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tojisun · 11 months ago

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it takes a rampage (to be a dad)

!! fluff & angst; simon’s pov; simon’s insecurities; vague descriptions of violence; repeating allusions to past child abuse; parenthood; f!reader // wc: 3.5k // dividers by @/plutism!

a spinoff of the apple that rolled over to the tree

simon’s not a good man, but he concedes that there are just certain circumstances where you have to be the good man. where you have to bleed and burn through, and sacrifice a shit ton because that’s what being good is.

case in point: the child, who couldn’t be any more than two, bundled in his arms as the squad tries to come down from the adrenaline after a dangerously high-tension exfil.

“where,” johnny pauses, breathing deeply, quick fingers unlatching any tight strapping that’s making it difficult to gulp in air. “where ye dumpin’ the brat?”

it’s callously said, but they all know johnny’s meant it in a place of worry—which is founded, by all accounts, because the base is a terrible place to care for a two year old toddler. no one’s even equipped to deal with the boy, not with the mission still on its last legs; granted, the winding dregs would only require their captain, maybe garrick for backup, to finish but nothing is ever certain.

but—

the boy shifts on his lap, big brown eyes staring up at simon with unfathomable trust. like the sight of his mask, and weapons, and even having seen him in action—poised guns and clean shots on the head; unfazed eyes scanning the explosion of brain matter spilling he’s caused—was not petrifying.

simon knows what they say about ghost—the living boogeyman; the harbinger of death and destruction. and yet here the little boy is, looking up at him like simon isn’t anything other than man; like simon is something so human.

simon thinks about his place back home that’s dancing close to the outskirts of the city; he thinks about its picket fence and its brick walls and its big backyard.

he thinks about its love, forged from the softest hands that simon’s ever held; from the hands of the only one that simon’s ever loved.

“i’m bringin’ ‘im ‘ome.”

laswell was kind enough to pull some strings so that the boy has whatever legal documents he needed so simon can bring him back safely—passport, citizenship papers… adoption documents.

jacob emory riley. (yakov in russian. yasha.) he’s simon’s ward now. his son.

(laswell had congratulated him with crinkled eyes and the softest of smiles; it might just be the first simon’s ever seen her look so at peace.

somehow, it was that brief talk with laswell that made everything feel tangibly raw; simon realized that things got too real too fast, and that he found himself almost wanting to reverse everything he’d done so far because what if he wouldn’t be a good guardian to the child? what if simon’s too broken for the child? what if—

his thoughts stuttered, quaking until they reach a tentative halt because the boy closed his little fist around the entirety of simon’s finger. he was so small, like that, and still so blindingly trusting even with all the littering scars on his little arms and little legs. he held onto simon so fiercely, he didn’t even notice the turmoil in simon’s heart. or how simon had almost given him away in an act of his cowardice because simon is a coward. especially with this.

but jacob—

but yasha held him, chose him, and the storm raging in his head died down, petering into a quiet chill until simon could bite out a weak but not any less genuine, “thank you,” to laswell.

laswell stared at him, all-knowing as always, before bidding him and yasha a sweet goodbye.)

the boy responds better with the diminutive, all giggly and grabby hands as he toddles over simon. the rest of the squad had eased into their roles, battle-worn bodies turning into the softest cushions with yasha in their arms. he is a shy little thing, hiding behind simon’s leg whenever price would come visit, or refusing to be put down from simon’s arms or even make eye contact with mactavish when it’s his turn to babysit.

garrick was a different story altogether. yasha had looked at him once, studying with such inquisitive curiosity, before deeming his sergeant the safest after simon. he’d grumbled and cooed and begged for uppies—garrick had been all too pleased to give it to him.

which is why saying goodbye now is difficult.

yasha would not stop crying, pale face all blotchy and snotty as he wails, chubby arms thrashing, trying to reach for kyle, but the sergeant and their captain are already suited for the mission, ready to leave the moment simon and johnny and little yasha do.

“ky! ky!” he cries out, unable to fully say kyle’s name but trying so desperately because his grief is so much bigger than himself.

simon bounces him on his hip, trying to calm the little tyke down, but shrill wails pierce their ears, unstoppable, and he wonders if it was too cruel to have made him say goodbye to kyle and price. simon heard from the medic that it was healthy for children to cry, but yasha sobs like he is grieving, and simon can’t fault him—this is his first, and hopefully his last for a long while, experience of abandonment. sure, they’ve all told him that kyle would just be gone for a while, but yasha is a child, unable to reconcile such reality where his uncle isn’t flying home with him.

(they didn’t mention the fragility of their lives in their line of work; how, every time they suit up, there are chances that they’ll never return. yasha is too young for such reality.

‘sides, kyle promised to come back. so he has to.)

kyle is teary-eyed, so is mactavish, and simon presses his sorry’s and his reassurances on yasha’s inky black hair, while kyle makes a vow once more.

“don’t worry, son,” their captain croons, his face creased in the softest it has ever been. “i promise i’ll bring your uncle back in one piece.”

yasha sniffles, watery brown eyes not looking away. then, “o’ay.” he lifts an arm up, waving it cautiously. “buh-bye?”

“yeah, bubsy,” their captain replies because no one can, not kyle who is crying nor simon who can’t lift his face up from where he’s breathing in his son’s baby smell. “bye bye.”

“buh-bye,” yasha repeats, still quiet but more sure. “ky? buh-bye?”

kyle chuckles wetly. he steps forward and pinches yasha’s cheek. “bye bye, little man. see you in two weeks, okay?”

yasha hums, having grown exhausted from his emotional outburst. the base shrink said that’s normal for children; that it’s good when they’re emotional, it’s healthy, so simon bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from fussing.

instead, as a distraction, he nods at his captain and his sergeant, and he and mactavish turn to leave.

“daddy?” the little tyke asks.

“yeah?” simon replies, turning his full attention to yasha.

“buh-bye?”

“oh, son no,” simon murmurs. “daddy’s always goin’ t’be with you.”

yasha nods, and flops back down on simon’s chest, satisfied.

the flight was tedious, sprinkle the listless child with that, and it was just about draining. he couldn’t thank johnny enough for being with him throughout because being an uncle to tommy’s kids didn’t teach simon much about this—cranky and emotional two year-old’s, and their complicated tastebuds that almost made it impossible to feed them aeroplane food, and their odd sleeping patterns.

but as simon shoots yasha a glance, watching the boy sleep peacefully finally, he thinks to himself how it’s all so worth it.

johnny doesn’t follow them to prestwich, crashing instead somewhere in stratford before making his way back to dundee. yasha hadn’t cried as hard for johnny as he did when he said goodbye to kyle, but he’d been teary-eyed even when he refused to be given to his sergeant’s waiting arms. still, simon’s boy had been solemn and gave mactavish a weak wave.

simon tells yasha that johnny would come back in two weeks’ time too, with the captain and garrick, before trailing off when he realized he doesn’t know how to tell yasha exactly why johnny was giving them space.

shit, he hadn’t even thought about how yasha would react when—

the house appears past barren trees, and simon’s lungs constrict in one full swoop. god, he’s missed this place, very much so.

pinpricks fill the back of his eyes, and he desperately blinks them away as he tries swallowing past the lump in his throat, but not even the familiar warmth of yasha could ground simon back. rather, the reminder that simon’s not returning on his own this time makes everything feel a lot more intense, like ragged tendrils curling at the base of his neck, grasping him until reality and faraway dreams blend into something miasmic.

simon’s never once deluded himself with thoughts of having his own family. he once thought he’d go grey on his own, something he was perfectly fine with because nothing is ever sacred—the catholics had a word for it, johnny said, how one’s mere existence was the original sin, and simon is neither a pagan nor a believer, but when you grow up with shadows that are ever so perpetually haunting, you learn that not even the sign of the cross can truly ward off the demons.

but then, his beloved appeared before him—just as… fearful; as self-punishing as he had been, and he knows it was twisted but he had been pulled. he had been lulled into the weight of your gravitational force, dragging his heart until it was homesick for anything less.

(two words have never sounded sweeter to him before.

i do.

since then, he’s never hunger for more.)

(until yasha.)

the cab stops, the driver dutifully ignoring how simon must look, all brooding and emotional as he holds his child close, like if he blinks, someone would take him away. he tips generously, and declines any offer of helping with the unloading of bags in the trunk. simon didn’t even bring much, just a travel bag and a rucksack stuffed with as many travel essentials for yasha.

the boy is asleep again, exhaustion dragging him back to his dreams. he looks so peaceful like this, and younger too, and simon knows that isn’t a good thing because yasha’s so small for a two year old. simon’s only comfort is that he’s bringing him somewhere safe; a place filled with boundless love.

he walks to the front door, debating on whether he should just take the spare key underneath the nondescript potted plant to get in or just bite the bullet and introduce yasha to you like this, through the entrance.

the choice is taken from him when you swing the door open, surprise and disbelief lining your face.

“i saw you—” you say at the same time that he rasps out, “love—”

he beckons you to go first. you did so with a tremor in your voice.

“i saw you from the cameras,” you pause, roving your wide eyes over him, before stopping at the bundle he’s carrying. “haley helped me set them up—said you can, uh, get notification of movements outside and, and…”

he watches as you realize that you’re about to ramble, so you take a deep breath, finding the centre of your gravity, before, “baby? who…”

simon adjusts his hold on yasha, before a careful hand sweeps away the blanket so you can see the boy better.

“this,” he says, quiet and fragile. “this is our son, jacob emory riley.” he licks at his chapped lips, the word ‘our’ settling so warmly in the pit of his stomach. “our yasha.”

“oh,” you whimper instantly, tears already springing from your eyes. a choked sound gets stuck on the back of your throat before you’re rushing forward, careful to not jostle the tyke awake, until you’re pressing yourself against simon’s side, watching raptly.

“simon he’s—” you hiccup, rubbing your face on his shoulder. “darling, he’s perfect.”

simon ducks down to brush his lips on the crown of your head, humming deep because yeah, he is. but so are you—and he wouldn’t have done this, anyway, without you. because yasha deserved the best and simon doesn’t know anyone who could step up other than you.

you, who is so bright and joyful; who has crafted fortitude from the ragged shards of your pain.

you, who is the strongest person that simon’s ever met; how you could look at the storm and find a reason to dance.

you, who is so beautiful and lovely, and so utterly full of love that it spills into everyone you meet and everything you do.

yasha deserves you.

and, love, you deserve a family just like this too.

yasha wakes up and simon makes the mistake of not being there for him. he didn’t even know he accidentally slept in the living room, long body sprawled on the couch gracelessly. he jolts awake after the loud ring of cries, the fear he felt at hearing yasha’s familiar sobbing slams so fiercely into simon’s heart.

he topples to the ground, knees thudding against the hardwood floors, before he bolts up, frantic as he tears through the house, trying to find his boy, desperate to comfort him and to apologize and to make things right because he never wants yasha to feel so alone in his new home—

simon pauses, feet stopping just in front of the bedroom where you and simon had put yasha in since the guest room has yet to be baby proofed and prepared, when he hears your familiar croon.

“shh, darlin’. you’re alright, i promise.”

simon angles himself so that he can see through the ajar door. you’re kneeling on the floor, head a few feet away from where yasha’s is pillowed. the boy is staring at you with wide eyes, wet and red, but he’s no longer wailing, and simon wonders if it’s because yasha’s internalizing his fear, but then he sees the tyke make grabby hands at you—pudgy fists closing, then opening again. he seems like a baby like this, more than a toddler, and simon watches as you coo, inching closer, giving yasha room to roll away if he wants, but the boy turns to his side, facing you properly, and it’s all the confirmation you need to take him in your arms.

you rise up from the floor, yasha perched on your hip. the boy is still watching you, curious, and you murmur something too faint for simon to hear, before wiping at his wet cheeks and his runny nose.

“hi, love,” you murmur, voice a tad quiet. simon sees the hesitance in your gait, like you don’t know what else to say. it takes a heartbeat, before you’re uttering your name, voice curling around the vowels the way simon never gets tired of hearing.

“i’ve heard good things about you, you know?” you say, brushing the pad of your finger along the bridge of yasha’s nose. simon’s ears pick up huffing sounds, then your giggles, and yasha’s hum.

“oh, i sure did,” you add, smiling, bouncing the toddler in your arms. “simon said you’re the best boy ever!”

simon did, he guesses, say that but with more words—he told you how he found yasha, and how yasha had been so brave after such a stressful change in his life; how yasha had been so excited to learn and to trust, and how he’d brighten up everyone’s day back at the base; how yasha had first called him daddy, and the others unca’, his brave little boy so eager for a family that he made one even when all he’s surrounded with was a ragtag of broken men.

yasha is truly such a beautiful boy, so darling and loving.

“si-‘on?” yasha says, attempting simon’s name.

“yeah,” you reply, just as choked up as simon is. “simon… your daddy.”

yasha hums, fist curling up your shirt.

“daddy,” he repeats, nodding. then, like he remembers that simon isn’t there, yasha begins to look distraught again, whining, looking up to you like you hold the answer when he asks, “daddy where?”

simon takes that chance to walk in. you two whirl to look at him, both with pained faces easing up into the loveliest of smiles just at his mere presence. it makes simon feel… raw; that somehow, all he needs to be is himself, and it’s enough to brighten up the room.

his lips twitch up in his own smile too.

“hey there, kid,” he greets, slotting himself to your side so he can pull you close and be in yasha’s line of sight.

you turn, moving to pass yasha to him, but the boy’s hand is still tight on your shirt and he still looks at ease with you, and simon nuzzles his face on the top of your head in comfort when he sees the way your lips wobble at yasha’s easy display of trust.

“daddy!” yasha cheers. “you here!”

simon ruffles the soft tufts of yasha’s hair. “of course. did you nap good?”

yasha nods, distracted by the bright colours on the bed. the yellow pillows and the baby blue blanket.

the dog stuff toy.

yasha gasps, utterly delighted, and he wriggles out, begging to be put down, and you and simon watch as he runs to the side of the bed, plucking the toy out with a giggle.

“towy!” he says, showing it to you and simon.

simon files the name for next time, focusing on yasha as he runs to hug simon’s leg, then yours, before running back to the bed, chatting animatedly to the toy.

simon pulls you close, slotting your back to his front to bury his face on the crook of your neck, because this, right here, is change. but also, he’s home.

“i missed you,” he murmurs, because it is the only thing he can verbalize. he wants to say more—he wants to say how he’s never once stopped thinking about you, how he’s always kept a picture he has of you in his helmet, tucked under the crown pad, how he’d always toy with his ring when he has the chance because simon is made of many things, and one of them is your love.

but this is all that forms from his lips, inadequate, but then simon hears the twinkle of your laughter, and, “i missed you too, love.” and knows, there needn’t be any more words. not when you two have more time than he’s ever had the privilege to spend.

the first time yasha calls you his mom—“mommy!”—was just days before the squad was set to meet the riley’s in their residence.

it was a mundane day; you and yasha are in the living room, playing with his army of anatoly’s—towy—when yasha squeals, finally able to dig out his favourite anatoly from underneath the couch after futile attempts. you’ve asked him if you can help him with it, but he’d been so adamant, tutting the way simon does and it’s honestly so adorable that you let him have at it.

so you laughed at the sound of his happy trills, watching as he turns, running to you, saying, “mommy, towy look!”

he falls to your lap, humphing loudly and smooshing the turtle stuffie on your face, and all you can do is gather him close, trying not to cry in front of him but—

he’s called you mommy.

your little brave boy called you—

“mommy, sad?” yasha asks, readily giving you another treasure, saying the word so naturally like you were never anything else to him.

“no, sweet pea,” you reply, choked up with the weight of your joy. “mommy’s the happiest she’s been.”

you kiss his chubby cheek, breathing in his scent, before letting him squirm out of your hold so he can play with another anatoly, leaving you the turtle one. you hold it close, trying to ground yourself, but the happiness bloats and you feel floaty.

god, it is almost unimaginable.

(you tell it to simon later at night, and simon coos as he wipes the tears away from your cheeks.

“i’m so, so happy si,” you breathe out.

simon bumps his forehead to yours. “i am too, baby.”)

simon is not pouting, thank you very much. if anyone says otherwise, he’d like to go on record and say that they’re all a bunch of liars. yes, that includes his beautiful wife too because, again, simon is not pouting.

sure yasha has refused to detach himself from uncle kyle, but that doesn’t mean simon’s jealous, he swears.

“yer a lying scumbag,” johnny hisses at him because he’s been trying to get simon to admit that he’s jealous, which simon isn’t. “i’m on you, LT. i’m on you.”

“whatever ‘tavish,” simon grumbles, hands twitching at another hearty giggle that rings from where kyle is playing with yasha. “last i checked, the boy still runs away from you so, you know, start with that.”

“oh you motherfu—”

“boys,” price barked out, and simon and johnny cringe at the chastising voice of their captain. “language.”

johnny says something that no one picks up because he’s chewing on his words. simon sniffs, looking away only to meet your eyes. unabashed glee is bright on your face, and simon knows he would be hearing you teasing about this later on tonight.

simon scrunches his nose. you reply with a playful rolling of your eyes.

yeah, it’s a good day. and simon still isn’t pouting.

notes: it turned out to have heavier (?) parts than expected. also to clarify, yasha’s been picked up from a mission (the specifics were removed since things got a wee graphic). i’ve included a concept photo of simon and yasha, which was fun to use while reimagining! i hope u guys liked this <3 peace out and sm love mwah!!

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley fluff #cod x reader #suns

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revasserium · 1 year ago

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18 and 28 from promp list 1 with zayne? :>

send me a number + a character and i'll write u a drabble

18. afterglow + 28. cliche of the morning after (take two)

zayne; 1,209 words; fluff, fem!reader, zayn!branded banter, very very vague allusions to top!zayne, whipped!zayne

summary: the morning after, with zayne.

a/n: zayne is not so secretly a simp. no further comments at this time.

It is often in the moments after, in the liquid exhale of skin on skin, the dissipating heat of body against body — this is when Zayne thinks he sees you most clearly. Faintly, he wonders if he could count every single point of contact between you — your ankles hooked over his (one), your calves pressed together (two), the delicate softness of your hip beneath his palm (three), the weight of your cheek pillowed on his arm (four).

He watches the moth-wing flutter of your lashes as your eyes flicker open to meet his, the petal-sweet spread of your smile as you crinkle your nose and lean in to bury your face in his chest with a groan.

“You’re staring again.”

Your voice is muffled; he feels it vibrating through his skin.

Zayne drops a kiss into your hair as he loops his arms around you.

“Am I not allowed?”

You shake your head, pressing ever closer even as he chuckles, letting his fingers trail through your silken hair, amusing himself with tugging on the ends.

“Feels weird.”

“Does it?” he asks.

You pull back to peer up at him, and he feels himself falling into the galaxies caught behind your eyes, and yes, isn’t it a cliche to fall for a girl like this? To compare her eyes to the light of distant stars, to find her shadow and shade in every flower petal, her voice in every rustle of tree branches, and the chiming of silver bells.

Yes, he thinks — it is.

But he has long since given up trying to rationalize the way you make him feel, ever since you were both children, and he’d imagined what it might feel to someday hold more of you than your hand.

Here, now — with your body pressed to his, Zayne can’t help but wonder at all the parts of you he’s always had — not the bare skin of your waist or the heat caught behind the line of your teeth but other things. The tiny scar on your right elbow (five), the curve of your knee hard against his own (six), the baby’s breath of hair at the nape of your neck that always curled and would never stay in braids the way you liked (seven) —

“Zayne?” your voice is small.

“Hm?”

“What are you thinking about? You look so serious.”

Zayne blinks. He wonders if he should tell you about his thoughts, about how there’s not a moment in the day when he’s not thinking about you. About how he wonders if you’re eating, sleeping, if you’re safe. About how sometimes it keeps him up at night when he thinks about the mortality rates of Hunters, of the unknown, unnamed dangers that await you out there, all the things he can’t protect you from.

He wonders if he should tell you that he spends too long thinking of you — of your body and the way it fits so perfectly inside his arms. Of how the last time he held you in his arms, it took everything in him to let you go, set you down on his office sofa, and watch you as your breaths evened out.

So he says, “Nothing…” so he says, “just… thinking about what to make for breakfast.”

He doesn’t tell you that he’s kept your favorite brand of toothpaste in his bathroom for the past several years, or how he’s always got a drawer full of clothes that he knows you like to wear tucked into his closet.

“Oh! What about pancakes? Or… French Toast?”

Your smile is bright and happy and Zayne can’t help the way he leans down to brush his lips against yours. He savors in the way you gasp and soften against him. He lingers too long on how the smooth of your leg slots so perfectly between his.

“Whichever you feel like more,” he says, pulling back to smile down at you, taking note of the brilliant blush that has since settled across your cheeks.

“What if… I say I want both?”

Zayne lets out a sigh, chuckling as he fixes you with a look.

Want. He wonders if you truly know the depths and width of wanting the way he does — and if you’d still want to stay when you did find out.

Instead, he leans in to nuzzle his nose against yours, reaching up to cup your cheek in his palm.

“Then… I’ll make both.”

“Really?”

You sound too surprised, too pleased.

“But we’ll have to eat healthier for lunch and dinner.”

You crinkle your nose, “But we’ve been so healthy all week!”

Zayne watches you pout for a moment longer before he sighs and pulls back ever so slightly, casting his eyes at the ceiling, letting out a contemplative hum.

“Or, we can go to the gym.”

He knows exactly the face you’re making before he ever looks over to see you make it, and allows himself a small laugh.

“Ugh, you’re no fun.”

“No?” Zayne turns and you go still next to him, eyes wide as he pins you with a look. He watches with a muted satisfaction as color creeps into your cheeks and you blink, attempting to backtrack.

“That’s not — I mean —”

In a single move, he has you pinned beneath him, both your wrists caught in one of his hands, pinned above your head so that you’re stretched out beneath him. He watches as you tug weakly against his hold before going still, blinking up at him from beneath your thick lashes.

“Though…. I suppose there are other ways of burning calories that might be of more interest to you than going to the gym.”

He keeps his voice level, his expression blank. But he counts the quickening pace of your breath, and sees the darkening of your eyes as your pupils dilate.

“Z-Zayne…”

“Didn’t you say you wanted both pancakes and French Toast?” he leans down with a light smile, casually stroking a finger along the line of your cheek.

“Yes but —”

“But?”

You bite your lips, shifting beneath him. And like this, he can’t help the baser, more carnal parts of him as they threaten to take over his senses. Not with you spread out beneath him like this, so tantalizing in your willingness, so defiant and shy all at once.

“You’ll… really make both for me?”

Zayne almost laughs, nodding as he bends down to press a long kiss to your lips, groaning as your hips roll up into his at the sweep of his tongue along your teeth.

“If you’re good.”

You nod, eyes wide and already misted over, “I — I’ll be good.”

Zayne nods once before he tugs the rest of the blankets from you, letting the hunger crest up and through him as he coos by your ear —

“Good… that’s a good girl for me.”

He does end up making both pancakes and French Toast for you in the end. Though, by the time that happens, it’s much too far past noon for either of you to call it breakfast any longer.

