#BUT I WAS AWAY ALL DAY FOR TWO DAYS STRAIGHT AND FORGOT TO READJUST THE QUEUE.

[drdtfuitgumies]

Aww I love this art style! It’s so…squishable? I can’t think of a good way to describe it, but it makes me happy. Cute plushies in the form of drawing.

As for a situation, I love Ace in any situation, but how about a happy Ace and Levi? Ace likes to talk, and Levi likes to listen.

squishable little guys. thank you for the request!

[elliesflower]

victory lap [ellie williams]

pairing; f!reader x ellie

cw; rich!ellie, plus-sized female!reader, degradation (kinda), mean!ellie, vouyerism, semi-public masturbation(kinda?), ellie and reader are both perverted ngl

an; syd's comeback??? and it's smut?????? i've had this in my drafts since like may and finally got around to editing it so here you go. and i swear i'm working on chapter 8. and also please don't ask why i didn't pick a sexier sport. like basketball or something. i don't know either. ok bye.

for my sweet babies @coeurify @bambiesfics @addisonnie @seattlesellie

It was yet another blazing hot day at the country club, the sun’s sweltering rays kissing the backs of your legs as you bent down to retrieve a fallen golf ball from the bright green turf, careful not to bend straight over so that your panties would be on full display for anyone who dared to walk behind you. You readjusted the visor on your head upon standing, before you wiped a speck of excess dirt off the white plastic with a perfectly manicured finger before passing it off to Tommy Miller. 

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said, making sure to grab an unnecessary amount of your hand in his own as he took the ball. He winked at you before readjusting his own visor, and setting up the ball on the tee. After the first time you caddied for Tommy, he started requesting you by name. Of course, you knew it probably had a little something to do with the way you caught him staring at your full breasts that sat perfectly in your pink racerback, neckline so low everyone could watch the way small beads of sweat would dribble down your skin and disappear between your chest. 

The truth is, you didn’t mind that Tommy was a little flirty with you, or even handsy sometimes, for that matter—for two reasons. The main one being, Tommy had money. Like, different car for each day of the week money. And his brother, Joel, somehow had even more, you’d reckoned from the times you’ve gotten to chat with him. They were always talking about what new business venture they’d invested in this week, or what extravagant trips they were taking next week. To the average person, it might sound snobby and pretentious—because well, it was—but around the club, it was normal. But you didn’t mind, because the more money your club members made, the more money they could put in your pocket. And you had bills to pay. 

The second reason being, of course, you knew it wouldn’t get them anywhere. Not when you weren’t really into Tommy’s…type, if you will. 

“Of course, Tommy,” you smiled warmly at him, before stepping back to stand in the shade of the golf cart as you watched him line up his shot. Just as he was all set up, swinging his arms behind him to take the shot, his phone began ringing loudly from his back pocket.  

“Goddamn, piece ‘uh shit!” He exclaimed as the ringer clearly messed up his concentration. You had to hide your smile as he shot you an apologetic look before tucking the club under his arm and pulling out his phone to answer. The club was a little high and tight, with people talking like they’d just stepped off the set of an eighties classic film, but Tommy was a little…different. Coming from Texas, the money he’s made never quite washed away his potty mouth, nor his laid-back attitude.

“What is it Joel? Oh, you’re here?” Tommy glanced at you before dropping his gaze to the ground, rolling the golf ball around with his foot mindlessly. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. No, I’ll have her come pick you two up. Yep. Alright, see ya in a bit.” 

You straightened up against the cart as he approached you, ready to do whatever it was he’d ask. 

“Joel’s here?” You asked, sliding into the cart preemptively. 

“Yeah, that sonuva bitch decided to stop by after all. Him and Ellie are waitin’ at the clubhouse, would you mind swingin’ to pick them up?” 

“Ellie?” You cocked your head slightly, but slid through to the driver’s seat nonetheless. 

“Ah, forgot you haven’t met ‘er yet,” Tommy said, and you didn’t miss the way his eyes trailed down to where your thick thighs spilled out onto the seat, your panties just barely covered by the white pleated golf skirt that rode up when you sat. You immediately averted your gaze, turning the key to the cart and feeling it rumble to life. “Ellie’s Joel’s daughter. I think she’s about your age…she’s great n’ all, honors student in college, yadda yadda…y’all might actually hit it off.”

“We’ll see about that,” you said playfully. If only he knew what he was actually implying to your sapphic brain. He just smirked at you, tapping the hood of the cart twice before walking back to the tee. “See ya in a bit,” he called over his shoulder as you drove away. You weren’t too far from the clubhouse, as Tommy had barely gotten started on his round, so it was a quick little drive over. The warm breeze tickled the baby hairs peeking from beneath your visor, and helped to cool the bare skin of your arms. 

Joel was waiting for you in the cart-turnaround at the back of the clubhouse when you arrived, and gave you a little wave as you turned around the corner. You waved back, putting on your best smile and doe eyes as you pulled up in front of him standing alone with two golf club bags at his sides. He smiled politely when you came to a stop, jumping out quickly to retrieve his bags when he started trying to put them on the cart himself. 

“Joel, you know you don’t have to worry about all that. Not when I’m around, at least.” You smirked at him as you picked up the two bags of heavy clubs with ease, loading them onto the back of the cart.

“C’mon now, I can’t even attempt to be a gentleman?” He joked, tipping his visor at you playfully. You giggled, exaggeratedly. 

“Oh, but of course, Mr. Miller. My apologies.” You pretended to curtsey for him, just barely lifting the hem of your short skirt as to not completely expose yourself—but surely you didn’t miss the completely conspicuous way his eyes traveled down the expanse of your curves, from the way your breasts practically spilled from your tank top, to the small patch of exposed skin at your midriff, all the way down to the way your white skirt flowed as you crossed your legs. I mean, who wouldn’t look, honestly? He huffed out a laugh and you took that as your cue to slide back into the driver’s seat, and Joel leaned a strong arm against the roof of the cart. 

“Tommy mentioned your daughter? Is she—” 

“Ready, Dad?” You could only assume Ellie, his daughter, suddenly appeared behind Joel, effectively shutting you up and quite literally taking your breath away. You at least had the decency to choke quietly, using Joel’s surprise as an excuse to turn your head away, bringing your fist to your mouth for a moment as you cleared your throat and tried to regain your composure. You felt the cart dip to your right, so you turned back, expecting to see Joel sliding in next to you—but no, it just had to be his daughter. His beautiful, angelically-built daughter with a perfect smile and perfect jade eyes and somehow even more perfect hands, which she was using to grip the stability bar at the front of the cart as she slid in next to you. 

You felt stunned, could do nothing but pathetically stare at her with your mouth slightly agape as you heard Joel’s phone ringing distantly, somewhere in the back of your mind, even though you knew he was sat right behind you. A half smile made the corner of Ellie’s lip twitch ever so slightly, but she looked away quickly, leaving you practically lusting at the sight of her side profile. 

“You gonna take us to Tommy? Or just sit there and stare like you ain’t got nothin’ in your brain?” Her voice was like pure sex; rich and modulated, no real Southern accent like her father, but his vernacular had definitely rubbed off. It was really hard to not show that her words were heading straight to your lower half, your thighs pressing together just inconspicuously enough that you’d probably be able to play it off if she really noticed. You had to at least look embarrassed, averting your gaze so that you could turn the small engine over. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Ellie. Tommy speaks very highly of you.” You chose to ignore her little comment, focusing instead on trying to treat Ellie just like every member you’d had the pleasure of serving. 

And oh boy, would it be a pleasure to serve Ellie. 

“M’sure he does,” Ellie all but laughed, leaning back so that her legs spread apart across the seat, her left knee getting dangerously close to your legs. You swallowed thickly, trying to watch the movement of her tattooed arm from your peripheral as she slung it over the back of the seat. You could tell it was a natural response, that she probably man-spreaded like this everywhere—but some sick and perverted part of your mind wanted to believe that she was doing it for you, that she wanted you to see her act so…

“Eyes on the fucking road, sweetheart,” she said, and it was quiet. But the weight of it made you nearly squeak—how long had you been looking over at her?—narrowly avoiding a decently-sized rock that would have gotten easily stuck in the small tires of the golf cart. “This your first day on the job or somethin’?” 

And Ellie was so fucking casual with it. Like she hadn’t even meant to degrade you. You stammered a bit, and you swear you could feel her eyes burning a hole into the side of your face. Tommy appeared suddenly as you reached the small summit of the course hill, and all you could do was huff quietly as you approached, again choosing to ignore the way she taunted you like it was second nature. Luckily, she either didn’t hear or chose to ignore you, but she didn’t say another word as you pulled up near Tommy, just as he was taking a long swing with his driver.

“You see that shit, Joel?” He asked as he squinted out at the ball flying through the air with impressive speed. “Might actually beat ya this time, whatcha think?” 

“Yeah, yeah, you just got a head start, that’s all.” You could hear the smile in Joel’s voice as you quickly jumped out of the cart and ran to grab his clubs for him, and Ellie’s, too. He was finishing up his phone call as he took the bag from you, giving you a small nod before you turned to face Ellie. Now that you were standing practically face to face, you had to stop yourself from looking her up and down. Or you at least had to find a way to be discreet about it…and that was one thing you were, was quick on your feet. 

“These are some nice clubs,” you praised, using it as an excuse to look down at her, playing it off like you were examining them. Her feet were clad in an expensive pair of golfing shoes, her toned calves running into thighs covered in a simple, black, five inch inseam short. You gulped inconspicuously, as your eyes quickly moved past her crotch. Surely, you were hallucinating that…bulge. 

“Aw, so you can be helpful when you wanna be,” Ellie snickered, taking the bag away from you with such quickness that your arm was left hovering in the air. You shook your head slightly as if to shake the thoughts away, and dared to look her in the eyes once more. 

“I sure do try my best,” you said, and it wasn’t meant to be bratty, it really wasn’t—but Ellie’s smirk quickly soured, and she huffed and slung the bag over her shoulder. 

“Get me some water, will you?” She jutted her chin toward the cooler attached to the back of the cart, and you could only nod, instantly following her blunt command like you were a puppet on her string. What was she doing to you?

Ellie wasn’t always an asshole, you see. No, no, society made her this way. Have you ever noticed how rich kids aren’t friends with the poor ones, or vice versa? It’s because they can never find any middle ground, no similarities, no common interests. The kids going to public school were happy with a day trip to the city as a vacation; meanwhile, Ellie was missing weeks of her prissy private school education to fly halfway around the world on a business trip with her dad. 

And now, she was a rich girl going to a pretentious university. But she didn’t like the fact that people saw her this way: an asshole with her nose always pointing up; getting clocked as a rich girl as soon as anyone with eyes looked at the way she was dressed; never knowing if someone liked her for her, instead of just for her money. People were going to look at her and see ‘rich, pretentious asshole’ painted on her forehead no matter what—so why not embrace it? Why not put on this stupid little act that everyone else in her social class seemed to? 

And that’s where the soul-sucking began, Ellie realized. That’s how the bratty, entitled kids from her high school ended up just like their evil, entitled parents. She didn’t want to be this way. It just…happened. 

Nevertheless, Ellie pulled the Nike-swooshed visor off of her head for a moment to run her fingers through her reddish-brown tresses, trying to shake away the heat of the sun. You couldn’t help but to let your eyes linger on the way her tattooed arm flexed as she did so, nearly tripping over your own feet as you brought her a completely unnecessary plastic bottle full of water. 

“You know, they make reusable water bottles, nowadays,” you blurted out, your sarcasm taking over momentarily, the heat nearly making you forget where you were. You were at work. Of course rich people don’t care about using plastic water bottles. Ellie raised a curious brow, perfectly groomed with a small scar parting the arch. She didn’t even have to say anything—she just stood there, giving you that…look, and your eyes widened in surprise. She snatched the water bottle from your hand with such force that you flinched, the plastic crinkling almost louder than the sound of Tommy and Joel’s banter.

“I’m sorry, Miss,” you found yourself saying, eyes immediately falling to the ground. As she took a swig of water, Ellie couldn’t help but to notice this, and file it away in her brain for another time—the way she didn’t even have to say anything to you, and you were already so…

submissive. 

“Don’t call me Miss,” she said simply as she screwed the cap back on. You nodded, folding your hands together in front of you before looking back up to catch her gaze. 

“Yes, Ellie,” and her name came out like a drawl naturally…swear. The syllables rolled off your tongue and straight to your lower half, took you to a place so heavenly—your panties were growing wetter by the second, the press of your plush thighs getting tighter as you watched her expression. Her eyes darkened momentarily (or did she just squint at the sun?), and her posture shifted (maybe she got a cramp?). It was like she was trying to read your mind, and you were pretty sure she practically could as you watched her pretty pink tongue dart out to catch the wetness that remained on her lips—you found yourself salivating at the sight, having to quite literally force your jaw to stay closed. 

She was an asshole, sure—but that doesn’t mean you still don’t want to fuck her. 

“My clubs?” Ellie broke you out of your little fantasy by invading your presence, so close you were suddenly overwhelmed. She had set her clubs down in front of her when she took a drink of water, and it was now suddenly your job to hand them to her. “Do we need to clean out your ears or somethin’? Jesus.” She was shaking her head, feigning disappointment, and you stammered. No, no, you’ve never had an unsatisfied member and you weren’t going to start now. Especially not with Ellie. You felt the urge to please her, go above and beyond and make sure she never had to lift a finger—but she was scoffing and reaching to grab her clubs before you could get out another word. 

“No, no, no Mi-” You caught yourself before you made yet another embarrassing mistake. For the second time. “Ellie. My apologies, I’ll follow you.” It was a bit proper, maybe a bit much…but you had to make it up to her, you had to. Whatever it takes. 

“I want my driver first. You do know which one that is, right?” And she was nasty, voice laced with venom as she called over her shoulder. When did she start walking away? And should your pussy be throbbing over that? You didn’t even respond as you lugged her bag over your shoulder, trailing behind her to catch up to Tommy and Joel. They were still bantering away when you approached, cursing and laughing and hitting each other, like brothers do. 

“Look who finally made it,” Ellie’s eyes rolled when you caught up, so quickly you almost missed it. You were like, fifteen steps behind her, there’s no way that was called for. You stayed silent as you unloaded the clubs off your shoulder, doing your best not to show any hint of negative emotion on your face, propping the bag up before pulling Ellie’s driver out. It was long, and heavy, like all the other expensive ones you’ve seen. All of her clubs looked shiny, you noted, like she had either never used them, or just got them polished. Either of which could be possible, as you’d yet to see her play. She grabbed it from you hastily, and you felt that familiar throb beneath your skirt. Get a fucking grip.

“Gotcha’ all set up here, kiddo,” Joel said enthusiastically, and Ellie didn’t even fake a smile. So, you just watched her take the shot. Boy, did you watch her take the shot. 

Watched the way she got so serious—okay, somehow more serious than before—the way she shuffled her feet behind the tee as she lined up her shot, the way her arms flexed and veins popped as she straightened out her arms, prepping to take the swing. The way she took a split second to glance back while she rotated her body to shoot you the most sickeningly devious wink before sending the ball flying across the course.

Tommy whistled and Joel offered a few strong claps. 

You couldn’t be quite sure that you wouldn’t melt into a puddle right here in the middle of the course. What is it about Ellie, your favorite member’s niece, that was getting you so worked up? For fucks sake, golf isn’t even a sexy sport! It couldn’t have at least been basketball, or something a bit more…normal that did it for you?

Instead, you got Ellie, in all her glory. Strong calves turned away from you as she watched her ball cut through the air, higher and faster and better than you’d ever seen Tommy or Joel hit. Not that they’d ever admit that. 

Your thoughts were getting dirtier by the minute as you watched Ellie play. You felt like a baby deer following her around the course, knees wobbling every time she barked another command at you. 

“Um, my water, please?”

“I said five iron, not six.”

“My ball is dirty. What ‘er you even good for?

You were slipping by the minute, letting your eyes linger over her frame a little longer each time you glanced her way. No way she wasn’t catching on. 

“Take a fucking picture, Princess, it’ll last longer.”

Oops.

And when you pulled back up to the clubhouse, it took everything in you to not just run off. Your heart was beating out of your chest, panties completely ruined with your slick, oh my god you were fucking perverted. You carefully helped Tommy, Joel, and Ellie load up their gear into their respective cars, keeping your mouth shut so as to not squeak out an embarrassing sound. In fact, you couldn’t be quite sure you wouldn’t just moan out loud if Ellie so much as even glanced in your direction unprompted. 

“Great game today, guys.” You smiled sweetly at Joel and Tommy who were now both leaned up against the side of the building, taking refuge from the sun. 

“Well thank ya, sweetheart! Glad you got a chance to meet Ellie today, too,” Joel smiled at you, reaching out to squeeze at your shoulder. “Ellie, why don’t you say thank you to our lovely caddy girl today?” He didn’t use your name, because why would he? You were a convenience to them. Now that you thought about it, Ellie probably didn’t even know your name. Let alone care. 

Her green eyes bore into you for a moment before she grunted out something that sounded suspiciously like a thank you, before tipping her head back to swallow the last of her water. The sight of her throat contracting had you practically running away to do something so devious, you might have to get down on your knees and pray before you went to sleep. 

And Ellie was only human, after all. She was curious, about a lot of things. But more specifically? At this moment? She was wondering where you were scurrying off to. Of course, you weren’t as good about hiding what physical reactions you’d been having to her for the past hour as you thought—the way you’d squirm whenever she caught you staring at her, or how your mouth opened ever so slightly, ever so submissively when she berated you. 

So wherever you were going must be good. 

And oh, was it good. 

Ellie couldn’t believe her eyes, as she trailed behind you. Each time you’d look back, she’d be sure to hide just perfectly out of your view around corners, behind tables….she couldn’t let you know how curious she was, no. Because you see, she was actually good about hiding these sorts of things. She was an asshole, but it wasn’t for no reason. She just couldn’t let you know how the sight of you practically drove her insane—the soft curve of your hips beneath that skirt, the rolls on your belly that led to the plush skin of your breasts that bounced so perfectly with every step you took. That would just ruin the fun of it. My god, were you a sight for Ellie’s sore eyes. 

So now, Ellie watched as you were slipping into a supply closet. Okay…? Perhaps, you had just forgotten something, then. Needed to grab something for another member, or left your bag in there before you started your shift. Nothing interesting. 

But no, Ellie was close enough now that you were safely behind the door, that she could hear the lock ‘click’ softly from inside the supply closet. 

Oh. Oh— she thought. 

And she couldn’t believe her ears, when she heard the faintest sigh. One that couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than relief. 

And yeah, you were relieved. 

You couldn’t take it anymore—the last hour you spent with Ellie was absolute torture. Letting her talk down on you, and treat you like you were nothing to her…it shouldn’t have turned you on. You should be upset, embarrassed, angry, furious even. But you were wet. 

