and then I get too overly emotional and just cry over random things, this usually happens when I'm alone so I just deal with it myself.

Today Wilbur took the day off from working so he's here to see the rollercoaster that is my day and believe me it can be a rollercoaster. I had a breakdown this morning when doing chores I was unloading the dishwasher and I kept almost dropping everything I touched which made me so mad at myself and really sad at the same time. I just left the room and sat down for a minute talking to myself to sort my brain out then went back to doing chores.

Later in the afternoon we were watching a nature documentary which we do a lot and there was this lizard and her babies that were being hunted by a large bird, I was willing them to get away but the bird caught the babies and the mother got away. This made me so sad that the lizard lost her babies while I was sat there carrying my baby. I started crying thinking about the fact that anything could happen to little bean once their here.

"It's ok love its just natures way" Wilbur said

"But what if bad things happen to bean when their here obviously not like that but anything could happen" I sniffled

"We will protect bean as best we can to stop anything bad happening but for now their safe where they are" Wilbur said

This made me feel better and luckily the rest of the documentary wasn't sad at all and there was some cute moments which made me forget about all my worries.

[narukoibito]

Trope mashup - 10 + 51

10 (Airport/Travel AU) and 51 (Accidentally Married)

Oh my God, you are so funny, @theroomofreq! This immediately fired up my brain. I went way overboard, but this is the most I’ve written in a long time. I had fun with my favorite two idiots. Hope you enjoy!

Please feel free to send me more trope mashups!

*

Harry slumped back into the squeaky, plastic airport chair. The woman two seats over shot him a look before leaving in a huff, her purse clutched to her chest. Great, just great.

He sighed, rubbing his forehead out of habit. A bad habit, according to his best friend, Hermione. Supposedly would induce early on-set wrinkles, as if his troublesome life weren't the cause. He looking longingly over at the bar. Would it be too early to start drinking before he even got on the flight? One could hardly blame him, after all. Even Hermione, who had insisted he take the trip, despite everything.

And now he was thinking about it again.

Fuck it, he thought, dragging his carry-on over to the bar. It took longer than it should, considering its funky wheel that kept trying to go the opposite direction as its partner. It almost made him want to laugh. Or cry.

Instead, he ordered a whiskey, neat.

Harry was fiddled with the napkin the bartender set in front of him, when a curtain of red hair leaned over the bar several seats from him.

"Gin and tonic, please," the redhead ordered.

Their eyes caught, and Harry flushed at being caught starting, but she gave him a bright smile. He felt his lips raise in response. Then he quickly looked away, back to the napkin he had all but massacred.

No, none of that. This was supposed to be about finding himself or something, or whatever Hermione had chattered on about while shoving him into the car and driving him here. She had even done the packing, if tossing whatever clean laundry he had into the bag counted. For all he knew, she had slipped a copy of Eat, Pray, Love in there. Of course, he was probably going to brood and drink the entire time. But there was no redhead or blonde or brunette in the picture.

Even if they were really fit.

"Old fashion, neat," the bartender said, placing a new napkin and the drink in front of him.

"Thanks," Harry said, taking a liberal sip, even though it burned on the way down. No more getting drawn towards pretty women who would break his heart. No matter how shiny their hair was.

There was an announcement on the overhead before an overly cheerful voice crackled through the loud speakers, "Good afternoon everyone! Or should I say 'Aloha'? Welcome everyone here at gate B24, outgoing flight from London to Kauai, Hawaii. We'll be boarding shortly. As we wait, our company likes to play a little lottery for an upgrade to first class!"

He tuned out the annoying chatter and focused instead on his drink, which was starting to make everything feel pleasantly warm and fuzzy.

"We have our lucky couple! And would you look at that, newlyweds on their honeymoon! Would Mr. and Mrs. Harry Potter come up to the podium?"

Harry promptly choked, spilling some of his drink. He turned, appalled to see the flight attendant at the podium, holding up two leis.

"Would Mr. and Mrs. Harry Potter come to gate B24′s podium to upgrade their seats?"

Not only was he going on his honeymoon alone, but he was going to have to be humiliated in an airport full of strangers? As if being humiliated in front of his family and friends wasn't enough? He needed to get out of here. Why fly to Hawaii to drown his sorrows when he could do it from the comfort of his flat?

"Mr. and Mrs. Harry Potter?" the speaker repeated.

Harry had just grabbed hold of his luggage handle when an arm looped with his.

"I can't believe we won, honey!" 

He looked down at the voice in disbelief. The redhead was smiling up at him encouragingly, a blazing look in her eye. 

"Yeah," he managed. “Wow.”

She pulled him towards the gate, waving one hand cheerfully in the air to announce their approach. Harry was too stunned to do anything but let himself be dragged along.

"Congratulations to the happy couple!" the flight attendant sang while bequeathing the leis around their necks as the crowd aww'ed and clapped. After the spectacle died down, she asked for their IDs to update their tickets. Dumbfounded, he provided his ID only to panic about his companion, but without missing a beat, she explained how she hadn’t yet had a chance to change her name. Yes, all that paperwork was such a bother, the attendant laughed in commiseration.

Next thing he knew, he was seated once again at the bar, his whiskey placed back in his hand as the redhead went back to sipping her gin and tonic. His mind was spinning with how this stranger had rescued him and how to thank her, but all he could think was how stupidly attractive he found her audacity.

"This isn’t how I imagined meeting my wife," Harry blurted like an idiot.

“Well, now we have 19 hours to get acquainted,” she laughed, the sound sending small shivers down his spine. 

“How’d you figure it out?” 

She gave him a sympathetic look.

“Jilted at the alter all over my face?” 

"Her loss,” she said, waving her ticket victoriously, pulling yet another smile out of him. “Being Mrs. Potter for five minutes has already proven to the best part of my week.”

His heart skipped a beat at her words. “I’m not sure if I should be impressed or scared by your acting.”