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captainlakes · 16 days ago

Text

masterlist

it's nice to have friend ♡

finnick odair x fem!capitol!reader!

summary: being own by the capitol it isn't that good until finnick gets a hopeful surprise and a heartwarming offer.

words: 1.4K

tags: hurt/comfort. strangers to friends.

warnings: 6 years after finnink's win, forced prostitution, vague allusion to anxiety and infidelity. mention of coriolanus snow, english is not my first language! (i'm sorry for any mistake)

note: omg this is my first one shot ever, please please be nice with me<3

The capitol never felt like a safe place for Finnick.

President Snow made sure of that.

He was a victor, yes but it didn't felt like it. His fate was written the minute they allowed a fourteen year old to volunteer for the hunger games, won it and then two years after, let that same teenager, who now had faced death and provoked it to some of his fellow tributes, save his loved ones by becoming some sort of sexual symbol.

Mostly a sexual slave.

Not that he would call himself like that in public.

Still, he didn't enjoyed it. He pretended he did, damn it, he lived the last four years pretending to like a life he secretly found completely and utterly disgusting.

Going from room to room, bed to bed, being touched by depraved strangers that didn't give a shit about him, it was exhausting, an awful way to live even when he was praised by his performances, by his looks every single time.

It wasn't enough.

It didn't make him feel better but more dirty, more used.

And then he met you.

The president called him to his office one morning, saying someone was interested in him and would meet him at the end of the day in the address written on a small piece of paper.

Finnick agreed, being the only acceptable answer for a snake like the one ruling the country.

But he was surprised when he meet you later that day.

You weren't a old woman with weird likings or a man waiting for him to get on his knees. No, you were a girl, probably his age or a year older, sitting on a couch relax and unbothered reading some book as the world outside wasn't crazy, as you weren't waiting for him.

But you were. You offered him a warm smile a nice greeting and asked him to sit across you, not beside you but in a single couch in front of you, leaving the book for another time on the coffee table and standing up to bring him a glass of water, not wine, nor a beer just water along with some biscuits you made a few hours ago.

And then you asked how he was doing, if the whole Capitol’s lifestyle hasn't annoyed him yet as you knew he came from District 4 and things worked differently there.

It was a simple question however it took him by surprise, probably it was the first time someone in this city asked for his feelings, his well being.

He answered with a bit of confusion lingering on his body, gazing at you curious, even more when you said something about always wanting to visit his district and then asking him how it was it back there.

This wasn't normal, if it were he would be over you by now instead of talking.

But that was exactly what was happening, you were having a conversation. It wasn't deep or life changing but it was fresh. For once in his life he didn't have to do what he hated the most, what he was forced to do all weeks, all months, all years.

A part of him though, was still in denial as you explained the grades method of The University and how it related with the positive or negative outcome of their given tributes, he still thought you were just polite waiting for the right moment to ask him to sleep with you.

But you didn't. It was all a long chat with him as you knew him, as if you were friends until you looked at the clock and told him that it was late, that he should go home.

It wasn't late, it was barely past seven and you were asking him to leave already, without having any kind of physical contact so he had to ask “Look, I'm not trying to be ungrateful but…I thought this night was going to be different.”

The comment made you stop, you were walking from the luxurious living room to the kitchen to clean the evidence of his presence in your house when you heard him, a little smile tugged in the corner of your mouth as you realized he need the explanation “The other day at the party,” you answered, referring to a few days ago when one of those big and reckless Capitol’s parties took place at one of your friend's parents house and where he assisted too “You seemed quite stressed” you said, softly.

You usually didn't focus on the victors, the party itself was distracting enough for you to be eyes glued with the winner of the games but when you saw him that night something struck with you. He was alone, a drink in hand and the other passing through his hair, frustrated, you followed him with your eyes for a minute, saw him curse and asked for another drink as he took his jacket off and breath deep, his eyes traveling to the woman that was with him just a second ago, some government man’s wife.

Whatever she told him, it unsettled him.

“I wasn't—” A big smile appeared on his face, a charming smile that screamed denial, pretending, hiding. You were fast enough to cut him off, whatever he was trying to make you believe, you needed to reassure him that it wasn't necessary, not here, not with you.

“When I'm stressed, I…I try to hang out with friends, talk a little” you explained, leaving the glass you have on your hand on the counter of the kitchen and turning back to see him. “It's usually better if you have someone”

He seemed off, shocked by all of this situation. He tried to say something but the words died on his throat, his mouth opened but he didn't say a thing and had to close it again. For a minute, he studied you as if he had to find the catch, the hidden message to decode you, to understand where this unexpected kindness to his person came from.

It was so rare nowadays for him, almost nonexistent that he didn't believe a nice person still existed in the capital of Panem.

“You don't know me” His voice cracked and his look reflected surprise, confusion, curiosity all at the same time, unsure to how he should be addressing this, how he should be managing this situation.

“I do know you” you took a step closer. “We just have a two hour conversation Finnick, I bet I know more of you than the president himself” you joked, trying to break the sudden tension in the room.

It worked for a second.

“You know what I mean” he replied quickly.

“I just thought it would be nice for you to have a friend” she shrugged, looked away then back at him. “You’re twenty and you barely talk with someone of your age”

He scoffed, shook his head, giving you a bitter smile “It's not that simple” he assured “I'm not here to make friends, I'm here to…” He trailed off and then you knew he wasn't having a great time, he was holding something back, something painful.

“You don't have to come back, if you don't want to” she said, stopping the visual contact they were holding, her gaze returning to the tray of food on the coffee table and reaching for it to take it back to the kitchen.

He strangely found himself not liking that idea. He didn't remember the last time someone didn't called him handsome, hot or sexy in an amount of two hours straight; the last time he felt really comfortable, really at ease with anyone at the Capitol.

He didn't think too much when he rushed to grab your hand, in a soft, delicate, gentle touch. A warm feeling invading you at the contact.

“I want to come back” His gaze was softer, more genuine than it had been all evening “I want…I want to be your friend”

You smiled in answer, you nodded and squeezed his hand, lightly with just enough pressure for him to feel it “Good” your voice was almost a whisper “I want to be your friend too, Finnick”

He smiled, dimples showing on his cheeks and he thought, with his hand still on yours, with your gaze holding his, maybe you were right.

Maybe it would be nice to have a friend.

Maybe it was good you were offering to become that person for him.

#finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick oneshot #thg finnick #the hunger games #sam claflin #Spotify

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sleepyspeedster · 6 months ago

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Rating: Explicit Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M Fandom: DCU (Comics), Superboy (Comics), Impulse (Comics), Young Justice (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics) Relationship: Bart Allen/Kon-El | Conner Kent Characters: Bart Allen, Kon-El | Conner Kent

Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Bottom Kon-El | Conner Kent, Top Bart Allen, Humor, Light Angst, Fluff, Multiple Orgasms, Power Use in the Bedroom, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Nipple Play, Tactile Telekinesis (DCU), Dorks in Love, Vague Allusions to Kon's Past Relationships, Lightning Rods, Everyone is ~19-21 in this fic, Rarepair Bart and Kon are also silly in this, Versatile Couple, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Reassurance, Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Relationship Reassurance, Bart and Kon just fitting together as people and in a relationship. Word Count: 10,754

Summary:

After convincing strong-arming Tim into letting them use one of the safe-houses for Christmas Eve, Kon and Bart find out the spiked-eggnog has an unexpected effect upon half-Kryptonians and leads to an eventful and emotionally revealing Christmas Eve alone in one of the Teen Titans safe-houses. (Basically it's a E-rated fic that is meant to have character/relationship exploration, cute moments, humor, and emotion in it. Please read the notes before reading for clarity. This fic is not based in Teen Titans Vol. 3.)

Excerpt:

It was Christmas Eve and Bart was spending the day with Kon, his boyfriend, his best friend, his favorite person in the universe (and he could say that with the utmost certainty), in one of the Teen Titans’ safe-houses. Today was a day for just the two of them. Away from their families and friends, though they loved them dearly, away from any last minute city-threatening villain-induced trouble that surely would have pulled them away from their time with each other, and away from any other distractions so they could just be by themselves. (Plus the rest of the team had promised they’d have it covered so they could take the day off so it was fine anyway.) It had been a long year and they had been dying for some time away. They had even strong-armed Tim—er or convinced Tim pretty damn well into letting them use the safe-house for the occasion. Bart was pretty sure what had sealed the deal was the threat of having loud, mind blowing, and most likely definitely property breaking sex inside the Titans Tower that would go beyond anything they had done before. (They had already broken two sofas, a pool-table, the backboard off of Kon’s bed, which was still broken and now duct-taped together until Bart could find where that book on woodworking that had disappeared beneath the mountain of things in his own room, and cracked one of the walls in the training facility. That one had been Kon’s fault. You could still see the indent of his hand where he had gripped the wall for dear life.) Just the thought of them doing even more damage to the Tower had been enough to convince Tim to give them the code to the safe house and tell them with a clear and patently disappointed Bat-stare to “Just go.” But despite getting their way, despite how close Kon was to him and how his warmth seeped into his skin as Kon sat atop of him on the couch, while the tv and their long forgotten marathon of Christmas movies buzzed on and away without them, Bart’s brows furrowed together in deep concentrated thought. Milk, cream, vanilla extract, nutmeg, cinnamon, a hearty amount of rum, eggs, annnnnd…a touch of sea salt? That was it right? That was all the ingredients he had used, right? Bart’s mind reeled back and forth through the list of ingredients from the eggnog recipe he had borrowed from Joan, as Kon peppered kisses across his skin. From his lips, to his neck, and even trailing down his chest as another button on his shirt popped open, Kon attacked every bare piece of his skin he could find.

[Continue reading on AO3]

#BartKon #KonBart #Superpulse #Bart Allen #Kon El #Superboy #Conner Kent #Impulse #Dc Comics #DC #dcu #DC Fanfic #//because I'm a moron I accidentally deleted the base post rather than the reblog.#sleepy fanfics

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angelsndragons · 2 months ago

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Hey! I'm playing VG for the first time and I loved your Felassan=Caretaker theory and I think I might have a little more (albeit vague) stuff for it:

I don't have the clip or exact quote, but between finding the last Regret and meeting Morrigan in the Crossroads, the Caretaker refers to Solas directly but not by name, only as "the Protector," I'm fairly sure even with that capitalization.

Pretty much everything I've come across in game so far seems to support the idea that Felassan was in charge of running the Crossroads/Lighthouse and seeing to the needs of its refugees, while Solas was indeed the Protector, organizing and strategizing attacks and defenses.

Tl;dr: the Protector is the mirror/other half of the Caretaker. There's probably also an allusion here to Dirthamen/Falondin, though while they were one and then split, these two were further split/corrupted by betrayal (secrets) and grief (death).

(sorry if u already caught this one I just now got to that part and got so excited I had to come find u lol)

Ok wait I had more thoughts. The Caretaker is new. Definitely not around during the heyday of the Lighthouse, likely just the last decade-ish. sO WHY WOULD IT CALL SOLAS "THE PROTECTOR." Not The Wolf, not Fen'Harel, not even his name; Solas hasn't been doing much 'protecting' this past decade, only scheming and hiding and plotting. and sure, Spirits yeah? so the Caretaker probably knows plenty of history now, as a spirit and in the Fade, but they're not omnipotent and still WHY "PROTECTOR" OF ALL THINGS. IT *HAS* TO BE HIM I AM LOSING MY MIND OVER THIS

Hi, thanks for the inbox chatter, I really love reading about everyone's thoughts and feelings. And I'm really glad you enjoyed the meta.

That said, after rewatching the Regret Mural Movie Night, the Caretaker's "Protector" is referring to Mythal, not Solas. Protector is one of Mythal's epitaphs and the Caretaker says, after mentioning the Protector, "When the mighty fall, their echoes cross the ages." Which given that one of the revenants is called Fall of the Protector and links to Solas' murder of Flemeth/Mythal, we can safely deduce they are talking about Mythal. Also, during that conversation, the Caretaker directs you to Morrigan to get the rest of the story (Morrigan carries a piece of Mythal and can open the way to the other major fragment). Once you finish talking to Morrigan, you can trigger another conversation with the Caretaker, who refers to Solas as the Wolf ("they [the gods] scavenge what the Wolf left behind").

This piece of evidence just doesn't fit that theory and imo the game pretty explicitly says that Solas has been twisted/corrupted- the old saying 'he who fights monsters should take care not to become one' sums up most of Solas' backstory rather well- rather than fragmented at some point in the past. You are right that Felassan's notes about searching for his lost friend really do mirror the Falon'Din/Dirthamen story from the Dalish and they can be linked thematically. It's just not a parallel framing that the game pushes hard or really explores.

#veilguard spoilers #datv spoilers #my meta #my asks #felassan also fights like quite a bit #he's labeled as general felassan in the memories for a reason #the fact that he's also referenced as doing most of the care-taking in the notes and codices is also a statement on solas imo #not all of it bad just a statement #rebellions need all sorts

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trinketstar · 10 months ago

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i wrote another big rant earlier today about character analysis again but tumblr refreshed on my phone and deleted it all. ah well

‘twas all about Max this time and the whole “id vs superego” thing they had going on cuz in my humble “took a semester of psychology and child development” opinion I think that theory isnt the greatest but it makes for such interesting character analysis

So Max is always described as “a being of pure id” while his superego is literally locked in a dark room cut off from the rest of Max’s brain. left so ignored that it manifests itself into a weird little man that Max saw on tv (because it’s this series and of course it did). The fact that Superego apparently HATES Max, seems to barely know anything about him and wants him dead... like WHAT DOES THAT IMPLY? It’s the inside out dilemma all over again but way darker. Max has very infrequent vague allusions to the fact that he’s got some kinda mild depression but I don’t think he genuinely hates himself like that. The most I can see is that he’s got a very weak sense of self preservation. He’s apathetic to his own safety, but again that’s more because of the id thing.

The superego is supposed to be your sense of right and wrong. It’s your morality and logic system that keeps you from doing things Max does, like screaming in public and attacking people and stealing things.

I think in the context of the intentions while writing this game, the superego is essentially a more pretentious word for the Max’s conscience. Like a Jiminy Cricket that’s stuck in Pinocchio’s head and can’t leave. Max ignores his conscience, and his conscience is forced to watch all the stupid stuff Max is doing while ignoring any sense of morality. So he’s like “ok screw this guy all my homies hate stupid id bunny”. I think the superego only manifested once Max found the psychic toys since they’re what caused Max’s brain tumor and other such nonsense. Max couldn’t have had that tumor from the beginning because past Max is fine.

Id is your baseline impulses. Max at his core is constantly acting on impulse and only seeks immediate gratification. Even his love for Sam doesn’t really contradict this. Sam has ALWAYS been his best friend and protector, so keeping Sam safe and happy will keep Max safe and happy. Max isn’t intentionally mean or selfish, and he’s not stupid either. But his mind works in a very direct thought pattern and he doesn’t think through anything he says or does. And Sam kinda does this FOR him if necessary so he’s never really had to develop that part of himself anyway. Plus they’re both self aware toons, so consequences don’t apply!

That being said, everyone we’ve seen with “the gift” that uses the toys seems to be doomed in some way, like the toys themselves are cursed with bad luck. Sammun-Mak, Maximus, the brain in the ship, Skunkape, and Max all met their ends indirectly because of the toys.

Uh i lost track of my point here. just, It’s totally up to interpretation if the superego REALLY is a part of max that resents his own lack of ambition and power, or if he’s just literally detached from Max and is his own disgruntled entity.

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lunanami · 2 years ago

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STAY THE NIGHT — KEIGO TAKAMI.

warnings : depictions of a bad mental health episode and disordered eating, vague allusion to keigo's past, gender neutral reader, pet names (duckie, baby, sweetheart), written with selective mutism in mind.

notes : very self indulgent comfy fic i wrote this week for myself, just posting in case it puts a smile on anyone else's face <33

wc: 1.2k

you'd spent the day hidden from the rays of sunlight that cut through the gaps in the curtains and distrupting the fortress of solitude that you'd crafted from a mess of blankets and pillows strewn around the mattress.

keigo was long gone, having left early in the day to go work at the agency. you were still sleeping when he left; he hated to wake you so the avian hero simply settled for leaving an ice cold bottle of water (now bordering on room temperature) and writing a cute post-it note and sticking it to the lampshade on your bedside:

"get some rest today for me, okay? don't push yourself too hard, i'll be home as soon as i can. love you, duckie. — kei."

the silly little duck that he'd attempted to draw made you giggle — he certainly was no artist. nonetheless, it warmed your heart that he cared enough to leave something so very sweet. you took a sip of the drink he'd left for you before slipping back under your covers, ignoring the rumbling in your stomach and the tremors that overtook you.

keigo kept his promise, re-entering your shared apartment a few hours after midday. since his agency had taken on additional sidekicks, he'd gotten more time to himself. occasionally he used it for press opportunities, now being the number two hero, but the real reason that he adored such circumstance was that he got to see much more of you.

"hi, duckie," he called out in a whisper, cautious in case you were napping. eventually he found you half awake, holding onto his pillow for dear life. he sat next to you on the bed, pulling you into his lap.

keigo would be stupid if he couldn't tell that you were struggling. he didn't know what was causing it, yet he was patient enough to do whatever he could to help you out until you were ready to open up to him. you let out a sniffle, rubbing your face against his chest as he held onto you.

fortunately, the man was an expert observer and had begun to learn what your small actions meant. he slid the hair tie that he always kept on him off of his wrist, moving your hair into a messy, messy sort-of bun as he continues to caress your back. at this point, keigo could feel your trembling.

"have you eaten anything today, duckie?" he asked, looking at you in case you nodded. you didn't however, you simply shook your head. "okay, baby, it's okay," he cooed. "do you think you could eat if i made you something? would you try f'me, duckie?"

you mustered up your strength to whisper an affirmative, allowing keigo to lift you and carry you to the kitchen. there, he sat you on a stool by the island while he got to work.

very early into knowing him, keigo began to pick up on the small things, like how to tell when you were struggling or, relevant right now, what your safe foods were. perhaps it was his own harsh upbringing, but caring for those he loved had become something that he cherished so very dearly — it made him feel fulfilled. you could tell just as much. while he made you something to eat, he hummed a tune absentmindedly (not realizing that it replicated the melody of your favourite song).

you hugged your arms, craving the warmth of either your blanket stash or a wing hug from your boyfriend. "you cold, duckie?" keigo asked, already shrugging off his jacket. he draped it over your back, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead as he wrapped you up tight. "'m all done anyways," he continued, walking back over to the worktop and returning with a plate of food.

"i know it's a lot, duckie," he confessed, "but i thought we could share, 's that okay?" he waited for your nod before continuing. "we can either go and put a movie on or stay in here and i can tell you about my day, which would you like?"

keigo watched as you struggled to form a response, instead opting to put his two hands out in front of him. he then repeated your option, assigning each of them a hand that you could grab or squeeze to communicate with him. he never made you feel silly for being unable to verbalize what you wanted, instead working quickly to come up with solutions.

you grasped his right hand, indicating that you just wanted for him to talk to you. keigo's voice was always a source of comfort to you; he could quite literally narrate the dictionary and you would be beyond content. softly, he began to tell you all of the happenings at the agency. it was mostly about the new intern that he'd taken under his wing, tsukuyomi from ua. solely from the excitement in keigo's voice, you could tell that he was elated to have another avian-esque hero around. he spoke of the progress that the young hero has made in such a short time, and all of the ideas that he had to help him improve even further.

his rambling was enough to fill the room for the both of you, which put you at ease as it removed the pressure for you to reply outside of the odd nod to ensure that you were listening and not drowning in your own thoughts. you picked at the food that he'd given you, with your boyfriend occasionally grabbing a bite for himself.

you barely noticed that you'd gotten through most of it, with keigo now on some tangent about how he suspects two of the sidekicks at the agency are dating, so he always assigns them patrols together. when you finished eating, he did notice, however.

"all done, duckie?" he asked, to which you nodded timidly. he stood up, wrapping his arms around you. "'m so proud of you, sweetheart. you did so good, yeah?" you leaned into his touch, nuzzling into his chest. "sleepy?" he queried, and you nodded. "why don't we go take a nice warm shower and then cuddle up for the night? does that sound good?"

you nodded your head again, this time more enthusiastically than those prior. keigo chuckled lightly, happy to see you seeming a little bit more like yourself. "you know, duckie," he began, while you face was still smushed against his chest. "i'm really really proud of you, i mean it. i know it's hard sometimes, but 'm always here for you. you're so strong. i'm always in awe of how you can go through this and still pull through, even if you need someone to lean on, you know? i just wanna stay and help you out, duckie, 'm not going anywhere." he punctuated his little ramble with a kiss to the crown of your head, ruffling his feathers before finally releasing you and leading you to get settled for the night, just as he'd promised.

sidenote: i actually think you and kei would end up stalking the socials of the two sidekicks and going on a full detective search later that night ><

#꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ steambird entry.#keigo takami #keigo takami x y/n #keigo takami x reader #hawks fluff #hawks x reader #hawks x gn reader #mha x reader #mha fluff #mha comfort #bhna fluff #bnha fluff #bhna x reader #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia fluff

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honeyhotteoks · 3 years ago

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into the aurora - chapter twenty-nine (ot8)

chapter twenty-nine: precious moments in the dark

chapter summary: in the aftermath of your night together with yunho, san, and wooyoung, it all comes out and seonghwa is there to hold you steady.

warnings: heavy smut warning here at the top, specifics in just a moment but also warnings for references to the use of safe word, conflicting emotions about polyamory, conflicting emotions about group sex, vague allusions to sexuality but pls don't worry no ones actually panicking about it. specifics for the smut include: discussion of bdsm dynamics, color system, safe words, detailed discussion about sex and consent, sex toys including vibrators and plugs, restraints, blindfolds, heavy praise, light allusion to free use, size kink/reader is described as little, rough sex, rough fingering, overstimulation, oral sex (m receiving), throat fucking / rough oral, cozy aftercare

pairings: ot8 x reader

genre: fluff, angst, romance, ateez ensemble x reader, polyamory, non-idol!reader, fem!reader, smut

word count: 14.5K

(previous chapter) | (next chapter) | AO3 | masterlist

The past few days have been off. That’s the only way to describe the strange hesitancy between you and Yunho. It’s the third night of him disappearing into his room to play video games instead of hanging out with you and it takes about a second after the door to his bedroom closes that you turn on San to figure out whatever this is.

“You can’t blame him for being a little sensitive about it,” San murmurs, running his fingers up the back of your arm.

“Sannie, he won’t even touch me,” You sigh, “he’s taking this too seriously,”

“Just give him time to relax,” He insists.

“It’s been days, and he’s never hurt me before,” You groan, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge, “and I don’t know why he thinks now would be any different. It wasn’t even that serious,”

“Jagi,” San interrupts, “he’s just being careful with you,”

“Careful,” You roll your eyes, and the water bottle nearly slips out of your hands when San wraps his arms around you from behind.

“We all panicked,” San tells you, getting your attention by holding you steady against him, “all three of us were participating, and when we heard you say it, I think we all thought something was really wrong, alright? I would have felt terrible if we really hurt you,”

“I know,” You nod, leaning your head back against his chest, “I’m sorry, I know, but you and Woo don’t seem to be treating me any differently,”

“Me and Woo weren’t in control,” San points out, “so cut him some slack and let him shake this off. In a couple of days he’ll be back to normal,”

“Are you sure?” You murmur.