Holy fucking shit, you were wet. Your fingers trailed down your tummy as you leaned against the wall in the dark closet, barely illuminated by a tiny window at the top of one wall. Your breath was shaky, eyes closed as you lifted your short skirt, shoving your panties to the side before you felt the top of your fingers graze past your clit, sliding further and further in between your slick folds, so easily, so so easily. 

“Oh!” you caught yourself gasping as you played with yourself, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth as a sickly, obscene wet sound began to fill the space of the small closet. This was so wrong…touching yourself at work, thinking about Ellie, so fucking desperate that you had to run away and relieve even just an ounce of the tension you felt inside. 

It only got worse when all you could think about was Ellie’s long fingers, the way they gripped the golf clubs so tenderly, and how you wished so badly that you could replace yours with hers as they slipped inside of you. Your head fell back against the metal rack behind you, and you had no right mind to react to what should have been pain. Instead, you pictured Ellie standing in front of you, and how her eyes would darken with lust as she pressed her body against yours, her hot breath fanning across your face as she fucked her fingers up into you…

And Ellie was going crazy, couldn’t help herself from getting closer and closer to that supply closet door. There was no one in this wing of the club, surely no one would walk by and see her with her ear pressed against a supply closet door…right? It mostly didn’t matter, as something deranged and perverted was consuming her brain. She found herself quite literally pressed against the door, she couldn’t help herself, she had to hear the way you moaned softly and gasped while you worked yourself closer and closer to your release. 

“Oh…oh Ellie!” You breathed wantonly, and Ellie could have cum on the spot. The wet sounds of your ministrations were getting faster and louder as your fingers pressed in and out of you with such force the rack behind you was beginning to rattle. Had you been in your right mind, you should have been mortified. You should have stopped right then and there, pulled yourself together and went home to the privacy of your own home and taken a long, cold shower. But all you could see was that stupid fucking smirk on Ellie’s face as she’d whisper: 

Just fucking cum for me, baby. 

And so you did, slapping your free hand over your mouth to muffle what surely would have been far too loud of a noise as you reached your peak, your body trembling almost violently as the high washed over you. 

Ellie was positively reeling, her ear still pressed to the door almost comically as she listened to you come undone. If anyone were to walk by at this moment it would look utterly suspicious, her all alone in the long hallway, surely looking suspect in her current position. Not to mention she should probably pull away before you had a chance to swing the door open, as she would have absolutely no excuse as to what she was doing here. 

Instead, Ellie continued to listen to your labored breaths as you came down, her pink lips parted softly as she felt her own wetness growing more and more unbearable beneath her shorts. Hell, had the purple silicone she had strapped to her hips been real, there would be absolutely no hiding what your sounds had done to her. She should move away, racing thoughts of oh my fucking god, and I wonder how easy it would be to make her sound like that again, but also to go back to Dad and go the fuck home, goddammit, this is absolutely sick, even for you and— 

“Ellie?!” 

She nearly fell forward from the weight of her body on the door when it swung inwards to reveal your absolutely mortified face, and even more terrified voice. Her eyes were like saucers, surely mirroring yours as you gaped at her, one hand still on the door to leave the possibility of slamming it right back in her face in humiliation. No, no no no no no way this was happening to you. 

Ellie’s mouth opened and closed a few times as she staggered backwards in her surprise, leaving you both just staring each other down in what was surely the most awkward encounter either of you had ever had in your entire life. Her eyes quickly shifted downwards and she took another step back. 

“I- I was just- yeah, okay. Bye.” 

And she was gone. 

-- 

pt 2??????

[httpsserene]

Your works are literally my all time favorites 💕 since your requests are open, I was thinking of requesting something with Daniel. I personally wear braces and have always been insecure about them. Since Daniel is known for having a great smile, he notices the reader covers her smile etc. Some reassurances lead to Daniel facefucking the reader and giving her a facial to show her how much her braces turn him on . Him making her smile and taking a picture with his come all over 🙊

𝖍𝖙𝖙𝖕𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖊'𝖘 2𝕶 𝕾𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 | 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖊𝖑 𝕽𝖎𝖈𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖔 𝕰𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝐓𝐰𝐨: 𝐒𝐚𝐲, "��𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞!"

Summary: The day she gets her braces off will be the best day of her life. Maybe all the years she dealt with insults, underhanded compliments, and men who wouldn’t date her because of them, would be worth it when she sees her perfectly straight teeth. Of course, it sucks that she has insecurities stemming from her braces; her boyfriend, Daniel, says that they “add to her beauty.” If she believed him, she probably wouldn’t hide her mouth behind her hand when she grins or laughs. Don’t worry—Daniel has an idea of how to make that smile of hers…shine. Pairing: daniel ricciardo x fem!poc/black!reader (her skintone is described as brown and she has curly hair) Content Warning: 18+ only. mdni. explicit sexual content. insecure!reader. reader has braces. dom/sub undertones. oral sex (male receiving). face fucking. mention of humilation (very tiny). exhibitionism? illicit photos. facial. no beta we die like men. Word Count: 2.6k words.

Author's Note: writing oral sex is hard. especially for men, i don't know why. anyways, i still think i cooked a little too hard. i feel embarrassed for what y'all are about to read. happy reading xxx

prev 2k special join taglist feedback & requests table of contents next ↻

The sound of the dishwasher quietly whirring fills the kitchen, muted by the running faucet as you hand wash a stainless steel pan. The skillet cleans easily and you set it to dry in the dish rack, remembering to shut the faucet off. You shake your hands dry before opening the cabinet beneath the sink to grab the disinfectant spray. Gently, you press the cabinet door shut before spinning around and stepping softly to the microwave mounted above your stovetop. The clock on the microwave reads 4:32 PM. You scrunch your nose in displeasure—you and Daniel were just supposed to take a quick nap after the two of you had brunch, but as usual with naps, four hours passed as soon as you shut your eyes. The late afternoon sunlight had filled your bedroom and roused you from your sleep; you had drawn the blinds open that morning and forgot to shut them, thankfully, or you may have slept well into the evening. Daniel, however, remained asleep. He wasn’t bothered by the warm, hazy sunlight since his face was tucked away in the crook of your neck—and you allowed him to continue sleeping, mindfully pulling the blinds closed before tiptoeing out of the bedroom to clean your kitchen.

You know his sleep hasn’t been the most restful or restorative recently, seeing how disgruntled and groggy he is every morning before he has a sip of coffee. Off-handedly, Daniel had mentioned how he’d been struggling to readjust to timezones recently, and jetlag hadn’t been any kinder to him either. So, you decided to let him sleep a little more, hoping a longer nap might give him a little more energy for the rest of the day—and, with your newfound free time, you could finally deep clean the kitchen without any Daniel Ricciardo-sized distractions. You get halfway through wiping the interior of the microwave clean before you hear your boyfriend start to make his way out of the bedroom to find you. 

You shake your head softly as Daniel pauses at the edge of the kitchen, clearly still half-asleep as he pouts at you. He rubs at his eyes, standing there in nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants (that you only allow him to wear inside the apartment), that do very little to hide the obvious—not that you were looking, anyway. You laugh and your hand reflexively rises to cover the spread of your smile; you ignore the slight ache of your gums from freshly tightened braces and you press your lips together, schooling them into a closed-mouth smile before beckoning Daniel forward to give you a hug. He buffers for a second, brain still waking, and suddenly starts ambling towards you, pressing a brief kiss to your cheek then moving to wrap his arms around your waist and nuzzling his head into your curls, humming sweetly as he does so. You giggle into his chest, bringing your hands up to scratch along his tanned back gently, loving the feel of his warmed skin against your body.

“Had a nice nap?” You murmur into his chest.

Daniel squeezes you tighter and grumbles, “It would’ve been nicer if you didn’t leave me to clean our kitchen.”

“I wouldn’t have had to get up if you just let me clean it this morning like I was trying to do,” Daniel groans, releasing you as you start to rant, “but, for some reason, you like to interrupt me when I’m trying to be productive—like you’re doing right now.”

“I just woke up! I can’t hug you?”

“That’s not what I’m saying—I’m saying that it’s just really peculiar that this exact same behavior is what interrupted me this morning.”

Daniel pulls away and blinks at you before smirking faintly, “That is so weird.”

You narrow your eyes and purse your lips at him, “Mhm.”

Daniel grins big and wide, batting his eyelashes at you, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at him, “Don’t play cute now–that’s childish. We’ve discussed this before, Danny.”

He shrugs his shoulders and then leans down to press light kisses all across your face, “I’m sorry—can you—forgive me?”

A smile starts to spread across your lips and consequently, your hand moves to cover it–but Daniel catches it with a frown.

“Why do you always hide your smile? In every photo you take; you’re looking away from the camera, or hiding your face, or covering your smile. You never show your teeth when you smile, giggle, or laugh—and I don’t understand why,” Daniel blurts out.

You freeze. You weren’t expecting an analysis of your body language from what seems to be a random outburst, but the points Daniel used…it’s clear he’s been thinking about this for a while.

“Umm, well I just don’t like my smile,” you offer quietly, with a dismissive wave of your hand.

You try to turn around to go back to cleaning, but Daniel grabs your hand, stopping you. He gestures to the Polaroids you guys have hung up on the wall of the kitchen. The two of you bring the same Polaroid camera on every date and take a photo. The bottom of the photos are labeled with the date and what activity you guys were doing or what restaurant you guys were eating at. You’re covering your smile in some of them but, you are not showing your teeth in any of them.

“Even when I make you laugh, you never let me see your smile,” Daniel thinks out loud, his thumb rubbing across the back of your hand soothingly.

“Well, it’s not you,” you start, shifting your hand to squeeze his gently, “If that’s what you’re thinking. It’s just—well I do hate my smile.”

Daniel’s mouth drops open, but you rush to continue.

“It’s not just the smile though. What I really hate, are my braces. I mean—I disliked my gapped and crooked teeth, which people made fun of me for—and then I decided to get braces. And people continue to make fun of me for them. I don’t know, maybe being a grown woman with braces is weird but, I at least thought other adults my age weren’t immature enough to make fun of me for them,” you swallow, shakily.

“I cover my smile and hide my face because it’s easier to not let people see my braces than let them tease me for them, you know. And now, I guess, after a year and a half of having them—it’s just become second nature not to allow anybody to see them,” you finish.

 Daniel shakes his head disbelievingly, “I think you are the most attractive woman in the world, with the braces. I will hate the day you get them off because I won’t be able to choose what color your rubber bands are anymore. But; I always ask you to smile for me so I can see them, and you always do it without complaining, though?”

“Yes, Daniel,” you stress, “because you ask me to see them, and I know that you like them. Or at least, you pretend to be a good actor if you don’t.”

He scoffs, “I don’t know, I probably wouldn’t buy you ice cream after every single orthodontist appointment if I hated your braces. It would be a waste of money,” you hit his shoulder in annoyance.

“What?” Daniel exclaims, “Do you know how much richer I would be if I didn’t date you because of your braces.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” you retort, light-heartedly, “You’re a millionaire, get over it.”

Daniel laughs and you consciously make an effort to smile freely, the metal glint of your brackets shimmering under the afternoon Monte Carlo sunlight. He raises his hand to hold your jaw, his thumb brushing along the brown skin of your jawline then ghosting over your bottom lip, and his smile softens at the sight of yours.

“All I see is a really pretty woman, with a really pretty smile, and pretty braces. The light blue looks very pretty on you, baby.”

“Whatever you say, Danny,” you say, your tone impassive.

Daniel cocks his head, bothered, and his smile fades.

“What—you think I’m lying?”

Shifting your weight, you drop your gaze unable to meet the rising intensity in his eyes. You try to move your jaw out of his grasp but his hold tightens—firm. He doesn’t apply any more force than he needs to, it’s enough to have your eyes snapping back to meet his and stutter through an answer.

“I-I didn’t say that,” you murmur, “I meant that I personally don’t think they’re pretty.”

“Ok,” Daniel nods, “Kneel.”

“I’m sorry,” you choke out, “What?”

And then you notice his pupils are dilated, his breathing is heavy—and naturally, you glance downwards. What was previously obviously seen in his gray sweatpants is now unignorable. When you quickly glance back up towards Daniel to see if you’re on the same wavelength, he doesn’t repeat himself. You lick your lips anxiously before delicately dropping to your knees.

Daniel hums in approval and moves his left hand to tuck a stray curl behind your ear. 

“Are you going to let me show you how much I like your braces?”

You nod up at him eagerly yet your eyes focus on the bulge in your eyeline. Daniel laughs throatily, his left hand slipping to the nape of your neck, fisting in your hair to tilt your head further back. 

His right hand slowly unties the drawstring of his sweatpants, and he coos down at you, “Can you show me your pretty smile first?”

The brown skin of your cheeks flushes, and a tiny wave of embarrassment drifts down your spine but it doesn’t stop the smile from stretching across your lips. One of the bottom brackets scrapes against your inner cheek however the brief flare of pain is easily forgotten as Daniel drags his gray sweats down just enough to expose his dick. Your smile stays present as you lean forward to nuzzle along his length, pressing light kisses and teasingly flicking your tongue across his slit when you reach the head. 

Daniel hisses softly, taking the hand that isn’t tangled in the lengths of your hair to press into the curve of your dimples, “Shit—I’m going to fuck your mouth, yeah?”

Humming, you sit back, tucking your feet underneath yourself to rest on them, and you nod, dropping your mouth open to let your tongue roll out as you look up at Daniel with blurred eyes. He bites his bottom lip before grabbing his cock to gently rub it against your tongue, grunting softly at the smooth, wet friction. Eagerly, you rush forward, swallowing him down with ease—you don’t understand why he’s wasting time teasing both him and you; he’s trained the gag reflex out of you for a reason, there’s no need to babysit.

He moans out in shock, letting you get away with a few deep bobs of your head, relishing in the way he can still feel your throat fighting the intrusion. You’re too caught up in making sure your lips stay curled over your teeth ignoring the feeling of your brackets pressing hard along the inside of your mouth along with your aching gums. Still, pain only adds to the pleasure clearly, if the wetness gathering in your panties is an indicator. Then, Daniel reminds you who’s in charge. He finds enough strength to halt the bobbing of your head and uses the grip he has on your scalp to hold you down at the base of his cock. 

“Fuck,” he pants out, “I forget how much of a slut you are for something in your mouth every time we do this,” he feels you swallow around him, and moves his hand to trace around the seam of your lips, spreading the spit gathered there across your cheek, “If you want me to stop, pinch my thigh, okay?”

Your verbal assent is muffled but you nod as much as his unyielding grip allows, gently soothing your hands across his thighs to further reassure him. He releases his fist from your hair, to gently brush the curls matted against your forehead out of your face; he knows you hate the feeling of hair getting in your way when giving head. One-handed, he gathers your curls into a ponytail, holding you steady as he shallowly pulls out just enough to allow you to take a shuddering breath before thrusting forward. He feels more than he hears your delighted hum, taking it as a sign to pick up the pace. 

Daniel begins to fuck into your mouth in earnest, his cock knocking against the back of your throat repeatedly, your cheeks hollowed in such a manner that it truly feels like you're sucking him down. He’s unable to control his noises and watching you continue to hold eye contact with him as he forcefully uses your mouth is only pushing him closer to the edge quicker than he would like. He’s struggling to keep his own eyes open to look at you as euphoria overwhelms him, but damn, he’d hate to miss a single second of how pretty you look trying to not choke on his cock. Daniel stops pulling completely out of your mouth to switch to making shallow jerks of his hips, focusing on reaching as deep in your throat as he can—he wants you to taste him tomorrow, he wants you to feel the phantom weight of his cock down your throat as you go to work, he wants you to fluster when your coworkers ask if you’re feeling alright when they hear the rasp to your voice and the crackle that sounds every few words you speak. To match the change of his rhythm, you skillfully begin to swallow when he thrusts into your throat, fighting off your gag reflex as best as you can. Daniel laughs choppily at the tears that fall from your waterline and maybe that does mean that he’s a sick man, since that’s what pushes him over the edge. 

He abruptly pulls from the cage of your mouth, wrapping his hand around his dick, and orders you breathlessly, “Smile.” You comply without hesitation.

At the sight of the light blue rubber bands Daniel picked out for you to wear, he doesn’t even need to stroke himself to completion. He spills with a groan and a call of your name. His cum paints your teeth along the metal of your braces—there’s enough of it to even hide some of the color—and the last spurt hits across your nose and runs over your cheek to paint your jawline. 

He’s orgasmed so hard his legs are shaking but he manages to stumble through a few steps to grab the Polaroid camera resting on the counter.  He angles your face so it’s bathed in the late afternoon light, pausing when the sun hits perfectly to make your braces glimmer where they are not covered in his cum.

He grasps your jaw, squeezing at your cheeks making sure your fucked out face (braces, cum, and smile) is the focus of the photo, and that the ‘3’ tattoo on his pinky finger is visible as well from the viewfinder of the camera.

And right as he steadies the camera, he coos down at you, “Say, ‘Cheese!’”

(The photo is labeled “Shiny Smile.” It doesn’t join the photo wall but, it finds a home in your wallet to remind you just how pretty you are with your braces.)

2k special taglist: @saintslewis @cherry2stems @lorarri @inloveallthetime @barnestatic @my-ylenia @katekipshidze @darleneslane @mindless-rock @lovingaphroditesworld @smoothopz @vetteltea @tallrock35 @riveristhebest1 @iloveyou3000morgan @smartstupyd @spideybv28 @lh383 @hiireadstuff @namgification @gg-trini @whatamidoingwithmylife-random @multi-fandom-rando @dreamingofautopia @megatrilss1885 @nanamilkbread @userlandonorris @starfusionsworld @hangmandruigandmav @itsmiamalfoy @ineedafictionalman @everythingabby101 @valent1na-ferrari @dark-night-sky-99 @svinzlec @angelfreckless @sweatrevenge5436-blog @bokutos-babyowl @oliviah-25

© httpsserene2024

[wooahaes]

because it’s you

pairing: non-idol!woozi x gn!reader

prompt: " greetings! glad i'm finally on time for one of these. :) for prompt list requests, how about 28 ["you forgot this."] and 44 ["i just needed to see your face."] with woozi? thank you and have a wonderful day! ☁️" - @dragnflyy (tumblr won’t let me @ you, sorry!!) [from these prompts]

word count: ~0.5k

warnings: n/a, just fluff (+ the usual no proofreading & intentional lowercase)

daisy’s notes: soft jihoonie hours. title taken from smile flower btw

jihoon usually told you when he was coming to your apartment to see you. tonight, he didn’t.

he didn’t think. he just got off the bus at the stop closest to your home, and let instinct take him the rest of the way there. work had been tiring, and he kept his head down, headphones on and playing a song off the playlist you had made for him when the two of you started dating a few months ago. truthfully, if he had stopped to think for more than a second, he would have pulled out his phone right then and there and asked if you were home. if he could stop by. instead, he let his feelings take priority.

he knocked. you opened the door, and jihoon found himself at a loss for words for a moment. how was he supposed to say i miss you and not turn red?

he pulled a scarf (his own, and you knew it) from his bag instead. “you forgot this,” he said as he met your eyes. “i thought i’d bring it back. i don’t want you to get sick because you weren’t staying warm, so...”

you simply smiled and invited him inside. he could smell spices in the air from whatever you were cooking, and it felt like home. he shut the door behind him, and soon enough curled up on your couch with his bag left in the entryway. you went back to cooking, and jihoon shut his eyes, letting himself rest as he idly bobbed his head to the song he was listening to.

your soft touch roused him from a state of near-sleep, and he looked up to see you standing behind the couch.