“I tend to think anything's possible if you've got enough nerve,” she said. “Besides...” She squinted thoughtfully at his face. He had to clamp down on the urge to flatten his hopeless hair. “Yep, you have a look about you.”

“What look?” he asked, defensively.

“Like you have a noble streak,” she declared. “If the situation were reversed, you’d have done the same for me.”

“What idiot would leave you at the alter?” He must have had more alcohol than he realized. That, or maybe it had to do with the fact that he hadn’t eaten since Saturday. His stomach rumbled as if on cue.

“See? Noble,” she laughed, rummaging in her bag. She pulled out two colorful Easter eggs. “Would you like one?”

Harry took one gratefully, peeling the wrapper. The chocolate melted on his tongue, and a familiar comfort eased through him.

“So,” Harry said, clearing his throat. “All this alcohol must be getting to me since I can’t seem to remember my wife’s name.”

“Ginny,” she said, holding out her hand. “Ginny Weasley now Potter.”

He slid his hand into hers, feeling her warm and callused fingers grip his in return. Maybe it was the fact the warm chocolate always comforted him, but Harry was feeling more happier than he could remember in the longest time.

---

Please feel free to send me more trope mashups!

[loversandantiheroes]

Okay my whiskey fantasy. It’s a holiday, anniversary, I dunno. But he comes home. You’re in lingerie, teddy, the garter belt, the thigh high tights (I am having an absolute brain fart and can not remember the name), the high heels. you’re cooking him dinner in it. Somethin real texas for dinner. He wants to immediately fuck yiu, BUT NO he has to WAIT bc its dinner time and you worked hard. He’s waiting, and he’s watching you, you’re bending over at the stove, all that. Dinner is served, you —-

You lounge on the table to eat like a decadent and gorgeous pain in the ass, so he can see you’re whole body while he eats, forced to be patient. You’re being an absolute menace. He’s running his mouth the whole time OBVIOUSLY. Then he fucking wrecks you

No Candles Necessary

As I am a bonafide yeehonk foole (and I have the t-shirt to prove it), I could hardly resist this idea. Nonny, I hope like hell I did you proud.💗

Shameless Whiskey/F!Reader smut (18+ and yes that means you), 5.3k+ words (they just wouldn’t shut up), mildly beta’d and lightly edited.

Warnings: established relationship, unsafe food preparation practices, light foodplay (it only goes in appropriate places I swear), egregious dirty talk, improper use of a dining table, Switch!Whiskey returns, Switch!Reader by extension, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), deepthroating, PIV sex, unprotected sex (do as I say, not as I fictionalize), cream pie (bc I’m lazy quite frankly), actual pie (peach!), a little soft schmoop in between the smut just because I can.

Permatag: @missredherring​ @dovesnroses​ @astroboots​ @magpierhymes​ @alienprincesspoop​ @aasimarr​ @maythxthirstbxwithyou​ @recklesswit​

Pedro Permatag: @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa​ (sorry bab, more yeehonk) @corvueros​ @thirstworldproblemss​ @littleferal​ @krissology​ @frannyzooey​ @forallthstarsinthesky​ @princess76179​ @keeper0fthestars​ @venusandromedadjarin​

Cooking your boyfriend a birthday dinner in lingerie is probably not the best idea you've ever had. The man isn’t even home yet to witness the trouble you’ve gone to, still wrapping up a day’s work at HQ after closing out another mission. So you didn’t jump right into cooking in your frillies. No, you did the bulk of the work in sweats and a t-shirt, only stopping to change once you were down to the last stretch and the steaks had come off to rest. You've got sense enough at least to put on an apron, not wanting to risk getting hot grease on the delicate fabric or the vast amounts of bare skin the thing doesn't cover, and while you've already donned the garter belt and stockings you've left your heels up against the island counter so you can slip them on quickly when you hear the door. Still you can't quite help but feel less sexy and more silly as you stand there carving up a pair of garlic butter basted steaks while your forehead prickles with sweat and your ass, covered by neither the teddy or the apron, feels ice cold.

The things I do for love of a goddamn cowboy, you think with a shake of your head. Your whole plan is honestly on the high end of ridiculous. But then Jack is a ridiculous man, and he always seems to drag you headlong into absurdity with him. Some days it's his only saving grace - the boyish playfulness that tempers his arrogance into something charming rather than infuriating. It seems only right to be a little ridiculous for the occasion.

Once the carving’s done you give yourself a second to go over the spread and make sure everything's ready to go. It's early yet, but you're expecting to hear Jack's key in the front door any minute. He's made no mention of returning home early, of course, but he is every bit the sort that would try to surprise you on his birthday, and you’ve developed an uncanny ability to anticipate his moves ahead of time.

As it turns out, you have just enough time to slip on your heels before you hear the front door open and Jack calls out your name. You allow yourself a moment of satisfaction - you do love being right when it comes to this sort of thing - and slip into your heels.

“In here, baby,” you call back, stepping out to lean against the door frame.

“Somethin’ smells like heaven,” Jack says, rounding the corner into the dining room. He stops dead when he gets a look at you, mouth falling open in surprise. He’s hung his hat at the door, his hair already flopping over in a revolt against the slicked-back way he styles it in the morning, his suit jacket still on and buttoned. “Looks like it, too,” he finishes, the corner of his mouth curling into a grin. “I feel overdressed all of a sudden.”

You can’t help but answer that grin. “Happy birthday, cowboy,” you tell him, beckoning him over.

He all but rushes across the room to slide up against you, hands curling around your hips and playing with the tie to the apron. “Sure as hell is now,” he mutters. His palms slide down, cupping your ass to pull you in close. You bite back a hiss at the warmth, and he gives a low approving hum at the expanse of cool, bare skin. “Looks like I don’t even need to unwrap my present.”

“Patience,” you insist, pushing his shoulders back and grazing your lips over the tip of his nose as you evade the kiss he tries to pull you into. “No dessert until after dinner.”