“Yes, jagi,” San kisses your head, “he just needs a little space.”

“But he did say he wanted to do it again,” You twist around in San’s arms.

He sighs, shaking his head, “You’re stubborn,”

“I am not,” You groan.

“Listen,” San cups your cheeks to hold your gaze directly on him, “I’m sure that he does want to, we all do, but you need to give him a little time because right now when he thinks about it he’s probably just hearing your safeword, and it scared him,” San brushes your cheek with his thumb, “us, it scared us,”

“Oh,” His words take the wind right out of your sails and he nods.

“Be patient,” He says, “this is just how Yunho,”

“What’s wrong with Yunho?” Seonghwa’s voice cuts through and you jump at the sudden sound of his voice in the kitchen, and San’s hands fall away from you.

“God, Hwa,” You rest a hand over your fluttering heart, “you scared me,”

“What’s going on? He’s all sulky,” He asks, eyes darting between you and San.

“Nothing,” San brushes off immediately, giving your arm a final squeeze and stepping away.

“Did you have a fight?” Seonghwa presses.

“No!” You insist, “He’s just upset about something, it’s not a big deal,”

Seonghwa raises an eyebrow, looking between you both again, “Sannie, you’re a terrible liar,”

“I didn’t even say anything,” He groans, tossing up his hands.

“Yeah,” Seonghwa shrugs, “but I can always tell when you’re nervous or keeping something, are right now you’re fidgeting like you injected coffee, so what’s up?”

“It’s private,” You interject and San’s head snaps to you, his eyes widening when he hears your words. You know there’s nothing that really stays private amongst them, but this feels like something more, something intimate.

“Oh,” Seonghwa looks oddly dejected, “but it's okay if San knows? Did I do something?”

You sigh, dragging a hand through your hair and leaning back against the counter. Of any of them, he’s probably the best to talk this out with anyways, “Of course you didn’t, it’s just a little awkward,”

“Awkward to talk about with me?” He leans on the countertop, his face open and ready to listen.

“With anyone,”

He nods, quiet and expectant.

“Yunho’s upset because I used my safeword in bed,” You say it fast and simple, “and I was asking San’s advice,”

The slight teasing smile drops off Seonghwa’s lips and he pushes himself back up to stand, “He’s upset you wanted to stop?”

“Oh my god, no,” You rush to correct him, “no, sorry, he’s upset with himself,”

“But you’re okay?” He checks, reaching out a hand for you.

“I’m fine,” You insist, “which is what I keep telling Yunho, it genuinely was not a big deal, I just got dizzy and I needed to stop,”

“You know him,” San cuts in, “he’s just beating himself up,”

“I can talk to him,” Seonghwa offers.

“I shouldn’t even be telling you about this,” You shake your head.

“I was just saying,” San says, “that she should just be patient. I know you think it wasn’t that bad, but it was a little scary. It took you a second to snap out of it and we all felt it,”

Your eyes have been locked on Seonghwa the entire time, watching as his brain turns over San’s words, the phrasing clicking into place. You really didn’t want everything to come out like this.

“We all?” Seonghwa’s eyebrow raises.

San grimaces and looks at you.

“It’s fine,” You groan, “it’s just Seonghwa,”

“So,” Seonghwa gestures between you both, “something happened between you two and Yunho?”

“And Wooyoung,” San adds.

Seonghwa’s eyes go comically wide.

“Can we not make this a thing?” You wave your hands, “This is strictly about Yunho suddenly treating me like a porcelain doll,”

Seonghwa swallows and thinks it through before nodding, “Alright,”

“Right,” San cuts back in, taking your upper arms in his hands, “listen, I’ve known him a long time. You’ve never really seen him upset before, but this is what it looks like. He gets quiet for a couple of days, figures things out himself, and then shows back up right as rain. Give him space,”

“He’s right,” Seonghwa agrees.

You glance between them, and fight the urge to bust into Yunho’s room and make him see reason. San and Seonghwa don’t falter though, they nod again until the words sink in. You sigh, your shoulders relaxing finally, “Okay,”

“Good,” San smiles, tugging you into his chest so he can wrap his arms around you, “now can you please tell me how you are?”

“I’m fine,” You insist.

“Jagi,” He presses.

“I’ll be better when things are back to normal. I don’t like when we fight or when things feel weird,” You reach out from San’s embrace to take Seonghwa’s hand and give it a squeeze.

“I know,” San acknowledges.

“I just,” The words catch in your throat.

“What?” San prompts, smoothing down your hair with his hand.

“I just hope I didn’t mess anything up with this whole thing,” You admit quietly into his shoulder.

San shakes his head, pulling back from you so he can look into your eyes, “No, we had a good time. We said so after, we agreed. It wasn’t a mistake, it was just new. Let’s not ruin it with thoughts like that,”

“Can I say something?” Seonghwa murmurs, taking a step closer.

You nod and look to him.

“It would probably be best if everyone knew,” Seonghwa says, “I know we don’t… share or pry into what we all do with you, but we also don’t keep secrets,”

You chew the inside of your lip a moment, thinking it through, and then you nod, “We need to keep the Yunho conversation between us though, that wouldn’t be fair to him,”

“Agreed,” Seonghwa says, “otherwise I think we should all know so things don’t get awkward between us,”

The sound of the garage door swinging open has you glancing up and you see that Hongjoong and Wooyoung are home from the gym and you blanch a little, “Now?”

“Relax,” Seonghwa shakes his head, “it doesn’t have to be now,”

San’s hands fall away from you and you watch him glancing towards the door, crossing his arms a little uncomfortably. You’ve picked up on the fact that something tense is sitting squarely between Wooyoung and San, but it’s not clear exactly what.

“Hurry up,” Wooyoung calls out the open door into the garage, pulling your attention away from the boys in front of you, “it’s freezing out there, we’re letting all the heat out!”

Mingi and Jongho jog through the door a moment later, their cheeks pink from the chilly air in the garage.

“Hey,” Hongjoong spots you and his expression melts from serious concentration to relaxed in a second.

“Hi, Joong,” You smile, and then you realize one of the bunch is missing, “Where’s Yeosang?”

“Still there,” Hongjoong says, “he had a session with the physical therapist after,”

“How long do we have?” Mingi’s voice cuts through as he drops his gym stuff by the door.

Hongjoong checks his phone, “Forty,”

“Got it,” Mingi weaves around you and fishes through the cabinets in the kitchen for another one of their workout supplements to add to his water bottle.

You check your own phone, the Google Calendar blank on your side, “What’s tonight?”

“A fitting,” Hongjoong explains, “for the video shoot next week, the stylists needed to move it up to have more time for alterations,”

“Ah,” You smile, “I’m excited to see what they put you in,”

“Same,” Wooyoung quirks his eyebrows at you before tapping his stomach, “I’ve been working on these,”

You roll your eyes and San disappears from your side into the kitchen.

Mingi wraps an arm around you from behind, tucking you into his chest as he takes a swig of his now slightly pink water, “You look cute,” he says, “are you going somewhere tonight?”

Normally you’d sink back into his touch without a thought, but his skin is still slick with sweat and his damp t-shirt presses against your bare upper back where your workout top dips in the back. You wriggle out of his arms, “Mingi,” you whine a little, “you’re too sweaty,”

His nose curls up in disappointment and he all but pouts at you, “I haven’t seen you all week,”

“I’ll hug you when you change,” You prod him lightly in the ribs and he smiles.

“What are you up to, tonight?” Hongjoong takes a long drink of his own water.

“I finally convinced Ji-Ah to come to yoga with me,” Which should explain the more form fitting long sleeve athletic top that dips deeply in the back. You let Seonghwa tug your hand so that you settle onto his lap despite the awkward position of him perched on the arm of the couch. You give Seonghwa’s arm a squeeze and then add, “We’ll probably get some food after too, and tomorrow I’m picking up an extra class with her so I might be home a little late, they’re doing another self defense seminar,”

Jongho smiles, “I thought you weren’t sure if you’d like it?”

“Yeah, yeah,” You shrug, “but she was right. It’s actually really good,”

“I want to see some moves,” Jongho teases.

“I don’t know that you can handle it,” You smile, “I’m getting pretty good,”

He opens his mouth to say something else, but the feeling of Seonghwa snapping the fabric of your bike shorts has your eyes flicking to him and he says, “Are you wearing these out?”

You’re wearing sweatpants over them until you get to the studio, but he’s seen you around the house enough to know which leggings you’re wearing. You barely muffle the sharp short laugh, “It’s hot yoga,”

He grimaces, “But you look really good in these,”

“You’re cute when you’re jealous, Hwa,” You take his hand in yours and lace your fingers together. Looking back up to the group you notice a few things all at once. Where most of the boys are thinking through Seonghwa’s comments and likely picturing your shorts, Wooyoung who is usually the first to tease you or make a comment laden with innuendo isn’t looking in your direction at all.

He looks distracted, sunken into his own thoughts and looking towards the kitchen where San disappeared a few moments ago. The sound of dish clanking against another dish draws your attention and Wooyoung slips away from you all to the kitchen. Seonghwa notices it too, and he gives you a soft squeeze.

The slightly palpable tension between the two of them has been mostly unrecognizable to anyone but you and Yunho. They run hot and cold often, stuck to each other like glue one week and arguing the next, both of them the type to feel deeply passionate about something and stick in their corner about it. This feels slightly different though, they’re dancing around each other completely and you’re not surprised in the least when Hongjoong finally notices it.

“What’s with you two?” Hongjoong gestures towards them as they come out of the kitchen, shifting away from each other completely, “Are you arguing about something?”

“No,” San’s quick to shake his head, “we’re good,”

Wooyoung nods once, and keeps quiet.

“You don’t seem good,” Hongjoong comments.

Your hand tightens on Seonghwa’s thigh and he gives yours another squeeze.

“We’ll work it out,” San says, but it’s clear to you that he’s trying to end the conversation here.

“Well work it out before we’re filming tomorrow,” Hongjoong says, “I’m not trying to mediate something on set again.”

San’s jaw tightens, a muscle twitching but he holds his tongue. Wooyoung makes a terse noise, “I don’t think this is something you want to be in the middle of anyways, hyung,”

“Wooyoung.” You can’t stop yourself, you meet his eyes and shake your head.

“What?”

“Come on,” You murmur, shaking your head again, pleading for him to let it lie. It’s not the time to talk about it, not when they have such limited time to get out of the house.

You can see that everyone’s confused in your peripheral vision, but you keep your eyes on Wooyoung.

“I don’t see the point,” Wooyoung tells you, and Seonghwa wraps his free arm around your middle. You both brace for it, knowing that when Wooyoung gets his heels dug in about something there’s very little you can do to convince him otherwise. He looks back to Hongjoong, “We slept with y/n,”

You could slap him for using the most ambiguous phrasing instead of just saying it.

“Um,” Hongjoong glances to you, clearing his throat softly, “I thought that was… I mean, we all have, haven’t we?”

“Jesus,” You mutter.

“No,” Wooyoung shakes his head and gestures between him and San, “we, as in we both, and Yunho,”

“Right,” Hongjoong still hasn’t picked up on it, but you watch it all connect in his expression when Mingi laughs.

“That was fast,” Mingi grins.

“Do we need to talk about this now?” Seonghwa offers, giving you an escape route.

“It’s fine,” You sigh, “it’s… I don’t know, if it fixes this uncomfortable vibe, then let’s just get it out there.”

“I really don’t need details,” Hongjoong shakes his head immediately.

“Me either,” Jongho notes, “but, it’s fine, right? Nothing needs to be awkward,”

You turn your head to him and he gives you a warm smile, the nervous flutter in your chest calming down immediately and you mouth a quiet thank you to him.

“We just haven’t talked about it,” Wooyoung clarifies.

“Alright,” You finally say, slipping off Seonghwa’s lap and addressing the group, “it’s a thing that happened, and we don’t need to have a whole team meeting about it,” you sigh, “but we also don’t keep secrets from each other, we promised we’d always be honest, so that’s that,”

“Okay,” Hongjoong nods, and it takes him a second but he finally says, “the four of you are okay?”

“Yes,” Yunho’s voice startles you, and you turn to see he’s been listening from behind you. He gives you a comforting smile and a nod and the joins the circle, “we’re good.”

“Definitely,” San adds, “completely fine,”

You don’t miss the way that Wooyoung seems to relax at San’s words and then he nods too, “We are, yeah, I just didn’t want to hide anything.”

Hongjoong looks at you and you nod. He gestures towards Jongho and says, “He’s right then, nothing needs to be uncomfortable, we’re all adults here and we’re all dating y/n already,”

“Exactly,” Yunho nods.

There’s a beat of silence, stretching between you all and then it breaks suddenly. Mingi’s staring Yunho down with a conspiratorial, teasing expression and Yunho points at him, “Shut up,”

“I’m just saying,” Mingi shrugs, and even though you all missed exactly what they communicated with each other so silently, it still breaks you apart into laughter, everyone else following suit.

“Oh my god, okay,” You sigh, “now that that’s out there,”

“Who’s telling Yeosangie?” San says and you clap a hand over your mouth.

“I’ll do it,” Wooyoung tells you, taking in your briefly horrified expression the idea you’d have to tell him one on one, “I’ll… it’s fine, I’ll tell him.”

“Oh, this is funny,” Jongho grins.

“Jjong,” You slap his shoulder.

“Can we,” Hongjoong sighs and checks his phone, “yeah, can we just drop this for now and get moving? We don’t have a lot of time,”

“Yep,” Jongho nods, “I’m calling the shower,”

“Second,” Mingi pipes in.

Hongjoong looks at Wooyoung, expecting him to say third, but he just shakes his head, “Take it, hyung, all good,”

The group disbands quickly, the air still a little awkward but with the upcoming schedules you know this conversation will have to stay out of mind for a while. The door is open now, it’s just a question of who will walk through it and when. Your stomach flips at the idea.

Seonghwa presses a fast kiss to your hair and tells you he has to go get ready, and by the time you look back, it’s just you and Wooyoung left in the living room. Yunho slipped away as soon as the group started to break up, not even sparing a second glance back at you, and San followed just as fast, only stopping to give you a quick kiss.

“Hey,” Wooyoung says, looking a little more tired than you’ve seen him since you moved here, “I’m sorry,”

“It’s fine,” You assure him, “I didn’t really want to talk about it like this, but also, I mean, when is there a good time to announce that,”

“Yeah,” He nods and pulls you into his arms, “Yunho still being weird?”

“Yeah,” You sigh, “Sannie?”

“Mhm,” He swallows hard.

“Are you okay?” You reach for him, cupping his cheek and brushing your thumb along his cheekbone.

He nods, “I’ll be fine,”

“What’s going on between you two?” You prod him a little now that you’re in private, “Are you fighting about something?”

“No,” He shakes his head, leaning into your warm palm a little, “I just tried to corner him to talk about it the other night, and he got kind of quiet. It’s no surprise that me pushing didn’t help, I should have just left him alone,”

You exhale a short laugh, “San was just giving me that advice for Yunho,”

He smiles, “We’re being needy,”

“Probably,” You press up on your tiptoes to kiss him, “we can be needy together,”

He kisses you back with ease, his fingertips running up and down your back as he relaxes into your touch. You can feel the tension in him, and the thoughts that you had been threading together for the past few days after seeing them together start to form a very clear picture. “Wooyoung,” You murmur, “He liked it, and he had a good time. He said so himself, he just needs some time to process,”

“You’re right,” He nods, but you can still see the nervous shade of fear in him.

“Hey,” You shake him out of it, “it doesn’t mean anything. It was fun, it was good sex. You and me, we talk things out, but you know them, they’re quiet, they think things through by themselves,” You parrot San’s advice from earlier, but the more you think about it the more you know he was giving advice for the both of them.

“You don’t think he regrets it?” Wooyoung asks suddenly.

“No!” You shake your head, tugging him into the kitchen for a little added privacy, “Baby, nothing’s changed. He told me half an hour ago that he wants to do it again. Yunho’s feeling stressed about how it ended, but I’m pretty sure we all walked away knowing how good it was,”

“It was, wasn’t it?” He smiles.

“Yes,” You squeeze his arms, “It was incredible,”

“Good,” He sighs softly, kissing you again.

“Woo,” You wrap your arms around his neck to stabilize yourself, pressing up again on your tiptoes, “come here,”

His kiss starts slow, gentle and easy, stress melting away moment by moment.

“God,” You sigh against his lips, surging forward again to keep your lips locked together.

He shuffles you both back until you’re sandwiched between him and the kitchen wall, his hand slipping down to cup your backside and lift you a little to support your weight better as he parts his lips and dips his eager tongue in your mouth. You groan softly against him, feeling his cock starting to stiffen where his hips are pressed against you;

“Fuck,” He sighs, nuzzling you with his nose gently, “I love your mouth,”

“I know,” You tug him closer, “you tell me all the time,”

“Do I?” He kisses you again.

“Constantly,”

“Mm,” he nips at your lip, “should I stop?”

“Absolutley fucking not,” You grin, capturning his mouth again.

He laughs against your lips, his hands tight and hot, and it takes Hongjoong’s sharp time reminder from the upstairs hallway to keep you from dragging him into your room and making you both forget about every ounce of stress.

He drops you back down and steps away, sighing and readjusting himself a little in his sweats so that it’s not quite so painfully obvious he’s half hard. He clears his throat softly, “Thank you,”

“For the kiss?” You laugh immediately.

“No,” He rolls his eyes, “for talking to me,”

“Of course,” You soften, “always,”

“Also,” He grins, something flickering in his gaze when he steps forwards and tugs at the top of your leggings, “Hwa’s right, I can’t believe you’re wearing these tiny fucking shorts,”

There he is, you think to yourself, and you bust out laughing, “Get out of here,”

“You should show them to me later,” He shrugs, flirtatious, “I like yoga,”

“I bet you do,” You push him back a step and he laughs.

“You could teach me to like yoga,”

“Jung Wooyoung,” You’re about to scold him, but Hongjoong’s voice from the hall does it for you.

“Fifteen minutes!”

“Gotta go,” Wooyoung kisses you once more, fast and hard, “think about it!” He’s jogging around the corner before you can say anything back, but it doesn’t matter.

They leave in a hurried rush, piling into their manager’s cars fast, shouting quick goodbyes. You’ve gotten used to this part of your life now, watching them go.

You get cleaned up, go to yoga with Ji-Ah, and drag her out for a bit of food after. When you finally make it home, it’s still early enough and you have time to yourself in the quiet. It’s another hour before they’re finally back, lighting your night back up with busy sound. It becomes apparent quickly though that they’ve been thinking about your conversation earlier. Yunho’s still keeping his distance without ruffling too many feathers. San and Wooyoung are still sitting separately on the couch. Hongjoong’s hand on your knee is a quick pat, not the comfortable and slightly possessive grip you’re used to. Yeosang is back too, but too tired to really talk and you wonder if they’ve told him.

It isn’t until Seonghwa wraps his body around yours a little while later that you realize none of your other boyfriends are acting quite right. It makes sense - a dynamic shifted inside their friendship of almost five years, you’d be shocked if none of them had a shred of hesitation or question. None of that takes away from the fact that now you’re the one standing on the edge and waiting to know how they really feel.

It isn’t until later, when everyone’s drifted off to bed except for you and Seonghwa, that your anxieties bubble up to the surface, bursting out of you.

“You seem irritable,” Seonghwa says, stretching out on your bed while you pace from side to side.

“Do I?”

He laughs, “You’re going to wear a hole in the floor,”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair, “It’s… I mean now that everyone knows things feel tense. You’re the only one besides San and Wooyoung who aren’t keeping their distance from me, and Yunho’s still upset.”

“It’s all fine,” He assures you, “we’ll probably talk it through tomorrow. My guess is that not everyone is interested in participating,”

“Which is why we should have never played that stupid game,” Your mind flicks back to the soju and the round of questions.

“No,” He protests, “most of us do want to,”

“I don’t know,” You chew the inside of your lip.

“Jagi, will you come over here already,” Seonghwa reaches for you and opens and closes his hand to gesture you over, “I promise it’s fine, we all already kind of talked about it. No one’s uncomfortable, I think it just happened quicker than we imagined. You know us though, we’re a team. All of us.”

“You talked about this?” You stop your pacing and turn towards him as you register his words.

“After that night,” He nods.

“And?”

He smiles, gesturing you over again, “Everyone is fine with it,” he reiterates, “Hongjoong and Jongho don’t seem too interested in being a part of anything in a group, and Yeosangie was on the fence, but we all agreed it wouldn’t change anything. We’ve been together a long time, a little sex isn’t going to change that,”

“Really?” You murmur, finally taking his hand and letting him pull you down onto the bed next to him.

“Mhm,” He squeezes your hand before letting go, “now why don’t you tell me what else is going on in that head of yours. I can feel you thinking,”

He’s so good at reading you sometimes, attuned to your little idiosyncrasies and always eager to help or give advice. The real reason for your nerves flutters up to the surface, “I’m worried that I’m asking too much,”

He holds your eyes for a moment, replaying your words and then he grins, “You’re worried that we’ll… what? Feel like more sex or something new is… a burden?”

You grimace, but he’s hit the nail on the head.

“Oh my god,” Seonghwa shakes his head, sliding closer to you on the bed so that you’re both closer to the center, “darling, you are seriously mistaken if you think we don’t want you all the time or don’t want to give you as much pleasure as you give us.”

“Hwa,” You manage, but you're caught in the intensity of his gaze.

“I’m serious,” He cups your cheek, “have I ever given you the impression that I didn’t want to do something or try something with you? That I wasn’t interested in you or,”

“No!” You shake your head, “Of course not,”

“Then what’s all this about?” He presses again, and you wish he would let it lie but you started this whole thing and he’s going to make you finish it.

You exhale heavily and leap, “This is hard for me,” you start and he stays quiet but nods to encourage you forward, “you remember In Su?”

He looks confused immediately, “Of course,”

“I think it’s obvious he was a pretty terrible boyfriend,”

Seonghwa’s jaw tightens.

“And sex with him was… always about him,” You settle on.

“y/n,” Seonghwa softens a little but you can see the tension in his neck and jaw, and he smooths his thumb over your cheek, “did he do something?”

“No,” You rest a hand on his chest, fingertips brushing along his throat, “I’m just trying to explain that I had a hard time for a while and I didn’t have the best taste in guys. I dated a few different boys in school, dated might even be a strong word for it, but what I’m trying to say is that this is not what I’m used to,”

“I’m a little lost,” Seonghwa admits.

“Sorry,” You shake off your own thoughts and try your best to sum it up for him, “I’m not being very clear, but I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’ve had my fair share of experiences with sex before I moved here, and it wasn’t necessarily bad, but the majority of men I’ve been with weren’t really interested in what I wanted let alone entertaining things I wanted to try,”

“Oh,”

“So I’m not sure what’s in the water supply over here,” You smile, trying to lighten the mood again, “but all eight of you being open and giving and adventurous? That’s new for me,”

“Ah,” He starts to say, but you keep going.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m waiting for it all to come apart,”

“Can I say something?” He asks softly and you nod, “The eight of us are generally good people, at least we try to be. We make mistakes, and certainly we won’t always get everything right, especially in a relationship. Especially when there’s nine competing points of view. I’m sure it won’t always be easy, and I’m ready for that,”

He smooths his hand along your arm, “I normally wouldn’t speak for everyone,” he says, “but by now I hope you know that we’re more than willing and open. We’re all figuring things out together, it’s hardly an orthodox arrangement, and I’m sorry your experiences before have made you uneasy now, but I promise we aren’t that way.”