“everything okay?”

yes. don’t worry about me. i’m okay. but he reached up, fingers curling around your hand. “i just needed to see your face,” he mumbled, eyes fluttering shut again.

you leaned down to press a kiss to his temple, slightly dislodging his baseball cap. he could hear you giggle a little as you readjusted it. “have you eaten yet?”

he shook his head. he changed after work and came straight here, after all.

“okay,” you said. “i’ll make extra rice, then.”

“you don’t have to--”

“i want to,” you stepped away from the couch, warm touch slipping away from him. “let me take care of you, okay? you can rest now, jihoonie.”

jihoon nodded, uncertainty seeping in. he was used to his friends caring for him, but this still felt... new with you. but he sank down, arms hugging himself as he readjusted his cap again to block out the light. he felt himself drifting off again, awoken only by you draping a blanket over him before going back to cooking.

maybe one day he’d have the courage to say those three little words he was feeling in every beat of his heart. but for now, he would thank you and say those words in the hugs that lingered a little longer than usual.

taglist: @twancingyunhao​ @wonuziex​ @synthetickitsune​

[tomurasprincess]

Kinktober Day 10: Chikan (His Biggest Fan)

Day 10: Chikan Title: His Biggest Fan Pairing: Hawks x Reader Word Count: 1.6k Warnings: Dubcon, chikan, coercion, manipulation, public sex, exhibitionism, yandere Note: A bit of a shorter one tonight because I have a few coming up that are going to be much longer. Also, it is technically still October 10th here, so it is not late (let me just mentally have this reasoning, please.)

“You’re - you’re Hawks, oh my god,” you can’t help the words that slip from your mouth when you see the number two hero stand beside you on the busy subway. He’s been your favorite since the first time he made the hero scene, and you can’t believe he’s right beside you.

“Yes I am,” he gives you a smile that could win anyone over before moving to stand even closer to you. “Are you a fan of mine, little bird?”

The endearment causes your heart to race in excitement even though you know he’s probably this friendly to everyone. “Yes, I’ve been following your hero work for a while now, and I’m a huge fan!” 

You pause for a second before hastily adding, “that might make me sound like a stalker, I know, but I promise I don’t mean it like that.”

He reaches out to trail a finger down your bare arm, causing goosebumps to raise as you shiver. “Maybe I wouldn’t mind,” he chuckles at you. “You’re a cutie.” He steps towards you, putting one hand up above your head to clutch at the bar. He towers over your small form, close enough that you can smell the cologne he uses. Your heart is beating out of your chest in disbelief of what is happening. This has been a deep, dark fantasy of yours, one that you would never admit to anyone. And now it seems to be happening. 

His finger trails lower, tracing a pattern on the front of your shirt, dangerously close to your breasts. “And you’re even wearing my merchandise. You must be such a good fan.” 

You feel your cheeks go hot, embarrassment causing you to be unable to meet his eyes. You forgot that you were wearing one of your many Hawks fan shirts. Although you feel no shame when wearing it out, it feels different somehow when the man himself is the one who sees you in it.

He takes a finger under your chin and raises it to meet his eyes. “Since you’re such a good fan, maybe you could do me a favor.”

“I don’t know how someone like me could help someone as great as you, but I’ll do what I can!” Your thoughts instantly move to grand notions like helping him with a case or other fanciful notions that you know can’t be the truth but you can’t help wanting anyway.

But you were certainly not expecting him to grip your hips and pull you flush against him, grinding his hardening erection into your thigh. He grabs your hand and moves it downward, closing your hand around the bulge. “I think you can help me with this, little bird. Don’t you?”

“I - I don’t know,” you trail off a bit, unsure how to truly respond.

“So you won’t help me then? That’s fine, I know it’s probably too much for anything but a true fan to do.”

“But I’m a true fan,” you protest instantly, “I promise I am!”

“So you’ll help me after all,” he turns you around and pushes you against the bar as he humps against the curve of your ass. You hear the rustling of his clothes, and feel your skirt being lifted up. Everything is happening too fast for you and your head is spinning from trying to process everything.

“Wait, I’m not so sure about this,” you try to reason with him, “we’re in public, what if someone sees?”

You feel his chest rumble with a laugh. “You really are a good fan, worried about my reputation.” You see his wings spread out a bit, coming to wrap around you and cover you from view. A few people turn to look in your direction, but they smile and glance away, simply assuming that you’re his girlfriend and he’s being protective of you.

“Now no one can see,” you feel his hot, hard cockhead probing at your entrance. “You’ll just have to be very quiet so no one suspects anything, and since you’re such a good girl, I know you can do that for me.” And with that he begins to push inside of you. The sting of him stretching out your mostly dry walls causes tears to form in your eyes, ones that you rapidly blink away so that nobody sees. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans deeply into your ear, burying his face in your neck as he bites down. “You feel so good clamping down on my cock like that.”

You whine a bit as he finally enters you completely, cockhead resting against your cervix as he gives you time to adjust. “You’re a true fan, to help me like this,” he grunts softly as he begins to move, veins and ridges of his cock sliding against your walls in a way that starts out painful but soon feels wonderful.

He reaches around to find your clit, rubbing down on the throbbing bead. You grip the bar you’re facing, biting into the meat of your hand to contain your moan as pleasure zings through you. His short, shallow thrusts inside of you quickly become harder as you grow wet and he’s able to move more freely. “I want you to cum around my cock, little bird,” he whispers into your ear. “Think you can do that for me?”

“Y-yes Hawks,” you whimper a bit as his fingers rub your clit harder, pussy clenching down around him at the stimulation. 

“Mmm, call me Keigo, little bird,” he reaches around to reach under your shirt, pulling your bra up so that he can grip your breasts, tweaking your nipples until they’re rock hard.

You move your hand just a bit higher on the bar so that you can push back to meet his thrusts. “Yes, Keigo, oh fuck it feels so good,” you whisper as quietly as you can. The squelching noises as his cock slams into you leaves you feeling both ashamed and oddly thrilled.

Your hero trusts you enough to help him with a problem. To stay quiet and not let anyone see what he’s doing to you to preserve his reputation. 

You would hate to disappoint him.

You feel your lower stomach tighten as you near your orgasm, and Hawks must sense it too, because he adjusts his angle to hit a sensitive spot inside of you that causes your pussy to pulse around him. 

He manages to stay quiet, letting out only sharp huffs of breath, but you fare much worse than he is. You’re biting so hard into your hand that you can taste blood as you try to contain your noises and gripping the bar hard enough that your hand is turning red.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum,” his blunt nails dig hard into your thighs as he speeds up. “Let me cum inside.”

You feel a sense of unease at that. You’re not on any birth control, so what happens if you get pregnant?

He must sense your hesitation, as he starts to reassure you with gentle touches across your body. “Please, your pussy feels so fucking amazing, little bird,” Keigo grunts into your ear. “You would prove yourself as my biggest fan if you just let me fill you up.”

A sense of excitement builds up in you. His biggest fan? Of course you’re his biggest fan, and you have to prove it to him. You have to let him know how much he means to you.

“Hhnggg, alright,” you groan, “please cum inside of me, Keigo, I want to prove it to you.”

“Such a good girl,” he chuckles at your response and grinds down on your swollen clit, and the pleasure shoots straight to your core. You’re thrown into such an intense orgasm that the bar you’re gripping is the only thing that keeps you standing, your knees wanting to buckle from the sensations rolling through you.

You feel his cock twitch inside of you, pace stuttering as hot cum paints your walls white. There’s so much that it leaks out a bit, dripping down your leg. Finally the stimulation is too much, and he pulls out of you in such an abrupt movement that you whine at the feeling of being so empty. 

He readjusts himself into his pants, pushing your panties back into place to prevent any more cum from leaking out. You pull away from the bar a bit, only to stumble and almost collapse as your legs buckle. Keigo catches you easily, smiling at your blissed out look. “Here’s what we’re going to do next. Are you listening?”

“Yes, of course,” you nod your head several times.

“We’re going to get off at the next stop, and you’re coming with me. Do you understand?”

“What do you mean,” you answer hesitantly, confusion overtaking your features. The idea of going home with him is an absolute dream, but you have so many things to do. “I’m on my lunch break, so - “

“You heard me. You’re coming home with me.”

“But what about work, I really have to head - “

“Little bird, you disappoint me,” he sighs dramatically, shaking his head at you in disbelief. “I thought you were my biggest fan, but apparently work is more important.”

“No!” Your voice comes out slightly higher pitched than you intended as panic almost overtakes you. This is your chance and you’re about to blow it over something as trivial as work. “You’re right. Work isn’t important, not when it comes to you.”

His smile instantly returns, looking like the sun coming back out from the clouds. “I’m so glad.” He wraps an arm tightly around you as he leads you to the opening door. “I can’t wait to finally get you home, my little bird.”

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Kinktober: @thewheezingwyvern, @vixen-scribbles, @katsukisprincess, @hisoknen, @trafalgar-temptress, @leeswritingworld, @bakugotrashpanda​, @kittycatkrissa​, @reinawritesbnha​, @yanderart​, @dabilove27​, @fae-father​, @anxietyplusultra​, @flutterfalla​, @angmarwitch​, @nereida19​, @babayaga67​, @fromsunnywithlove​, @dabis-kitten​, @bakugos-cumsock​, @yumeneji​, @the-grimm-writer​, @iwaizumi-chan​, @slashersheart​, @cissiewrites​, @bunnyywritings​, @bakarinnie​, @lucygucy123​, @angie-1306​, @emplosion22​, @lalalemon101​, @videogameboiwhowins​, @armoredashley​, @f4nficbaby​, @sky-robin​, @baroque-baby​, @bbyspiiice​, @celeroki​, @jubilee40​, @tenkoshimmy​, @khemz1312​,  @thirsthourdemon​

[deanstead]

man's best friend

Pairing: Kelly Severide x Reader

Request by anon: Could I maybe request something super fluffy where Kelly gets the reader a puppy for her bday because she’s been saying she wants a dog for months and then just all the cute fluff and maybe the reader falls asleep on top of Kelly on the couch watching a movie with the puppy curled up beside him.

Word Count: 603

Warnings: fluff!

A/N: short fluff piece, hope you guys like it!

KELLY SEVERIDE MASTERLIST

You looked at your watch, chewing at your lip.

Was Kelly serious? Your birthday was literally going to be over in two hours. You hadn’t seen him the entire day, he hadn’t called, there was no birthday message, nothing.

You were never one of those girls that needed flowers or a big birthday extravaganza. You didn’t need a fancy date or expensive presents. You were content with a simple meal and curling up on the couch with him, and a small cake couldn’t hurt, even if it was just a cupcake. But this time, Kelly was taking it way too far.

You huffed, deciding that if he wasn’t going to remember your birthday, he could stay out all night for all you cared.

You turned to retreat back to the bedroom that you and Kelly shared, at least the one you had shared yesterday. You heard the keys in the door but you didn’t turn.

“Babe.”

You really didn’t feel like throwing a fit but you had to admit that you were hurt so you turned around to tell him so, before the sight before you made you forget what you were going to say.

Kelly was standing in the door way, a little puppy in his hands and a cake box in the other.

You opened your mouth then closed it again.

“Happy Birthday baby.” Kelly said, a small smile spreading across his face as he headed towards you, leaning forward to give you a quick kiss.

Kelly arched his eyebrows upwards. “What?”

When you didn’t answer, he smiled. “You thought I forgot, didn’t you?”

You put on a nonchalant face and shrugged as Kelly let out a small laugh. “I’m sorry I’m late. I went on an adventure to get this little one.” Kelly dropped the puppy into your arms.

You finally let out a smile and laughed. “Oh my god, seriously?”

Kelly smiled. “Happy Birthday.” He paused. “Will you do it properly now?”

You giggled, letting the little pup down onto the floor before you looped your arms around Kelly’s neck. “You’re amazing you know that?”

Kelly shrugged, smiling. “A little.”

Gently holding the back of your head, he pressed his lips down on yours, his tongue gently tangling with yours, his teeth grazing gently against your bottom lip before he pulled away, smiling.

“Get comfortable.” Kelly instructed, smiling.

Delighted, you bounded over towards the couch area, the puppy nipping playfully at your heels as you made yourself comfortable in front of the tv, the puppy bounding straight into your lap for affection and attention.

You smiled as the puppy playfully darted around you.

Kelly joined the two of you soon after, sitting close to you as he flipped on Netflix and handing you the remote for you to choose a movie. He slung his arm around you and you cuddled into him, the puppy jumping into your lap as if it wasn’t its first day here with its new human in a new environment.

As the movie played, the both of you readjusted yourselves so that you were both lying down on the couch. Kelly gently played with your hair and by the time he looked down at you again you had fallen fast asleep atop him, breathing evenly.

The pup was curled up next to the both of you and Kelly smiled at the parallel.

Quietly, Kelly reached over for the remote trying his best not to shift too much, turning the television off, putting one arm securely around you. His eyes lingered on your sleeping face for a while more before he smiled and closed his eyes.

FEEDBACK KEEPS ME WRITING! SHARE WITH ME YOUR FAVOURITE LINE/PART OR WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF IT!

FOREVER TAGLIST

@nocturnalherb16 | @supreme-doritos | @pinkrockstar19 | @isthatmaryanna | @zizzlekwum | @fan-girl-in-denial | @mbjackie | @mrs-scottmccall

KELLY SEVERIDE TAGLIST

@keenmarvellover | @securityfriendly-jay | @winterberryfox | @bestillmystuckyheart | @winterreader-nowwriter | @svturtles | @panaitbeatrice | @skyofficialxx | @starlight-halstead | @brookerz122493 | @veronicapaula | @fvckhd | @teti-menchon0604 | @shelby-love | @celyndavies | @lorenakaspersen | @gypsydangrrr | @carnationworld | @amazingbutterflyes | @one-sweet-gubler | @justanoffalygirl | @magicalxdaydream | @dearhalstead | @mads-weasley | @morganupstead | @youngblood199456 | @mrspeacem1nusone | @secondaryjob | @miranda0102 | @samanthavitale

If you would like to be added to a taglist, you may request here !

[mimi-ya]

burden ~ trafalgar law x reader

1,400 words | m!reader

a/n: @wheres-mystogan i really hope you enjoy!! your ideas and characteristics for the reader were so fun and unique to write!

masterlist

Trafalgar Law loved his crew. Truly, he did. But sometimes…

“Heh, hey captain!” Your cheeks splits with a smile, “I was hoping you’d show up!”

Law glares down the bridge of his nose. You’re quite happy for someone shackled behind bars.

But let’s round back to how you got into that position.

The Polar Tang had docked at a bustling island that morning. Law had made it very clear the purpose of stopping was only to refill on supplies, and he wanted to be gone by the evening. But that didn’t stop you from stripping out of your jumpsuit the second your feet hit the sand.

“Captain! The water is so warm!” He watches as you dunk your head into the salt water before popping back up, “Come in!”

Law scoffs, not even bothering to comment on the fact he can’t join you before turning to Penguin, “Make sure he doesn’t drown.” Law waves at Bepo, “Let’s go.”

The two make their way into the large city off the coast. It didn’t seem like they were the only pirates in the area, but Law wasn’t looking for trouble. It had already been a long week of dodging Navy ships almost every other day and the last thing he needed was to start something on land.

Bepo was always Law’s first choice for supply runs. The mink had great strength to carry the boxes of medical supplies and bags of food without the complaining he would receive from other crew members. And Law was happy to realize they had crossed off every needed item from their list much earlier than expected.

“Think we have time for a drink?” Law nods at the tavern across the street.

“Please captain.” Bepo says, sweat dampening his fur “I think I’m going to overheat.” Law rolls his eyes fondly at the same excuse the mink always has.

It’s clear the tavern has seen better days, but the crowd seems lively and pleased enough with the service. Finding a table in the back corner, Law and Bepo take a seat, signaling for a couple of drinks from the server.

He had hoped the secluded corner would drive away any unwanted company, but it seemed that didn’t work when people knew your face.

“Trafalgar Law.” The large imposing man cast a shadow over the table, “Thought I could smell trash on this island.”

“Eustass-ya.” Law smirks at the little eye twitch he gets in return for the casual greeting, “Mind fucking off? You’re ruining the taste of my ale.”

Kid growls, hands clenched into fists. It looks like he’s about to lunge over the table but is pulled back by his masked crewmate. Law scoffs, smiling into his drink at the sight.

But a smirk grows on Kid’s face that makes Law a little weary, “Quite comfortable for someone who’s crew was just dragged through town by the Navy.” Kid’s eyes widen with glee when he sees Law’s confused look, “That is unless there’s some other dumbass running around with your shit jolly roger.”

“Captain!” Bepo cries, Law already flying out of his seat and charging towards the door before Kid could finish his taunting.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to find yourself in quite the precarious situations that other Heart Pirates had to help you out of. But Law had explicitly told the rest of the crew to stay out of town. Not to mention he tasked Penguin in looking after you, who will definitely be getting his ass kicked as soon as Law is through with yours.

It wasn’t hard to locate where the Navy was keeping you, especially after spotting Shachi and Penguin in the alley, in what looks to be an intense hand game to decide who would going in to save you.

“It hasn’t even been three hours.” They both freeze at the sound of their captain behind them.

“Captain!” Penguin cries, “It wasn’t my fault, really!”

“Tch. I don’t want to hear it.” Law readjusts his sword slung over his shoulder, “Go help Bepo with the supplies and have the Tang ready to depart when I get there.”

Law doesn’t even bother to wait for their response before he shambles inside. He makes quick work of the marine grunts who are sitting at desks, doesn’t even have to ask for the key when someone is offering it in exchange to be put back together.

Law leaves most of the marines in pieces as he makes his way into the basement. He can’t help but grind his teeth when he hears the familiar humming coming from a cell at the end of the hall.

“Heh, hey captain!” Your cheeks splits with a smile, “I was hoping you’d show up!”

Law glares down the bridge of his nose. You’re quite happy for someone shackled behind bars.

“Care to explain how you found yourself in this mess?”

You scramble to your feet, trying to get closer but are held back by the cuffs connecting you to the wall, “I swear captain! I didn’t leave the beach, I don’t even know how the Navy knew I was with you!”

Law raises a brow, eyes flicking down to your bare chest with the Heart Pirates jolly roger inked into your skin on proud display.

“Oh.” The chains rattle as you rub the back of your neck, embarrassment heating your cheeks, “Guess I forgot about that one.”

“You’re on bathroom duty for a month for this one.” Law mutters, throwing up the blue tint of his room.