“Dinner can wait-”

“No it cannot. I did not just spend the afternoon trying to keep hot butter off my tits so you could get impatient and let your supper get cold.” He traces a finger across your cleavage as you talk, tugging at the top of the apron to get a better look at the skin underneath. You feel the quip coming before he even opens his mouth, so you take the opportunity to give him a little push and show him just what he’s in for tonight. You bring up your hand, fingers curling under his wrist, turning his hand away and using it to pull him flush to you, the line of your thigh landing against the covered denim crotch of his jeans with just enough force to make him jolt.

“Be a good boy, Jack,” you say against his open, breathless mouth, “or you won’t get any dessert at all.”

Whiskey pouts, but his eyes have that dark glint that says he knows he’s in for trouble and he is just as pleased as punch about it. “You mean to torture a man on his birthday, honeybee?”

The smirk you give him makes his heartbeat kick up a little faster - you can feel the quickening of it in the pulse point against your fingertips. “Absolutely.” You stretch up enough for one brief, warm kiss and then step back, jerking your chin towards the dining table where there’s already two glasses of wine poured at the ready. “Sit. I’ll bring out dinner.”

He nods, tongue rolling slowly against his bottom lip. “Yes ma’am.”

His gaze is a heavy weight on your body as you walk away, raking down across so much exposed skin. You hear him groan at the sight, low and appreciative. He’s always been fond of seeing you wrapped up in lingerie, even more fond of tearing up the expensive scraps just to get you bare for him. You’d chided him about it the first time - the bodysuit he’d ripped clean in half from gusset to tit hadn’t been cheap, even though that little display had thrilled you far more than you’d ever want to admit - but he always replaced what he ruined without fail.

When you come back, divested of the apron with plates in hand, Whiskey is sitting just as instructed, elbow on the table, chin resting on his knuckles. He tracks every move you make, every sway of your hips, a playful smile hiding the effort of his restraint as you set his dinner in front of him. He barely spares the food a glance when you elect to forego your own chair and simply hop up onto the table, setting your plate near his and dragging over your glass of wine.

“You’ve outdone yourself, honeybee,” Whiskey rumbles, sliding a hand up your knee to your thigh, and he could not be talking less about the food.

You only smile, taking an unhurried sip. “Somehow I thought you’d prefer this to a new tie. How old are you now, anyway?” you tease.

“Sweet sixteen,” he says dryly, hiking an eyebrow while he squeezes your thigh for your cheek.

You chuckle. “Uh-huh, and I’m Mother Theresa.” You lean in, spearing a slice of steak on his plate with your fork and holding it out for him. “Now, I worked very hard on this, and I am going to be very disappointed if you try to skip dinner on me just ‘cause you can’t quit eyeballing your dessert. Open.”

He tips you a wink before dutifully opening his mouth, letting you feed him. The soft, indulgent moan that leaves him as his eyes slip closed is too subdued to be anything but real. “Honeybee that is gorgeous. My compliments to the chef.” 

“The chef is glad to hear it.” You swipe your thumb over his lip, collecting the sheen of juice and garlicky butter and bringing it to your own mouth, delicately sucking it off. “Could’ve used a bit more rosemary.”

Whiskey shakes his head. “Mm-mm. This is perfection on a plate, baby. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

The smile that earns him is genuine, and you bend to give him a quick kiss. He presses it, just a little, a swipe of his tongue that you open for just enough to nip at before pulling away. “Eat.” You gesture meaningfully at his plate.

All told, there isn’t actually much on it. Steak, roasted new potatoes, and asparagus with hollandaise sauce. You’ve only served up maybe half of what you’d usually set in front of him for dinner, opting for more reserved portions. It’s a favor to you both - his patience wouldn’t last through a full meal without the need for physical restraints. There’s more in the kitchen, of course, and an actual pie for dessert if you happen to get that far. You’re both bound to be hungry again after.

Whiskey tucks in, fork in his left hand while his right stays comfortably curled around your thigh, slowly creeping higher and higher until he’s playing with the lacy top of your stocking. You give him a warning tilt of your head, your own fork poised halfway to your mouth. All you get in return is those plaintive, innocent puppy dog eyes of his, but his hand doesn’t advance further.

All in all you’re rather proud of his restraint, at least until one spear of asparagus manages to drip hollandaise down onto your cleavage. Suddenly that quietly repressed hunger cracks and he’s surging up towards you, mouth half-open and tongue peaking out, ready to clean you up.

But that won’t do. Not yet. Your reflexes might not be as good as his, but they’re nothing to balk at, either. You brace yourself back on one hand, leaning away and planting one of your high heels against his shoulder to shove him back into his seat. The look on his face is priceless; mouth agape and pupils blown. 

Slowly you shake your head. “You know better, Jack.”

His eyes track up the inside of your thigh to the crotch of your bodysuit - or rather, the lack thereof - and the split strips of lace that don’t cover your mound, but frame it prettily for him. “Fuck, honeybee,” he mutters breathlessly. 

Dinner and a show was always the plan. So you take your time, dipping your finger and swiping up the stripe of creamy yellow and holding it out to him. Whiskey stares you down as he takes the tip of your finger into his mouth and sucks dutifully, his tongue plush and soft and working against the pad of your finger the same way he worries it over your clit. A rush of heat rockets through you, leaving your belly warm and a sweet tingle tripping down your spine in its wake.

Biting your lip hard to rein in the impulse to just slide into his lap, you drag your finger out of his mouth. It’s what he wants; to make you break first, to make you lose at your own game. And where’s the fun in that?

“It is your birthday, so I’m going to cut you a little bit of slack, but if you can’t mind your manners and do as you’re fucking told, you’re gonna get a lot worse than a birthday spanking, pretty boy. Now, I told you: no dessert until you finish your dinner.” There’s precious little left on his plate; a few scraps of steak, a couple potatoes, one lone spear of asparagus. You stab this last with your fork and hold it out to him. “Last chance, baby. You open your mouth for me and be a good boy, and you can have me any way you want.”