“I know you aren’t,” You assure him, “and to be honest I’m still figuring out what it is that I want too,”

“That’s the fun part,” Seonghwa brushes the pad of his thumb gently over your bottom lip, “we’re all young, we’re all still figuring it out together, and we have nothing but time to do that,”

“I guess that’s true,” You murmur.

Seonghwa laughs suddenly and your eyes flick back up to him, “Jagi, we’re idols, we barely have time to have dinner with our friends let alone date. We always made it work, but I think you’re under the impression that we’re all very experienced and knowledgeable,”

The absurdity of it all is crystal clear now - they’re just as unsure but just as curious as you. You fall into giggles with him, pressing closer to him and burying your face in his chest.

He sighs, kissing your hair softly, “This is new for all of us,”

“ So, you’re saying I should relax,” You kiss his chest in return.

“Mhm,” He replies, “here in this house, we can be ourselves. There’s no judgment or worry about the press, no stress about making each other uncomfortable. We can just be honest,”

“Honest,” You nod.

“So whatever happens or doesn’t happen between us,” He cuddles you close, “that’s for us to figure out together.”

“You’re right,”

“And,” He shifts so that he can look down and hold your gaze, “if you want to explore something… I mean, I would more than love to be that person for you.”

“Come here,” You tug him down, “kiss me,”

His lips are soft, starting slowly to gauge your pace, but when you sigh against his mouth and slip your hand up the back of his shirt to touch the soft expanse of his back, he kisses you breathless.

“You trust me?” Seonghwa asks suddenly, pulling away with an unsteady inhale, and you blink up at him.

“Of course,” You smile, sighing, recovering from the kiss.

“Stay here a minute,” He murmurs, “I have something I want to show you,”

He rolls off the bed and smiles at you as he disappears through your sliding door. You have no idea what it is that he’d want to show you or what his plan might be in the least, the way he suddenly disconnected your lips and left, like his brain had been working the whole time you were kissing him.

You’re picking at a stray thread on your comforter when he reappears with a small black gift bag.

“What’s this?” You’re sure you look confused.

“A little while ago, I ordered a few things,” He says, placing the bag on your nightstand and sliding back onto the bed with you. He looks a little nervous suddenly even after all the confident exploration talk and you nudge his thigh.

“Things for what?”

“For us,” He explains, picking up the bag again, “I feel like you and I have been trying things, and I thought it might be nice to keep doing that together,”

“Hwa,” You smile, “what’s in the bag?”

“Some things we might want to try,” He outstretches his hand to pass you the bag and you feel a nervous thrill pass through you.

“How long have you had this?” You ask before you open it.

“A month or so, maybe?” He answers honestly, “I wasn’t sure when to bring it up, but after what you said tonight, maybe it’s the right time,”

You open it slowly, and there’s no way your eyes don’t widen in surprise when you take in everything that is neatly nestled in the bag.

He clears his throat softly when you don’t respond, “Some of it might not be for you, I was just guessing”

You pull the items out one by one and lay them out next to you to make sure you’ve pulled everything from the bag and then you take stock. He’s gathered a little collection of toys, and you should have known that out of any of them, he would be interested in taking things up a level. Your eyes flick over them; a small clitoral vibrator that advertises that it’s great for couples on the box, a set of plugs for beginners that increase in size, one bottle of water-based lubricant and one bottle that’s warming. You bite your lip when you take in the blindfold, and your stomach clenches at the neatly folded set of silk restraints. The last item makes you smile, a remote controlled vibrator for you to wear and presumably for Seonghwa to control.

“What?” He smiles too.

“I’m not sure what your plan for this one is,” You tap the box, “but I already know it’s going to be intense.”

He laughs, “Yeah, we should probably save that one,”

You look over the items again, “I think I’m comfortable with everything,”

“I thought,” Seonghwa brushes his hand up your thigh, “maybe I could help relieve some of your tension tonight,”

You nod, but you don’t have any real idea where to start. Everything that you’ve done with Seonghwa up to this point that borders on rough or dipping into BDSM dynamics is brand new to you, and somewhat to him too. You’ve been taking baby steps up to this point, but it feels like now you’re at a turning point in your relationship with him, with all of them.

“Let’s just relax and,”

“No,” You interrupt him, “Hwa I want it,”

His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard, “Want what, exactly?”

“Everyone’s being so hesitant… and Yunho’s so fixated on hurting me,” You take the leap, “I just need someone to touch me for real. I won’t break,”

Seonghwa wets his lips and nods, before getting up and moving his collection of items to your nightstand. He holds out a hand for you, “Come here a second,”

You let him wrap you up in his arms, and you wait for what he has to say, little nervous bubbles bursting inside you.

“I’ve been reading up on some things since that night,” He doesn’t have to explain which night. ‘That night’ has become synonymous for when you all got drunk and fully opened up about your sex lives, “and there’s a lot more to this than I thought,”

“What do you mean?”

“I know we were joking around with the whole dom thing,” He smiles, “but I wanted to figure it out a little better,”

“Oh,” Your eyes widen and he squeezes you.

“I did a lot of reading,” He says, “and I don’t actually know if those terms make sense for us, but I did learn a lot about the right and wrong way to do certain things.”

“Like what?” You can almost feel your heart beating faster with anticipation.

“Let’s get comfortable and then we can talk through it,” He drops a quick kiss on your forehead and moves to strip off the heavy comforter from your bed.

A sudden click in your brain ignites that you have something tucked away in your drawers for this exact moment, “Oh, Hwa, close your eyes,”

“What?” His face twists in confusion.

“I have something for you too,” You start towards your dresser, “but you have to close your eyes,”

His eyes flick over you and then he lets them fall shut, “Surprise me,”

“Don’t peek,” You hurry through changing, shucking off your sweats and locating the black mesh bra and panties set. You bought a little collection of prettier lingerie a month or so ago, but all the busy schedules don’t leave a lot of time for planned nights alone.

“Mm, y/n,” Seonghwa sighs, “you’re taking too long and I want to see my surprise,”

“Patience,” You assure him, checking your reflection in the mirror to be sure everything looks as it should. You snap up a sweatshirt from the chair in the corner and slip it over, leaning directly into a look you know makes him a little crazy.

“Jagiya,” He whines in a slight sing-song, “baby,”

“Shh,” You slap his thigh as you climb over him and settle onto the bed, and he grins but keeps his eyes closed just the same. You settle next to him and prod his ribs, “alright, open,”

He opens them slowly, smiling as he shuffles closer to you on the bed, “Hi,” He pulls you in a little closer, his hands searching you and slipping under the sweatshirt, “this is cute, am I supposed to unwrap you?”

“Mhm,” You peck his lips, “after we talk,”

His eyes flick down, coasting over your bare legs and he slips his hand down to cup your ass, “You’re really good at distracting me, but I also really want to talk about this,”

You reach down for the edge of the comforter and yank it up over the two of you, snuggling closer to him so that you’re eye to eye resting on the pillows, “Let’s talk, what’s on your mind?”

“I’ve been reading,” He says again, focusing now on what’s important and not the feeling of your body pressed up against his, “there are a lot of things that I hadn’t really considered. We’ve done some things that I think I should have been better prepared for,”

You’re about to ask what, but he closes his hands around your wrist and rubs your skin here with the pad of his thumb lightly. He gives you a soft smile and then says, “I could have hurt you or it could have taken too long to get the belt off if you had asked to stop,”

“I liked it though,” You assure him, not exactly sure yet what he’s trying to say.

“Something that’s important,” He says, “is that we agree on limits beforehand. I didn’t know there were safe ways and unsafe ways I could restrain you, and I didn’t know what it could feel like for you after, I need to be better about that,”

“So you want to restrain me?” You nudge his chest to try and keep things light.

“Safely,” He squeezes you, “and I bought these things to try, but I want you to know what I’d like to do with them before you agree, and I want to agree on how we slow down and stop if you need to, especially now.”

“I’d like that,” You murmur, watching him relax under your touch now that he knows you’re also open and willing to talk this through. “What else did you read?” You ask.

“Well,” He brushes his fingers along your cheek, “the most important thing is consent, but if we do keep exploring this a bit and you want me to continue being more rough with you, then I think it’s important that I know what you need from me after we’re finished,”

“What do you mean?” He always takes care of you well after, pulling you in for cuddles so you can fall asleep in each other’s arms.

“I read that your body can register things that your mind isn’t picking up on right away,” He explains, “so when I’m rough with you, or if you ever wanted me to say mean things to you,”

Your brows perk up at his words and your eyes widen at the mention of that uncharted territory.

“I said if,” He rolls his eyes and kisses your forehead, “my point is that all of that spikes your adrenaline, which feels good during, but might not feel so good after.”

“I mostly feel exhausted after,” You smile, “but that makes sense,”

“It’s my job to get you what you need afterwards,” He brushes his fingers over your cheek again, “I need to make sure you don’t crash too hard, that you’re reminded you’re safe and,”

He stops short and you nudge him again, “Safe and what?”

“Cared for,” He cards his fingers through your hair, “and I should have been doing that before,”

“You were,” You shake your head.

He dips forward to press a warm kiss to your lips, holding you close and slipping his hand further under your sweatshirt to rest on your bare back.

“Hwa,” You murmur against his lips, “please can you tell me what you want to do to me faster? I need you,”

“Alright, alright,” He disconnects your bodies and then takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together, “we’ve tied your hands before, is that something you liked?”

Heat pools in your belly and you nod, “Definitely,”

“Then can I tell you what I’d like?”

“Please,” You squeeze his hand, letting him know he can be honest.

“I’d like to tie your hands together like we did before,” His eyes flick down to your wrist, “and then tie you down to the bed,”

You swallow hard, and let him continue.

“And then I want you to wear the blindfold,” He murmurs, “and I want you to make you come as many times as you can take, and then I want you for myself,”

A chill runs up your spine and you can’t stop the light shiver, “Okay,”

Seonghwa shakes his head, “Not just okay, tell me if everything is good, or only some. What are you thinking?”

“I’m,” You stop yourself from just agreeing, from saying good. You think it through, what he wants and what that means and you shake your head, “I’m a little nervous,”

“Talk to me then,” He murmurs, “what part makes you nervous?”

“The blindfold,” You tell him honestly and he nods, “I want to try it, but could we take that slow?”

“Mhm,” He assures you, “what would make you comfortable?”

You think a moment, looking at the collection of toys, “I don’t want my legs tied, just my hands,”

“Okay,”

“And maybe just keep talking to me?” You try to put yourself in the headspace of not being able to see, “I don’t want to feel alone,”

“I’ll be right here the whole time,” He assures you, his voice warm and soft, “I won’t leave you,”

Your stomach clenches at his words, but you push those feelings to the side. You nod and take a deep breath, “Then I’m good,”

“Are you good with these?” Seonghwa taps the box of plugs.

“Yeah,” You bite your lip, “I’ve always wanted to try one,”

“Let’s try together then,” He leans in to kiss you again, “I’ll take good care of you,”

“I know,” You murmur.

“Last thing,” He smiles, “a safe word is good, but I want to use the traffic light system,”

“Green means go, red means stop?” You surmise.

“Yellow means slow down,” He adds, “so if I ask for a color, tell me where you are,”

“I can do that,”

You love him a little for this, the way he’s able to pull apart your needs one by one and understand exactly what the right or wrong pace might be. He reads you so well, practiced and attuned to you now, his level of care and attention to detail at getting this right filling you with calm energy.

There’s a beat of silence between you, and now that you’ve talked about it, there’s only one place to go from here. You both wait to see who will make the first move. In the end, it’s you. “Are you going to unwrap me or not?”

He tugs you forward quick, crashing his lips onto yours and tipping you back into the bedding, “Tease,”

“You like it,” You sigh, a little breathless again already at the kiss.

His lips pepper down your neck until he reaches the fabric of the sweatshirt, but instead of speeding up, he slows back down. Settling over you, he presses slow, warm kisses through the fabric down your chest that travel lower and lower still. He leans back up so he can settle on his knees between your open legs, and he pushes the sweatshirt up slowly to reveal your body to him inch by inch.

“Mm,” He tugs at the fabric of your black panties, “these are new,”

“For you,” You arch your back a little, stretching under his hands.

“Is there more to match?” He murmurs, sliding his hand over your breast, the fabric of your sweatshirt riding up, “How pretty, baby,”

“You like it?”

“Let’s take this off,” He helps you out of the sweatshirt entirely, tossing it off the side of the bed. His eyes rake over you now, “I love my surprise,”

“I thought you might,”

He settles above you again, pressing his mouth to yours, deepening the kiss quickly and not giving you a moment to pull back or catch your breath. He’s hard already, you can feel his cock insistently pressing against your thigh, but he focuses on you - palming your breast, flicking your nipple sharply through the mesh fabric, teasing your skin with a gentle scrape of his nails along your side.

It feels like he’s kissing you for forever, until you let out a needy whine and reach around to grab his hip to pull him closer. He shakes his head and pulls your hand away, pressing it down into the mattress, “Put your hands away, darling,”

You smile, your foreheads pressed together and sharing one warm panting breath between you, “I thought you wanted to do that,”

“Mm,” He nips at your bottom lip with his teeth, “good point,”

You groan softly as he pulls away, his fingers pinching your nipple just enough to make your hips jerk, teasing you into the whining mess you know he wants to see. He takes the silky restraints and sits on the edge of the bed, “Come here, love,”

You ease up to sit by him and without him needing to ask you offer your wrists over, pressed together and ready for him. You watch as he carefully winds the cloth around your wrists, stopping to think for a moment in the middle to make sure he’s getting it right. The sudden thought of Seonghwa in his room watching a video tutorial on the proper way to bind a partner’s wrists pops into your mind and a laugh bubbles up in your throat.

“What?” His eyes flick up to yours, but he keeps focused.

“Nothing,” You shake your head, “I’m just… I love that you did research, that’s actually incredibly sexy of you,”

“Oh yeah?” His one eyebrow quirks up, but he’s finishing his knot and testing to see how tight the wrap is.

“Mhm,”

“How’s that feeling?” He checks with you.

You test the binds, tugging your wrists apart and seeing that they’re tight together but not uncomfortably so, this fabric is already so much more comfortable than what you had used to make due before. “It’s good,” You assure him, “not too tight,”

“Alright,” He stands, facing you on the bed now and cupping your cheek in his warm hand, “can you get on your knees for me, baby?”

It takes a second, but you manage to push onto your knees, Seonghwa slipping a hand under your upper arm to help you get there. He bites his lip as he looks you over, and then he starts to maneuver you into a position you weren’t expecting. As he starts to press down onto your upper back to indicate you should drop down to your elbows and face the headboard you glance back at him, “Like this?”

“Perfect,” He nods, “get comfortable and I’ll get your hands,”

You spread your knees a little to better balance yourself since your hands aren’t able to stabilize your weight, and you arch your back and stretch your arms out a little in front of you. You watch as he winds a restraint around the rungs of your headboard and secures it to the binds around your wrists. He tugs for you, testing the distance you can get, and it’s not much.

“Still okay?” He coasts a hand up your back.

“Mhm,”

Your breath catches in your throat when he lays the blindfold next to you. Seonghwa softly strokes your hair and murmurs, “How are we feeling about this now?”

You’re deeply nervous, but you trust him. You nod and take a steadying breath, “Put it on me, please,”

It’s quiet for a moment, and then you feel the bed shift, the black fabric coming down over your eyes, “There we go,” he says quietly as he ties it behind your head, “feel okay?”

You shake your head yes, but your voice isn’t anywhere to be found. You’re sure that you’re trembling already, the sudden lack of sight both thrilling and a little terrifying. Your mouth feels dry and you squeeze your hands experimentally, testing the lead attached to the bed to understand your limited range of motion.

“Let’s start slow,” He soothes you, “nothing new yet, just my hands,”

“Okay,” You manage, resting your forehead on the mattress between your elbows.

You feel the bed shift as he settles next to your raised hips, your body jerking naturally when he finally touches you, his hands softly running over your backside, “It’s just me,”

You know it, of course you know it’s only him, but something in the way he says it settles your quickening heart all the same.

“You’re so pretty like this,” He murmurs, his hand shifting to slip between your thighs now, pressing on your warm core through the mesh fabric of your panties, “all ready and waiting for me,”

His fingers press over your clit and you shudder, exhaling heavily into the sheets.

“Wet already,” He presses a kiss to your hip, “have you been aching for me all day, jagiya?”

“Yes,” You pant, “please,”

His fingers start to circle, rocking slowly, but every move drags the rough fabric across your sensitive bud and the stimulation has you squirming already. You arch your back further, pressing your body into his hands and silently asking for more.

“You’re perfect,” He praises, leaving a trail of kisses over your backside as he works his hand, “you sound so pretty for me,”

“Hwa,” You moan, pushing your hips back into his hand again, “baby,”

His fingers lift away and you moan at the loss of contact, twisting around as if you could see him but caught by the restraints.

“Shh,” He keeps his hands on you, letting you know exactly where he is, “I’m just going to take these off,” His fingers slip under the waistband of your panties and he slowly pulls them down off your hips until he hits your knees, “lift up for me,”

You tuck your toes under and press up just enough so he can take them off completely, and you hear the soft sound of them connecting with the wood floor.

“Open up,” He murmurs, pushing your knee a little and you adjust your stance for him.

Every little sound you’re suddenly acutely aware of - the shifting of fabric, the creak of the bed, a box opening to your left, the sound of your own breath heavy in your ears. He’s been quiet for too long, and logically you know he’s probably just pulling a few of the toys out of their packaging and getting prepped, but you can feel your hands going clammy and the nerves starting to bubble up.

“Seonghwa,” Your voice sounds a little sharper than you intend it to.

“Here,” He assures you, “I’m right by your nightstand, I’m just getting ready,”

“Can you touch me, please?” You turn your head towards his voice, searching for him.

You hear the box drop and his hands are back on you, gently running up and down your back and smoothing back your hair. He understood the tone of your voice with ease, the slight strike of neediness not looking for pleasure but for safety, to feel his touch grounding you.

“I have you,” He murmurs, “I won’t leave,”

“Please don’t,” You beg him softly.

“Never,” He murmurs, “tell me a color, darling,”

“Green,” You nod, the nerves melting with every touch, “just keep talking to me,”

“I got you,” His hands slide back down to your hips, “still just my hands,”

He slides two fingers through your wet slit to locate your swollen clit and you can’t stop the moan that sighs out of you, “Yes, please, “

“You want to come on my fingers, don’t you,” He picks up the pace, his voice taking a slightly harder edge.

“Fuck,” You pant, pressing your eyes shut tightly even though you don’t need to.

“Do you like my hands, baby?” He murmurs, “do you want to feel my fingers inside?”

Heat flushes through you and you nod, frantic and hot, “Please,”

He shifts on the bed and your body jerks, “Here we go, stay still for me,” It’s not clear at first what you’re feeling, but it clicks together in your brain when his fingers sink inside you.

His left hip is pressed against yours as he kneels on the bed facing the footboard, his hand locked down on your other side to hold you tight to him, his right hand returning to your slick core to push two fingers deep inside you in one firm thrust. The whine that it pulls from your mouth makes him chuckle and he squeezes your hip hard.

“Should I fuck you like this?” He drags his fingers out and thrusts them back in as far as he can.

“God, yes,” You jerk again but his hands on you keep you steady.

“Can you come just from this?” He pumps them again, this time starting to fuck you with his fingers at a slow, firm pace. He knows you can come like this, but he needs to hear you say it.

“Yes, baby, yes,” You want to move but you can’t.

“My fingers feel that good?” He teases, pumping into you faster.

You choke out a moan, burying your face into the mattress to muffle the noise and you jerk but the tie connecting you to the headboard leaves you trapped.

“Tell me,” He directs you, “say it,”

“Ah, H-Hwa,” You try to get your voice back, “You feel so fucking good,”

“Can my sweet girl take another?” His own breath sounds tight and strained.

You can only manage a whine, and he adds a third finger, pushing into your tight channel with even more pointed thrusts. You’re close in seconds, thighs trembling at the effort of holding yourself up while he brings you so close to the edge of pleasure. You sink into your position a little more deeply, and the adjusted angle of your hips leaves his fingers rhythmically pumping against the perfect sweet spot inside.

“I’m so fucking close,” You grip down on the silks that run between your hands, your body building up, the pressure so close to snapping.

“Come on my fingers, pretty girl, I need you ready to take my cock,”

If he wasn’t holding you so tightly braced against his own body you would have dropped right then and there, the sudden shuddering connection of your release leaving you completely boneless and disoriented, and you have to bite down to keep from moaning loud enough to wake the whole house.

His fingers slow until he finally slips them out and he adjusts, easing you down flat so you can rest a minute. He keeps his hand warmly in the center of your back, a grounding touchstone that centers you back in your body.

“Feeling good?” He murmurs, ruffling your hair a little.

“Mm,” You sigh.

He gives you a moment, but when you hear the cap of a bottle unclick you perk up again. He brushes a hand down your spine, “A little more now,”

“W-what’s next?” You swallow hard. You know the point is that you don’t know what he’s doing to you or what he’s touching you with, but you’re not quite there.

“I want you to relax just like you are,” He says, his voice so soothing and even toned, “the next thing you’ll feel is still my hand,”

You nod, trying to let yourself relax like he wants you to and your legs fall slack, widening a little further.

You hear the sound of the bottle and then you feel him again, one hand cupping your ass and squeezing your soft flesh, and the other dipping between your cheeks. You suck in a sudden rush of air when he presses one lubricated finger to the tight ring of muscle, circling softly to spread the slippery substance around.

“Color?” He asks quietly.

You swallow and nod, “Green,”

“Good girl,” He soothes and you feel your muscles flutter in response to his words and the tone of his voice, “I’m just getting you ready for the plug,”

“Mhm,” You sigh, and he presses a little more, easing you open with the tip of his finger. The sensation is surprising, a pleasant pressure you didn’t expect and your mouth falls open as he pushes a little further, easing a finger inside slowly.

“How’s that feel?” He asks softly, pumping his finger slowly just enough that you can get used to the sensation.

“G-good,” You nod, “keep going,”

His finger slips out and he taps your hip, “Can you come back up for me now?”

Once again he helps you get up, settling into the same position on your knees with your back arched and your body on display for him. He hums pleasantly, his hand squeezing one cheek, “Will you let me fuck you like this?”

Your breath catches but you nod, “I’m yours,”

“That’s right,” He squeezes you again, and then his hand leaves you. “Tell me if you need me to stop,” He says softly, and then you feel it.

The stainless steel plug is cold, that’s the first thought that rockets through your mind and you jump at the sensation, a shiver running up your spine.

“Did…” He lifts the plug away, “Is it,”

“Cold,” You interject, “it’s okay,”

He sighs above you, “Should I keep going?”

“Please,” You urge him.

The next time you feel it, you’re ready for it. The cold doesn’t last long, the steel warming up with the heat of your body quickly, and with painstakingly slow movements, he starts to press the plug inside you. The stretch is so much more than Seonghwa’s one finger, and you hold your breath, trusting the feeling, knowing how good it felt a moment ago.