A whine escapes your lips, “But that puts me at four months straight now!”

“Then quit getting yourself into shit like this.” And then you feel the familiar woosh accompanied with Law’s ability, the sun’s harsh beams suddenly blinding your eyes as he’s freed you from the cell.

The others were so glad and relieved to see you had been rescued. An overdramatic reunion if you ask Law, but he let them indulge in their hugs and tears for a moment before pulling you into his office.

“You get hurt at all?” Law asks, pulling on a pair of gloves.

“Ehh, I might have bumped my head a bit.” You rub the smarting bruise that’s forming on your forehead.

“Sit.” Law directs you to the examination table, finally putting the two of you at eye level. And at this angle, Law can see the slight discoloring. He gently runs a thumb over the tender flesh, “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

You shrug, “Didn’t want to be too much of a bother.” Your eyes follow Law’s form as he grabs a bottle from the cabinet, dipping a finger in and pulling out a dollop of ointment, “Tried to stop the marines.” You mumble, feeling very aware of your presence as Law leans in closer to apply the mixture.

“With what, your head?”

And you think it might be some attempt of a joke from your usually stoic captain, but he isn’t far off, “Heh, well. You know I’m no good with my hands.”

Law pulls back, slight surprise and worry in his eyes, “Don’t do that (Y/N)-ya. You know you’re not a fighter.”

Your shoulders slump slightly, and you stare at the floor, “I just don’t want everyone to think I’m a worthless crewmate or some kind of burden.”

Law places the jar on the table beside you, his free hand gripping your chin to meet his stare, “You’re not worthless, and you’re defiantly not a burden. We all have our strengths.” Before letting go and returning the ointment to the cabinet.

You heart skips a beat at the seriousness of his tone, eyes wide as you watch him pull off his gloves and toss them into the wastebin.

You jump to your feet, coming up behind Law to wrap him in a hug, “You’re the best, Captain!” Before leaning down and planting a kiss on his cheek.

Law barely has time to process it before you’re out the door with that humming echoing down the hall. His hand brushes where your lips burned into his skin, and he’s sure his entire face is flushed red with his mouth hanging open a little.

“Tch.” Law mumbles to himself, praying he’ll have a few minutes of solitude to regain his composure before the next crisis, “I just meant you’re good at cleaning the bathroom.”

[ilici]

i feel like a god.

Summary: Demi god C!Dream & God C!Foolish fight for what’s theirs, you.

(I will be making up some backstory & new powers so ignore them if you want)

NSFW MINORS DNI !!

Warnings: Thigh riding, choking, unsafe sex.

Word Count: 3428

“Y/N!” Foolish yelled, as he jumped down from the mansion he was building, and Y/N looked up as he fell, “Oh, hello Foolish.” She greeted politely, “What are you doing in snowchester?” Foolish asked, and Y/N looked around and pointed down towards the white fox that was hiding behind her leg, “I found this little guy and figured I’d give him to Tubbo.” She explained, and Foolish grinned and nodded, “Well it’s good seeing you, I haven’t seen you in a while, what have you been up to?” He asked her curiously, and Y/N reached down picking up the white furred creature, “I’ve been visiting Dream a lot, and trying to help him find a way out.” She said petting the fox on it’s head, and Foolish looked at her shocked. “You’re trying to find a way for Dream to escape?” He asked, and Y/N nodded her head, “Are you crazy?!” He asked grabbing her shoulders, and Y/N winced. “I’ve talked to him, he’s been getting better.” Y/N said in a small voice, and Foolish sighed, letting her go, “Just know what you’re getting yourself into.” He warned, before he started scaffolding his way back up to the mansion.

Shaking her head, Y/N kept the fox in her arms as she walked to the small cabin that Tubbo was living in. Knocking on the door, she was greeted with a chest, sighing she slowly looked up and greeted Ranboo with a gentle smile, “Hello Ranboo, I have brought Tubbo a little present.” She said, raising the fox up a bit, and Ranboo hunched over a bit to get a clear view of the small animal, “He’s upstairs with Michael, come with me.” He said, as he hunched over dragging his hand along the ceiling so he wouldn’t hit his head. Y/N followed in behind, watching as Ranboo’s tail swayed back and forth with every step he took. She let out a small ‘umph’ when she hit into Ranboo as he stopped, “Okay, up here.” He said, as he just reached up pulling himself up. Y/N on the other hand, moved the fox under one arm, and climbed the ladder with one hand as safely as she could. Making it up, she closed the door behind her so Michael wouldn’t get out.

“Y/N!” A happy voice chirped as she heard little thumps running towards her. Grinning, she looked down at the smaller boy, his horns portraying past his fluffy hair, “Hi Tubbo! I brought a present.” She said, as Tubbo backed away, his hooves padding against the floor as Michael ran up looking at the adults in curiosity. “Whoa.” Tubbo said amazed, “It’s a baby?” He asked, looking at the small creature under her arm, “Yeah, I found it without its parents so I thought I’d bring it to you.” She explained, as Tubbo gently took the small fox from her. “Aw Ranboo look at it!” Tubbo exclaimed, and Ranboo chuckled, as he picked Michael up with his tail, “What are you going to name it?” Y/N asked Tubbo, as she kept her attention on Michael and Ranboo. “Well, I will need to find out its gender, but I will probably name it something gender neutral.” He said, as he cooed at the small animal.

“Well I’ll be heading off, I have to go visit someone.” She said, waving goodbye, “Come back soon!” Tubbo said sweetly, while Ranboo nodded in agreement. “Bye guys! Bye Michael!” Y/N said, and Michael looked over as he heard his name before he waved back shyly. Crawling down the ladder was much easier this time, as she wasn’t holding an animal in her arms, “Oh! Y/N! One more thing!” Tubbo yelled sticking his head out of the door, “Could you give this to Foolish? I was meant to give it to him but I forgot.” He said, handing her some gold blocks. “Oh, sure!” She said, putting them away, “Well bye now!” Tubbo said, before closing the door again. Softly laughing Y/N walked out of the small home, and began her journey back to the mansion that Foolish was working on. Looking up, she saw Foolish was no where in sight, growing confused she opened the door and walked inside. She gawked at the sight of the beautiful interior.

“Y/N?” A voice from behind her spoke, and Y/N yelped jumping, “Oh my god.” She said, slapping Foolish’s chest, “Where did you come from?” She said, attempting to calm her heart rate that picked up from the jump scare. “Oh, I was up there.” He said, pointing up towards the windows, “And you just jumped? Without water?” She asked, and Foolish nervously chuckled, “Maybe?” He said, and Y/N scoffed pointing a finger at him. “That is dangerous, you know how it feels when you have to respawn.” She scolded and Foolish looked down, “I know, it’s not the best feeling in the world.” He admitted, “So what did you need?” He asked trying to change the subject so he wouldn’t get scolded anymore. “Right! Tubbo said to give this to you.” She said handing him 5 gold blocks, “I was just about to go ask him about this.” Foolish said, taking the gold blocks from her gracefully. “So where are you headed to now?” He asked her, as the two walked out of the mansion. “I’m on my way to go pay Dream a visit.” She said, and Foolish looked at her, “Can I tag along?” He asked, and Y/N eyed him suspiciously, before slowly nodding.

“I suppose you can, I will have to convince Sam to let us both in there since he is limiting peoples visiting hours since the Red Banquet is coming up and he doesn’t want word to get to Dream.” She said, as the two walked, “Makes sense.” Foolish nodded, as he sighed readjusting his golden mask on his face, “Foolish?” Y/N spoke up, “Yeah?” He asked, “May I know why you wear that mask? I know Dream also wears one, but yours is just so different.” She said looking at him with peaked curiosity. Foolish hesitated about answering before he sighed, “Nobody’s really asked that before but I guess I can trust you.” He said, and she looked at him as he grabbed her wrist pulling her towards his body. “Close your eyes.” He whispered, and she slowly closed her eyes before she felt her entire body run cold, “Open.” He said, and she looked around confused as she was now in front of the prison. “What?” She asked and Foolish sighed, “The reason I wear this mask is because I have to.” He said, and Y/N looked over at him.

“If this mask ever comes off, it releases something in me that I do not want to be released, but I can’t take it off. Nobody can, from what I have seen.” He explained, and Y/N listened closely, “People have tried, friends, family, even myself but it won’t come off.” He said looking down, placing his hand on the musk and tugging but the mask only readjusted on his face. “I know what happens when it comes off, but it’s never happened.” He mumbled, and Y/N looked at him, “How do you know what happens?” She asked, “Because I have seen it happen before.” He said, looking up, his one eye visible now that the mask was readjusted. “You have? Where?” She asked, and Foolish looked away, “With Dream, and you.” He said, and Y/N’s eyes widened. “The day I accidentally took his mask off? Is that why only I could truly see what he looked like?” She asked him, and Foolish just nodded, “Only the person’s true love can see what they truly look like. To everyone else, it’s just a nonexistent hole for a face.” He mumbled, remembering everyones reactions when Dream’s mask fell.

“How come I can see your face right now?” Y/N said, reaching up and cupping his exposed cheek. Foolish looked at her and chuckled, “That’s because I am not what Dream is, he’s only half. He’s a demi god, which means he can’t show his face at all. While with me, I am a god and can show my face. But it will look different to everyone else. This is just a facade, this isn’t my actual face.” He said, moving away from her touch, “There, now you know.” He said before turning his attention to the prison, “Shall we?” he asked changing the subjects, “Yeah..” She mumbled, walking into the prison, “Sam! It’s me I brought Foolish.” Y/N said, and Sam instructed them to walk through the portal. Y/N always hated going through the portal, it always made her feel sick, and she didn’t like the excruciating pain that shot through her head each time she had to do it. Walking through, Y/N winced at the pain, before she stumbled out flipping Sam off who only laughed as it became a daily thing of her just flipping him off. “Good day Foolish.” Sam greeted, and Foolish nodded to him, “Hello Sam.” He replied, “Please put everything you have in the chests.” He ordered, and Y/N was already doing so.

Foolish side-eyed Sam before doing so, and he was soon instructed to sign multiple things. Once he was done, the two were led to the prison cell, “Okay, once this lava-” Sam was cut off by Y/N who placed her hand on her friend’s mouth, “Please, I have heard this every day for a month straight.” She pleaded, and Sam put his hands up in defense mumbling against her hand, “Just doing my job.” Pulling her hand away, she looked and saw that the lava was about done, and her friend came into view. Grabbing Foolish’s forearm, she guided him so he would not miss or fall off as they were being lead to the cell. “You’ve brought a guest I see.” Dream’s voice said, as they reached the cell and the lava around them started to enclose them in the cell together. “Yup.” Y/N said popping the ‘p’ as the blocker let down, and she was soon engulfed in a tight hug. “I saw you yesterday, calm down.” She giggled, returning the hug. Hearing a throat being cleared, the two separated reluctantly. “Hello Dream.” Foolish greeted, and Dream looked at him, “Foolish.” He nodded before going over and leaned against the wall.

“So tell me, what brought your ass here?” He spat, and Y/N looked between the two, as Foolish slowly approached Dream, “It seems to me that you’ve been manipulating my Y/N to help you escape.” He said, and Dream scoffed, “Your Y/N? First she isn’t some toy to be owned.” Dream reasoned, “Secondly, I am not manipulating her at all.” He said crossing his arms, and Foolish glared, “I don’t believe that one bit.” He said, “I don’t like the little game you’re playing with someone that I love.” Foolish said, trapping Dream between his arms, and Dream cocked his head to the side. “Someone you love? You saw that she took my mask off, you know that she loves me. But your little heart can’t accept that can it?” Dream mused, and Foolish growled, “Shut the hell up.” He grumbled, making a fist with his left hand and hitting the wall beside Dream’s head. Y/N watched the two, too scared to interject now that she found out they are stronger than they look. “It’s true.” Dream hummed out, and Foolish scoffed, “You and your stupid green eyes piss me off so much.” He said, and everyone in the room froze. 

“You saw what he looked like?” Y/N asked, and Foolish froze, not being able to look away from Dream who was also dumbfounded. “Do you love Dream?” Y/N asked slowly approaching the two, and Foolish looked down as Dream looked at him. “Y/N.” Dream said, and Y/N moved her attention to Dream, “Pull his mask off.” He ordered, and Y/N looked at Dream wide eyed, “What? No!” She said, and Foolish pushed off the wall before he grabbed Y/N by her wrist. “Do it.” He said, and Y/N looked up at him shocked, “Foolish what?” She said, and Dream repeated his order, “Pull it off.” Looking between the two, Y/N wrapped her fingers around the golden mask, before she softly tugged at it. Everyone in the room held their breath as the mask seemed to fall in slow motion. Y/N watched as the mask fell to the ground with a thud, before she slowly looked up, and she was greeted with lime green orbs looking at her. Looking closer, she saw that Foolish was now golden like the mask, but the only difference was his eyes. They were a bright green, and she found herself staring into them. 

“Your eyes are beautiful.” Y/N whispered, reaching up and cupped his face with her hands. “You said something was going to be released, what?” She asked him, searching his face for any sign. Before he could answer there was a green light that emitted from him, and Y/N covered her eyes, as she was pulled away by a pair of arms that wrapped around her torso pulling her towards them. “He’s getting his powers, don’t worry it’s safe.” Dream whispered in her ear reassuringly, and Y/N slowly nodded before it grew dim once the light was gone. “Uh..” Foolish said quickly looking away from Y/N, and she grew confused before she looked up at Foolish, and quickly looked away a blush engulfed her cheeks. Dream quickly let go, and looked away, as the three were now bare. “Where did our clothes go dip shit?” Dream asked, and Foolish rolled his eyes, “I don’t know why don’t you ask them?” He sarcastically replied, making sure not to look at Y/N.

“Your stupid blast or whatever, made them vanish.” Dream scoffed, and he covered himself, “Good going, it’s with a girl too.” He added, and Y/N just blinked before she blushed deeply covering herself. “Could we ask Sam for more clothes?” Y/N asked, keeping her sight on the ground, “We could.” Foolish said, and Y/N froze when she felt someones hand grab her chin, making her look up. “Or we could make this worth something.” He whispered, and Y/N shivered, looking at Foolish. “Don’t seduce the poor girl.” Dream said, rolling his eyes and Y/N turned to look at Dream seeing his chiseled chest. “Maybe we should.” She said cockily, wanting to see his reaction. Dream, who was looking away from the two, whipped his head around quickly to give her a shocked look. “You’re joking, right?” He asked, chuckling before looking between the two and Y/N shook her head, “I am not joking.” She said boldly, and Dream raised an eyebrow from behind his mask. “Don’t start something you won’t be able to finish.” He warned, and Y/N walked up to him placing a hand on his chest. 

“But I’ve already started.” She whispered, reaching up unclasping his mask. Dream groaned, and picked her up, “Wish Sam would’ve added a damn bed.” He complained, as he held Y/N, before he sat her on the podium after he knocked the book off. “We’re gonna finish what you started.” Foolish mumbled, as he watched Dream explore Y/N’s bare body with his hands. Y/N reacted in many ways to his touch, she’d shiver, whimper, and even whine. “Please I need more.” She begged, and Dream picked her up again, “You’re not ready yet.” He told her, as he sat down on the ground, propping himself up on the obsidian wall behind him. Placing her on his thigh, he looked at her, “This may feel weird, as my leg is bare.” He told her, and Y/N nodded her head as Foolish sat beside of them, wrapping his hand around her neck. Y/N let him guide her head back, as he passionately kissed her lips, as Dream started to guide her hips against his thigh. Y/N gasped into the kiss, and Foolish took this as a chance to quickly insert his tongue into her mouth.

Exploring her mouth as her moans were drowned out from the kiss, Dream kept her at an even pace letting her adjust to the feeling. When Foolish pulled away a string of saliva kept them connected, before she reached forward gripping onto Dream’s shoulders tightly as he sped up his pace. Y/N moaned out, and Foolish tightened his grip around her throat, which made Y/N have strained moans. “You sound so beautiful.” Foolish complimented, and Y/N blushed deeply as she felt herself growing close. “You’re not a virgin are you?” Dream asked, as he stilled his movements, and Y/N shook her head the best she could from Foolish’s grip around her neck. “Who took it?” Dream growled out, and Y/N whined, as Foolish once more tightened his grip, “It was about 7 months ago, me and Schlatt got drunk.” She whispered out and Foolish scoffed, throwing her to the side.

“We will fuck you way better than he ever did.” Dream said, standing up and Foolish picked Y/N up slamming her against the wall. “This will hurt.” He warned her, as he spat on his hand lubing himself up, and slowly slid into her. Y/N groaned, leaning her head back onto his shoulder, as she adjusted to his size. “Fuck.” Foolish muttered, wrapping his hand back around her neck as he slowly started thrusting up into her. “Tell me how you feel.” Dream said, as he watched the two, “I feel so good.” Y/N moaned out, and Foolish took this as a signal to speed up. Pounding up into her, Y/N cried out in pleasure, as she felt herself growing close. “I’m so close!” She yelled out, and Foolish grunted before whispering in her ear, “Cum.” Hearing him say that she quickly came, and she gasped as her entire body was engulfed with pleasure. Thrusting a couple more times, Foolish came deep inside of her. 

Pulling out, Y/N collapsed to the floor, as Foolish slowed her fall. “You’ve got one more round to go.” Dream said, as he picked her up off the floor, and made her bend over the podium a bit. Slapping her ass, she jumped before she moaned out as Dream slammed into her without a warning. “God you feel amazing.” Dream groaned out, as he started thrusting into her roughly. Dream was a bit bigger than Foolish, but she didn’t care as she was a moaning mess with both of their cocks. “Please-” She begged, feeling sensitive from her first orgasm. Dream ignored her plea, as he rammed into her with no remorse, and Y/N gripped the podium tightly, her knuckles going white. “I am going to cum so deep inside of you.” Dream growled out, and Foolish smirked as he watched the scene. Y/N let out a scream of pleasure as her second orgasm hit her, and her legs started to shake. Gripping her hips tightly, purposely leaving bruises, Dream came inside of her before he pulled out. 

Holding her up, he looked over at Foolish, “Get Sam, and tell him to bring clothes and a wet rag.” Dream ordered, and Foolish he had calmed down began to yell for Sam. Dream hid Y/N’s body from Sam’s view as the lava fell. “Could you guys be a little less loud next time?” Sam asked, a look of disgust on his face. The two men chuckled, as clothes were thrown over to them, and a wet rag. “No promises.” Dream said, shooting Sam a wink and he only got the middle finger in response. Cleaning Y/N up, the other two soon cleaned themself as they all got dressed. “Maybe I will help you escape.” Foolish said, as he patted Dream on the shoulder. “Shut up.” He rolled his eyes, as he picked up his mask putting it back on his face, as Foolish did the same. “Let’s go Y/N.” He said, and the two walked out, “Don’t have any fun without me!” Dream yelled to them, and they only laughed as the lava began to cover his cell once more.