Whiskey looks dazed; seething and starved and love-struck all at once. You don’t even need to look down to know he’s hard. But he hesitates just for a moment, whether it’s deliberate or accidental you’re not really sure - sometimes the man just really wants to be punished - but in that space you see his body jerk, hunching slightly as his abdominal muscles contract involuntarily. You follow the movement with your eyes and sure enough, there he is. Full mast and straining hard against thick denim.

Smiling sweetly, you wave the fork at him. “Your choice, Jack.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he says, and the roughshod timbre of his voice says it’d be a fine way to go.

Whiskey opens his mouth and takes what you give him.

You’re slow about it. Careful. Admonishing him when he tries to chew a little too quickly. Whiskey stares you down with eyes like coal seconds away from ignition. He holds your gaze while you slip another bite of food into his mouth, then lets his eyes slip down until they fix firmly on your half-exposed and already glistening cunt, and you know the moment you give him an inch he’s going to wreck the hell out of you for this.

When the last bite passes his lips he curls his hand around your ankle, squeezing. Always pushing his luck, this man of yours. You set his plate aside, glancing away like it’s no effort at all as he very methodically wipes his mouth with his napkin.

“Now can I have my dessert?” Impatience roughens the low gravel of his voice into something dangerously sharp.

You smile, leaning back on one hand. “There’s peach pie in the kitchen.”

He presses forward, left hand sliding big and warm up the inside of your thigh. The motion presses the leg you’ve used to pin him to his chair back until your knee is nearly flush with your chest, opening you up wider, the rush of air between your legs now shockingly cold against the wetness that had gathered there.

“Woman, the only pie I want a piece of is the one sitting right in front of me.”

The stretch along the back of your thigh burns, so you shift, hooking your leg over his shoulder instead. “I haven’t finished my dinner yet,” you protest cooly, reaching down to snag a strip of steak off your still half-full plate and popping it into your mouth.

Whiskey’s hands slip higher, and this time you don’t stop him, too busy sucking the buttery juices off your fingers. When the very very tips of his fingers brush the spread lace at the crux of your thighs he freezes, waiting for the rebuke, for fingers around his neck or your other heel to plant square in his chest. You consider it, sure; it’s certainly not a prospect without its merits. A man that enjoys being under your thumb is satisfying in a way that few things in life ever fully measure up to.

But honestly, you’ve worked hard enough tonight. Time to let him put in a little effort.

A tilt of your head and a curl of your foot against his shoulder is permission enough; slipping off the leash by way of a gesture, and the low smolder in his eyes blooms to a full burn. Whiskey stands to his full height, looming close enough for you to feel the heat bake off him as he shrugs off his jacket and unbuttons the cuffs on his dress shirt, rolling them up with a few quick turns of his wrists.

“Can’t let my girl go hungry now,” he hums in a voice like burnt molasses. “Lemme give you a hand there, honeybee.”

Smirking, Whiskey wraps an arm around you, brushing the tip of his nose against yours as you wriggle against solid heat of his body. His left hand wanders out of sight on the table as his lips meet yours, teasing your mouth open with the barest brush of his tongue, while his right hand trails warm and slow around your side and down and down to cup your mound.

It’s hard to believe you ever felt cold. You’re burning up now, skin flushed hot as his mouth grazes yours and breathes out: “Open up for me.”

And just like magic, you do. No input needed on your behalf; your mouth simply drops open and your legs shift wider in accommodation for him. There’s a clink of silverware and then he’s waving a fork at you, a strip of steak speared on the end. Whiskey’s eyes glitter as he pushes it into your waiting mouth. Each bite he feeds you is accompanied by a teasing dip of his fingers into your core, feeding you with his left hand while he touches you with his right. Your slickened folds part smooth and easy as he pushes his fingers inside you, a welcome but all too brief intrusion, before they trail up again to stroke at your clit. Again and again you rock your hips up, trying to encourage him to slip into you deeper, to give you a taste of the fullness and pressure of his cock, but every time his touch retreats.

You whine; a strange mix of frustration and pleasure. “Tease.”

“Takes one to know one,” he coos, the hand between your legs working faster. Heat builds quickly under his fingertips, a friction far more appetizing than anything else you’ve set on the table tonight. “You made the rules, honeybee. No dessert until after you finish supper. You do want your dessert, don’t you?”

He brings the next bite up, holds it tantalizingly close. You stretch out and he draws it back, and suddenly his fingers are rubbing a firm, determined circle on your clit. Your whole body jolts, gasping air with a pitiful little whine. There’s nothing but mischief on his face as he watches you, tongue sweeping against his bottom lip. He slows his fingers, brings the fork down again, closer this time. The food brushes your bottom lip before he pulls it away, fingers quickening again.

“Jesus,” you all but squeak. “Jack, don’t be mean.”

Whiskey gives you a considering hum, leaning forward to suck the sheen of butter off your bottom lip. “Oh darlin’ I would never,” he insists, punctuating the sentiment with a kiss that’s tender enough to be very nearly sincere if it weren’t for the fact that the motion of his hand never slows. A sweet, bright heat begins to build under his fingertips. “How could I be mean to my girl when she worked so hard for me, hm? I’m just paying that back in kind is all. You wanna come on my fingers, baby, you can do that all you like. I’ll make you come ‘til those pretty little legs can’t do much more than shimmy. You know I can. But you ain’t gettin’ nothin’ else until you clean your plate like a good girl.”

“H-ha-ah, fuck-how much more?”

He grins devilishly. “Just this last bite.”

“Oh you f-fucking jackass!”

Whiskey laughs. “Guilty as charged. Open up, baby, take what I got for you.”

He pushes the last bite past your lips and immediately delves his fingers into your warm and waiting cunt. The breath shudders out of you, fingers digging into the tablecloth as you try to hang onto enough composure to remember to chew and swallow. He’s slow for a moment, pumping and curling his fingers gently while he watches you eat. There’s a clink of silverware as he discards the fork and puts his arm around you, pressing his lips against your forehead.