“That’s it,” He murmurs softly, and the plug slides home, the bulb sinking in further suddenly and the flare catching it and holding it perfectly in place.

“Oh my god,” You manage.

“Good?” He murmurs.

“Yeah,” You sigh pleasantly, letting your body adjust to the sensation of being stretched open in a way you had never felt before, the weight of the plug heavy and perfect inside you.

“You’re taking everything so beautifully,” Seonghwa’s hand draws a comforting line up and down your spine, “are you ready for more?”

Your muscles tense and flutter and the pressure of the plug doubles the sensation, “Yes, please,”

You hear him reach for the next thing, and the weight of the bed changes when he settles behind you between your open legs. You’ve never been so exposed, so out of control and pliant in the hands of a lover. He watches your hips adjust, the arch is your back deepening as you relax into position.

You hear a click, and then a low, steady vibrating. Air catches in your throat, your body trembling in anticipation.

“Shh, shh,” Seonghwa’s hand caresses your hip, “I’ll give you what you need, my baby,”

“Mm,” You whine, a tight soft sound, “Seonghwa, please,”

You’re soaked, dripping, your cunt pulsing with need.

“Stay quiet for me,” He says, voice husky and low, “if you’re too loud, I’ll have to stop.”

Your hands jerk, caught tightly by the lead and you push your hips back a little, every nerve ending awake and alive.

“Good, that’s good,” He presses a single finger inside you, the feeling sudden. He slips it out again, just gathering more of your arousal to pass more slick wetness over your aching clit.

You muffle a gasping moan, and he squeezes your cheek in response.

The sound of the vibrator gets closer, and with a swift shift of his hands his finger is replaced with the firm silicone toy, the steady pulsing vibration sending a shuddering spike of pleasure through your body.

“Oh fuck, oh god,” You bite down, hiding your face in the sheets below.

“Right there?” He rolls his hand to swivel the smooth body of the toy over your clit and you whine, your hands jerking against your binds again.

The pleasure is sudden and consuming, hot waves radiating up your body and you want desperately to move but you can’t. All you can do is rock your hips and press yourself more firmly down onto the toy, chasing the vibration at the exact spot you need.

“Hush,” Seonghwa kisses your hip to quiet you when a harsh whine bubbles from your lips, “do you want to wake the whole house?”

You hide your face in the crook of your elbow, holding on to the silks between your hands for dear life.

“You want someone to see what I’m doing to you?” His voice is low and husky, and suddenly you know exactly what he’s doing.

“Hwa, please,” Your body shudders in his hands.

“Do you?” His hand presses the toy harder to your clit and you bite down on the soft flesh of your arm, “You want someone to watch me ruin your pretty little body?”

Your cheeks flare with blush, skin slick with sweat, your thighs shaking and you curl in on yourself, not sure if you want the toy on you harder or gone completely. His words are sending you spiraling, leaning so far into a fantasy you didn’t even know you had, and you choke out a moan. When you shift again, your body jerking on its own, Seonghwa tuts softly at you, locking a hand down on your calf and pushing your leg back open.

“Be good,” He says, “you want to come don’t you?”

“Please,” You beg, “I-I’m, Hwa,”

“That’s it,” He adjusts behind you and you feel his knee pressing against your opposite leg, effectively widening your stance and you collapse further onto your arms.

You’re barely balancing, the position uncomfortable and intense, but you’re right on the edge, so close you can feel your muscles start to lock up.

“Come,” He says, voice tight, “come, baby,”

“I’m close,” You whine.

“Let go,”

All you can do is beg, dizzy and confused, so close your only focus is hitting your release.

Seonghwa’s hand slides up the back of your thigh, curling over the swell of your ass to squeeze your skin while his other hand starts to rotate, dragging the vibrating toy back and forth over your clit in smooth circles. You babble out a begging cry, and he murmurs something behind you that you can’t quite hear. Suddenly you feel his hand move, and he presses the jeweled flare of the plug down, pushing it deeper and the combined sensation of that stretch with the vibrator pressed against your clit sends you over.

You come hard, collapsing down again and muffling your moan into the mattress. He falls forward too, his body curling over yours, a heavy weight over you. The toy lifts off, but only briefly, just enough time for Seonghwa to wind his hand around your waist and press it down between your legs again.

“Ah, fuck,” Your hands jerk, pulling back harshly on the restraints, “I c-can’t, fuck,”

You’re feeling sharp, overstimulated and exhausted, your orgasm blending from a pleasurable peak into the cresting of another in a way that you are hardly prepared for.

“Color,” He pants against your back, “jagi, color, now,”

It’s too much, it is, but if he stops now you think you might scream.

“Green!” You sob, your hips jerking again and grinding yourself down onto his hand and the vibrator.

He curses softly, his teeth scraping along your shoulder, “There you go,” he murmurs, “god, look at you,”

“Hwa, please, I’m coming, I,” You’re a mess, struggling to catch your breath under the weight of him and the sudden clap of another orgasm overtaking you, your brain whiting out entirely.

His hand closes over your mouth suddenly, cutting off the noises bubbling up from inside you, “Shh, I’m sorry, baby, you have to be quiet, I’m sorry,”

Tears gather in your eyes as you moan against his hand, the sound more of a sob at this point, every part of you shaking and trembling beneath him. In seconds though, the vibration turns from pleasurable to harsh, and you arch your hips back and away from his hand, muffled words against his palm as you shake your head.

He pulls it away from you instantly, clicking it off and letting it fall to the side, and his hand comes off your mouth a moment later, “I’ve got you,” he soothes, “I’m here,”

Your breath is tight, your mind still connecting back together, but the first thing you register is the ache in your arms. “Seonghwa,” You turn your cheek against the mattress and let your head drop, “b-baby can you let me down?”

“I have you,” He assures you, and within a moment your wrists fall to the mattress too, still wrapped together but no longer tied to the headboard, “better? Should I take off the rest?”

You shake your head, still a bit dizzy from your orgasm but you know the night’s not over, “No, just give me a sec,”

He tucks you against his chest, spooning you close and softly caressing your skin with his hand, “Just rest,”

“Hold me?” You murmur, “Please?”

His arms are already around you, but he tucks you closer still, pressing kisses along your shoulders, “I’m right here, darling, you were so beautiful for me, so beautiful,”

You snuggle into his arm and he tucks his knees up behind yours. You can feel him hard against your backside, but he doesn’t make any move to keep things going just yet, singularly focused on making sure you feel grounded again and back in your own body.

When he feels your breathing even out he kisses your temple, “You okay?”

“Mhm,” You sigh, “except I think I might melt into a puddle,”

He chuckles, his tense muscles relaxing, “I got you that good, jagi?”

You huff a small laugh, “Couldn’t you tell?”

“Yes, but It’s never a bad thing to hear,” He kisses you again.

You smile against his skin and sigh, “I can’t feel my legs, so if that’s any indication,”

“Mm,” He nuzzles you, pulling you closer, his nestled tightly against you, “but you can feel what you do to me, can’t you?”

You open your mouth to answer, but his hand splays out wide over your abdomen and he rolls his hips a little just to give himself a bit of friction and you sigh, “God, yes,”

“I want you,” He nips at your skin again.

“H-how?” You swallow, goosebumps erupting over your skin again and you shiver.

His fingertips trace along your cheek, before brushing over your lip, two fingers slipping into your mouth and pressing softly on your tongue, “Can I have your mouth, darling?”

Your brain is frozen for a moment, still caught between all of the sensations, but you finally close your lips around his fingers and suck, sweeping your tongue over them and tasting your own arousal. You hum softly, nodding, and he rocks his hips unconsciously against you again.

“Hwa,” You murmur, letting his hand fall away, “let me taste you,”

“Fuck,” He groans, “hold on,”

He rolls away, leaving you alone in the center of the bed, but you stay calm and listen. You can hear him dropping what’s left of his clothes to the floor, the creak of the bed as he comes back over to you, this time settling himself in front of you on his knees.

You reach out towards him with your bound hands, finding the warm skin of his thigh, “Show me where you are,”

“Right here, baby,” He eases you into position with his hands under your arms, and you follow his lead, until you’re perched on your knees and ready. He shifts above you and then slips his hand between yours, “You want to keep the blindfold?”

“I’m good,” You nod, assuring him, and with his hands on you, you feel safe despite the lack of one sense.

“If you need to stop, squeeze my hand twice, okay?” He mimes the action for you, squeezing one of your hands twice in two quick pulses.

“Okay,” You murmur, shivering again at the feeling of his hand brushing along your cheek.

“Such pretty lips,” He sighs, hooking his thumb on your bottom teeth and dragging your mouth open.

The soft noise you make is shaky and desperate.

“Gentle, baby,” He murmurs, and the velvet head of his cock brushes along your lip.

You inhale sharply and then open your mouth wider, your tongue wet and ready to accept him.

“There,” He cups your head with his free hand, holding you steady as he angles forward with his hips and presses his aching cock between your lips, “fuck, you feel good,”

You hum a sound of acknowledgement, sinking your head forward to take more of him and he groans. You were getting used to this, knowing when and how to relax your throat, when to suck, when to run the firm line of your tongue up the underside of his shaft. Seonghwa favors teasing before he takes your throat for his own, so you draw back until nothing but his cockhead rests on your tongue.

“Tease,” He sighs.

“And you love it,” You reply, slowly rolling your tongue over the head, tasting the salty beads of precum and using the added slick lubrication to heighten the sensations for him.

He groans above you, hand locked to the back of your head but still holding soft. You have him needy already, but you imagine he’s been hard the whole time, aching for a bit of relief but so focused on you. With a sigh you let his cock fall from your mouth and you shift back a bit.

He takes in a sharp breath and you smile, “You need to come so badly,”

“Mm,” He manages, and you can practically picture his tight expression.

“And you want it here?” You drag your tongue along the underside of his hot length and it twitches against your tongue.

“Yes,”

You adjust your hands, making sure his is tucked perfectly between, a ready lifeline if you need to use it. You lean back just a bit and angle your face up, you can’t see him, but you know he’s watching you. You wet your lips, and steady yourself, “Baby,” you nod, “fuck my throat,”

You hear him take in a sharp inhale, his fingers twitching in your hair.

“I know you need it,” You wet your lips again, getting yourself ready for him, “so take it,”

“God,” He groans.

You open your mouth wide, ready and willing to take what he has to give.

“Fuck it,” He curses softly, and he sinks his cock back into your mouth, still a little slowly to let you get used to it, cognizant of your blindfold, but at the first soft moan you make with your nose pressed against his pubic bone he loses all sense.

“My good girl,” He groans, pressing his hips forward until you’ve taken all of him, the head of his cock tickling the back of your throat, “letting me use her pretty mouth,”

You love him like this, fully free and making a mess of you. You relax your jaw, letting your head slip into a more comfortable position for his full length to drive back and forth across your tongue and down your throat, and you hold his hand tighter, just to stay steady.

He grips you back, a warm, silent acknowledgement, and then he thrusts hard.

You whine and stutter, but keep yourself centered, breathing low and slow in and out through your nose.

“Ah,” He hisses as he sets his pace, rocking his hips back and forth, every movement dragging him over your tongue, “god, darling,”

You whine softly at the pet name that makes your head spin, but stay focused.

“No one’s ever taken me like you,” He croons, “this is our pretty mouth isn’t it?”

You press your eyes shut harder, head spinning at his words and you moan out a sound that can only be taken as a desperate yes.

“Fuck,” He sighs, holding you harder and thrusting harder, “you love it don’t you?”

You whine again, this time pressing up with your tongue to give him a little pressure.

“If you do that again, I’ll come,” He shudders, “fuck, y/n,”

With a soft, pleased sound, you do it again. With your tongue pressed up and your lips sealed shut around him, the tight pressure around his cock builds and he falters for just a moment before groaning and working himself faster. He’s close, his nails against your scalp, the flat plane of his abdomen bumping your nose with every forward surge of his hips. The sound is lewd, wet and garbled, and you fight back the urge to cough. He only needs to use you a little longer.

“Fuck,” He curses, weaker this time, and you hollow out your cheeks. He thrusts in hard, holding your head in place as he spills his hot release down your throat, his hand shaky in your hair and a tight moan on his lips. You stay steady, holding your breathing as even as you can with his thick length this far down your throat.

When his fingers finally relax in your hair, you’re shaking, and he slides his cock out of your mouth slowly as he leans away. You swallow fast, your mouth salty and hot, and you cough sharply to clear the tightness in your throat.

He’s breathing heavily in front of you, recovering from the intensity of his orgasm, but when you squeeze his hand twice in a silent plea, he immediately responds.

“Alright,” he soothes, his fingers deftly loosening the tie of your blindfold, “almost there,”

The low light of the bedroom is thankfully not too harsh, but it still takes you a moment for your vision to clear and things to come back into focus. Seonghwa is quietly working on freeing your bound wrists, and within a moment or two the silks fall away and your hands fall slack to either side of your knees.

“Hi, baby,” He cups your cheek, moving into your field of vision and smiling gently, “you with me?”

You nod, and with shaky limbs you shift to sit normally. Seonghwa’s eyes flick over you, immediately clocking the obvious aches from your facial expression and he reaches for you, “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, massaging your arms and bringing some feeling back to them.

“I’m good,” You assure him, but the feeling of his hands is too good and you stop politely protesting.

“Let’s lay down,” He coaxes you forward to settle into the sheets alongside him, “there we go, how’s that?”

“Nice,” You sigh, resting your cheek on his bare chest.

“Here,” He smooths the hair back from your face and tugs the comforter up to tuck you in, “let me warm you up,”

You could die happy cocooned with him under the blankets, bare limbs tangled together. After a few moments of recovery he shimmies down to meet you eye to eye, “Hi, baby,”

“Hey,” You sigh, a little sleepy, your body still feeling weightless and sated.

“You were so amazing,” He cups your cheek, “so amazing,”

“So were you,” You murmur, your throat still feeling a little raw.

He snakes a hand between your bodies and draws your arms up, looking over your wrists, and though they’re a little pink from being wrapped up there’s no real bruises or damage and he smiles, “Does everything feel okay? I know I was rough,”

“I’m perfect,” You manage.

He softens, dipping forward to catch your lips in a warm, soothing kiss.

“Hwa,” You nuzzle him.

“Hmm?” He murmurs.

“Would you,” You clear your throat again softly, “is there water?”

“Of course,” He shakes his head, “I’m sorry, let me,”

“It’s okay,” You smile, watching as he rolls out of bed and searches for his boxers. You could tease him, point out how suddenly fixated and nervous he is about getting aftercare right, but he’s actually being too perfect. You don’t want to poke fun now, not after the deep intimacy of the night and his very real desire to make sure you feel comfortable now.

“Be right back,” He kisses you fast, and ever so quietly slips through your bedroom door.

While he’s gone you shake out your limbs, taking stock of your body and all the sensations. You’re achy in places, but it’s a good ache, like a hard workout and the endorphin high after. You’re exhausted though, the adrenaline crash Seonghwa talked about running obvious through your body as you blink to clear your head. It takes a moment to figure out the plug, but you remove it slowly, adjusting to the feeling of it no longer being inside you with a sigh. You gather up the little pile of toys in the bag again, resolving to wash up in the bathroom as soon as your body stops trembling. You dress quickly, locating your sweatshirt and underwear by his discarded clothes, and then collapse back onto the bed to wait for him.

When he returns, he’s got a cool glass of a water and a mug of tea, “Ah good, you’re still up,”

“Mhm,” You reach for him, “oh, thank you,”

“I thought it might be nice,” He smiles, passing you the water and setting the hot mug on your nightstand.

The water is soothing, exactly what you need and you finish the glass off with ease, Seonghwa grinning. “What?” You laugh, wiping the back of your mouth and passing him back the glass.

“Nothing, you’re beautiful,” He squeezes your knee.

“I’m sure I look a mess after that,” You take the tea next and savor the warmth seeping into your fingers.

“If you do, then I like it,” He sighs pleasantly.

“Cute,”

It’s still for a moment while you nurse your tea, chamomile and honey that soothes every facet of your abused throat. Your mind is so quiet, body fully sated and any anxieties from earlier forgotten for at least tonight. After a few moments he makes a noise of recognition and says, “You cleaned up?”

“Not really,” You murmur, “I just put everything back in the bag, I need to get up and get washed up when my legs start working.”

He grins, “You want some company?”

“Yeah?” You sip your tea.

“I’ll make sure your legs don’t stop working again in the shower,” He nudges your thigh.

“Okay,” You nod, still feeling spacey.

“Come on,” He murmurs, “let’s get a nice, hot shower and then go to sleep,”

A strike of neediness flutters in your chest and you look up, “Will you stay?”

His face softens, “Of course I will, I’m not going anywhere,”

The sudden knot in your belly relaxes.

“I’m staying all night,” He murmurs, “don’t worry about a thing,”

He guides you up and out of bed, quietly ferrying you through the hall to the bathroom, the little black bag of toys under his arm. He cleans everything up while you relax in the warm water, letting your muscles unwind after the long day. When he finally joins you, he gathers you up against his chest and you trade lazy, easy kisses until the water runs tepid and there’s no use fighting sleep anymore. You fall asleep with him wrapped around you once more, his thumb rubbing smooth circles into the pulsepoint of your wrist.

In the morning, bundled up in a cozy robe in the kitchen, strong arms wrap around you and tuck you close. You almost mistake him for Seonghwa, assuming he would be the only one up at this early hour, but the feeling of this lover’s hands is different, and so is the warm press of his long body behind you.

“Morning,” you murmur, sweeping your hand along his forearm, “what’s all this?”

Yunho kisses your hair, sighing into you, “I’m here to apologize for being an ass,”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry for being distant,” He finds your hand and laces your fingers together, “San told me you were worried,”

“I just want to know that you and me are okay,” You bring your hands up, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, “but you don’t have to apologize for needing space,”

“We’re more than okay,” He tightens his hold on you, kissing your hair again but this time leaving his lips there, “I’m sorry I made you worry,”

“It’s alright,” You assure him.

He nods against your head, exhaling low against your scalp, “I missed you,”

You melt into his hold, nodding softly, “Me too,”

You hold each other a little while longer, but the sound of the coffee machine finishing brings you both out of your quiet thoughts and he lets you go so you can finish your task. He clears his throat softly and leans against the counter, “You’re up early,”

“So are you,”

“I was tossing and turning,” He admits.

“Over this?” You squeeze his hand.

“A little,” His eyes flick down, “and schedules. I’m just stressed about next week,”

Preparation for their holiday music show appearances is fast approaching, and next week would mark the heaviest schedules drilling their adjusted choreography to get the appearances right. You pour him a cup of coffee and pass it over, “It’s going to go well, and I’ll help however I can,”

“I know,” He smiles, accepting the caffeinated peace offering, “thank you,”

“My week will be lighter,” You tell him, “I’ll be on morning coffee duty and late night snack patrol, don’t worry,”

He grins and watches as you pull two more cups from the cabinet, fixing both you and a sleeping Seonghwa your morning cups of coffee too.

“Ah,” He nods at the second cup, “I didn’t realize I was keeping you,”

“You’re not,” You shake your head, “Hwa’s still asleep,”

It’s a little strange how easy it is now to readily share yourself with all of them, no lingering stress or anxiety about them becoming jealous or feeling awkward about each other. Yunho nods and follows you back out into the main room, “Can we talk more later?”

“Of course,” You’d reach out for him if you weren’t holding two very hot mugs in your hands.

“Here,” His voice drops to a whisper and he walks you to your bedroom door, sliding it open for you, “come find me tonight,”

“Thanks,” You murmur, and he dips forwards to press a soft, chaste kiss to your lips.

“Thanks for the coffee,” He murmurs, “and everything else,”

You nod, stepping into your dark bedroom, and Yunho smiles as he shuts the door behind you. You wait a moment, listening as he pads away back to his bedroom. You’re not surprised he found the quietest moment of the day to talk to you, a tiny moment alone away from the prying eyes of anyone else to be sure that nothing was changed between the two of you. If San talked to him last night, you hope he talked to San, working out whatever nervous tension had bubbled up after your night all together. If next week is going to be tight and stressful, they all need to be in good spirits and firing on all cylinders, and you’ll do anything to help make sure that happens.

The sound of sheets shifting behind you draws your attention back, and you make your way back to bed and to Seonghwa’s arms. You stretch into your morning slowly together, murmured thoughts about last night, small confessions about what more you want from him and all the ways he wants to give. He dotes on you all morning, his attention barely leaving you until he’s pulled out of the dorms for the start of their day.

Safe and cared for, that’s what he had said.

Safe and something unspoken, held just in the memory of last night.

You do your best not to wonder what he might have said.

quick end note: because I know I'm going to get some messages, the tense feelings between wooyoung and san should not be read as straight up woosan. that is not the direction i'm going, and this work is true ot8 x reader, we're not going to get break off couples or something like that. however, in a relationship like this i think it's only natural that things grow closer between everyone, not just each of the eight with reader. i think wooyoung and san are a natural place for that to happen since they're already so openly touchy and warm with each other.that being said, i think a little tension between people / guys who have been friends for 5+ years would be natural if you had a group sex experience, so in my mind that's where that comes in. i hope that came across in the chapter, and i appreciate you all for reading!

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blackcatwritings · 2 years ago

Text

Safe Place (Julian x Reader)

Summary: After you saved the world, Julian wakes up from a nightmare, old demons in his eyes. You're here for him but your own doubts aren't far.

Warnings: Nothing worse than what you get in the game : Quick allusion to Julian's canon trauma (non-graphic), the reader is a little anxious at one point but overall it's comfort and sleepy fluff. Cuddles and kissing but nothing NSFW. Spoilers for Julian's route but if you're reading this you might already have finished the route.

Info: Reader is gender neutral. No use of pronouns besides you/your. No mention of skin, eyes or hair color, form or texture but Reader is said to have hair. If you squint, Julian could be interpreted as taller than the reader at one point.

It starts with small but quick movements besides you, then you hear a breath quicken. You're still tiptoeing between being asleep and being awake but something is telling you to wake up.

"Don't... I can.. Save..." The voice is familiar but it's the pain you can hear in it that wakes you up abruptly.

Sleep is still making your eyelids heavy but you turn anyway to see Julian still asleep, his face so tense you're surprised he hasn't awaken yet. You hesitate only an instant before your hand finds his shoulder, shaking it gently.

"Julian."

He sits up quickly, startled, his eyes searching the dark room frantically until they find yours. He exhales, his shoulders loosing a fraction of the tension they hold. You're not entirely sure of what you see in his eyes but his left hand moving to gently cup your face attract your attention. His other hands finds your shoulder and he brings you in a hug. You put your arms around him, it's almost automatic now. As you're still fighting to stay awake only with the strength of your worry for him, the comfort of his arms is welcome.

His breath is still too sharp for your liking so you rub soothing circles on his back.

"I'm here, you're safe, we're home." You say softly, just loud enough for him to hear.

His breath quietens ever so slightly. You wait a few instants more but he stays silent, still holding you for dear life. Bottling it up as usual. Your sleepy mind consider a moment about not asking him what's wrong to not cross a boundary but you're barely able to form a coherent thought right now. You settle on some encouraging words letting him choose what he wants to do with what troubles him.

"Wanna tell me what bothers you?"