[ichigopanhpff]

Mitsuya x Fem!Reader Begin Again: Ch. 10

[Previous Chapter] -- [Masterlist] -- [Next Chapter]

Posting this a day early because I can :D

I got my hair done this past weekend and there's a male hairstylist there who has Mitsuya's mullet (he even kinda has his lanky-ish figure and wore glasses too!); he had green streaks on the bottom half of his hair. If it was lilac though, I would've straight lost my shit. NGL, he was kinda good looking.

--

New Years Eve 12/31/2005

It’s only been close to two months since (Y/N) moved back to Tokyo and so much happened already.

The unexpected reunion with Mitsuya. Her involvement with the Black Dragons conflict. Becoming indirectly involved with the Tokyo Manji Gang.

With these boys in her life, peace was going to be hard to come by. She held her breath as she steadied her hand to put eyeliner on before the lipstick. She may not know much about cosmetics, but thankfully beauty magazines taught her the basics. Her heart was pounding with nervousness after agreeing to go to Musashi Temple with Mitsuya tonight.

Finally satisfied with her makeup, she made sure the kanzashi in her hair was in the right place before briefly readjusting her obi so it sat comfortably. (Y/N) threw her thick violet shawl on top of her long sleeved kimono and bag of personal effects. Giving herself one last look in the small mirror, she made her way out of her apartment to meet her friend at the entrance of the shrine.

The wintry airs greeted her skin as she exhaled a breath of warm, white puff into the sky. She ended up bumping into everyone else en route, hearing the clacks of their geta on the cement sidewalk.

“(Y/N)-nee-chan!” Luna and Mana happily greeted and ran up to her in the form of a hug by her waist.

“Happy New Year,” she bent down to meet the sisters eye to eye with a smile and hugged back. She slowly stood back up and greeted everyone else.

All the eldest Mitsuya sibling could do was stand there in awe, staring at (Y/N)'s side profile with his mouth slightly ajar. Having seen her in nothing but over sized tops and school uniform on top of a baggy sweater, he only noticed her elegant figure now. It’d been a while since he’s seen her in a kimono and forgot how beautiful she looked in one.

The child version of (Y/N) he remembered was now replaced with a budding young woman.

“Might wanna close your mouth, Mitsuya.” Yuzuha elbowed his side hard enough to snap him out of his trance, prompting the lilac haired boy to clear his throat and looked away, scratching the back of his head.

“Taka-chan, are you okay?” Hakkai asked with a tone of concern. “Your face is all red.”

“I-I’m fine…” he huffed out and clapped a hand on his tall friend’s shoulder. “Just… wasn’t expecting…” he trailed off, leaving his vice captain confused.

“Looks like you two healed up nicely,” she referred to the Shiba siblings.

“My jaw’s still a little sore, honestly,” the youngest blue haired sibling confessed, his hand reaching up to rub his cheek. “But I’m on the mend.”

“Wait… Hakkai…” Yuzuha paused. “You talked to (Y/N)-chan. Normally.”

“Yeah. And?”

Hakkai’s sister stammered, reeling from the sudden evolution of her shy baby brother.

“I—Wh—How?!” she finally got out.

(Y/N) leaned into her ear and whispered, “I told him I was a boy when we were kids.”

The auburn haired girl glanced at her with a complete look of confusion, eyeing her up and down incredulously for obvious reasons.

“Well, it worked back when I had shorter hair and pre-puberty,” she sheepishly pointed out with a light chuckle.

“I can’t believe it actually stuck,” Yuzuha flatly answered with slumped shoulders. “You’re really something else.”

“We were on the same team playing tag and he wouldn’t talk to me,” (Y/N) reasoned. “I had to get creative.”

“Unbelievable…” Yuzuha muttered and noticed (Y/N)’s crooked obi. She walked behind her and started adjusting the fabric. “Let me fix this for you. It’s bothering me.”

“My obi tying skills have yet to improve, huh,” she dejectedly sighed out and thanked her friend.

“Hey…” she called softly. “Thanks… for what you did at Christmas with Mitsuya. I never thought I’d ever be able to feel this sense of peace and freedom at home.”

“Don’t even worry about it,” (Y/N) craned her head back and smiled softly. “What’s important is you and Hakkun can live the way you want now.” Fastening and tucking in the end part of the fabric back in, the female Shiba admired her handiwork and gave a nod of approval.

“Are you done over there?” Hakkai called. “We should get going before we’re too late.”

The girls regrouped with everyone and continued on their way to the shrine. Glancing from the corner of his eye, Mitsuya got a better look at (Y/N). The simple wisteria kanzashi dangling from her tied up hair made her look like radiant; her makeup was simple and emphasized her natural features, her lips a soft red. The light cool breeze blew the scent of her perfume his way, lacing his nostrils with faint traces of warm sweetness.

“How’s the wound on your head?” she asked.

“Eh? Ah…” Mitsuya softly cleared his throat and unconsciously reached up and touched the bandage with the tips of his fingers on his forehead. “It should be fully healed in about a week. I tried to hide it from my mom and sisters…”

“How’d that go?”

“I got an earful,” he groaned and lightly shook his head. “How’s your side?”

“Not as sore since I’ve been stretching and treating it. The bruising’s pretty much gone, so I should be fully healed in the next few days.”

She glanced up at Mitsuya and saw he was wearing the scarf she made for him again. Her heart unexpectedly skipped a beat seeing it.

Stop with this dumb stuff, (Y/N) thought to herself with a physically agitated look on her face like she stepped on something.

“You okay?”

“Yes… My brain’s just… farting.”

“Farting?” her friend questioned with a puzzled tone.

“It’s… never mind,” she hurriedly dismissed and looked to the side, hastily saying, “Words are hard tonight.”

The party finally reached their destination. The temple grounds was teeming with laughs and happy chatter. A familiar set of spiked up blond hair could be seen not too far away.

“Takemitchy!” Mitsuya called. “You look like you’re all dressed for shichi-go-san*.”

The blond looked down at the two younger girls who looked like the second division captain while (Y/N) greeted Hina.

“Are these the younger sisters I’ve been hearing about so much?” He squatted on his knees to greet them. “How old are you?” he asked kindly.

“I’m not a little kid. Dumb face,” Luna huffed out, with Mana mimicking her older sister.

“A-Ah Luna… that’s…” (Y/N) weakly tutted, trying very hard to hold in her laughter. She’d be lying if she wasn’t finding amusement in Takemichi being roasted by an elementary school kid. The two sisters then ran toward Hina and hugged her tightly.

“How are you raising them, Mitsuya-kun?!” Takemichi scolded the second division captain. The blond’s attention was diverted by the sisters taking his girlfriend away.

“Hey! That’s my Hina!” he angrily yelled.

“How can you say that and not die of embarrassment?” the lilac haired boy offhandedly remarked, slightly bashful in his friend’s stead.

“It’s endearing,” (Y/N) chuckled and smirked.

“Well, there goes my date,” the boy slumped with an aura of depression growing around him.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” the eldest sibling apologized. “But you can do that with her any time right?”

“But this is one of the rare times where I don’t have to rush to be anywhere,” he sighed.

“Then you should go get her back,” (Y/N) encouraged with a pat on his back.

The liveliness of the temple grounds had everyone taking in the sights and sounds. She took out her point and shoot from her bag to snap a few shots of everyone and the scenery. The group made their way to a stand selling ema charms. Takemichi and Hakkai were both eager to get one.

Everyone purchased one and got to writing their wishes; Mitsuya wished to be better at fighting next year, whereas his sisters wished for their mom to be around more to play with them. While (Y/N) pondered hers, she noticed how concentrated the first division captain was with his. The intent of his wish reflected in his blue gaze inspired her when he held it up and smiled.

She decided her wish was for her friends to not lose their own way.

“What’d you end up writing?” Hakkai’s voice suddenly scared (Y/N), prompting her to hold the ema close to her chest.

“Jeez, Hakkun…” she groaned out and sighed. “I don’t wanna say. It’s embarrassing.”

“Takemichi-kun, what did you write?” Hina asked her boyfriend, to which he did the exact same thing (Y/N) did.

“Well… If I let anyone see it, then it won’t come true!” he reasoned with a tone of panic.

Hakkai’s attention suddenly diverted to the first division captain, followed by Mitsuya. Insisting on seeing his wish, Takemichi accidentally threw it up in the air and chased after it. Someone picked it up and turned the moment he yelled; it was Chifuyu with Peh-yan. When the blond boy reached for the ema, his vice captain instinctively dodged and threw it further into the temple streets.

“You asshole! Why’d you throw it?!” the pompadour blond yelled as he continued to chase after it.

“Sorry. Reflex.”

“Helluva reflexes, dude,” (Y/N) quipped as she went along with the group to chase after him.

“Wait for me! My emaaa!” he shouted and stopped dead in his tracks when a familiar blonde turned to face him with an annoyed expression. Takemichi ended up bumping into Mikey, Draken and Emma. The older Sano looked on the floor and picked up the very thing the first division captain was chasing after all this time. “Oh, did you mean this?”

“Yes! Please give that back!” he begged.

“You look pretty desperate. Here you go.”

Just as Toman’s commander was about to hand the ema back, a loud roaring cheer came from the crowd. It was 10 seconds until the new year.

“Let’s jump together, guys!” Mikey suggested.

When time counted down to one, everyone jumped as a group and shouted “Happy New Year” at the top of their lungs. The reverberation of the temple bell gonged with a low ring, washing away all the regrets and negative energy of the past year. Mitsuya and (Y/N) looked at each other, shooting each other a smile.

“I’m in your care again this year, Mi-tan.”

“Likewise.”

“I almost didn’t recognize you.” Chifuyu walked up to her with a tint of pink on his cheeks and looked her up and down with admiration. “You look surprisingly nice tonight. Right, Takemitchy?”

“Surprisingly?” she responded with a mock tone of offense and placed her hand on her hip. “I always look nice.”

“But all girls in kimonos look great, so…” the first division captain laughed uncomfortably and glanced over at his girlfriend talking with Emma.

“But no one’s as cute as Hina-chan, right?” (Y/N) teased, making Takemichi madly blush.

“How did you even--”

“Your face is so easy to read,” both Chifuyu and her responded before laughing.

“(Y/N)-chan!” Emma called and pulled her arm toward her small frame. “Let’s get pictures with everyone!”

Before she could protest, she was already being dragged along the youngest Sano’s pace. While the girls were taking pictures, Draken casually made his way over to Mitsuya. The two exchanged New Year greetings.

“Mikey’s been acting weird lately…” Draken suddenly told him and folded his arms into his sleeves as a way to keep the cold from nipping at his forearms any more. A skewer of New Year sweet dango could be found hanging from his mouth.

“More than usual?”

“He went over to (Y/N)-chan’s place the other day,” the tall blond elaborated, his eyes trained on his best friend talking with Takemichi and Tachibana while Emma laughed with (Y/N) about the camera's contents.

“Oh yeah. I gave him her address. He said he wanted to thank her for helping us out.”

“… He fell asleep at her place. On top of her, nonetheless.”

Mitsuya looked up at his partner with widened eyes and raised eyebrows.

“Ah, they didn’t do anything of that sort,” he immediately clarified. “Mikey said it was by accident and apologized.” He bit into a dango and pulled the skewer out of his mouth. “When I asked him why he wanted to see her, all he said was she knew the colour of his heart… Whatever that means.”

“I mean, they both lost a sibling,” he logically reasoned. “So it could be that?”

The two stayed silent for a short moment, trying to make sense of his odd behavior as of late.

“Maybe he likes her,” the dragon tattooed boy hypothesized and let out a hard breath through his nose.

“Platonically or…?”

“Who knows?”

Mitsuya glanced over at his childhood friend happily talking with Mikey and the other Toman captains, feeling a sudden pool of uneasiness grow in the pit of his stomach.

Would his second chance be over without even anything starting?

“So, you gonna go for it?” his friend abruptly asked and looked down at him.

“Go for… what?” Mitsuya played dumb.

“You suck at lying, y’know,” Draken pointed out and finished his snack. “You gonna tell (Y/N)-chan how you feel?”

“Are you gonna tell Emma how you feel?” the lilac haired boy shot back, feeling a tinge of annoyance.

“Two different things, dude,” the tall blond retorted.

“Mi-tan! Draken-kun!” (Y/N) called as she walked over with two drinks in hand. “I got you some amazake**!”

The two thanked her and slowly stirred the warm drink before sipping it. The sweet, spicy and bitter taste of the warm liquid hit their tongue, making their lips tightly purse and scrunched up their faces.

“Damn, they put a lot of ginger in this,” the dragon tattooed boy lightly coughed. “It’s strong.”

“But it warms you up so nicely though, ehehehe~” (Y/N) noted with a childish smile plastered on her face. The apples of her cheeks were much more flushed than before.

“… How many did you have?” Mitsuya cautiously asked, stirring his drink.

“Uhh…” The finger she placed on her cheek swayed a little while looking up. “Two? Two. Yeah, two.”

“Technically, one and half,” Yuzuha corrected and stood shoulder to shoulder with her. “(Y/N) said she was cold, so we split the second one.” She wrapped her arm around her tipsy friend for balance. “Are you okay?”

“Right as rain, Yuzu-chan!” she tittered and pushed a fist up in the air.

“Is she… drunk?” the tall tattooed blond inquired with concern before slowly sipping his drink. “How do you even get drunk off of amazake?”

“I heard from some of the other patrons say they accidentally mixed in a stronger batch with the others,” the auburn haired girl revealed and sighed as her spirited friend hugged her from the side, professing her love to her and how nice she smelled. "Luck of the draw for her, eh?"

“Yuzuha, would you mind getting some water or food?” Mitsuya asked and took his teetering friend off of her. “I’ll watch (Y/N) for a bit.”

Draken and the silver purple haired boy each took an arm and hoisted her to the nearest sitting area.

“This is fun~” she giggled out with droopy eyes paired with a silly grin, dragging her feet lazily with the two boys' support.

“Maybe for you,” her childhood friend complained.

“Festivals weren’t as fun in Sendai ‘cus you weren’t there,” (Y/N) mumbled out with a small pout to the short haired boy. “I at least feel like I’m with my actual friends here.”

The tall blond shot her a lopsided smirk. “It’s ‘cus we’re delinquents. We know how to liven things up.”

The three found a free area to sit and gently set (Y/N) down on a rocky bench.

“Nah, it’s ‘cus you’re all genuinely loyal to the core,” she pointed out and looked up at Draken with a soft, grateful smile with a small sway. Her eyes were glazed with joy. “The ‘ride or die’ mentality’s refreshing… I’m glad I met you all. It’s been a while since I’ve been this happy.”

“Oh, that’s where you guys are,” a new voice called. They looked up to see Mikey with the group not too far behind.

“This one had too much amazake,” Mitsuya pointed to his wobbly friend and sighed.

“I warned you not to drink the ones here,” Toman’s commander frowned.

“I only got it ‘cus you said you’d share with me!” she shot back and pouted. “Then you backed out last minute, being all ‘It’s smells too spicy. I hate it.’” (Y/N) finished with a mocking tone and pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Traitor. You broke my heart.”

“Who broke (Y/N)-chan’s heart?!” Emma chimed in angrily. “I’ll never forgive ‘em.” The entire group immediately pointed at her brother expressionlessly, who was now inwardly panicking.

“Mikey…” his baby sister glowered at his side.

“It’s not what you think, Emma,” he defended. “I didn’t do anything!”

“And that’s why you’re now in your position,” Draken pointed out as a matter of factly. “Why’d you even agree to split one with (Y/N)-chan when you hate ‘em?”

“I thought it’d just be sweet!” Mikey shot back. “I didn’t know they would add ginger!”

“Dude, the ingredients are literally laid out in front of you as they make it!”

“Are they gonna go at it?” Smiley wondered and crossed his arms. “This counts as in-fighting. Right, Mucho?” The fifth division captain stayed quiet, not wanting to get involved. All he wanted was a peaceful celebration and lightly sighed.

“Guys, don’t fight,” Takemichi stepped in and attempted to mediate. “It’s the New Year. It’s bad luck to--”

“Shut up, Takemitchy!” the two shouted, immediately making the first division captain back down like a frightened cat and apologized. (Y/N) let out a snicker and burst out laughing while holding her sides. No one was sure whether it was because of her current altered state or she was legitimately enjoying Mikey and Draken’s banter.

“You Toman boys are too much sometimes,” she remarked with dying chuckles and wiped some tears from her eyes so it wouldn’t smudge her eye makeup. Mikey marched up to her with purpose and pinched her cheeks, gently pulling them outward.

“You’re the one who started it,” he scowled with his childish charm. “Now everyone’s making me out to be the bad guy.”

“Awright, awirght, I’m sowwy,” she backed off through a fit of giggles and gently wrapped her fingers around his wrists so he’d stop pulling her face.

The blond boy released and continued to pout. He leaned down to meet her half glazed orbs with softened, black eyes with a sense of a quiet and subtle adoration; (Y/N) merely grinned back with a silly expression. Mikey couldn’t make sense of this feeling he had right now; he held the same interest in her as Takemichi, but there was something more he couldn’t see yet.

And there it was. That bite of anxiety-laced possessiveness in Mitsuya’s heart when he noticed his friend’s gaze on (Y/N) lingered on more than he liked. Oh, how he would love to just grab her by the hand and yank her away from everyone for a moment to say what he wanted to…

Yuzuha eventually returned with a helping of futomaki for (Y/N) to eat and soak up the small amount of alcohol in her system. Mikey plopped down right next to her and briefly rested his chin on her shoulder before stealing a piece of sushi from her.

“Hey! This is my sobering up food!” she argued mid-chew and furrowed her brows.

“A small price for putting me through the ringer,” he huffed and swallowed the food.

“I apologized for that already, didn’t I? Petty King,” (Y/N) insulted, garnering a loud laugh from the captains. Annoyed, he ate the piece she was holding between her fingers and immediately scarfed it down out of spite before walking away. Mitsuya snuck his hand in from the other side and stole one for himself. She immediately whipped her head back.

“Mi-tan?!”

“Small price for having me carry you here,” he coolly responded after finishing his food and licked a spare piece of rice from his thumb. He stood up and sped walked away from his raging friend.

“If that’s the case…” Draken strolled up and took the last piece in the container before running off.

“Y’all suck for stealin’ a girl’s food, y’know!” (Y/N) shouted angrily in Sendai dialect and shook her fist at the three laughing boys, having fully sobered up now.

With the festivities winding down at the temple, the group took one last photo together before disbanding for the night to head home. Yuzuha and Hakkai bid their good nights to Mitsuya and (Y/N); Luna and Mana tired themselves out and started nodding off on their way back. In the end, Luna was being carried by her big brother on his back while (Y/N) carried Mana. The two sisters were out like a light.

“Sorry to have you do this,” the lilac haired boy apologized while adjusting his little sister’s body to a better position before continuing to walk.

“It’s fine,” she waved off. “It would’ve been tough if it was just you alone handling these two.”

“I would’ve asked Hakkai. They adore him,” he chuckled.

“Well, I adore your sisters. They’re your backbone.”