“Good girl,” he murmurs sweetly.

Mouth empty now, you nudge your nose against his chin, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Jack-”

And then his grip becomes determined. The fingers inside you flex, the heel of his hand pressing hard against your clit and all you can do is cry out against the soft skin of his neck and hang on for dear life while he works you up and over the edge with shocking speed.

Trembling, you lock your legs around him as you come down, dragging his collar aside to bite lazily into the place where his neck and shoulder meet.

“Fuck,” he groans, hips rutting up against the back of his hand between your legs. “How do you want me, honeybee?”

That earns him a breathless laugh, goosebumps raising along his neck. “It’s your birthday, Jack. What do you want?”

Whiskey’s eyes drop to your mouth and he makes a considering sound, pulling back to suck you delicately off his fingers. “I think I want your mouth. And then I think I want to fuck you right here on this table until that divinely sweet little pussy wrings me fucking dry. Sound good to you, honeybee?”

“That can be arranged.” His eyelids flutter as you reach down to his zipper, not even bothering with his belt before you reach inside his jeans and the button fly of his boxers to tug his cock free, cupping your fingers to draw his balls out, too.

You move to stand and he shakes his head, caging you in. “No. Not on your knees, baby. On the table. I wanna see you all spread out for me. My pretty little present.”

He helps you. Sweeps your hair back as you lie flat on the dining table, scooting back to let your head hang just a bit. It’s not exactly comfortable. The edge of the table digs into your neck a bit, and the way the blood rushes to your head is not entirely pleasant either. But you watch Whiskey pace around you to take his place in front of your waiting mouth, cock bobbing and just barely beginning to leak for you, and you feel a gorgeous rush of heat at the sight.

Whiskey slides his palm up your stomach to cup one barely-covered breast. “Gorgeous,” he mutters, squeezing. “Absolutely beautiful.”

“Jack.”

“I know, darlin’, I know. But my God you’re a picture.” He cups your cheek, absently brushes the corner of your mouth with his thumb before sliding his hand back to give your head a little support. “Open up for me, angel.”

And once again, you open up for what he gives you. The angle makes it strange, the topography of Jack’s body less familiar as he slips into your mouth, your tongue dragging wet and slow over foreign terrain. The taste of him, hot skin and the tang of bitter salt, that you know well enough. You close your eyes at it, bring your hands up to his hips to tug him slowly forward and listen to the way he moans.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers, breathless and a little awe-struck. “Jesus fucking Christ. You spoil me, baby. Sweet as fucking honey, my god.”

A light touch against your breast makes you shiver, goosebumps raising as it draws lightly over your skin. A single fingertip, sliding the lace of the bodysuit aside to bare your breasts to the chill of the room and the warmth of Whiskey’s hands.

He mutters sweet things as he begins to move; sweet, tender, unconscionably filthy things. All the things you do to him. Do for him. The rocking of his hips is gentle at first, feeding you his cock inch by cautious inch. When he hits the back of your throat he pulls back on reflex, but the light scrape of your teeth and the sudden tightness of your grip on the plush meat of his ass sends him forward again. The angle eases the motion, and you relax into the pressure as he pushes in and in and...oh.

You feel the resistance at the back of your throat give gently; strange, but not uncomfortable. Above you, Whiskey lets out a pained groan.

“Shit. Oh shit yes, honeybee. Take it. Ohhh s-shit. Take all of it. Every goddamn inch. Fuck.”

And then his hips are flush with your mouth, the soft skin of his balls pressed up against your nose. Panting, he wraps a hand around the stretched column of your throat, swearing breathlessly. He moves, a small, careful thrust, and you can feel the tremor that ripples through him at the feeling.

“Just a little more baby,” he mumbles, pulling back until just the head of his cock rests within the warmth of your mouth. You suckle at it, working it eagerly with your lips and tongue while you breathe raggedly through your nose. Your hips jut up into thin air on their own accord, just as eager for him as your mouth is.

“I got you, honeybee.” The hand at your neck slips down, skimming over skin and lace until he finds your clit. The first touch jolts you, your cry stifled on his cock as you shudder up against him. “Good girl. I got you, baby. Jack’s got you. Keep going. Just a little more. Just a little more and then I’ll fill you right on up. Fuck my sweet girl’s brains right out of her head. Prettiest fuckin’ thing I ever fuckin seen, baby, holy fuck.”

You moan something against him - pleasure, acquiescence, god only knows - but the sound of it is lost as his cock slides steadily back into your mouth. The pressure in your head is distracting, tears prickling your eyes when he pushes in deep, but the stroking of his fingers and the feel of him in your mouth, sliding hard and slick and effortlessly down your throat is far more consuming than the discomfort.

He rocks into you. Fucks into you. Moans and gasping praises falling thick and fast from his lips as he moves. You don’t need to feel the way his balls draw up tight to know how close he is, how tight he’s riding the line between what he wants to do and what his body wants to do. You’re lost in it all the same; his pleasure and the fraying thread of his restraint. Your own pleasure, building quick and low and locking down the muscles in your thighs until they tremble. You float in it, overwhelmed and dizzy, until, very suddenly, you break.

Whiskey curses, pulling back to listen to you cry out, to let you curl up and clutch at him as he pants above you, muttering broken, desperate please of: “yes god yes honeybee all of it, gimme all of it, every last bit.”

You’re a wreck in the aftermath; pliant and limp, face teary and slick with spit and precome. He draws you up, wiping your face with a clean napkin before pulling you into a kiss that steals away whatever remained of your breath. He gathers you up, turns you until you can wrap your still-tingling limbs around him. Nudges his hips against yours, his wet cock dragging against slick skin and fragile lace.

“You okay, baby?” he asks, trailing soft kisses over your face.

You have to clear your throat before you can respond, the sound of it harsh and ragged like an engine turning over. “Y-yeah. Yeah I’m good. Dizzy, but good.”

“You ain’t the only one, honeybee. Almost didn’t make it in time. Wanted to fill up that pretty mouth so bad. You just about did me in.”