Silence follows, just long enough for you to doubt he will even answer, before his voice reach your ears, softer and less assured than usual.

"Bad memories. The plague."

Your thumbs stop the soft rubbing on his back. The plague. You might not have a lot of memories from that time but you do remember when it almost came back. The devil's sick smile flashes into your mind, his laugh seems to overwhelm your ears for an instant and you grip Julian a little more tightly.

"I didn't mean to upset you." Julian voice sounds remorseful and you wonder how he can still find the emotional strength to pay attention to your state while he is clearly in distress.

"You didn't. Unless you're secretly the devil or something." You tone of voice is vaguely playful but you're too tired to prevent the sinking feeling in your stomach. You beat the devil but that didn't mean you didn't have doubts at one point. Julian could have gotten hurt. So could have everyone that fought that day. You're vaguely aware that you wouldn't feel that bad if you had enough sleep but the thought quickly fades away.

You feel his lips turn into a small smile in the crook of your neck. "I'm not."

The silence falls in between you again but you don't let it take root.

"We're in this together, huh?" You say slowly as Julian's hands play with your hair absently. "We can't erase our past and neither of us wants to overwhelm the other with our darkest fears but maybe we can support each other as we deal with our own troubles."

Julian hums in agreement before he gets a little farther from you to see your face. You see him attempt his usual rogue smile but you know him enough to see right through it.

"Sure there isn't a magic spell that would give me the ability to take all of your troubles away? I'm used to trouble, I'm trouble. I can handle it, I'm strong enough."

You know he is only half joking.

"So am I." You raise you hand to cup his cheek and he melt into your touch, his eyes closing to enjoy the sensation.

"I guess then I'll have to simply use another way of helping, maybe I could start with cuddles." He says as he brings you closer.

You let your head fall to his shoulder.

"You're the one who had a nightmare, I'm the one doing the supporting right now." You say playfully, happy to see him acting more like himself.

He pursues his lips like if he' was deep in thought.

"Well, you're right. Then maybe you could try kissing me. Maybe it would help make me think about better things..." A twinkle in his eyes makes you hopeful.

You draw a finger to his cheek to gently push his face towards yours so your lips can meet. The kiss is soft and sleepy until Julian's hand cups your face to deepen it.

When you break the kiss, Julian follows up with a gentle kiss to your nose, then your forehead and you let your head fall to his shoulder once more. They feel more relaxed now and his frowns seems lighter. You listen to his breath and let out a satisfied little sigh when you realize it's deeper and more regular. Not yet calm, but that's already progress.

"You know you can talk to me right?" You said again and he nods.

"Tomorrow? I think we could use some sleep before talking about upsetting things." He kisses the top of your head as he starts to lay down again, gently taking you with him.

You lay down, your head resting on his chest where one of your hands traces circles slowly.

"You're sure you can sleep again so soon?"

Julian smiles, moving slightly to find a more comfortable position while staying close to you. He brings the cover back over your bodies.

"With you by my side? There's nothing I couldn't do. Not even sleeping" His voice sounds assured even if his eyes are still a little unfocused.

"Breath with me?" You say lazily, knowing you're sleepy enough for your breath to be deeper than his.

He looks startled for a moment before faintly blushing in the dim light that filters through the window.

"Helps calms down your breath." You precise, fighting against sleep.

"Okay."

"Inhale." You say as you breath in slowly, squeezing his hand as you do. "Exhale." You release the soft pressure on his hands. You're not sure it's useful to add a gentle squeeze to the breath, but it seems like a good way of helping him get out of his mind and back into his body.

When you squeeze his hand again, he squeezes softly back. "Inhale," he says before doing it. "Exhale."

Your breaths slowly sync together as you repeat the process, soon letting go of the spoken cues.

"I'm here." You say as you doze off with a soft smile.

"I'm here too." You hear him answer, sleep heavy in his voice.

#julian devorak #julian x reader #julian devorak x reader #julian x mc #julian devorak x mc #ilya devorak x reader #ilya x reader #ilya x mc #ilya devorak x mc

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novoaa1writes · 3 years ago

Text

worthy

pairing(s): queen ramonda x reader, queen ramonda & okoye (platonic)

summary:

“No.” You’re quick to stop her, scurrying forth and taking her hand in yours. Speaking out of turn, laying hands upon a member of the royal family… all punishable offenses. If the Dora Milaje saw it, they’d have you face-first on the ground surrounded in a ring of gleaming spearheads before you could blink. But now, here, she is not Wakanda’s Queen. She is Ramonda—your Ramonda.

Her hand is warm and lax in yours, and the way she’s looking at you… so open, so trusting. So patient. “This is my home, s’thandwa. A place where I feel safe and loved. But it cannot be that if you do not feel it, too.”

Or: Okoye can be a little overprotective sometimes, especially when it comes to Ramonda. You cannot fault her for it.

cross-posted on ao3.

word count: ~1,600

rating: general audiences

warnings: spoilers? for wakanda forever? i guess? tbh the only “spoiler” here is just that i mention ramonda’s hair in brief detail, because it’s different from the first movie’s look. also vague allusions to reader’s past relationship(s) being not terribly fulfilling.

notes: reader’s gender is not specified here. with me, i write these with the reader-insert characters in mind being typically female, non-binary, or transmasc, but it’s really all up to you

— —

The Queen returns in a mood. The way she strides through the rounded entrance to her chambers with downturned lips and all the intrepidity of a woman on a mission is enough to tell you as much.

You’d only been lounging about in her chambers for a short time, having stopped to visit with Shuri in the laboratory on your way over.

You were not native to Wakanda; as such, your visits spanned few and far between. Though, admittedly, that had been subject to change as of late—what with your increasing… familiarity (for lack of a better term) with her Queen.

With this familiarity, you were granted certain privileges. The most obvious one being: You were permitted access to her private chambers—yes, even when they were empty. A weighty concession, to say the least.

The others, though not quite so rife with implication, were no less significant: You could walk freely around Birnin Zana as you pleased, provided you wore a set of Kimoyo beads and checked in with Ramonda—or someone she trusted—every hour or so. As guest of the Queen, you were permitted an additional (non-Wakandan) companion to Wakanda—that is, a plus-one—provided that they were vetted first by the Dora Milaje, and second by the Queen herself. You’d never exercised that particular exemption, and did not foresee a point in time that would find you doing so—but the offer was there all the same, and its connotation was not lost on you.

And so on, and so forth.

These allowances aside, your, shall we say, place in Wakanda is in its infancy, still. Fragile, one might say. Since the start, the Wakandan sentiment towards you has ranged from wary acceptance to unequivocal mistrust.

… This, as evidenced by Okoye’s unwavering presence at the doors of Ramonda’s chambers. She’s been watching you like a hawk since the moment you arrived, spear poised, ready to strike at any moment.

You’ve not bothered asking her why she does so. Despite what people seem to think, there do indeed exist stupid questions, and that would unequivocally be one of them. Similarly, you do not dare do her the injustice of attempting to offer any well-meaning sentiments, or assurances that you do not seek to do the Queen—or Wakanda—any harm. Actions speak louder than words, they say. And Okoye—who’s said scarcely more than five of them to you since your first meeting—quite plainly agrees.

You do try. You tell her ‘Hello’ and ‘Goodbye,’ and, when the setting permits, you’ll even ask her how she is, or communicate that you hope she is faring well. (More often the latter, since any question you ask of her—those excluding an official matter—are continually left unanswered.)

It helps that you’re not white, as Shuri told you. Ramonda had scoffed at her daughter’s impudence, but did not disagree.

And yet, the fact remains that you are not Wakandan—nor African, even—and before you lies a long, uphill path to gaining the Wakandan people’s esteem. For better or for worse, you are determined to climb it.

Regardless—in the present moment, you shut the book you’d been reading when Ramonda enters, turning to give her your full attention. She displays no indication that she’s noticed you, merely dismisses both of her trailing attendants and Okoye with a wave of the hand and a quiet, “Out.”

The attendants exit swiftly, and Okoye is quick to follow—though, not before giving you a look. You imagine it translates (roughly) to: If you make this worse, I will not hesitate to skewer you.

You give the barest hint of a nod in reply, but it is in vain—Okoye is gone. The doors shut behind her with a quiet noise, leaving you and the Queen alone.

Wordlessly, Ramonda divests herself of her headpiece—a gorgeous, deep-purple, crown-like thing—and discards it neatly on the dresser. Her hair is shorter these days, a neatly-trimmed ‘fro with springy, platinum-white strands. You know it was not done out of vanity, but you cannot help thinking it suits her all the same.

As you watch, her eyelids flutter shut and she lets loose a long, measured exhale. You can practically see the tension seeping out of her; the taut line of her shoulders easing, the furrow between her brows dissipating. The queenly affect, the burden of her crown—all of it seems to divest itself of her in waves. And, in its wake: the woman herself, tall and proud.

Your heart clenches, strangled with affection (and, perhaps, something stronger), but you do not speak. You dare not tarnish the moment. You know all too well that it is likely the first truly quiet moment she’s had all day.

You’re content to wait patiently until her eyelids flutter open and her calm gaze sweeps the room, seeking—

She looks down. The furrow in her brow reappears when she spots you sitting cross-legged on the carpet, her painted lips pushed out to form a frown. “S’thandwa sam,” she murmurs, “why are you sitting on the floor?”

An embarrassed flush heats your cheeks. Your skin is too dark to render it visible, but Ramonda will notice it all the same. She notices everything about you.

“I, erm…” You scramble uncouthly to your feet, cheeks aflame. “Okoye was here.” You feel quite underdressed, all of a sudden; Ramonda, a vision in her ceremonial robes before you, and you in… socks and street clothes.

Ramonda’s lips twitch with something like amusement even as she cocks a single brow and prompts, “Oh?”

Something twists in your gut. This time, it’s not anxiety. You shove it back down; tell it to take a Valium. “She… She does not trust me,” you manage.

Concern flares in Ramonda’s gaze. “You did not wish for her to see you in my bed,” she surmises, the teasing pretense having fled entirely from her tone.

“I don’t… I don’t wish for her to think that I take my…” you pause, wanting for the proper word, “position here for granted.”

Ramonda considers this for a moment. “Okoye will think what she wishes to,” she tells you gently. You nod. “But,” she adds, her features hardening as her tone grows cutting, “it is certainly not her place to make you feel unwelcome. I will speak with her—”

Warmth erupts in your chest at her sincerity. You stroke gently over the skin of her knuckles in an effort to convey it. “Okoye is protective of you—” Ramonda cocks a brow as if to say ‘You think? ’ “—but I’m sure it will not be news to you when I say it is because she loves you. I cannot fault her for that.” The ‘because I love you, too’ goes unsaid. (For now.) “To be entirely truthful, it actually reassures me, somewhat.” At Ramonda’s inquisitive glance, you shrug and add: “I know you’re in good hands.”

Ramonda’s brows creep higher up. “I am more than capable of looking after myself, you know,” she retorts, though her tone is not contentious—but rather, tinged with mirth.

“I know, my Queen—you are very strong and mighty,” you acknowledge, only partly in jest.

She doesn’t miss a beat. “And you, my little minx, are quite mouthy today.”

You feel a renewed flush heat your cheeks (again), and a telltale clench in your belly, but you refuse to let it derail you. You still have more to say, and, by the slight tilt of Ramonda’s head, she can tell.

“Maybe…” you trail off in a quiet voice, all pretense discarded. “Maybe I’m just a little protective of you, too.”

The effect is immediate: A broad, delighted grin splits Ramonda’s features. Her hand drops yours and snakes its way around your waist, the other reaching to cup your jaw and hold you like you’re something precious, something treasured.

“I will not leave you, dearest,” she soothes, tracing circles into your cheek with the pad of her thumb. “I am yours, and you are mine.”

Your throat swells with emotion, a dam bursting in your chest. You bite your lip to bear it. When you speak, your voice is hoarse, choked with oncoming tears: “No one’s ever treated me like you do,” you murmur quietly, so quietly it’s like a confession—a secret. The truth of it burns like magma in your lungs, and the tears that trace your cheeks are not nearly hot enough to match. And Ramonda—bless her—she wants to reply, seeks to comfort you, but refrains because she knows you have more to say. Because she’s listening, truly and earnestly. That just makes you want to cry even harder. “I am going to be worthy of you, Ramonda. I promise.”

“Oh, s’thandwa sam,” she murmurs, placing a feather-light kiss upon your forehead. Her fingers nudge your jaw, raising your teary-eyed gaze to meet hers. The sheer measure of love and care you see in her eyes is enough to make your heart feel as though it’s imploding in your ribcage—all butterflies and warmth and love beyond measure. “You already are.”

— —

end notes: okay, i did some reading up on xhosa language and term of endearments for the couple that i used here, and i'll toss those sources down below (along with other sources i used) if anyone's interested. (also, if you've read this, and you're knowledgeable about xhosa + have some corrections / commentary /etc., please please please do not hesitate to message me! i did my very best to make sure i wasn't throwing any terms around, or refusing to do my due diligence, but this is not an area of knowledge i'm terribly well-versed in, and as such, i'm kind of bumbling around here despite my best efforts. let me know!)

update: a special thank-you to a reader on tumblr who messaged me and corrected the xhosa terms of endearment!! i have included the updated ones below. much appreciated<3<3

s’thandwa sam | my love, love of mine s’thandwa | love, sweetheart

sources:

queen ramonda | just an extra source to inform upon ramonda's character and canonical background

symbolism behind the hairstyles in wakanda forever | a brief article about, well.... what it says on the tin

traditional south african dress | since the xhosa-speaking people are indigenous to a particular region of south africa, i wanted to look into traditional south african dress, particularly where it pertains to the marital status of a woman. but then i read up on queen ramonda's headdresses ('cause i wanted to know if i should take that part out for this fic if i wanted to make my canon a little different and say she was never married), which does indeed draw inspiration from some of the traditional headpieces worn in southern africa by married women, but in a wakandan context, it seems that her headdresses (particularly in this second film) are also to indicate her queenly status. so.... uh. yeah

“love, courtship, and marriage in africa” | this is the seventh chapter of a book titled a companion to african history (first edition). this particular chapter gives writing credits to nwanda achebe, who is one of the editors of the book. it includes pretty much what it says on the tin—traditional courting rituals and the like—along with terms of endearments in various african languages.

“wakanda forever: wakandan for emphasis” | this is an academic article written by sarah scott-nelson and alyssa penner. they delve into a sociolinguistic analysis of the use of isixhosa as a national language of black panther's fictional country of wakanda. it's a shorter read (~9 pages), and one i thought was pretty interesting!

— —

link to masterlist

#queen ramonda x reader #ramonda x reader #queen ramonda #stuff i wrote #reader-insert

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foreverrogers · 3 years ago

Text

bite the hand that feeds needs me

Pairing: sub!tasm!peter parker x f!reader

Summary: so maybe peter stops pulling his punches. and maybe he gets a little rageful, and a little bitter. and maybe sometimes he comes to you to repent.

Warnings: smut!!!!! 18+!!! unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), facesitting, choking, degredation kinda, sub/dom dynamics, safe word needs to be used, no reference to but strong allusion to gwen's death, solidly angsty undertones (happy ending), brief hurt/comfort

Words: 4.3k

A/N: based vaguely off of THAT nwh scene. i started this fic 2 months ago and now i truly don't know what to do with myself. cry? rejoice? stare at a wall for a couple hours? probably all of the above. full disclosure pretty sure this is the filthiest thing i have ever created so... enjoy ;)

i am apparently unable to name my fics anything other than lucy dacus songs, so title courtesy of bite the hand by boygenius

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It's a rhythmic tap. Once, twice, and then a third in quick succession, matches the steady patter of rain against the metal of your fire escape and the concrete below.

"Morning, stranger."

You try to bring a lightness to it, even though you know just as well as he does that nothing good ever brings him to your window at 1am.

He tries, at least, gives you the faintest of smiles, already flushed and a little abashed as he haphazardly tosses his mask somewhere to the side.

Standing in your bedroom, Spider-Man is drenched to the bone. The tight spandex of his suit almost sags with it, starts to soak through your carpet where he stands, and the soggy flop of his hair would almost be cute if it weren't for that look in his eye. It's a look you're familiar with, all slanted lines and clouded eyes. Tonight, it's accompanied by a dark split in his lip and a blooming bruise at the peak of his cheekbone, sits right above the light scruff along his jaw.

He's still handsome despite it, maybe even a little because of it, a torturously beautiful boy with the saddest eyes you've ever seen who gets to be yours for a couple hours a week. In the back of your mind, you start the clock.

"You're bleeding." That's the second thing you notice, past the far-off expression, the dark crimson that's stained part of the blue fabric at his side. Your hand grazes the spot, notices the webbed material is still fully intact, lacks a scrape or a gash that would indicate a wound underneath.

Peter flinches at the contact, but not because it hurts. "It's not my blood."

You weren't naive. You had read the articles, witnessed through mugshots and secondary sources the steady decline of New York's friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man. He hadn't been so friendly, as of late, leaving bad guys with injuries that couldn't always be healed.

It doesn't stop the city from needing him, for abetting him, loving him out of necessity if nothing else.

You weren't naive. You knew the man you let into your bed— or at least you knew him better than most people could claim. You knew him well enough to know that being needed took its toll on him.

You try to read his eyes, are met only by a cold distance, a safe distance. It's something else you've gotten used to.

You try to counteract it, by any means, hand gentle on his cheek, careful not the brush over the dark bruise when you lean up to kiss him. "You sure you don't need anything?"

"Just you," He mumbles, hides it between kisses, slips an arm around your waist to tug you towards him.

Peter kisses you like kissing you is all he can do. There's something almost sombre about it, the knowledge that he comes to you to forget, to escape the numbness, to be someone without expectations.

Even still, you can't help the way being pressed against him like this makes you smile, mostly because this early in the night, before you've gotten into the worst of why he's here, he returns the gesture.

Peter presses curved lips to your jaw, trails down the column of your throat until you tilt your head to the side. "What'cha smiling about?"

"Nothing," You breathe, and now your arms are sliding around his neck, a hand tangled loosely in the damp strands of his hair. There's a pinch at the crook of your neck, a quick nip to pull out the truth. "Just missed you, 's all. Didn't think I would see you this week."

Peter's biting the inside of his lip when he pulls back to look at you, the perpetual crease between his eyebrows a little deeper than it had been before. You should have known better by now than to bring feelings into this, even if it was as simple as an I missed you. You knew you had no entitlement to his time, to the rarity and the beauty of this boy who always retreats back into himself when you reach too close. If he felt that way about you, he would have told you his name.

He's trying to look for something to say, and so you say it for him. "Forget I said anything," You smile, shake your head, try to draw him back out, and when your lips find his again it's deeper, heavier, gives him a taste of what he's here for. "Just c'mere."

The dampness of his suit has already soaked through the front of your pyjamas, so when you settle him onto the bed and climb into his lap your shirt is the first thing the go.

The webbed fabric is rough along your skin, hands at your waist pressing you close. Your own hands slip underneath the hem of his suit, tug and roll it up just enough so you can feel bare skin against your fingertips, heat rising through the dampness.

Peter does the rest of the work, peels off the top of his suit until there's nothing but warm, taut muscle under you. Your hands travel the rest of the way up, take their time lingering until one slips loosely around his throat.

The position forces him to tilt his head up, open towards you.

"This what you want?" You ask, don't need the gentle nod he gives to know the answer. This is always what he wants. This is why he comes here, to give the power to someone else for a night, to feel it sting like a soft hand wrapped firmly around his throat, to repent for the things that overtake him.

You can feel him beneath you, breathing heavy and straining through the tightness of his pants, and so you bring your free hand down to press your palm against the growing bulge.

"Do you remember the safeword?" Is your second question, and your tone has changed in an instant, talk down to him in that way you know he craves.

"Red," He mutters, too far gone in studying your face to think about it too hard. He tries to kiss you then, leans in and finds himself stopped by the tightening of your hand around his throat. There's a thrum of a quiet moan underneath your hold, the twitch of pressure beneath your other hand.

"And if it's too much?" You give a light squeeze to demonstrate, feel the three taps, rhythmic, in quick succession against your hand. "Good boy."

He worships you like this. You, bare and willing and kind, always kind, even with a hand wrapped around his throat. You, who makes the most of the little he gives you and still manages to make him forget, who never asks questions, who gives everything you have to this man who needs you.

Your hand is at the waist of his suit now, slipping under to graze the hair that graces his lower abdomen, yet to dip low enough to find the place he needs you the most.

"Have you been good for me this week, sweetheart?" He shakes his head, gasps at the feeling of you taking him in your hand, mouth hanging in a perfect gape. "Is that right? Do you need to be punished?"

"Need to be punished," He whispers, tries to use the limited leeway the stretch of his suit gives to buck up into your hand.

You tsk, bite your lip as the withdrawal of your hand earns a heady whine from the back of his throat. "What would people think if they saw you like this? Spider-Man powerless, all needy for me." You're barely touching him now, fingertips light brushing against the clothed bulge of him as you palm him through his suit. And then your leaning in, lips brushing just over his. "Pathetic."

There's a rush of warm breath against your lips, a long-held breath released. When he tries to kiss you this time you let him, taste his desperation in the eagerness of it.

You hum in approval when you pull away, hand at his neck slowly sliding up until you have a firm grasp of his chin. "Why don't you start by letting me ruin this pretty face?"

He nods, seems too busy staring at your lips and leaning forward to catch them in another short, heated kiss to convey anything intelligible.

"Need you to say yes for me, honey."

"Yes," He mutters, hot and breathy. "Please."

"There you go. Good boy," You smile, hands on his shoulders now, urging him down. "Lie down for me, sweetheart."

You kneel up as he slides his way down your headboard, head against the pillow as you shuffle out of your panties.

His hands are on you as soon as you're bare to him, soft at first, so carefully slip up the sides of your thighs before resting at the small of your back. The look in his eyes asks permission, asks to grip harder and guide you up until your cunt is only inches away from his mouth, and you're all too happy to nod your approval.

Peter doesn't believe he's a good person, but if he can't be good the least he can do is make you feel good, dedicate himself to this one cause that could never be bad.

Sinful, maybe, but not bad. There could never be anything bad about the way your body reacts to his mouth, hot and hungry and unrelenting as his tongue slides firmly over your clit. You're not afraid to rock against him, circle your hips as you chase that high, the one that seems to push you higher and higher every time you're together, sends you falling with the same heat as a meteor burning through the stratosphere.

Peter's been dedicated to your pleasure for long enough that he already knows your body like the back of his hand, your inner workings admired and mastered, knows just what to do with his tongue and his lips and his grip to have your legs shaking around him.

He knows the cues, too, knows that your fingers tangling through his hair and your shallow gasps and the flexing of your thighs tightly around his face means you're close.

It's times like this that he wishes he had the nerve to tell you his name. Because the mask⁠—sure, the mask had been a fluke⁠, but the sound of you moaning his name as you cum might actually be the thing he would risk it all for.

For now, he settles for the string of profanities that resonate around the room as you tremble in his hands. You're proof that he can still put them to good use, his hands, that they're still capable of more than just rage, that they can still pull something beautiful out of you.

And it is beautiful here, what you create together, even if it's raw, greedy, rough around the edges.

You're breathing heavily above him, kneeling back up onto shaky legs. He leans up on one elbow as you slowly slide down his chest, settling firmly back in his lap.