“Even when they try breaking my back sometimes…” he joked.

They walked on in the quiet twilight, only having the stillness of the winter breeze greeting them ever so often. The two glanced up at the night sky, seeing feint glows of the heavens above them. Not a cloud was in sight and they drunk in the calmness of the world. Having made their way back from the temple, they dropped off his siblings at home and successfully cleaned and tucked them in. They then left for (Y/N)’s apartment.

“Tonight was really fun,” she smiled at Mitsuya. “Been a while since I’ve laughed like that.”

“Glad to see you’re getting along with everyone.”

“But y’know,” she turned to look up at her friend with a small pout. “You should at least let me know you gave Mikey my address,” she lightly chided. “He scared the hell outta me.”

“Sorry. He said he wanted to surprise you.”

“He’s lucky he brought snacks that day…”

“Did he now?” her friend asked with a tone of surprise.

“What, he usually doesn’t?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

As the uneasy feeling pooled in the core of his stomach, Mitsuya’s gaze glanced downward and saw the edge of the bracelet he gave her peeking out of her kimono sleeve; it was the small glimmer of hope he needed to push forward. They waited at the cross light to change to get to her apartment building.

“I didn’t say this before, but…” The lilac haired boy awkwardly turned away for a short moment to gather himself before looking back at his friend. “You look really elegant tonight.”

“I clean up well, don’t I?” she joked with a grin and chuckled, showing off her kimono with her arms out. “Don’t go falling head over heels for me now.”

“What if I already have?”

Taglist: @netzukochannn @toobsessedsstuff @owiee12

--

* Translates to "seven-five-three." It's a festival for 3 and 7 year old girls and 5 and sometimes 3-year-old boys to celebrate their growth and well-being. This festival dates back to the Heian period (794-1185); court officials back then chose these odd numbers because they were considered to be lucky in East Asian numerology. This festival is meant to celebrate the life of children, as mortality rates were very high back then due to disease, famine and war.

** A sweet, low alcohol sake (generally less than 1%). Offered at shinto shrines during the New Year, modern convenience has made amazake readily available in cans for consumers to have during the winter outside of Japan.

[p---ink]

Teach Me.

Author’s Note: So. I finally made a Peter Parker Fiction. And I know the gif is Arvin Russell, but that is for a reason, and maybe you'll see it, maybe you won't, BUT TELL ME IF YOU DO. So this is an unnamed OC fiction, but its mostly reader insert, aside from the fact that she’s black (surprise, surprise) and she has brown eyes. I made her an “OC” because of that fact. Also, get ready for some fluffy head cannons of Peter P. In the not-so-distant future though. 

Summary: Maybe Peter Parker, isn't as innocent as he seems. 

Warnings: Smut. Smut. and more Smut. Car-smut. Dark-ish Peter (Not really, but he’s not his usual wholesome self) 

Song: Star-gazing by The Neighborhood. I literally based this entire fiction on this one song. Even if you don’t read the fic, you should listen to it. 

Word Count: 5.5k

“If you don’t mind me asking,” She started, pausing a bit to give him time to look up at her, “ who brings a textbook to a frat party?”

His heart stopped for a moment when he realized who was speaking to him. But then he matched her grin shyly and replied, “It’s more of a conversation starter than anything.” 

“Would you say its been working well?”

“I did somehow manage to get someone as pretty as you to speak to me.” 

The smile that was already plastered on her face, grew wider along with her eyes and brows. “Wow Parker: Who knew you could be so bold after a few drinks?

“I’ve only had one, so the rest is all me.” He closed his book and readjusted his leg inviting her to sit. Then as if just realizing, he asked, “You know who I am?”

“Of course I know who you are. We went to Midtown together.” She said, getting comfortable on the couch. 

“Yeah I know. But we barely spoke to each other. Sometimes I wondered if you even knew I existed.”

“I always kept tabs on cuties like you. Especially you, actually.” She declared. 

“And you call me bold.” He muttered under his breath, a small blush creeping up.

“I’m always like this. Anyone who knows me, can tell you that. But anyone who knows you, would say the opposite. You were always so good.” 

“Good?”

“Yes! Good. Innocent. Nice. Whatever floats your boat.”

“And I remember you being, bossy, assertive, and intimidating.”

She threw her head back in laughter before stating,“You say that like its a bad thing.” Coming down from her fits of giggles she adds, “You noticed me, too? Never thought I was on your radar.”

“How could anyone not notice you.” He asked. “We had English together our freshman year. First day of class, you challenged Mr. Frechowsky, for inflicting his political views on the rest of the class. He got so red in the face, after yelling at you for three minutes straight, but everyone was more shocked at you for being unfazed.”

“I forgot abou-”

“Sophomore year, you “accidentally” tripped Amy Shuemacker,  after she made a rude comment about Ned’s weight. Junior year, you announced that you wanted to be not only the first female president, but the first who was black too. I remember telling myself you’d have my vote. Senior year, you almost had a mental breakdown when it looked like Michelle Obama was gonna run.” Peter finished, with not a hint that he was out of breath. 

“I-” She was more than taken aback. “I’m embarrassed that you remember all of that. Its been like four years since we graduated. Frankly any other person would have forgotten.”

“I think its impossible for anyone who’s met you, to forget the day they did.” He admitted to her. 

She just stared at him in awe for a moment. Mouth slightly agape from surprise. A shadow of a smile ever so present. 

Even though he was the one to say it, it was his face that turned a tinge pinker than before when he realized the weight behind his words. He swallowed thickly, averting his attention to the patterns that lined the carpet, fearing that he made her uncomfortable. In all honesty, he used to have a proper crush on the girl, rivaled by even Romeo’s adoration for Juliet.

This was the same girl he once described as ethereal. He once told Ned that fairies wove the strands of her hair, and butterflies still lived there, claiming that he saw them playing beneath her braids. The sun literally lived under her skin, and it was the secret as to why it would glow, and why her smile was so bright. He would swear to anyone that listened, that the harp was made with her voice in mind, and that it, her voice, played a better melody. He used to be lovestruck. Guess those feelings still lingered. 

If you asked him, two minutes ago had he gotten over it, his answer would’ve been yes. Would’ve been. 

His sudden fluster—which she found adorable by the way, broke her from her trance as she grinned and said “Don’t act bashful now!” playfully shoving his arm as she uttered the words. 

Quickly recovering from his earlier hiccup, he slowly returned her grin and tried to retaliate but before he could, “We have to go. Now.”

They looked up to see an irritated looking preppy girl impatiently scowling down at them. She couldn’t have been much older than 21, but no one told that to her clothes and aura. Her olive skin couldn’t hide the frown lines that had been assigned to her, nor the bags that would put a raccoon to shame. Besides the current circumstances that she would tell them in the next minute, Peter could tell on his own that the girl needed a date with sleep. 

“What’s the matter Li? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, aside from the fact that Angie locked herself out of the apartment again.” She said sarcastically, muttering this last part under her breath “I swear I’ve had it with that girl.”

“Ah I see. Well then we better get going.” The girl affirmed, standing from her seat, making Peter rise from his. “Peter it was so nice seeing you. I hate to leave, I would’ve enjoyed catching up a bit more.” She said, turning to grab her coat. 

“Well then we should catch up soon.”

She turned to nod her head, seemingly interested in his suggestion. “I’d love that. When did you have in mind?”

“How about now? if its a ride you’re looking for, I can drive you home.” Peter’s inner sixteen year old self, screamed at this opportunity. Time alone, with his four-year crush? He couldn’t not take advantage of the moment. 

“I couldn’t ask you to do that. It’s all the way on the other side of town.” She informed him. 

“But you’re not asking me to do it. I’m offering, because, ‘ya know; I haven’t seen you in a while and I’d like to catch up, too.” He said, second-guessing himself and praying that he didn’t come on too strong. “Ya know. Only if you want to.” He added just in case. 

Taking too much time debating whether or not she should say yes, the girl’s friend did it for her.  “Sounds great! I’ll see you at home.” Spinning on her heels,  and walking out of the door.

“Well.” The girl started, smiling at her old schoolmate. “I guess that settles it.”

“Shit!” He cursed, killing the engine completely, and slamming his head back on the headrest. After a couple minutes of trying to get it to start, the boy gave up like his car did.

It had been a full three hours since  Alisha left the party. The time was spent competing about who could find out more about the other. He learned that she still had a thirst for changing the world and community around her. She learned that the boy had been bitten by a radioactive spider and was now New York’s most friendly vigilante. She never knew that Peter could be so hilarious. 

They were stranded on some back road, miles away from civilization, with rain coming down on the roof of the car like they owed it money.

“Peter, what did you expect?” She began to question, giggling as she spoke. “This car is so old, Fred Flintstone has a newer model.”

“Hey!” He cried, “Don’t badmouth Karen. She just needs a little work.”

“You mean a lot of work. Karen is ancient.”

“She’s been good to me.”

“Should I call Triple A?” She asked, ignoring his dramatics. “The rain will probably let up by the time they get here.”

“I’ve got this.” He sighed, readying himself to leave the car. “Besides, triple A doesn’t know Karen like I do. They won’t be able to give her the love and patience she deserves” He explained, the car’s rickety door sounding as he disappeared into the rain. 

She heard that same distinct sound not ten seconds later, as he reappeared, soaking wet from the rain’s onslaught. His white t-shirt clung to his body, while beads of water raced down his skin. His messy locks, traded their dark brown hue for a jet black one, and his dirty converses shone a little brighter than they did before he left the car. 

“Maybe that wasn’t the best idea.” He admitted, the leather making a squelching noise as he glued himself back to his previous seat. 

“The offer for triple A still stands.”

“No. I’ll let this play out. But maybe I can call you an Uber.”

“There’s no way I’m leaving you out here all alone. We’ll let this play out.”

“But this may take a while.”

“I’m the reason you’re out here in the first place. And I like your company, so i’ll stay.”

Peter knew he couldn’t argue with that one, so he let silence befall the two of them. It stayed like that for a moment. It wasn’t quite awkward, but it was definitely palpable. 

She thought to say something, he did the same, but neither could quite let their words come to life. It was unlike the girl he knew before, who said the first thing that came to mind. Unlike himself, who did the same, but in a less graceful way. 

Finally, after what felt like hours of deafening quiet, Peter begins with, “How long have you and Brad been a thing?” The question fresh on his mind, since her phone rang yet again, with his ugly mug lighting up the screen. It was the fourth time she ignored the notification. 

It was rare for Peter to hate a person. In fact he didn’t hate many at all. But there was something about Brad that always made his stomach clench. Didn’t help that he was sniffing around his girl. 

“Hmm.” She pondered, tapping her chin with her index finger. Acting as if she was carefully thinking about it.“For about for-never and a day” She finally answered.

“Oh I thought, that since—“ Peter stammered, growing embarrassed by his assumption, and the disdain that coated his words.

“Anyone would have, with him blowing my phone up.” She sighed. “But alas, nothing will ever come of us. No matter how much he wants it to. Wish he’d take a hint.”

Back to silence. But this time it didn’t consume Peter. It gave him a bit of hope, enough hope to ask her his next question. 

“Back at the party,” he started before pausing, which prompted her to question, yes, before he could properly collect his nerve to ask her what he wanted. 

“Back at the party, you mentioned you always kept tabs on me. Especially me. What did you mean by that?”

“I may have had a small crush on you.” She answered without missing a beat. This of course took him by surprise, but not for long. 

“Why did you never act on it?”

“Because I quickly realized you weren’t my type.” She said as if it was nothing in the world.

“Ouch. What did I do to make you realize that?” Peter asked. Though his tone was light-hearted, he tried not to let on that he was hurt. 

“Nothing.” She replied. “You were just yourself. Peter Parker, the innocent good boy who would never harm a fly.”

Peter thought to himself for a moment. He thought long and hard before he decided to bring up the word she had uttered more than once tonight. “There goes that word again: innocent. What makes you think I’m innocent?”

“Come on Parker. Ned told me you once donated a one hundred dollar bill you found lying on the sidewalk to the local homeless shelter. And that was after you couldn’t find its original owner. That’s got innocence written all over it.”

“Does that make me innocent or a good person?”

“They’re one and the same.”

“There is a big difference between the two.”

“I disagree. The two are definitely interchangeable. Good people are the ones who haven’t been corrupted yet.”

“So does that mean you aren’t a good person?”

“I think I’m a neutral person. Not exactly good, not exactly bad. Just walking the tightrope. I probably would have taken the money, and felt bad about it later.”

They both chuckled at her statement, letting it end that segment of the conversation. Though Peter was done fighting with her about her type’s moral compass, he wasn’t done with the subject all together.

“So,” He paused, and she braced herself, taking notice of how every time he did that, a question she was reluctant to answer followed. “what exactly is your type?”

An uncomfortable breathy laugh passed through her lips as she answered. “I didn’t exactly know it at the time, but I’m able to put it into words now.” She admitted, taking her time as she explained. 

“I guess ideally you were my type. Nice. Harmless. Smart. But I was also looking for someone who knew how to take control. I’m in control of everything in my life, so it feels good to meet a person who lets me relinquish that. Or in more crude terms, a person who has the ability to fuck my brains out.” She declared as she leered in his direction with a small smirk playing her lips. 

She was only teasing. But she could feel that the air had grown thick on the side of the car that Peter had resided in. For a split second, she could have sworn that she saw something snap in him. But as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, making her feel as though she had imagined the entire thing. 

But she knew that couldn’t have been right. Known for many things, her vivid imagination wasn’t one of them. His breath hitched. His shoulders tensed. She hadn’t imagined that. What he said next, after what felt like an hour of silence told her that she didn’t imagine anything at all. 

“Did teaching me, ever cross your mind?” He asked. His grip on the steering wheel, turning his knuckles white. She saw his Adam’s apple bob after he spoke, and his chestnut eyes focused on the rain that splattered against the windshield. 

“U-um I-,” She stammered, Peter catching her by surprise. She had to really think about his question. “I suppose it never did.”

“You still want me?” He asked her, turning his attention back on her. 

“Huh?”

“Am I still your type? Aside from the fact that I can’t take control?” 

She just swallows, before nodding.

Noting her surprise, but not relenting he says, “Then teach me.”

“What?” She questions, fearing she misheard him. 

“Teach me.” He repeated, only elaborating when she scrutinized his face. “Show me exactly how you want to be touched. Kissed. Fucked.”

The way he said the word, fuck, was so filthy. It almost made her lose the rest of her composure. Not like she had much left. He had already rendered her speechless, now he was ruining her panties.

No. She wouldn’t let it play out like this. She had a reputation to uphold.

She peered over her shoulder, then back to him trying to assess whether or not he was serious. When his face showed no sign of amusement, she swung her door open, to trade her passenger’s seat for the back one. 

The rain’s onslaught was still vicious, so her previously dry form was borderline drenched. July’s summer heat, did no favors in keeping her warm, and she had no idea if she was shivering from the rain or her nerves. “Are you gonna come keep me warm or what?” She challenged, trying to find her confidence again.  

It was only seconds before Peter joined her, but it was no question that his body was shaking with anticipation. He looked at her expectantly, surveying her every move. From the way her eyes flitted to the ground, to the way her hands busied themselves by rubbing at her thighs. She was nervous. 

It must have been a snowy day in hell.

“What should we do first?” She asked. 

“Does the instructor usually ask the pupil what lessons they should start with?”

“Kiss me?” She suggested, half-ignoring his comment. 

“Are you asking me, or telling me?” Peter remarked, amusement glinting in his eyes. 

Annoyance overtaking her tone now, she demands this time, “Kiss me.” 

“Say please.” He teased. 

“Damn it Peter, fucking kiss m—”

And then he glued his lips to hers. They were sweet and gentle, like him, but still managed to convey his longing. He hoped the kiss would capture all the times he imagined doing it when she would flash those pretty brown eyes his way. When she would speak in a way that put an angel’s timbre to shame. Even when she would fucking breathe, he imagined kissing her until his lips fell off. He hoped the kiss would make up for all of the ones he was dying to share with her over the years.

The pads of his fingers roamed over her silky smooth skin, starting at her cheeks, ending at her neckline. He tasted the flavor of her strawberry chapstick, the same one that made her lips feel and look as smooth as butter. When he inhaled and tasted the faint scent of minty watermelon on her breath, he decided he couldn’t get enough. He wanted to kiss her until he committed to memory every bump on her tongue. Then he would be satisfied. 

“Like this?” He whispered, pulling back to inhale the same air as her, almost turning feral at the sight of her swollen lips and blown pupils. “Or,” he started, leaning back in to go again, searching her eyes, “like this?”

Whereas kiss one was innocent and sweet, the way that Peter portrays himself, kiss two was the definition of what he could be…or maybe what he already was, she couldn’t tell. He was filthy with the way his tongue glided against hers. The hot wet muscle played hers like an instrument, before locking the two together. One of his hands planted itself on the nape of her neck, forcing her to feel every measure against her mouth. She couldn’t move if she wanted to, not that she wanted to. Just like him she wanted to relish the taste of him. 

With his nose pressed against her cheek, and hers against his, they kissed like they wanted to touch the other’s souls. They began breathing in the rest of the other’s air, like they wanted to swap lungs. Exploring the other’s bodies, like they would die if they didn’t study the exact texture of the other’s skin. 

It took everything in Peter to restrain himself. To keep his thumbs from traveling beneath her shirt. He nipped at his tongue to keep from nipping at her lips and skin. He tried shifting in his seat to distract himself from the shifting going on in his jeans. 

It certainly didn’t help the growing tent in his pants when the girl planted her thighs on either side of his, rocking and rolling her hips to alleviate some of the tension in her panties. 

She took over the kiss, setting the pace and overcoming the surprise from Peter earlier.

Her fingers, that were previously glued to his face, began fumbling with the hem of his shirt, peeling the wet material off and over his head. She marveled at his sculpted chest for a moment, before Peter followed suit, pulling her dampened top over her arms and flinging it over the seat. 

A throaty groan passed his lips when she resumed her measures against his hips. Grinding herself down on his hardening member. 

Her breathy whimpers intensified when his surprisingly warm hands traveled along her skin, caressing her soft flesh. She was getting more worked up the more Peter mimicked the movement of her hips, grinding upwards while simultaneously pinning her waist down. 

She tugged harshly on the patch of hair that lived on the back of his neck, eliciting one of the sexiest groans she had ever heard. His heavily lidded eyes that held the same fire as hers, both scared and excited her. 

As she leaned in closely, preparing her words carefully she ordered him to, “Kiss me here,” before planting her lips on his neck. Flattening her tongue to lick a stripe up the exposed skin, she began swirling the appendage before nipping, licking, and sucking until his skin had a reddish purple hue. 

She got lost in the feel of him, succumbing to the sound of his hisses and moans only to yelp a moment later, when Peter mimicked her earlier actions.

With a fistful of her hair, and her exposed neck jutting out towards his lips he licked a stripe against the skin, just as she did earlier, only his measures were steady and calculated, taking note of every flinch and hitch of her breath. He found her sweet spot in seconds, focusing all of his attention there. 