He laughs and you join him, breathing ragged joy into each other’s lungs.

“Still want me to fuck you?” The question should be coarse, but somehow isn’t. Not with his sweat-slick forehead pressed to yours and his lips ghosting kisses against your mouth with every breath.

“So sweet,” you mutter, combing your hands through his hair.

“LIke hell,” he scoffs, holding you tight to his chest. “I ain’t and you know it.”

“You are to me,” you insist, pressing a kiss against the tip of his nose. He smiles, softens everywhere but that place that throbs with impatient heat against you. “Now fuck me, pretty boy.”

A flash of a grin is the only warning you get before he’s hooking his arms under your knees and pulling you to the edge of the table. “Yes ma’am,” he says obligingly, planting a hand between your breasts to push you back against the table as he lines himself up, sliding into you with one smooth, achingly deep stroke. 

You moan, knees drawing up as his hips meet yours and he fills the space inside you that’s been aching for him all day. Whiskey lets out a groaning sigh, leaning into you like he wants to bury himself whole inside you. He hoists one of your legs up against his chest, nuzzles the inside of your knee while he tries to find his breath again. The length of him inside you is rigid as steel and blindingly hot, still so close to his own end that he has to wait, worrying his teeth over your skin, until the urge to just rut against you like an animal until he comes finally passes.

And when it does, when he opens his eyes at last, he looks down at you with a dazed, hungry smile. He presses a kiss to the tip of his finger and brings it down to your lips.

“Love you, honeybee.”

Heavy-lidded and so wonderfully full, you kiss his finger and arch your back. “Love you, too, cowboy.”

And that’s the last intelligent thing you manage to say. Finally - finally! - Whiskey fucks you, each pounding swing of his hips making the china rattle like nervous teeth. Your arms strike out, curling and flailing, trying to find something to grab onto as he fucks you. The heel of your hand strikes one of the wine glasses and sends it tumbling to the floor where it shatters. The breath leaves your body in tiny bursts with each impact; little monosyllabic cries punctuating each one.

“Fuck, that’s my girl,” Whiskey murmurs. He cups your breasts, thumbing the pebbled sharpness of your nipples before his hands slide lower, finding the deep notch of the bodysuit between them. “Wrapped up so pretty for me.”

The lace tears away like it’s nothing, a clean rip down the center. Oh well. He’ll buy you another.

Whiskey folds over you, pulling you down closer so he can get an arm under your back, his hand grasping the back of your neck and pulling you up to meet his mouth. He’s still wearing his tie, the drape of fabric laying cool against your chest. Blessedly he’s not wearing his usual belt buckle. Foresight or oversight you’re not quite sure, but you’re grateful all the same as he grinds into you, a press of cold metal and leather against your belly.

He’s not going to last long, but it hardly matters. You’re too worked up, two orgasms down already, cunt so swollen and sensitive it’s hardly an effort to get you there again. But the feeling of him inside you turns that bright burn into something lower, deeper. Something that makes your muscles lock and tremble, straining up against him and gasping into his mouth.

“Jaaaack,” you whine, arms locked around his neck.

“Yes, baby,” he groans, voice quivering with every thrust. “Fuck yes I’m right there too, c’mon. Come with me, honeybee, come with me.”

His rhythm falters, grinding deeper and deeper, and all that strained tension in your body snaps like a rubberband. You sob, grabbing fistfuls of his dress shirt, twisting and jerking as you come apart under him.

All Whiskey can do is growl as you bear down on him, gritting a litany of “yes, yes, fuck yes, god yes, that’s my girl that’s my girl that’s my fucking girl.” And then he’s gone, too, driving into you with a sudden jolt and crying out against the side of your neck as he comes.

You’re holding him too tight, clutching him to you as you both lie there, panting and shuddering, a spreading stain of red wine pooling next to your head.

“Jesus,” he whispers, tries to shift up to find your mouth, but even that amount of drag on his oversensitive cock is enough to make him hiss and jerk. “Fuck.”

“Mm-hm,” you agreed dumbly.

Whiskey lets out a growling hum, smoothing your hair. “You good, honeybee?”

You trail kisses up to his ear, still breathless. “What do you think?”

He wheezes a laugh. “I think I gotta replace a lot more than your frillies this time.” The laugh turns giddy, and Whiskey presses his forehead against your temple. “And I think I’m hungry.”

“Pie in the kitchen,” you mumble, too drowsy to do much more than nuzzle into the damp tangle of Whiskey’s hair.

“What kind?”

“Peach.”

He hums, smiling drowsily. “My favorite.”

You give a slow nod. “I know. Happy birthday, Jack.”

He kisses you, slow and sweet. “Best I ever had,” he murmurs.

[rotzaprachim]

happy saturday besties! I’ve been working on my nina/helnik Hell Fic (tm) for a year now and felt. like i needed to have at least some of it up, for public record, for my own personal accountability that this is a body of words that exists in some fashion aside from in my head. (we’re clocking at about 60k rn and no where near finished.) so enjoy this spoiler-tastic, rough and marked-up section from square in the middle, which I slammed out in an afternoon while on an essay crisis and which convinced me there was an interesting story here I actually wanted to tell. TW for this being based on a YA novel, but very very adult in a lot of themes and implications 

              They stopped to eat the lunch Gudrun wrapped for them in waxed brown paper. Brown bread slathered thickly with fat and some oily, salty fish that filled Nina with the gloriously human smell of smoke. She had handfulls of dried berries in her pockets and dried lamb in her pack and she did not wish to think of the fact that here she was living of enemy kindnesses. They ate in silence and then dipped quickly into the water they melted down in the morning. Nina carefully licked all the crumbs from her greased fingers.      “We need to talk,” she says.         “We need to move so that we don’t turn cold,” Matthias said. He pulled himself to his feet and started to walk in his long, bow-legged strides, leaving Nina sputtering over her own feet to catch up. Her shawl flapped about her shoulders with a surprising degree of noise and stinging force.             “Wait, wait,- oh for fuck’s sake, Lars.”          This caused him to pause, at least momentarily, and look at her.            “Do you always try to run when people want to talk to you? Honestly, Djel only knows why you still haven’t a wife.”        “Mmph,” grunted the king of social graces.         “What we’re going to do, mister, is walk through who Lars Solverson is.”        “Why aren’t we doing this for Mila Jandersdat?”       “Because Mila Jandersdat is a real fucking person already. This isn’t even my country and Mila Jandersdat’s not the problem.”          “You… you made her up.” “And?”       “She isn’t real.”       Nina shrugged her shoulders. As if that mattered a whit.