He's even harder than he was before, if that's possible, can almost feel him aching where he presses up into you and soaks a dark patch into his suit.

You laugh a little when you look at him, at the mess that slips down his chin, breathe it into a sigh as you fight your way through the haze of your orgasm. "'s impossible," You start, smiling, lean forward with one hand on his chest as you wipe his bottom lip dry with two fingers. "You're even prettier now."

He opens his mouth, expectant of your next move, can't help the strangled moan that slips from his lips as you sit back and place the digits onto your own tongue. It tastes like him, and like you, like sweat and sin. "Y/n..."

You smile again, release your fingers with a strong pop before licking your lips, seemingly satisfied by his reaction. "Go on, Spidey. Tell me what you want."

"Want you to fuck me."

"Oh, yeah?" His boldness only spurs you on, has you leaning forward so you can wrap your hand lightly over his throat, use the leverage to tilt his face to the side and kiss along his jaw. "Want it rough?" A quick nip, a blooming love bite soon soothed by the heat of your tongue. You tighten your grip just a little, just because you can, slip down so he can feel warm breath against his ear when you speak. "Want me to use you?"

"Please," He breathes, looks just as far gone as he sounds when you pull away to smirk at him.

"Well, since you asked so nicely... C'mere and help me take this off." He doesn't need to be asked twice, sits up and catches you in a kiss so quickly it makes you gasp, melts into a giggle once you lean into it. One arm around your waist, his other hand helps you drag down the bottom of his suit, pulls away his boxers in the same struggled movement.

When you're both finally bare a hand resting on his chest pushes him flat onto the mattress, and you bite your lip as you slowly slip it down, nails grazing tantalizingly lightly down his stomach until he's sitting heavy in your hand.

"Y/n," He mewls, the second whine of your name in a matter of minutes, and the way the sound makes your walls flutter around nothing is enough for you to give up on any further teasing you had planned.

"I like it when you beg," You mutter, and then you're kneeling again, settling yourself in the right position so you can sink onto his cock in one achingly slow motion.

Peter fills you up like nothing else ever can, just makes you miss him even more on nights with just you and your fingers and memories of these fleeting entanglements, the way he moulds against you and so easily finds those spots you can never reach.

"Fuck, always feel so good, honey." You savour it all, the stretch and the heat, didn't realise you had closed your eyes until your opening them to see that slack expression on his face.

A gasp makes his mouth fall agape with the first movement of your hips, the tight pinch of his eyebrows as you start to rock against him.

There's still something missing, though, an element of your arrangement you seem to forget until he's slipping his hand over the one still resting on his chest, urging it upward with a light pressure.

The movement of your hips picks up at the reminder, makes him tighten his grip on your hip with a strangled moan that's soon cut off by your hand slotting over his neck. It still turns you on, after all this time, that you're the one person that gets to see him like this, the vulnerability in each movement and each reaction.

Peter's a different person when he's with you. With what he wants, what he asks for, he thinks he's worse. But he also thinks you might make him better.

But it's thinking like that which encroaches on dangerous territory for Peter, like he might try to start scaling the walls he built up for his own good, makes him chase the one thing he knows can drown out thoughts too dangerous to indulge.

His hand is back over yours, but around his throat this time, forces you to tighten your grip while his other hand encourages the rocking of your body.

"Hey, just loosen up a little, okay?" Peter doesn't seem to hear you, presses and presses and squeezes your hand so tightly around his throat that it starts to hurt. You can tell that it's hurting him, too, that the pain is what he's looking for, eyebrows pinched together and a deep red flush blooming across his face. You try to pull away, but his grip is too strong. "Just- Spidey, stop, you're hurting me, just- Red!"

You're so lost in the searing pleasure of it all that you don't notice that he hasn't let go until it stings, until the pressure compressing your hand against his throat starts to throb.

It seems to finally snap him out of it, lets his hand fall away and you withdraw your own as soon as you can.

He sits up lightning-fast, gasps at the sudden access to airflow as he rubs at his throat, hadn't realised how long it had been since he'd taken a breath. He tries to speak, finds only a sharp cough there.

His lap is empty, feels the dip of the mattress and the warmth of you at his side, an arm wrapped firmly around his shoulders as he brings his knees up to his chest. "Hey," You whisper, movement of your hand soothing, gently rubbing back and forth along his bicep. "It's okay, you're okay."

"I'm sorry... Fuck, I'm sorry, I didn't-" He looks at you, finally, and you meet him with so much concern in your eyes it cuts him off. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

You feel the drop, the heaviness of your heart sinking to your stomach, faced so closely by that broken look in his eye, the guilt there, the remorse. "You didn't hurt me, it's- Hey." Peter's dipped his head, and you bring both hands up to cup his face, bring his eyes back to yours. You have to take a moment to swallow the lump in your throat. "I know that you don't... Come here to talk about things. But if you ever do... Want to. Just know that I want to listen."

The twist is a slow one, the pinch of his eyebrows and his deep-set frown and the clench of his jaw, and you think you might see the prick of tears gathering in the corner of his eyes before he's digging his face into the crook of your neck, sturdy arms wrapped around you.

You've never hugged before.

Above everything you've done together, seen the glimmering worst of each other and felt the pain and the pleasure of it as one, this might be the most intimate moment you've ever had.

Peter breathes you in, deep, shuddering breaths against the warmth of you skin, and you hold him just as tightly as he's holding you. Like you never want to let go. Like this is what you're bodies we made for, to slot together like this.

Peter thinks it's dangerous how familiar you feel, overwhelms his senses with a soothing warmth. He thinks it's dangerous how he wants to keep this feeling, the comfort over the pain, how he wants to stay.

"I should go."

Peter's pulling away, in every sense of the phrase, refuses to look at you as he untangles your limbs. "Hey," You start, catch lightly at his wrist, makes him look down at the contact before he's meeting your eyes. "Why don't you stay tonight?"

He sighs, dips his head back down and swallows, thinks if he looks at you you'll see how much he wants to say yes.

Your hand is still on his wrist, anchoring him, keeping him from dispersing into the night, everywhere and nowhere and lingering in your walls like smoke. "We don't have to do anything, or say anything, we can just-" You let go, let your hand cup his cheek and bring his gaze back up to yours. "I don't want you to be alone tonight."

Peter looks at you, at the way you're looking at him, and feels like he's being ripped apart from the inside, tugged in two different directions, both equally wrong, both equally essential, like the repulsion of two polar forces.

There's a tipping point there, though, somewhere in the depths of your worried eyes, one that makes the decision for him before he can think about the consequences.

-----

Peter has never been this comfortable in his life.

The late morning sun paints everything in a bright yellow, a hazy cellophane filter as he takes in his surroundings. Your room looks different in the light of day, no more shadows melting everything into an amalgamation of vague shapes in the dark.

And then there's you, wrapped around him, a puzzle piece slotted firmly into his side, warms him through with a blooming ache at every contact of bare skin. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight of you in the sunlight.

You don't open your eyes, simply feel the steadiness of his chest under your arm and nuzzle deeper into his side. "You stayed."

Peter smiles down at you, can't help it, slowly grazes a finger over your cheek. "Thank you for letting me." And it's sincere, the gratitude in his voice.

You shift slowly then, try to lean against his chest and squint up at him. "Fuck, it's bright," You mutter, close your eyes and dip your head to escape the light.

He laughs, music to your ears, a steady rumble you can feel through his whole body. You can't remember the last time you heard him laugh.

You're a little more successful when you look back up at him, match the faint remnants of a smile you find on his face. For a moment, you let yourself bask in the image of him, bright and smiling and warm in your arms. When you remember the events of the night before, it's unwillingly. "Do you want to talk about last night, or..."

Peter sighs, the sinking of his chest beneath you, closes his eyes as he lets his head fall back to the pillow.

"Hey, we don't have to," You attempt, prop yourself up against his chest, splayed hand resting over his heart steadying, makes him tilt his head against the pillow to look at you. You smile at him. "We could talk about... The weather, or... Crime? Or..."

There's a steady rumble under you body, the deep growl of Peter's stomach.

"Breakfast?"

Peter grins at you. As in, smiles with his whole face, all crinkling eyes and dimples and teeth, and it makes your heart ache so much you have to stop looking at him, lean up and kiss that stupidly beautiful grin off of his stupidly beautiful face.

You stay like that for a long moment, savouring this newfound gentleness. He doesn't feel so much like smoke in your hands anymore, constantly on the verge of slipping away. He feels a little more corporeal under your touch, like maybe it was your touch that was keeping him solid in the first place. "I'll go get breakfast ready."

You smile at him, pull away as you sit up and move towards the edge of the bed. But Peter doesn't want to let you go just yet, even if you're only threatening to walk a couple feet into your kitchen, isn't willing to go back to existing discretely like you had before. "Hey," He starts, voice soft and fond, still a little laden with sleep as he catches your wrist. You turn back to him, give him this wide, expectant expression as you wait for him to continue that almost melts him on the spot. "You're too nice to me, you know. I don't deserve it."

You sigh, shuffle back towards him so you can cup his cheek in your hand. "Yes, you do," You say, matter of fact, lean close to look him right in the eye, make sure he understands just what you're trying to tell him. "Everybody deserves a little kindness sometimes, Spidey."

"Peter," He corrects, lets it hang in the air for a moment, wraps around the silence of your surprised expression. "Parker. My name's Peter."

It's a bridge, you think. A broken one, built up with planks others had ripped away long before you met him, but it's a bridge nonetheless, and he's offered it to you willingly, hopefully. It's not a bridge the whole way there, but you think it might just be enough to jump to the other side. You smile at him, watch him sit up as you hold out your hand. "It's nice to finally meet you, Peter."

You're aware of it, in the back of your mind, that you're two half-naked people in your bed shaking hands. But right beside that thought is the clock you started as soon as he crawled through your window, marks almost ten hours and counting. The most you had ever gotten out of him before was three.

His eyebrows are pinched together when he looks at you, a sullen expression you're used to. His voice is small when he speaks. "I don't know if I believe that."

Neither of you pulls away, warmth of bare skin against bare skin, and so you let your joined hands fall to the mattress beneath you. You watch him look down, to where he's started rubbing his thumb back and forth over the back of your hand. "You're a good person, you know?"

"It doesn't matter if you believe it." You shake your head, give him a resigned shrug and surprise him by smiling, wide and bright and maybe just a little bit convincing. You kneel up then, still smiling, still shaking your head as you crawl into his lap. His face is in your hands. "Because I believe it. And I can believe it enough for the both of us... For now... If you're willing to let me. If you're willing to let me show you how good you are."

There's something in his eyes you can't quite place as he looks up at you. It's something new, all quiet and adoring, almost reverential, awestruck and awe-inspiring all at once. It's something you could get used to, you think, finding all the different ways Peter Parker could be utterly beautiful. "Okay," He whispers, like he believes it.

"Good," You breathe, nod, smile into the soft kiss you offer him. "After breakfast."

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norel-ravenclaw · 2 years ago

Text

Take Care Of Me Master

Fandom: Ikemen Prince (otome game)

Featured characters: Sariel

Genre: Hurt & comfort

Rating: 14+

Word count: 650

Description: A familiar face haunts Belle in the palace, and Sariel comforts her as the mask of perfect control slips.

@aide-falls I hope this hits what you were looking for. More to come!

WARNINGS: | vague allusions to past trauma | angst and comfort | mxw |

Something desperate like madness claws at my chest as I quickly make my way through the palace halls. I fight for my carefully constructed control. Breathe in, and out. One foot in front of the other. Minimize emotion and process the situation critically. The anxiety does not-

“Belle?”

Sariel’s surprised voice stops me in my tracks at the entrance hall to the ministerial offices.

My heart is pounding in my ears, but I compel myself to be still. “Master Noir.”

He approaches me with a furrow in his brow. “What happened?”

…I can’t trust myself to speak. And of course, my new lover sees this immediately.

His violet eyes soften a little, and he puts a hand on my back. “With me.”

I don’t have it in me to resist. I follow him, halfway between agony and numbness.

We enter his office, and he locks the door. “…Belle?” He steps up to me, frozen as I am, hesitating.

“Sariel…” All I can do is stare at him for a long second. Then the dam breaks.

“Damn it… T-this keeps happening. My heart breaks a little every time it does. It’s been a lot of years now. Never have I seen someone with the same face. It… shocked me when I first laid eyes on him. Every time I see him now, I try desperately to just see him. Only him.”

My voice breaks. “It’s not his fault. I know it’s not mine either, but I-I’d do anything to make sure he never finds out. When he wears a serious expression it’s just… all I can do…”

I meet Sariel’s eye again and see just as many complicated emotions there. Anger, concern, pain. Slowly, questioningly, he raises a hand to touch my cheek. Keeping his movements deliberately slow, he brushes a lock of hair off my forehead, then lightly stroking my temple in a way that sends a rush of chemicals through me. I take a breath at the sudden feeling of fuzzy lightness.

The change makes me clench my jaw. Tears sting my eyes as I look away from him. "How... Why is it that all my strength, all my efforts cannot accomplish... what a single touch can."

As I hazard a glance his way, Sariel's eyes soften. "Then ask for what you need. My dear, let me take care of you." He puts his hands on my shoulders, and suddenly the trembling breaks through my control.

“Sariel… Please..." I whisper desperately, "P-please be gentle."

His intense gaze shifts as he pulls me into his arms. "Don't be afraid, my dear. You’re safe with me. I'll take good care of you."

Gently, he steps us back to the wall so I can be braced. His hands rub soothingly along my waist and arms. “You’re alright. Just breathe. All you have to do is rest.”

He takes off his glasses and sets them on the letter table by the door. Then he rests his forehead against mine, just holding me. His hands make slow circuits over my trembling body, grounding me. From my hair, shoulders, and hands, around my waist and hips.

I rest my head on his shoulder, trying to get my breathing back under control.

“That’s it. My good girl. So brave and strong.” He kisses the top of my hair. “You’ve fought battles no one should ever have to, and here you stand - earnest, ever trying.”

He nuzzles my ear. “You work so hard. I’m so proud of you. You’re safe now.” Rubbing my crossed arms soothingly, he sighs. “You don’t have to be afraid, I’m here.”

Gently, he tilts my chin up. “No harm will come to you as long as you are with me, my darling. I swear it.”

Placing an achingly tender kiss on my lips, he seals his promise to be my guardian angel - giving the devil’s word.

#norel writes #ikepri #comfort fic #comfort character #angst and comfort #ikemen prince #ikepri sariel #sariel noir #comfort #tw trauma

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mystical-lemonade · 3 years ago

Note

Hello! I humbly request this but with the vice dorm leaders.. thank you! 💖

Warnings: vague mentions of Abuse, Blackmail(Jade), Allusion to Murder(Lilia)

Wordcount: 1,200

Pairings: Trey Clover & gn!reader, Ruggie Bucchi & gn!reader, Jade Leech & gn!reader, Jamil Viper & gn!reader, Rook Hunt & gn!reader, Lilia Vanrouge & gn!reader

Trey likes to think of himself as a very observant individual, so he picks up on your habit of flinching anytime someone moves too quickly close to you.

He has a very strong idea as to why you react to those situations the way you do.

And he would never tell you this;

But he gets so god damned mad that you were ever treated so badly as to cause you to flinch at every sudden move

So he makes sure to be extra careful around you

Even explaining to the more excitable of your friends and his dorm members that they need to make sure to not move too quickly, lest they scare you.

Trey would 10,000% tell you that if you wanted or needed to talk about what caused your constant flinching, he'd happily listen

He would also help you seek out help for the situation in order to improve your life

Whether that help is finding a counsellor, support in talking to a parent or sibling or even (if applicable) talking to the police/lawyer about finding a way for the abuse to stop

Ruggie grew up in a rough area, so he definitely sees you flinching due to quick movements and knows exactly whats up

He wouldn't necessarily do too much about it though

He'd certainly start telegraphing his movements around you so you weren't scared by him

Announces his presence and intentions if he's moving in what he knows is your blind spot

Would maybe tease you a little if he saw you tense up even when he takes preventative measures to make sure you feel safe

"Geeeeze Y/N. I mean Fruity Hoops aren't my favourite cereal either but making that face? I mean, its not like they taste exactly like baby puke."

Ruggie is a great listener so if you needed a shoulder to cry on or someone to vent at then Ruggie is your guy!

If you didn't want to talk then Ruggie wouldn't make you, unlike some other people he honestly doesn't see the benefits to pushing you like that.

He wouldn't press you to talk about your past but around vacation times he would definitely make sure to ask if you're safe at home

He and his Granny may not have a lot but if you're not safe at home then Granny Bucchi would have Ruggie's head if he didn’t at least offer to let you stay with them during breaks

Jade is someone who enjoys observing people in his spare time

But despite this, it would take him a bit to notice your habit of flinching

When Jade does notice, he goes off to a quiet and private place to plot

Eventually he will find an excuse to get you away from everyone else without them getting suspicious

And then he will quietly ask you if the reason you keep flinching is because of what he thinks it may be.

Definitely ensures Floyd knows not to pull his normal stunts around you so that you don't end up spooked

Its really such a shame that the person who subconsciously trained you to associate quick movements with pain just.... disappeared from your life

Its really so very upsetting that they just couldn't take the guilt of their own actions anymore

No this sudden vanishing act has nothing to do with the literal box full of blackmail that Jade dug up on them, nope nothing at all.

Jade would tend to hover around you more often after finding out though, he just wants to make sure nobody else fucks with you

Jamil notices something is off with how you act around people but he doesn't really understand what exactly it is

He most likely just thinks you're either spacey or generally high strung

It probably isn't until Kalim notices your behaviour and adjusts his own that Jamil realizes the connection between you flinching when he moves quickly wasn't you just being unobservant

No, you flinching was a sign of past trauma

It breaks his heart just a little to know you were hurting from some bastard's actions, potentially even years after the fact

Jamil absolutely makes sure to appologize for his assumptions and for accidentally causing you continued suffering

Makes sure he adjusts his behaviour immediately, letting you know what he's doing why he's doing it and just generally trying to make you feel safer

Lets you know that he would be more than happy to listen if you needed a friendly face to talk to

If there's even a hint of you being unsafe at home well... it wouldn't be the first time Jamil has used his Unique Magic to convince Kalim to give him what he wants

Not that it would even take that much, the moment Jamil says "Y/N isn't safe-" Kalim is already on the phone with his family arranging for you to stay in the Al Asim house

Rook is a hunter, so after following you around for a while and observing you, Rook would notice you flinching from sudden movements

He would immediately be saddened by the implication, and he prays it just you being oblivious or high strung

As it is completely beyond him as to how anyone would be able to be so cruel to you

So like any good hunter of people, Rook would simply ask you if you'd be willing to tell him as to why you flinch so often

When he finds out the answer Rook wants nothing more than to wrap you in a blanket and whisk you away from the world forever

You're quite precious to him so he'd rather you feel safe

But alas, he can't just hide you away in bubble wrap, so Rook settles for just following you around

And threatening anyone who makes you flinch

Eventually the students will get the memo and will stop making sudden movements around you

Would absolutely encourage you to talk to a professional though, Rook knows its not healthy for you to be hypervigilent all the time

Notices immediately, he is trained to notice even the smallest of microreactions in order to get the upper hand on an enemy afterall

So, honestly? Lilia's first response is to find out who caused this reaction in you and either terrify them into leaving the continent or...

He would straight up make them "disappear"

War Crimes Vanrouge does not play around when it comes to people harming those he cares deeply about

Lilia will absolutely ensure he makes himself a "safe person"

Someone you can be around and know he wouldn't even attempt to lay a hand on you or raise his voice at you

Definitely sits down with Sebek and Malleus to make sure they know what they can and can't do around you to make sure you continue to feel unthreatened

Is the first person to ask what triggers you the most

Finds ways to avoid those triggers constantly, you will never have to worry if Lilia is around

Will definitely make sure all your teachers and classmates know that if they even think of purposefully trying to make you flinch they will find out how truly devious Lilia can be.

Greetings Dears, I hope this long awaited post lived up to your expectations. I honestly went a little more platonic with this post than I initially intended. That's why I used the '&' this time. But when reading you are welcome to interpret it as being either a platonic or romantic relationship between the characters. If you enjoyed this post please check out the original post for the dorm leaders.

If thats not quite enough of my writing for you then feel free to check out the previous wishes, or make a wish of your own.

Sincerely, Jupiter

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that-foul-legacy-lover · 4 years ago

Note

Can I please requests a scenario where Childe rebels against the Tsarista to protect the reader, so now he's cursed by being trapped in foul legacy form.

Unable to speak, barely able to recognize anything, and in constant bloodlust(or whatever else you might headcanon for a more beastial interpretation of Foul Legacy)

But thanks to the reader and Teucer, he's able to still stay himself

This is my first request, hope it's fine. Thank you!

anon i would like you to know that this buttered my toast and watered my crops i love EVERYTHING about this that being said i might've gotten a little off topic but i hope you still enjoy!!

~ * ~ For You, Everything

Foul Legacy Childe x Reader Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Angst Warnings: Fire, death, blood, allusions to throwing up and anxiety, injuries, hyperventilating, crying, mild gore (?)

~ * ~

There’s a new rumor in Liyue.

It’s whispered in the streets and alleys, in hushed, near-silent voices to avoid detection by the subjects in question. Spreading not like wildfire, but cold, unrelenting ice- a slow freeze over the news until every citizen of the Harbor had it in the back of their mind, sticking like frost on glass.

There’s a traitor in Snezhnaya.

A vague rumor, a foreign affair, something that should be brushed aside and forgotten by people living so far away. And yet, it seems every person in Liyue has only one subject for daily gossip: the supposed betrayal of one of the Tsaritsa’s most trusted warriors. The traitor was powerful, perhaps even a Harbinger, you heard when you turned in a report, and the Fatui were stiff and tense, even the calmest member becoming snappy and cold. Any snippet of news was snatched up and passed around with intense curiosity as the entirety of Liyue waited in anticipation for the event to develop further.

Or so you’ve heard. Gossip had never been particularly appealing to you, and it’s even less so now, when you’re swamped with work and responsibilities more than usual. Along with your usual reports and data to write, you had also been given the task of looking after the younger brother of your friend, the Harbinger Tartaglia, before he left for several weeks due to “work”. The young boy, named Teucer, was sweet and adventurous, and you had to constantly stop him from going out to have little journeys of his own, as well as play up the ruse that his older brother was a toymaker and not the Eleventh Harbinger.

You huff quietly as you sign another sheet of paper and set it aside. It’s a cloudy, gray, somber day, the air just on the brink of drizzling and covering your window in fine, misty drops. There’s a knock on your door as you scratch out another sentence, and you hum wordless permission to enter. Teucer cracks the door open and slips into your office, asking in the quiet, worried way of a child if any news had come from Snezhnaya. You shake your head no- Teucer was the only reason you even made an attempt to remain up-to-date with latest gossip- and let him climb onto your lap and plonk his head against your chest. He’s worried, he tells you. Worried about his family at home and his big brother, alone and wandering in the vast, intimidating world. You ruffle his hair, the exact same color as Childe’s, and set down your pen. Perhaps it was time for a break- maybe a walk around the docks to get some fresh air?

There’s a scream outside.

Then another.