With her nails digging into his flesh, and her hips stuttering, Peter knew he had her where he wanted her. “Like that?” He rasped, pulling away to admire the strings of purple and blue that littered her skin. 

“Fuck yea Parker; you learn fast.” She gasped, attempting at a laugh, as she peeled her chest off of him.  She took a hand of his into hers, grasping two of his fingers as she bought them to her lips. 

Hollowing her cheeks as she sensually sucked and lubricated his digits, she bought his other hand down to her shorts, beckoning him to unbutton them. “Touch me here.” She murmured, eyes taking in the wide curious ones staring back at her. 

With the newly slick fingers, Peter did as she told him, dipping his fingers beneath the waistband of her panties and finding her nub instantaneously. “Right here?” He enquired, when her breathing turned shaky. 

“Mmm, god yes!” She praised, as he worked his fingers over her. 

Setting a consistent pace, Peter lightly grazed her clit, every time he ran his fingers up and down her folds. “Am I doing this right?” He questioned, flicking and teasing her core. 

“Mhm” She mewled, “fuck y-your fingers feel so good” Her speech was now becoming slightly incoherent.

“Yeah?” He groaned, “What about my mouth?” He asked, just before unclasping her bra a little too effortlessly with one hand. Latching his lips against her perky chest, he massaged the other mound with his free hand.  

Words were lost on her, as she became a wanton mess. She couldn’t fathom how he could be so skillful with both hands. How a person could multitask the way that he did was indescribable. His hand on her clit didn’t let up, but neither did the one that tweaked and pulled on her nipple. Not to mention the hot tongue that darted and sucked meticulously at her other. She couldn’t stifle her cries if she tried. 

Riding his fingers, she pressed his head further into her chest,  becoming greedy with his touch, as she sprinted towards her orgasm. She thought that this feeling couldn’t get any better. 

Of course, Peter was full of nothing but surprises tonight, and needed to prove her wrong. He let two of his fingers slip inside of her, while a thumb replaced the ones that were glued to her clit. Rubbing circles against her sex, he pumped the two fingers furiously in and out of her hole. 

“Does that feel good, baby?”

But the girl didn’t answer, Her mouth hung open as if she wanted to, but the words were jumbled somewhere in her throat. Her face twisted into pleasure, and she couldn’t do anything but succumb to his measures against her body.

It wasn’t long before she felt her stomach spasming, the heat pooling to her core, her already sensitive flower growing even more sensitive, as she came into his palm. 

Her juices coated his digits, her walls fluttered around them, and her skin was now hot to the touch, as Peter forced her climax out of her. 

Tears flooded her eyes, as she took in as much air as she could. When had she stopped breathing? Maybe sometime during the earth-shattering orgasm her old classmate was giving her. 

Once the ringing in her ears subsided, and her lower region began to cool again, she thanked the boy and praised him as she said, “You did so well,” before planting hot wet kisses on his shoulder and neck.

She stopped when she felt his body shaking. Coming back up to eye him, she asked what he found so funny. 

Peter tried to hide the smirk that plastered his lips but he couldn’t hold his act any longer. “You just don’t get it do you?” He asks as he casually licks and sucks at his fingers, just as she did earlier, relishing in the taste of her essence. 

The confusion on her face and brain was evident. “Get wha—” He had her pinned on her back, before she could utter the last syllable.

The tight space was cramped, but the boy had more than enough room to stalk his prey. He hovered above her, ridding her of the rest of her clothes in one fell swoop, before delivering his monologue. 

“I don’t know what it is about girls like you, but I swear you drive me crazy.” He admitted, before removing his jeans in a quick motion. “You always assume that just because I’m a nice guy, I won’t be able to fuck your brains out.” He informed, before revealing a hidden condom and rolling it on before lining himself up at her entrance. “But I hope that if tonight proves anything to you,” He starts, eyes finally darting up to land on her horror-filled ones, “it will be that your mindset can land you in a whole heap of trouble.”

And with that, he grasps the door above her head, before sinking himself into her.

Groaning at the feel of her, Peter’s facade dropped completely. Her tight little cunt feels even better than he imagined, and he hopes that he feels better than she ever imagined. 

He starts slow, with the intent of her feeling every ridge of his cock, as it threatens to invade her stomach. Her soft tits bouncing with every thrust, send a jolt through his body every time her nipples graze his chest. The way his name falls off her sweet tongue, has him in shambles, as he picks up his pace, throwing slow and steady out of the window. 

Her cries are loud in his ear, as he ruts against her sex. He’s so thick, its hard for her to think straight. He can feel the indents of her nails as they dig into his lower back; she tries to press his ass closer to her, never wanting him to leave.

Maybe if it were any other guy fucking her, she would have felt the seat buckle digging into her back. Maybe she would have felt her sticky sweaty skin on the leather of his back seat. Maybe the awkward position her head was in would have spoiled her experience. But with Peter, she could only focus on the pleasure. 

His thrusts were relentless now. His hot breath was fanning the side of her cheeks. His previously damp hair, stuck to her neck, as he drove himself further into her skin. Nothing could distract him away from her in this moment.

Nothing but the faint glow of her phone, that is. It’s buzzing, and vibrations immediately catching his eye, as he held his head up. That same dangerous smirk that she saw earlier returning. 

“Look who’s calling, baby.” He purred, overcoming the stutter of his hips. When he held her phone up for her to see, her heart sank at the mischief behind his words. Brad. “Should we answer it?”

“No, Pete!” She cried. 

“Oh come on, that would be rude wouldn’t it?” He dared, before delivering a particularly hard thrust, that sent her mind into a haze. “We can stop so you can take this—”

“No! D-don’t stop” She begged, prying the phone from his fingers, and fumbling with the answer button. 

“Babe? Hello?” Brad’s irritating voice answered flooding, her phone’s speaker. But the girl didn’t answer immediately, because she was too busy trying to stifle her whimpers. 

“Hey Brad!” She finally choked out, sounding somewhat normal. How she managed to do it, she couldn’t say. 

“Wow! Finally. This is like my eighth time trying you. I almost can’t believe you answered. What are you up to?”

“Should you tell him what you’re up to, babe?” Peter devilishly whispered against her skin.

“Nothing!” She whined into the phone. 

“Whoa. Are you okay? You sound a little off?”

“You should tell him you sound like this because I’m making you feel so good.” Peter suggested, driving her body up and down the seats. “I bet he’d wish he were me right now.”

“I-I’m just a feeling a l-li-little sick is all.” She breathlessly stuttered.

“Should I come over?”

“Ah yes Peter!” She wailed, when the boy starts circling his fingers against her clit, while simultaneously grinding slowly but roughly into her. She’s no longer paying attention to the man on the other end. His curses don’t faze her, nor does Peter’s actions as he releases the phone from her grip. 

“Hey Brad. Remember me.” He casually asks, ignoring Brad’s threats. “Yeah no man, don’t worry about her: I’ll make sure she’s real good and taken care of.” He promises, before ending the call, and tossing the device into the passenger’s seat. “Think he finally got the hint?”

Peter then takes the girl’s hips into his hands, lifting her inches off the seat, before pulling her body onto his dick at an ungodly speed.

Crying. She’s literally crying, with tears streaming down her face. Her voice is becoming hoarse with moans. She had never experienced such intense sex in her life. 

Peter brings the hand that was previously plastered on the glass down to the girl’s face. “would this be the definition of fucking your brains out, baby?” He grunts, in reference to the girl’s constant repetition of his name. It’s the only word she can remember, as he fucks her into the chair. 

His movements shook the car. The heat that their bodies radiated, fogging up the glass. The scent of their sex now embedded in the fabric of his seats. The boy was completely untamed. 

Her screams were one among the things that set him off. The way her body writhed against his was another. The stutter in her speech another. But the unbridled lust that her eyes held, was the literal icing on the cake. 

Thank fuck she came before him. Her tight little hole constricting and clenching his dick. And when he started slipping in and out, her eyes glued shut, and her chest started to rise and fall, he knew that she had came. 

A sweaty fucked out mess before him, she needed Peter to finish her off before she was satisfied. “Drown me in your cum” She begged, and it was like he knew exactly what she wanted. 

Unsheathing himself from her, he ridded himself of the condom, and started tugging violently at his cock. Fucking his hand, not unlike the way he fucked her earlier, he spurted his milky white seed all over her supple brown canvas, a husky groan roaring from his chest as he threw his head back in pleasure. His seed extinguished the heat that resided in her skin, and she closed her eyes shut, letting her head fall back down on the seat. 

The image of his white paint, all over her stomach, chest, and tits, bleeding into his memory, as he came back down from his high. 

Once back down to earth, reality began to sink back in. Immediately recomposing himself, Peter blurted, “Fuck are you okay? Was I too rough?”

His sudden outburst almost made her jump out of her skin, but she quickly recovered. “Oh god no Parker! I loved every minute of that.” She lazily smiled reassuringly.  “Do you always fuck like that?”

Peter returned the smirk, blushing before saying, “I’ve always wanted to fuck you like that.” 

After planting a final kiss on her lips, he reached into the center console, to scavenge a few wet wipes, cleaning her skin before discarding them. 

Moments later, they reunited with their lost articles of clothes, pulling the fabrics over their limbs before crawling back into the front seat.

When Peter put his seatbelt back on, and cranked the car up with no effort, he felt the heat of the girl’s eyes on his skin. 

“What?” He asked, dumbfounded by her glare. 

“Was there ever anything wrong with the car?”

And then as if just realizing Peter mouthes oh, before telling her simply “No.” Adding on that he just wanted an excuse to spend more time with her. 

“Well how the fuck did you know I wasn’t gonna just take your offer for an Uber?”  She asked, more impressed than pissed.

“Because you’re a neutral person, and a neutral person would feel too bad about doing that.”

“There’s a lot of things I still have to learn about you Parker.” She admits, sinking down into her seat. Heat rising to her cheeks, as a new crush began to develop. 

“Don’t worry. I’m willing to teach you.” 

 A/N: So like...don’t be afraid to tell me what you think. I swear I dont bite...unless you're into that. also this was edited it, but probably not well, so tell me if you see an error. 

[beyondspaceandstars]

While You Sleep

Chapter 3

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: angst, mention of violence, slow burn Summary: Soulmate!AU - Throughout life, you’re given glimpses of your soulmate through dreams. As you sleep, memories flash in your mind showing you the life your soulmate has lived. Everyone around you raves about how their soulmate reads great books or volunteers in their spare time. But you can’t relate as your dreams end up being more like nightmares. Through initial images of death and violence, you come to learn your soulmate is the Winter Soldier.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Okay -- that little pep talk you had given yourself was slowly dying as you walked into work the next day. Suddenly, nervousness was replacing it all, washing over you quickly.

You didn’t exactly know what to say. The extent of conversation you’d ever had with Steve was reserved to you saying “here’s your order” and he’d promptly respond with that shining smile and the most meaningful thank you. 

Bringing up the fact his ex-assassin best friend was your long-lost was just not any kind of coffee shop chatter. 

You were trying to ponder it during the morning rush. Mindlessly making lattes and frappes, you worked on some kind of script that could be thrown together. But your thoughts were interrupted by the bell over the door ringing. This wasn’t unusual giving it being early morning but for some reason, your eyes shot up — landing right on the man you were anticipating. 

As always, he looked so casual yet so large waiting in the back of the line. Eyes wandered over him shamelessly but Steve genuinely didn’t seem to notice. He kept his forward, browsing the menu as if he ever got anything but a large black coffee. You just knew it because, well, it was the easiest order you ever served up. Like the world giving you a break. 

Knowing his order brought some advantages for you. Since he was one of the few people actually ordering straight-up coffee in the morning -- the shop was quite frequented by college students and young entrepreneurs -- you simply didn’t start the coffee pot that morning. Your plan was to start it right after he ordered giving him a wait time of about thirty minutes. Possibly annoying for him, a great chance for you. He’d be forced to wait at the bar and you could chat. Chat about what, though, you still didn’t know. You couldn’t exactly dive in. 

But you weren’t given much more time to plan. Steve was at the cashier before you knew it. You waited, watched as he paid, and then clicked the coffee pot on.

You walked over to the pick-up area. “Sorry,” you said. Steve turned to you. “It’s going to be a few minutes. I had to put on a new pot of coffee but you’re welcome to wait at the bar area.”

Steve gave you a small smile. “That’s fine,” he said and made his way to a stool. Your plan was rolling out perfectly. Now if you could only figure where to take it from here.

You leaned against the counter, watching the pot brew and waiting for another order to come through. Secretly you had hoped some big, ridiculous latte request would come in but so far the customers and seemed to die down. You couldn’t do much but stand across from Steve who was looking around at the decor. 

The machine was about half full when you finally decided to open your mouth to at least say something -- but Steve beat you to it.

“Is everything okay?” He asked. Your eyes widened. 

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry,” Steve coughed and readjusted his posture. “I just meant, you look like something is bothering you. Are you okay?”

You couldn’t do this today, you realized. Your brain suddenly went on a mission finding some lie to pop out. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you dismissed his comment with a wave of your hand. “I- I Just… Didn’t sleep well last night.”

Alright. Your lie suddenly was dripping with subconscious truth. You cringed at your own words, rubbing your forehead with two fingers. This was the dumbest idea you had ever had and now you were forced to see it out as the coffee pot suddenly felt like it was brewing at half-speed.

“Oh,” Steve frowned but leaned forward, a bit intrigued. “Unpleasant dreams?”

You sighed, “You could say that.”

“Were they from…” His words trailed off unusually. The discussion of soulmates was somewhat of an accepted one. Usually, just in hopes that one could lead them to their significant other.

Steve, however, seemed leery about the subject. You were certainly in the same boat. That let you relax just ever so slightly. 

“My soulmate?” You blurted out the question. Steve nodded, slowly. “Yeah, they were. He… he hasn’t seen very nice things in his lifetime.”

It felt so weird talking about Steve’s best friend while Steve most likely knew nothing about who you were referring to. It was like a giant weight in the conversation for you. You wanted to blurt it out, wanted to maybe meet your other half and just see what everything was about, see who he  really  is but it felt so heavy on your chest. It just wasn't right yet. You'd get a sign, you knew. Then you'd proceed but not here, not today.

Steve sighed, his gaze dropping to his hands that were resting on the counter. “No, I don’t think he has.”

Your stomach dropped. Did -- Was he -- Did he know who you were talking about? Steve no longer would meet your gaze but your eyes grew wide again in possible realization -- or... maybe you were just being absolutely paranoid. Perhaps he didn’t even say that and you misheard him -- 

DING. The coffee machine rang making you jump in surprise. You forgot for a second where the hell you two even were. Steve’s eyes fell on you again but you quickly turned to the coffee, refusing to let him see your blushing, flustered state. 

He knew. He had to know. Or at least he guessed. But how could he know? Steve wasn’t in yesterday, he wouldn’t have witnessed your panic. Did your co-worker tell him? When the hell would she have done that? Maybe… Maybe Bucky knew… What did he know then of you? And if he did, why wasn’t he here? Steve knew you so what the fuck was happening… 

Your mind was a maze. A painful, winding maze. You could feel yourself trying to make it through the thoughts and theories but nothing was working. You forced yourself to push it all down, just for the rest of your shift. 

Continuing, you quickly filled Steve’s to-go cup and placed it on the counter. He didn’t take it right away, opting to stare at the cup for a second. You pretended not to notice and instead began grinding espresso beans for a latte order that came in. 

“It’ll get better,” Steve said, making your motions still completely. Such a simple thing that could mean so much. Was he offering comfort? A taunt? Your brain was back at it again. 

You forced yourself to look up, wanting so badly to say just one more thing, maybe even plead and confess it all, but he was already gone. You felt like crying as you went back to brewing the beans. That unmistakable, inescapable tinge of heartache filled your chest.

***

It’ll get better. Steve’s words rang in your head tauntingly as you laid in bed that night. Staring at the ceiling, you had been trying to fall asleep for over an hour now hoping this “better” Steve spoke of was right around the corner. 

So far, though, no luck. Tonight’s flicks were of an older kind, thankfully still not as powerful as the more modern ones, but the images didn’t get any better. They were quick looks, sure, but violence and bodies, a horrendous combination produced horrendous results. The feelings behind it went straight to your soul. 

You gave up even trying to decide what the hell this memory could’ve been from. You didn’t want to register the potential victim’s faces. You didn’t care about the scenery and whatnot. 

The better had not come yet — whatever the hell  that  actually was which Steve had promised. 

He knew something. Something very deep and useful for this situation. It was laced in his words and written on his concerned face. 

Or maybe you were going crazy. The more you thought about it, the less it all made sense. 

There was just that hope you were able to go off of now. That hope of “better.” That hope of fate. 

Hope was your only weapon against the heart-wrenching memories flooding their way into your brain as your eyes were forced to give in, too heavy and defeated from today. 

It was maybe all you had at this point and the whiplash of life was certainly throwing you a new one.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

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[jincherie]

say so | knj & ksj [m]

! —  COMMISSION  — !

❥ — pairing: namjoon x reader x seokjin ❥ — genre: poly, 1950s au/rockabilly au, smut, childhood f2l, angst, fluff, musician!namjin, burlesque!mc ❥ — words: 24.5k+ ❥ — rating: 18+ ❥ — warnings: light angst, pining, smut !!!; oral (all kinds), anal, fingering, squirting, multiple orgasms, edging, light switch!joon, light switch!oc, harder dom!jin, double pentration, cockwarming, reverse cowgirl etc.... if I forgot sometihng I will add it later but for now this is it fellas. ❥ — notes: oh my god I am FINALLY ejecting this fic from my brain !!! part of the reason this took so long was, of course, the current circamstances across the world mixed in with a few personal factors, but also because I haven’t written a ‘historical’ fic before and I wanted to make sure I got it right ! of course, that somehow ended with me going way over word count so i am so sorry for that, but i truly hope you like it! I haven’t gone over it yet but i will do that later, i just wanted to post and get this fic out of my asshole

Returning to your hometown for a week is something you’ve managed to avoid for three years, but when you can finally put it off no longer you find upon arrival the very thing you were scared of encountering. When the two famous childhood friends you haven’t spoken to in years have returned at the same time as you, you can’t quite tell whether you’re going to be able to make it out in one piece or emerge with a heart more wounded than before.

Especially since it turns out the feelings you thought you were over never quite went away.

— masterlist |  posted; 17.08.2020

You didn’t really expect to find yourself back here so soon, but here you are— everything in your room is in exactly the same state as it was three years ago.

The covers on your bed, the magazine cuttings, faded posters and hand-painted canvases that mark the phases of your youth hung on your wall—even the light-toned floral wallpaper and the little knickknacks atop your dresser are the same. It makes something like nostalgia rise within you, a reminiscent haze filtering through your thoughts. It has been too long since you’ve been back here, and the guilt that always lingers in the back of your mind now pushes its way to the forefront. You feel bad, not having been back to your childhood home in so long, despite the reasons you had for moving away.