      “Go on, then. Ask Mila anything. Make polite conversation with Mila. Interrogate her, if you wish.”        He thought for a moment. It was probably very taxing on him to use every one of his five brain cells. “What is Mila’s… favorite color?” “Pink.” He nodded squarely, satisfied. “Go on then, ask another.” “What is Mila’s favorite supper?” “Stewed elk and putrified shark. But if neither presents itself, I am more than satisfied with cold blueberry soup, with cream.” “A woman of good Fjerdan tastes,” he says appreciatively before suddenly pausing. “Wait-“ She smiles sweetly and batts her eyelashes. Bless the poor lad, although he’s becoming quickly keener to her devious nature. She hopes he doesn’t get too quick-witted, though, or else she’ll loose the best craic she’s got immediate access to, fucking around with the motherfucker who’se never been fucked. “Is every question you ask Mila going to be so dull? Does Mila have no hobbies or desires?” His eyes immediately flick away from her face. “A Fjerdan man with any sense of decency would never ask an unmarried woman he does not know such things. An unmarried Fjerdan girl would not even think of such things to begin with.” “Indeed. But Mila Jandersdat has not in a near decade’s time been an unmarried woman, and Lars knows her very well.” “Why-“ “Go on. Make it a question for Mila.” “Where is your [hejmland], Mila?” “A [vik] of medium size, downriver from the centerlands.” Matthias flinches, and Nina smiles inwardly at what a job she’d done with placing his accent. “Mila is just a simple farming girl. Her family grew potatoes and sugar beets, and fished, and had a cow called Rose-Maret who it was Mila’s job to take to the out-pasture with two or three of the younger brothers and sisters.” He weighed the story as rounded another snow-packed crest. Guðrún had given them extensive directions towards the next vik which Nina had understood none of and was now again reliant on the in no way tender mercies of Matthias’s navigational skills. “If Mila had such a humble origin, then why does she speak and write in Fjerdan like the Djerholm [gentry?]” Nina’s mind went blank. Every time Matthias revealed a brain under all that muscle, it was a more unpleasant surprise than anything. “Mila’s mother did laundry and washing in the house of the strong-holders such that Mila be taught something of arithmetic and geography, for Mila has so clever a child as learnt by heart the entire [Djelsprayer] hornbook at the tender age of eight, so wickedly clever  is this woman Mila Jandersdat.” “And so dainty and humble as well.” “Indeead, the strong-holder’s wife became so taken by the wit and charms of Mila Jandersdat that she became very dear to the old woman, such that with no daughter and the all the sons gone off to war, she began to think of Mila as something of a niece and taught her what she knew of pincushion-embroidery and delicately plucking “Onward Fjerdan Soldiers” on the mandolin.” At this Matthias guffawed loudly. “And what of it?” “Mila would never sweetly play anything, let alone the mandolin.” Nina pursed her lips, suddenly shockingly cross at how this doltish soldier without an ounce of good culture to his name was judging the ladylike refinements of Mila Jandersdat. “Mila is a delicate Fjerdan flower.” At this Matthias guffawed still louder. It was a sound that shook his whole body and that she might have liked to hear more of if it had not been directed at her. “Mila may be a treacherously beautiful woman, but she is no delicate flower. She’s like the lurid blue wood-lichen that makes the bread-flour last a winter or else the arctic heather that nothing can stop from growing, not even the frost.” “All of this you know of Mila,” she huffed. “As you said, Lars know her very well.” In this way it continued. It gave them both something to do that felt like a more acceptable category of treason. In falling grey evenings and around campfires Lars and Mila came to increasingly fleshed life, and by laughing about it Nina could do what she’d always done when faced with the dizzyingly difficult, which was treat the task as a game. Mila Jandersdat was a woman of clever wits and a few human foibles for which she was all the more charming. She could dance a reel and tell a dirty joke and won blue ribbons for her cloudberry jam recipe. She was a big sister to all and the sort of friend with whom one might uncork a bottle of currant wine for a long chat in order to feel better about the world. “A good Fjerdan woman would not drink wine or brandy, or that which contains such spirits as may possess a soul.” “A bottle of honeywater,” Nina corrected herself, glaring. She assumed this would mollify him, but he then elaborated, “neither would she have the coin to buy such strong drink.” “Fine. Mila Jandersdat always has coffee and something sweet and a good bit of conversation for the guest who may darken her doorframe. There’s bread dough rising on the counter and some cider cake under a dome to keep the flies out and there’s a pie cooling on the windowsill with the fluttering lace curtains. There are always good things for the unexpected stranger to eat. And no one in Mila’s household is ever hungry. No one.” Her mouth felt dry. She huffed in breath. “What a marvel of feminine hospitality is Mila Jandersdat! What a wife does Lars have!” “A good Fjerdan housewife would never waste so much pay on sugar and trifles.” “Would not Lars the good Fjerdan husband provide for his wife so as to keep her in comfort?” And so it went. The found the next farm stead, and the one after, and worked several days in each place at the weaving and haying in exchange for a pile of gloriously warm blankets on the floor and the Kvöldvaka  light. Everywhere it was immeidately known how they were breaking the most clear-cut of wartime laws and ever time the wordlessly provided excuse was understood in full sympathy and some variety of spell, prayer, or enchantment was cast upon Mila’s womb so that it may take her husband’s seed and bear his family fruit. “Maybe Lars has a low sperm count,” she groused as they walked off. The housemistress told them they had at least another week through the blackrock but that there would not be more than a lone overnight camping between farmsteads and Nina breathed a sigh of relief before realising that meant trading the danger of open landscape for the more specific domestic dangers of the people that wanted to burn her kind to ashes. “Lars does not have a- what that is,” Matthias said defensively, before more trepiditiously asking, “what is that?” “You’re not ready.” According to Matthias’s fictions, Lars Sølverson was pious, self-sufficient, sturdy, moral, dependable, reliable, and altogether decent. He provided for his wife in way that was comfortable and yet economically prudent as befits the sort of upstanding man who is not in debt and neither will pass on a debt to his children. He did not partake of strong drink. His eyes did not wanter off to strange women, and as such he had not brought home diseases of an indiscrete nature or begotten any bastards, He always did a day’s honest work except for on Djel’s Day, which he spent in prayer and fellowship. He was well-liked among men. “How lucky was Mila to have found such a man,” said Nina before she belatedly remembered that the word she had used did not mean “lucky” so much as “blessed.” “Every well-suited match is a blessing from Djel, but Mila was not particularly singular, for that is the sort of Fjerdan man who can be found in any farm, or meeting-house, or regiment-camp. There is nothing (unique) about Lars being an upstanding and  morals-driven Fjerdan man.” {INSERT BRIDGE-EXPLANATION OF HOW LARS AND MILA MET)