Your eyes widen and you rush to the window, people running past shrieking in the streets. The clouds have thickened to deep, thundering gray, lightning flashing overhead, and you swear that you can feel electricity running down your bones. A few people, Vision users and Fatui members, race in the other direction, weapons glowing in their hands. Everyone is shouting, yelling, screaming- you cover Teucer’s ears, wincing at the mad din as frantic words and phrases string together into one sentence.

A monster!

A monster! A monster in the Harbor! In the one safe haven for humans in all of Liyue! With Rex Lapis dead and the Adepti detached from the Harbor’s issues, the city was sure to fall! Teucer looks up at you, his normally carefree attitude replaced by fear and shock as he tries not to shake. You give his shoulder a gentle squeeze, rushing both him and yourself downstairs, the choking, acrid scent of burning wood and bodies reaching your senses. The door is blocked by crackling wood, the fire matching the vivid purple of the lightning above, having struck houses near yours by chance, and you quickly turn and lead Teucer further away from the smoke. There’s a table there, your old desk that you shoved away in the storage room after you got a new one, and you usher Teucer under it before slotting as much as your body that can fit next to him. He clings to you, crying but desperately trying to keep quiet, and you wipe his tears, hushing and murmuring gently that everything will be okay, you’ll both get out of this, and he’ll be able to see his family and big brother again.

Secretly, you also hope to see Childe again, but you squash that hope with a harsh second-long scolding to yourself.

Fire burns bright outside, the storm sizzling against it as you hold Teucer close to you. The smoke thickens and he begins coughing, so you give him your jacket to breathe through in an attempt to filter the ash. You hear flashes of windows shattering and embers sparking as your home snaps and crackles into destruction, occasional screams of horror seeping into your brain and staining your memories deep red. And you hope and hope and hope that you both will survive, because there’s nothing left to do but hope and bitterly wish that Childe was here, with his Hydro Vision, to extinguish the flames. The smoke clouds your head, and you blink rapidly in an effort to stay awake despite the burning in your lungs.

A drop of water falls on your nose. Vaguely you feel Teucer shifting in your grip, then shaking your shoulder, and you slowly bring your head up and open your eyes, bones feeling stiff and brittle. The fire has died to glowing embers, beat back into submission by the heavy rain that now drips over your skin. You shakily stand, Teucer clasped in your arms, and nearly fall from how weak and dizzy you feel. The storm washes grit from your eyes, but you wish it hadn’t, as Liyue Harbor lays in ruins.

The houses and buildings, once standing strong and grand, are collapsed under the searing fire and weight of water. The sky is thick with plumes of ash and soot, vendors turned over and smashed and the canal water now a rough gray. The cobblestones of the streets are cracked and gritty, and covered in splatters of dark red blood that turns the rainwater pink, and you almost throw up before catching yourself and letting out dry heaves instead. Teucer tries looking up, but you gently push his head back onto your shoulder with a hush, gulping down your nausea and forcing yourself to take a step.

Step, step, step. It feels like a fever dream.

Step, step, step. You don’t feel alive right now.

Step, step, step.

What could’ve done this.

Your thoughts drift to your friends- your friends! Zhongli and Baizhu and Hu Tao! And the younger generation, Xingqiu and Xiangling and Chongyun and Xinyan! And everyone else in between that your fuzzy mind refuses to focus on- were they…?

Please, no… Don’t let them be dead…

There are claw marks in the blood splatters now- apparently they were telling the truth about there being a monster- and you shudder at the size of its talons. Your breath comes out in short puffs as you hold Teucer tight, not only to keep him in your arms, but also not to lose your grip on reality and return to that dark space where no one can find you.

There’s a growl behind you, and your blood freezes like ice. Your turn is slow, unable to bring your legs out of their leaden position as you force yourself to face the threat, if not for yourself, then for Teucer. An enormous beast, unlike one you’ve ever seen before, looms over you, and you stumble and fall backwards, feeling a sharp twinge of pain from your tailbone. Teucer yelps in surprise and asks if you’re alright, but you tell him that you’re fine, only you might need him to run as fast as his legs can carry him very, very soon. You spot blood on the monster’s claws, and scream at yourself to run, but your body refuses to do nothing but sit there and be useless. You squeeze your eyes shut, too exhausted to do anything more.

…When did you start crying?

There’s a soft pressing sensation on your cheek, and you open your eyes to find the monster carefully wiping away your tears with a claw, letting out gentle coos as if to soothe you.

And it’s a sweet sound, those coos and clicks and trills the creature makes, almost like it can take away your suffering and fill it instead with warmth and soft sensations.

Teucer also looks up at the beast, and it makes a rumbling sound of happiness as it reaches out to ruffle his hair. The young boy blinks, and a name slips from his mouth- “Ajax”, he says, a question and an answer.

Ajax… Childe’s birth name…

When Teucer calls him big brother you break, sobs coming out jerky and rough from pain and fear and horrid realization. Childe trills in concern and licks your cheek but you push him away, yelling out what about Zhongli? What about Beidou? And Baizhu? And Ningguang? And the rest of your beloved family in Liyue? But there’s not even a glint of recognition in Childe’s eye, only deep worry for you and your state of being, and behind it, a feral desire to kill and maim. You begin to shake again, and Childe silently curls around you and Teucer, lifting you in his arms and letting out reassuring purrs as he begins to walk away from the Harbor. His brother falls asleep quickly, the steady movement of Childe’s pace lulling him into dreams or nightmares. But you stay awake, hands balled into fists and holding handfuls of Childe’s fluff as your thoughts wander to small, innocent things to block out the singular day of today. There was a book series in Liyue about romance, and it carried an extremely popular quote which young couples liked to use to measure their compatibility. “What would you sacrifice for love?” And as if he’s reading your mind, Childe raises a hand to caress your cheek, staring down at you in crystalline blue, and for a brief, fleeting, final moment, there’s a flash of humanity in his eye.

For you, everything.

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fbfh · 4 years ago

Text

rocks at your window pt. 2 - ricky bowen x reader

disclaimer: this series contains smut (and warnings chapter by chapter) so as with all nsfw/smutty/steamy works, all characters are aged up to 18+ (ricky and reader are 18 and in their senior year)

!! contains referenced spoilers for s1e4 of hsmtmts, and pt 1 of this fic !!

wc: 3.3k

genre: fluff, mild angst, slice of life/morning after shenanegins

pairing: ricky bowen x fem/afab/she her! reader

warnings: allusions and references to sex the night before, your mom is really cool about sex cause she taught you how to be safe and responsible, ricky's home life is not good cause of his mom rn, his mom yells at him over the phone, ricky stays with friends till things iron out/his mom goes back to chicago, encouraging him to set boundaries with his mom, "dna doesn't make a family" energy, nina has a "blood is thicker than water" stance and you do not, bad vibes quickly return but you help him through it, antagonizing nina/nina slander (but not ooc yikes), I think that's it??? besides general mommy issues so if that bothers you tread lightly lol

summary: Ricky knows he's falling hard and fast for you, craving nothing more than your touch, and he doesn't think feelings stronger than this exist. When you help him navigate a situation with his mom, he's proven wrong by you once again. Nina is shocked at his reaction to her breakup with EJ, and you begin to leave a bitter dare I say sour taste in her mouth. Ricky just wants your mouth on his, no matter how it tastes.

song rec: are you in love (intro) - the regrettes

a/n: oh my god season two was wild???? unsure how I feel, but I'm excited that we're caught up on episodes cause that means I can write more without getting distracted lol

also I am so surprised at how much I enjoy writing ricky??!!?!?! I love this boy pls give him the love and support he deserves

Meeting the parents is usually awkward at best, but meeting your mom the morning after Ricky and you had sex up in your room in the middle of the night is inarguably worse. He liked to think he was pretty good at talking to adults, he’d had plenty of practice convincing his teachers that just because he skates it doesn’t automatically make him a delinquent hoodlum. But standing in your kitchen, wearing your 90s cartoon print sweatpants and shirt that says ‘friends don’t let friends live in indiana’, he has no idea what to say to your mom, who’s holding some papers and a travel coffee cup, clearly about to leave for work. Thankfully it only feels like eternity that he’s standing there, a vague open mouthed smile, trying to figure out how to say hello without sounding like a lunatic. You enter the kitchen, a few seconds behind him, and greet your mom.

“Morning honey,” she says back, and you walk over to put up some coffee.

“I hope you don’t mind that Ricky stayed over last night, an emergency sleepover was very much called for.” You share a very subtle look, and she nods, understanding.

“Of course not,” she turns to him, “You’re welcome any time, Ricky.” Then back to you, “I’m headed for a meeting at city hall, I’ll text you if it looks like it’ll run late.”

“Good luck,” you say with a chuckle, “We both have rehearsal for most of today - homework will get done around that -” you amend, and she nods, “so I’ll be over by the costco near school if you need me to pick anything up on the way home.”

“Alright,” she smiles, pulling out her keys, “well, have fun at rehearsal, you two! And it was lovely meeting you Ricky. If you ever need anything we’re happy to have you.”

And that was it.

No interrogations, no snide looks, no criticisms that skateboarding and energy drinks are rotting his brain. Just some pleasant small talk and introductions, and that was it. Is that what it’s like for other people?

You catch the time on the microwave clock as you pull out the coffee, and your eyes flare.

“Oh shit, it’s like, 5 past 8,” you say, Ricky’s eyes mirroring yours. Rehearsal doesn’t technically start till 9, but it’s an unofficial rule among the cast that everyone shows up about a half hour early for warmups, going over notes, and generally going the extra mile.

“Shit,” he replies.

“Okay, uh,” you say, only panicking a little, “you have your script in your backpack, right?” He nods, and you continue, “Okay, we’ll just get dressed really fast, get some coffee on the way, and if we’re late it’s because of traffic or something.” You say, already heading back upstairs, Ricky right on your heels.

“Oh my god,” you giggle, bouncing up the stairs, “they’re gonna kill us if we’re late.”

“Hey,” he says, picking up his jeans and flannel from yesterday, catching the tee shirt you toss him, “practice for, uh, quick changes.” You turn to him, delight in your eyes.

“See, you’re getting it!” You say through the door into the bathroom as you both change as fast as you can, “You know more about theatre than you give yourself credit for-” your voice raises in pitch as you almost fall, trying to put on your jeans, “I’m fine!” you call, hearing Ricky’s laugh echo into your room. It’s a nice sound.

Before you know it, you’re parked at your favorite coffee shop. After how late you were up last night and how much happened yesterday, you encourage Ricky to get a coffee with you. Two iced coffees, one peach scone, and one chocolate croissant later, it’s 8:17 am. Ricky holds your place in line while you walk over to the red metal box by the windows, change in hand. You walk back over to him to pick up your order, stuffing something in your pocket.

“What’ve you got there?” he asks, a curious smile on his face.

“It’s a surprise,” you say, with a wiggle of your eyebrows. You pull out of the parking lot and start driving towards school, Ricky in the passenger seat. You check the clock again, now 8:27.

“Christ,” you mutter, pulling out your phone and calling Miss Jenn on speaker. She picks up after two rings.

“Hello?”

“Hi Miss Jenn,” you introduce yourself, “and Ricky’s with me-”

“Hi Miss Jenn.” he calls into the phone.

“Ricky came over to my place early this morning to go over our lines in act 1, working through the notes you gave us,” you continue, jogging her memory of the awkward delivery between you two.

“Right,” she says.

“We completely lost track of time, and my gps got all messed up - we’ll be there well before 9 - but we might be 5 minutes late, so I wanted to give you a heads up,” you conclude as you turn left.

“Oh don’t worry about it, you two just get here safe. Have fun, and watch out for pedestrians!” she adds, joy that you and Ricky are finally bonding, evident in her voice. It’s pretty obvious why she’s happy that you and Ricky are spending time together; when rehearsals first started, he was so focused on trying to win back Nina that he didn’t really participate in the scenes you have together. You never had anything against him, and you’re glad now that he’s getting his head in the game - pun intended.

You thank her, then hang up. A minute later, you remember what’s in your pocket. You pull out two plastic bubbles and hand them to him. He recognizes them as prizes from a bubblegum style toy machine.

“I can never resist getting at least one of these little guys whenever I go there,” you punctuate the statement with a sip of your coffee. “So, what did we get?” You say, smiling. He looks at the little toys in his hand, chuckling as he opens them up.

“Two heart shaped rings,” he muses, “red and purple.”

“Oh my god, really?” you ask, looking over as he holds them up to show you, “Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten matching prizes. The last time I got two of these, they were a batman sticker and a small pot of strawberry lip gloss that was definitely rancid,” you recall with a laugh.

“Yeah,” he says, staring at the two hearts in his hand, a strange, warm feeling stirring in his chest, “what are the odds…”

“Must be fate,” you say with a smile. “Which one do you want?"

"I kinda like the red one," he muses, watching the way the silver glitter embedded in the plastic shines in the morning light.

"That's what I would have said too. Red suits you."

He looks over at you as you drive, his eyes wide and cheeks warm. What the hell is happening to him?

You stick your hand out, wiggling your fingers for him to place the purple ring on your hand. He looks at them, then very carefully, slips one onto your ring finger. He can feel that moment, your hand in his, as he gently places a ring on your finger, burn into his mind. Taking note of every single detail, he commits this moment, this feeling, to memory. He wants so desperately for this to last forever, but if you do eventually have to pull into the parking lot, he’ll settle for reliving you placing your hand in his again and again.

He snaps out of this thought, realizing if he holds your finger for much longer it’ll probably start to get awkward. After a moment he tears his eyes away from your hand, looking at your profile, your focus on the road and street signs.

“Does it fit?” he asks, softly with a nervous chuckle in his voice.

He watches you, bittersweet, as you finally retract your hand from his and give it a little shake.

“Like a glove.” you state, that sweet alluring smile once again gracing your lips.

You finally find a parking space, grab you bag and coffee, and exit the car, Ricky right behind you. You look over at him, trying to cram the child sized ring onto his hand.

“Does it fit?” you ask him back.

It doesn’t, but the last thing he wants is to slow this momentum you have going. It’s a nice energy, it’s comforting - and if he’s being honest - a little addictive.

“I… can make it fit,” he smiles, once again worried that something will somehow shatter this delicate euphoric feeling building up between you. You let out a laugh, the sound immediately putting a smile on his face.

“Don’t worry, dude,” you say, taking another sip of coffee, “you can wear it on your necklace.”

“Yeah,” he realizes, pulling the blank chain from under his (or rather, your) shirt.

“Cool, I can help you put it on when we’re inside,” you reply, opening the door to the building, but stopping when you see your hand. You look down at your finger, then over at Ricky. He gave you the red ring, and is holding the purple one.

“Aww,” you coo. He laughs and looks away, cheeks warm.

“I dunno,” he laughs, “I thought it was-”

“Perfect!” you finish, “Easily the sweetest thing anyone’s done for me.”

You pause.

“Which sounds kind of pathetic in retrospect.” you both laugh, finally entering the rehearsal room.

“Just a little,” he laughs, “you’ve gotta get some better friends.” You’re about to agree, that’s why you have him, you’re about to say, but Carlos approaches before you can.

“There you are! You need to try on your bop to the top dress to see if you can dance okay in it.”

He jiggles his leg, a warm, excited, kinetic energy running through him since this morning. Since last night. He bites his lip, smiling at the torrent of memories from just a few hours ago. His hand comes up, tracing the spot on his shoulder that’s almost definitely a hickey now. He plays with the little purple heart, your heart, in his hands. He looks up at you across the room, Kourtney adjusting your sequined skirt, while she and Carlos discuss range of motion and fabric choices.

You set down your bag on the chair next to Ricky’s.

“Be right back.” you smile, Ricky sitting down next to your backpack.

He realizes you probably have a hickey in the same spot. Or several. He giggles to himself, looking back down. He really didn’t expect himself to be this… flustered.

“Ricky,” he looks up, thoughts still consumed by the feeling of your hands gliding down his chest, at Nini. “Can we talk?”

He blinks.

“Uh,” he says, looking back over at you, doing a twirl in your skirt,surprising himself by how much he wants to walk right over to you and pull you into his arms and never let go. He tears his gaze away, back to Nini, waiting expectantly.

“Yeah,” he says, standing up, “sure.”

“So,” she begins again, presenting a certain, almost expectant, resignation, “I broke up with EJ…” she punctuates, letting her hands fall against her legs. She has the whole speech ready, she can’t just jump back into a relationship with him, especially after everything that’s happened. He’ll need to work hard to earn her trust again, then she’ll see where they are. She knows he’ll hug her, and hold on a little too long like he always does. He might try to kiss her, which she wouldn’t put past him. Now she just has to see what this news will do to him, and guage her response around that.

She leads him a few feet away from the majority of the cast. He catches himself glancing over your way again.

“So,” she starts. She clears her throat. He looks back at her.

He opens his mouth to answer, cut off by the buzzing of his phone. He checks it quickly, which she expected. He’s been on edge since the drama with his mom. She is, however, thrown off guard a little when he smiles at the screen, a dreamy look on his face for a second.

“Uh, Ricky,” she says, brow furrowed, a confused smile on her face. He looks back up at her and seems to remember where he is. His eyes flick back over to where everyone’s sitting. He places a hand on her shoulder, guiding her further from the crowd.

“Listen, Nini,” he starts. Here it comes, she thinks, and he continues. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, and you’re right… we should go back to being friends, like before.”

That definitely throws her off guard.

“Even if we both did want to date again right now, it would be disrespectful to your feelings - cause you just broke up with EJ, you know? And I mean, we care about each other too much to do that.”

Where the hell is this going?

“You should take time to focus on yourself, on the show, and your music. I’ll be cheering you on - as a friend,” he amends, “the whole way.”

She searches his expression, almost seeming… impatient. She lets out a surprised laugh.

“Uh, yeah, I’m… really glad we can be mature about this.”

“Exactly,” he replies, “we’ve known each other for years, why mess that all up?” she agrees with him, and he nods.

“I’m glad you’re doing better,” he says, turning and heading back to his seat. You say something, and he turns away from you.

She watches you take off the chain from his neck, fingertips skimming over the collar of his shirt. She reads the blue text. I have never been to the moon. Ricky doesn’t have a shirt that says that, she would have remembered if he did. You do something to the chain, then you reattach it around his neck. She watches closely at his eyes, blinking dreamily as you sit closely behind him, fixing the clasp. You say something quietly in his ear, and he lets out a loud laugh.

A bad feeling stirs in her stomach. She texts Kourtney to meet her in the bathroom.

“So,” she begins, leaning against the sink, “I told Ricky that I broke up with EJ.”

“Oh no,” Kourtney says, “how bad was it?”

She braces for the worst.

“It went… well.” Nina says, catching Kourtney up on the last few, very weird minutes.

“So he’s okay,” she says, a relieved smile on her face, “thank god, now we can all go back to normal.”

“Yeah, but don’t you think it was weird the way he ran right over to her like a puppy or something?” Nina says, hoping Kourtney will pick up on her suspicion.

“Weird?”

“I just find it funny how he used to-”

“What, throw himself at you? Nini, that drove you crazy. Now you’re finally on the same page, he’s willing to be your friend - which is what you’ve been trying to get him to do for weeks!”

Nina lets out a contemptuous sigh.

“Give it some time, you and her might have more in common than you think” Kourtney says, heading back to the door. She turns around, pointing a stirn finger at Nina. “And don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

Nina lets out a laugh.

“Thanks, Kourt.” They head back into the rehearsal room, Nina sitting a few seats away from Ricky and you. Far enough for some distance, but close enough to eavesdrop. Hypothetically. If she needed to.

“Alright, cast,” Miss Jenn begins, almost ready to start rehearsal, “today-”

She’s cut off by her phone ringtone chiming through the somewhat quiet room. She lets out a small breath.

“One moment.”

She picks up the phone.

“Hello?” she listens for a moment, expression concerned, “No no, he’s here. Safe and sound. Yes, just one moment.”

She approaches Ricky.

“It’s your mom,” she says carefully, “she wants to talk to you.”

His stomach drops, that cold, sick feeling he’d been running from all weekend coming back full force.

“What do I do?” panic is evident in his voice. Nina looks up, ready to help, and sees him looking at you with pleading eyes. Your hand rests on his arm, tracing small shapes. She leans forward to tell him he should talk to her. She’s his mom, they’re family, and they have to work this out, even if it’s hard.

You reply first.

“Do you want to talk to her?” you ask, quiet and sincere.

“Not really,” he replies.

“Do you want to go home if she’s going to be there?”

“No.” he states quickly.

“Tell her that. Tell her you don’t want to talk right now, and you’ll go back home once she leaves. You have friends you can stay with until then.” he nods, hanging on your every word. “It doesn’t matter that she’s your mother, she did something really shitty, and handled it really shittily,” he lets out a small chuckle. “You’re allowed to set boundaries.” you conclude firmly.

She’s about to interject that that’s horrible advice when Ricky’s hand reaches out for yours, intertwining firmly. You give him an encouraging nod and he takes the phone.

Listening to Ricky tell his mom what you just told him, Nina decides you don’t have anything in common. In fact, she kind of hates you.

Ricky finally finishes speaking, and you can hear his mother’s raised tone from the phone. She’s still going.

“Hang up.” you breathe.

He realizes you’re right. He said what he needed to say, he shouldn’t have to listen to her talk about changing his diapers and taking care of him when he was sick. He shouldn’t have to be guilt tripped like this. He stares at the phone for a second.

Call ended.

He hands the phone back to Miss Jenn, a new found, liberating feeling beginning to course through him. He feels fucking fantastic.

A few minutes later, rehearsal starts, beginning with the Gabriella and Taylor scene. Ricky marvels at the amount of mental space he has to focus on rehearsal now that that’s finally over.

You have to go on in a minute. Before you do, you lean in to say something quietly to Ricky.

“You can stay at my place as long as you want, no questions asked.”

“Same here,” comes a voice behind him. You turn around to see Big Red, who Miss Jenn just informed of the situation. “My parents love you.” he laughs. You give Ricky’s hand a squeeze, and his heart flutters with a flourish, realizing neither of you have let go yet. The feeling is short lived as you stand up to take your place in the wings.

“Oh, Big Red,” you say, “I have a question about the ladder for bop to the top.” you nod your head, and he walks a few feet away with you.

“What’s up?”

“I don’t actually have a question. I think this weekend we should go with Ricky back to his place to get some of his clothes and stuff so he can stay with us. He shouldn’t have to go alone, he needs moral support.”

Big Red agrees enthusiastically.

“I was just going to let him borrow my old fun run race for the cure tee shirts from the charity runs my family does every summer, but I like that plan better.” You both laugh, and you hold out a fist for him to bump.

“Supporting Ricky squad.” you say.

“Supporting Ricky squad.” he echoes. You leave to get ready for your scene, and Big Red makes his way back over to Ricky.

“Okay,” he says quietly, “Sharpay has my seal of approval.”

Ricky stares ahead, transfixed on you as you skim your script, doing a light warm up before your cue.

“Yeah… she does,” he muses, still engulfed in the memory of your touch, “hey, remind me, I gotta tell you something later. Something important.”

// tag list: @afidiofobia //

#I want to give him things. Like blowjobs and self esteem #hsmtmts ricky #ricky bowen x reader #ricky bowen #hsmtmts x reader #hsmtmts #ricky bowen smut #rocks at your window

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