“Her brother wanted to marry her to a blacksmith whose work shoeing carriage horses meant there would always be bread on her plate and fire enough to keep her warm in th, e winter, and what man in Fjerda could offer her more? The blacksmith had a braying, crass way of speaking about “his woman,” and he looked at her a if she was a dressed leg of lamb, but her children would likely never be too hungry nor too cold. And so she was happy with her lot as she might be, and one day was buying new dress-hooks to fix her mother’s wedding dress when she saw him walking in the marketplace, and wanted him.” “So he knocked upon her father’s door-“ Matthias tried to jab in sideways. “So he made her a wedding ring of dentist’s gold and they ran off into the night.” “Lars would never have ruined her like that.” “Mila Jandersdat is a woman, not a broken platter. She isn’t ruined.” “He would never have broken her honour in front of her family or her community so that she could never have returned home. Lars knew a woman worth more than rubies what he saw one, even staring boldly-“ “I was not staring boldly! I was making eyes in a lavicious, untoward manner-“ “So he asked of her name, and learned it was Mila Jandersdat. That very evening he knocked at her father’s door. He was invited to dinner as any a wandering soul might be. He dined with her family three times before he was left alone with her and before the courting could begin. He took her father to meet his and see the sort of place he would have to his name and if were a godly sort of people he had come from.” “Mila’s mother and sisters dug through the scraps bin to start the Hringsa quilt,” she said. They would have taken the drinking glasses and candlesticks off of the dining table to pin out the little pieced-out triangles into the trunk and roots and leaves of the Tree of Life, and then they would have stitched it together in a winter’s worth of Kvöldvaka [Kvoldvakar?] after they’d done their National Service, spinning from their own sheep the sails of druskelle ships. Mila cut into strips the nut-brown tablecloth to make the trunk of her tree, for the living, and unravelled her too-small childhood mittens into the yarn with which stitched a spinning fractal of strong roots for the ancestors. She cut up her own baby blanket for the good green cloth with which to stitch the leaves. When it was done Mila folded the blanket and put it into the carved wooden chest of her bridal troseau and when she and her mother unfolded it over her marriage bed on the morning of her wedding, it would have been a sort of marking of territory. A national flag for a different sort of nation. And in the evening, jittered from cake and nerves, Mila would have run her index finger over the sturdy interfitting of triangles- the blue calico of her aunt’s apron, the red triangle of her other’s kirk shawl- while she waited on the bed for her husband to come in from the party, and have her. Lars and Mila fucked on that quilt. When she pinned the thing on the line to air out during the spring cleaning and everyone passing by could see, it was also a sort of declaration. When a fortnight after her marriage she woke to find her belly cramping and blood sticking to the insides of her thighs, she cried. As she rubbed out the stains with baking soda and river water she thanked Djel there was no child yet twisting inside of her. When five years on she did the same, she railed against her wretchedness, her godless condition, because that was an easier thing to stomache than the notion that the All-Source of All-Water had closed her womb in punishment for her sinful being. {insert something to return back to main narrative} Nina looked up, which was somehow a struggle. Mila was the full rushing force of a tidal wave pulling her under the water. She was as real as anything. “He must have loved her a lot,” she said, her tongue heavy. “To keep her as his wife. Mila. Lars’s wife. After eight years and no sons unto his name.” [Lars was not real. Lars was as real as the cardboard cutouts Kerch pleasure-piers stuck outside bordellos to advertise the enticements inside. Nina did want to think about what you’d find if you tipped Lars over.] “No honorable man would leave a woman he had made his wife to the cold like that.” Nina shrugged. “Even if she slept in his bed and ate his bread off his hard earned soldier’s wage and gave him no issue?” Matthias’s fingers worried at the hem of his trousers. He did not want to talk about this, she supposed. He wanted to talk about this more than anything. “Only a cruel man would blame the hand of Djel upon a woman.” “Then we live in a world full of cruel men.” All of the breached babies and ectopic pregnancies and angry, angry husbands. Sometimes it felt like more of a battle to serve in the domestic wards than it had been to dig out bullets from shoulders a half-hour from the front line. And more direct threats on her life, besides. Everyone knew that witches killed babies, and baked cakes from their blood, and cursed them to be born early, and quickened women with seven at home already and too-eager husbands, and everyone knew that witches turned sons to daughters with the flick of a wrist and a few esoteric sayings. Everyone knew. Matthias looked into Nina’s eyes. He did not try to tell her that Fjerdan men were not cruel. Not even the honorable Fjerdan men.