You haven’t been here all that long, but as soon as you finished talking with your parents downstairs your feet had carried you here, more out of habit that anything. Absentmindedly, you brush your hand over the oak of your dresser, curious when your fingertip comes back without a single speck of dust. Your mother must have come through often to clean. The realisation both warms your heart and compounds the guilt you feel, making you frown.  In an effort to distract yourself, you turn your gaze back to the rest of your old room, catching sight of a few photographs plastered above your study desk. You know what they contain, and still you can’t seem to help yourself as you draw closer and peer at them anew. They’re just as familiar to your eyes as you expected.

Of course, in this house you’d be lucky to find a photograph of you that didn’t also have these two in it. 

Your eyes skip over the older ones with yellowing glaze and curled corners to focus on the most recent-looking image, drinking in the two boys you’d spent the entirety of your childhood and teen years with. Easily your best friends, until… well, until three  years ago. A fond smile fights its way to your lips; you remember when this was taken. Your mother had lined the three of you up for a photo in the yard but at the very last second they’d pushed you into the pool. Both boys stand tall in the image, but you’d recognise the taller one with the goofy grin anywhere, even if his face wasn’t already plastered across newspapers and featuring on the television every other evening. Namjoon is just as boyish in the image as you recall, and next to him where they stand laughing over the pool is Seokjin, appearance every bit as neat and clean as you’ve glimpsed in recent years when he has featured in a magazine or program that is particularly popular with the youth. It was always a bit weird to you, a little hard to process, that the two boys you’ve known since the three of you were in diapers are now pretty much, well… celebrities. Something bubbles in your chest, the pressure of a sigh but the weight of something you’re not quite ready to name yet. Distantly, in the back of your mind, a tiny part of you whispers that it tastes a little like regret, and sounds a little like yearning.

Growing up, the two of them had discovered an affinity for music, and you for the arts. You suppose that small difference is what eventually led to the distance that grew between you, before you left— if not for the fact that they found the limelight so naturally and built popularity quicker than anticipated after their individual musical debuts. It really didn’t take them all that long to begin steadily growing their fanbase within the youth of your town, their songs played more and more often on local stations. Before long people even a few cities over caught wind of them, but you didn’t get to see it. By the point they had spread their wings that far, you were already gone.

You wrinkle your nose, not liking this sudden trip down a particular lane in your memory that you’ve been avidly avoiding the past three years. Taking a step back from the desk that the photographs hang above, you desperately search for something else to capture your attention. Fortunately for you, a voice sounds behind you before you can flounder too long.

“Wow, I can’t believe you actually came. How long has it been, forty years?”

You jump slightly, the familiarity of the voice and sheer amount of attitude in the words allowing you to recognise it instantly. You spin, eyes quickly locking onto the familiar head of straight blonde hair and cherubic features that belong to your sister. You’ve kept in touch with her via letter and the occasional call, but other than that this is the first time you’ve seen her in years. She’s a little bit taller than you remember, and she’s filled out a little more now that she’s no longer a gangly teen. You are surprised though to note the absence of the usual distressed denim that she favoured throughout the years. Instead she’s in a neat pair of capris that rise to the dip of her waist, where she has tucked in a bright red blouse beneath a belt. Out of habit, you look down to her feet and catch a glimpse of red canvas shoes that instantly make you want to laugh; your mother never could get her into a pair of heels, even if she managed to get her out of the dungarees that she used to love so much.  Lisa smiles cheekily beneath your scrutiny, opening her arms wide. With a laugh, you throw your own around her, pulling her into a tight hug. 

“You’re so dramatic,” you retort, rolling your eyes even though she can’t see it. “Of course I would come to celebrate my own sister’s engagement. I had to see it with my own eyes to believe it.”

“Why does everyone say the same thing when I talk about it?” Lisa groans, pulling back with a familiar pout that seems to have survived her transition into young adulthood. She slips her arm through your own,  giving your bicep a smack as she leads you from the room. “It’s not that hard to believe that I’m getting married! Also— what on earth have you been up to all these years? Have you been attending classes? You’re in such good shape, oh my goodness—”

Unwittingly, your cheeks flush; you probably shouldn’t tell her the real reason for your current physique lest she blab with champagne-loosened lips about it to the rest of your family at her party. Sober Lisa is the only one that knows how to keep a secret, as you’ve found out through a number of shamefully scrawled confessions in the letters she would send you. A number of things you’d confided in her over the years have since been aired like dirty laundry to some of her friends, much to your mutual regret.

“Uh, yeah. Something like that,” you say dismissively, quickly returning to the previous topic as the two of you descend the stairs. “And it’s probably because of all those things you said when you were younger, like how you’d rather live in a mud hut on a deserted island than ever marry a smelly boy riddled with cooties—”

“Ah, yes,” Lisa sighs, the sound more fond and less ashamed than you were expecting. “Those were the days— I was such a badass little ankle-biter. What has become of me? I must be the one riddled with cooties at this point.”

“Probably,” you muse, catching sight of your mother behind the kitchen counter and shooting her a smile as you move past. Lisa is lucky she hadn’t spoken too loudly or else she’d be getting a light smack for her language. It never seemed to stop her when she was younger though, so you doubt it would have an effect now either.

“A skirt at the knee, y/n?” Your mother lets out a dramatic, scandalous gasp upon seeing you. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“These are the clothes that you greeted me in?” You give her a pained look; apparently you need readjusting to her oddball sense of humour. She’s always been a little out of place in the straight-laced, conservative society that marks this day and age; your father too, except he was just a bit more sneaky about it. Actually, now that you think about it, Namjoon and Seokjin’s parents were always a little more on the liberal side too… What an odd coincidence that the three families ended up in a row at the end of the same cul-de-sac.

You’re not deigned with a response, your mother smacking her hands onto the apron she has tied over her baby blue skirt and turning to the oven. You think you hear her muttering about ‘time’ and ‘darn apple pies always taking too long to cook’ and can’t help the way your mouth waters in response. Gods, is it bad if one of the things you missed the most while away is the apple pies your mother makes?

You turn to Lisa, about to ask her whether the apple pie is something you’re going to be able to steal a piece of, only to find that she’s disappeared into thin air. Fantastic. You’re not staying here while you’re back in town, so you’re unsure whether you’re going to be able to cash in on dinner or whether your mother will hold it over your head a little first. You wander over to the  edge of the kitchen, sticking your head into the living room to peer around; you’re curious as to just how much has changed in the time that you’ve been gone. Not as much as you might have hoped, to your chagrin.

“You still have that ugly old thing,” you observe, unable to help the way that your nose wrinkles in response to the sight of the monstrosity still wearing holes into the carpet of the living room.

“My love,” you mother says, giving you an (affectionate) sharp smack on the shoulder as she slips past you, shooting you a bright grin when the thickness of her skirt knocks you slightly. Apparently she’s finished in the kitchen for now; you glance back to see a bowl of nuts joining the bowl of fruit that had been on the counter earlier. “I’d sooner perish than give up your grandmother’s armchair. Besides…. I do so adore how it never fails to draw your ire.”

“I do hate that thing,” your father utters suddenly from the kitchen behind you, his hand reaching for the bowl of fruit; he has his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, so you figure he must have retired to his study to read after greeting you earlier. He moves just as fast as you remember— your mother didn’t even have a chance to stop him before he was gone as quick as he came, hands full of whatever fruit he couldn’t fit in his mouth. 

“You—!” 

The sound of your father’s laughter tumbles off the walls, and you can’t help the smile that tugs your lips. You did miss this; the liveliness, the feeling of home. 

“y/n, dear, darling, light of my life…”

You turn to your mother, already knowing what is coming next from her tone. One thing you definitely didn’t miss—

“I forgot when I went past earlier, but could you go and fetch some cream from Barb’s? You know, that little store on the corner, down the road from the diner you always used to—”

You’re already turning towards the front of the house, heading for where you’d left your purse with a fond roll of your eyes. “I know where Barb’s is, Ma! I only went away to study, I didn’t lose my memories!”

Your mother’s cheeky laugh is what bids you farewell as you duck out the door and start on your way.

X – x – x

You’d forgotten just how tempting the treats in Barb’s are.

When you exit the small corner store around an hour or so later (it was hardly any distance to walk, but of course Mrs. Park was keen to hold you hostage long enough to squeeze every single detail out of you she could about your time away) it’s with an overflowing paper bag in your arms that holds more than just the cream your mother sent your for. One look at the apple Danish pastries and cinnamon-sprinkled goodies behind the glass of her counter and you’d been unable to help yourself. Your mother did always say that your sweet tooth would be your undoing. 

Walking through the streets that you grew up becoming so familiar with breeds a certain kind of yearning that swells in your chest and borders on painful. This, you suspect, is because most— if not all— of your memories of this place are intrinsically linked with those of the two men who used to take up such a big part of your life; and that therefore then left such a big hole when they were gone. 

It’s hard not to fall into them, the memories. The candy store where the three of you would scrounge up as many coins as you could and pile them all together to get the best sweets on the shelves; the library where you spent as much time goofing off and getting scolded as you did studying in your senior years; even the drive-in cinema, where you used to take your parents cars for the evening and sit on the hood while poking fun at the latest flick to grace the screen. Being back here is making you face something that you have somehow skilfully managed to avoid up until now—

You miss them, Seokjin and Namjoon. You miss your best friends.

This is something that is hammered home further when you reach the point in your journey home where you pass the place featured most in your memories. Dana’s Dinery, probably the only thing more constant in your life than those two boys and your own family. The pink and red hues of its name and the exposed bulbs decorating the signage are something you remember clear as day, and just the sight of it alone has your mouth watering for the burgers and other fried goods they loved to serve there. The kind of food you know is terrible for you, but that you also just can’t get enough of nonetheless. You’ve spent so many nights there that at some point every single member of staff there knew you by name. Of course, since the three of you were barely seen apart at that time, they knew Seokjin and Namjoon, too. 

You’re tempted to duck in and say hello, and before you can even give it much thought your feet are already angling you in that direction, short heels scuffing against the pavement. Through the window you can see the familiar shiny red booth seats and the similarly upholstered stools that line the counter; behind it is a woman with wild, dark curls thrown back in a bun, a pencil behind her ear. Ah, so Mrs. Cara still works there. A petal of affection unfurls in your chest at the sight of her, but drops to the ground in the next second as your gaze slides to the side and halts on two figures currently seated at the counter.

No way. No way.

You freeze, eyes wide as you stand rooted to the spot for just a moment. You know that logically, they can’t be here, but the profiles you can just barely glimpse from this distance are so eerily familiar to that of Namjoon and Seokjin that you think your heart skips perhaps one too many beats. For some reason, your stomach roils with the urge to flee; you just got around to admitting that you miss them, and yet the second you think you might be seeing them, you want to run away? Honestly, it doesn’t make sense—wouldn’t make sense to anyone else privy to the thoughts currently whipping through your mind. 

But you’re a master at stewing in your own thoughts and feelings, familiar with dissecting them until you understand them to the best of your ability at the time. So you know why you promptly turn on your heel and begin hastily back on your way home, abandoning any plans to go inside the diner. You know why, but you’re not quite ready to dwell on it yet, so you push it to the backburner and do your very best not to think about it the whole walk back.

X – x – x

You’re ashamed.

A huff escapes you, your eyes boring into the ceiling, unfocused. After delivering the cream to your mother (and promptly having the extra sweets confiscated until after dinner, lest you snack away your appetite—you guess that answers your question about whether you’re staying for supper) you decided to retire up here for now. You’d thought that your room might feel a little alien to you after all this time away, but when you’d dragged yourself in and shucked your shoes off at the door, it had welcomed you back with an air of nostalgia and open arms. You’re sprawled across your bed now, arms behind your head as you stare at the ceiling. When you were younger, maybe fourteen, you had decorated it with little stars and planets that you’d painted. Well, it wasn’t just you—some of the more crudely decorated renditions towards the wall are courtesy of Seokjin and Namjoon. You wouldn’t say they’re bad at art, just that they have… well, a distinct style that is very them.

Wait, you’re getting distracted—back to the matter at hand: you’re ashamed. 

At this point in your life, if someone had asked you why that particular emotion might be plaguing you right now, then in all honesty you would have a vast array of reasons to give them. But the answer as to why you’re ashamed right now, lies in the two people you could have sworn you glimpsed earlier. 

Now that there is a little temporal distance between you and that particular moment, you can use logic to assure yourself that there’s no way you actually just saw Namjoon and Seokjin at the diner that you all used to haunt in your youth. But in the moment, when you thought you’d seen them, you fell into a bit of a panic. This, you have determined, is because you are ashamed. It’s a little harder to determine why you’re ashamed in relation to them, but what you’ve managed to discern so far is that you feel to blame for the way things went, at least partially. Or, perhaps its that you fear they blame you for the way things went. In reality, from what you remember, they first began to grow apart from each other, and then they began to grow apart from you. That, of course, isn’t something you can blame yourself for. But, what you can blame yourself for – and here is what you think may be the root of your shame – is that you were the one to up and leave suddenly. You were the one to disappear without even a goodbye, almost. You could have kept in touch if you tried, but you’d basically disappeared off the face of the earth.

You wonder if they blame you, or if they might even resent you because of that.

Well, if they even remember you, that is. They’re pretty much in the big leagues now, you remind yourself. They’re making it mainstream and they’re hot on the heels of the most renowned names in the business. 

You’re not very good at comforting yourself. Not that you really attempted it this time, but usually whenever you do you just end up stewing in your thoughts a little. You don’t even realise you’re glaring at the ceiling in the midst of sorting through your mental mess until a knock at the door jerks you out of it. You turn towards it just as it opens and a head pops inside, a gleam you instantly decide you don’t like shining in Lisa’s eyes.

“Come downstairs,” she says cryptically, beginning to ease back out. She only chimes once more when she’s out of view. “If you don’t, I’ll eat all those pastries you brought back! Keep that in mind!”

What on earth… you’re left absolutely confused for a moment, before her last words sink in and you throw yourself from your bed with haste, not even bothering to put your shoes back on before you dart out of the room. The trip downstairs is treacherous in stockings, but you don’t have time to lose. You’re sister isn’t one to bluff, and you don’t want her anywhere near those pastries!

“Don’t you touch those!” you call in warning as you slide across the hardwood floor in the hall and fly down the stairs. “Lisa, I mean it! If you lay a single finger on those pastries you’ll lose it!”

There’s laughter in the direction of the kitchen, and you’re angled to follow the sound when your eyes catch sight of movement to the side and you freeze on the spot. 

“y/n!” your mother cries, clearly ecstatic that you’ve come down to join her. She’s standing in the hall that leads the front door, talking to some people you can’t yet see. “Look who’s here! My, I haven’t seen these two in almost as long as I hadn’t seen you!”

Something like dread, mixed with an odd spike of anticipation, begins to trickle into your abdomen. All too suddenly you remember exactly who you thought you saw earlier, and realise she can only be talking about two people in particular. 

Nervously, you smooth down your skirt and blouse, shooting your mother a look that you hope isn’t too panicked. She is, of course, oblivious, and simply grabs you by the arm to drag you around the corner. 

“I haven’t seen the three of you together in so long! I missed your handsome faces around here, too. Perhaps the height as well— now there’s no one in the house that can reach the top shelf in the pantry.”

Your mother is babbling, but you can’t bring yourself to mind when it saves you from having to speak yourself. As you’d feared, there are two very familiar people standing before you, hovering on your doorstep with almost nervous energy.

“It has been a while,” a soft tone with the luxurious depth of velvet— Seokjin smiles so charmingly at your mother that you think your heart really might have stopped for a second. When his dark eyes turn to you, there is something swirling in their depths that is in such contrast to the winning smile on his lips that you almost feel your knees shake. “y/n, it’s a lovely surprise to catch you here— we didn’t know you were in town as well.”

“Oh, and what brings you two boys back here?” Your mother asks, all too excited to hear exactly what has been going on in their lives since she saw them last. Thankfully, she saves you from having to answer straight away. “Are you back for long?”

“Just a week,” Namjoon answers, bashful smile juxtaposing the beaten leather of the jacket over his shoulders and the low, rough melody of his voice. Oh dear— “We’re actually here celebrating something with a close friend of ours; we were invited to a… party of sorts, you could say.”

You think you might be safe, that he might not say anything to you just yet, when he turns to you and his eyes flick along your form. He smiles again, this time with his dimples making an appearance. 

“It really has been too long, y/n. I’m glad we managed to run into you.”

You know it’s not a dig at you, but you feel your cheeks flush with shame nonetheless.

“Don’t tell me the three of you haven’t seen each other since she left,” your mother gasps, sending you a look that tells you she is going to be wringing information out of you later.

There’s a slight lull in the conversation that tells you it’s your time to chime in. Before you can, though, Seokjin speaks— still with a smile, despite the slight bite of his words. 

“Ah, yeah,” he says, shaking his head. He leans back slightly, switching his weight to the other leg and crossing his arms over his chest— you try not to look at the way it makes his chest and shoulders strain against the material of his button-up. “We wanted to write, or call, but we didn’t know where she was staying to send it. Made it a little hard to keep in touch.”

Your heart squeezes; that was a dig, that was definitely a dig. And you deserved it, but damn you didn’t realise it would hurt that much. And he hadn’t even said anything direct!

“Oh, well this is perfect then!” Your mother smacks you on the back, a little rougher than necessary, making you cough. “y/n is here for the week, why don’t you all catch up? Lisa’s engagement party is on Saturday so any day other than that should be fine— oh, you two should come, by the way! And invite your mothers too; it’s been too long since we’ve all sat down for tea.”

“That would be wonderful,” Namjoon agrees amicably, nodding his head to your mother. “I’m sure they’d love to take you up on that invite— I did get an earful about how lonely she was when I got home earlier.”

You have to fight a smile at that— Namjoon’s mother does have a penchant for the dramatics. You turn your gaze to the side to find Seokjin’s own already boring holes into you— it takes all your willpower not to jump. When he sees he has your attention, he smiles once more.

“We’d love to catch up,” he says, eyes still holding you captive. “How about dinner tomorrow, at Dana’s? I miss the burgers there.”

You catch Namjoon nodding from the corner of your eye, agreeing with the idea, and swallow your nerves down to flash a smile back. “Of course, that sounds fantastic.”

The two men nod, satisfied for now, and Namjoon pipes up once more as they take a step back.

“Well, we should probably get back— if we’re late for supper today we mightn’t be alive for dinner tomorrow,” he jokes, earning a laugh from your mother. His eyes flick to you, unreadable but holding such heat you almost gasp, “We’ll meet you there at seven tomorrow, y/n. I’m lookin’ forward to it.”

“See you, boys!” Your mother waves farewell, jabbing you with her elbow until you join her. “Hurry home!”

They nod with a laugh, and you watch them retreat to their respective homes on either side of yours until your mother closes the door and cuts off your view, turning to you with a look that could mean a number of things. She’s distracted from unleashing a verbal flood on you in the next moment, however, when she catches sight of your feet.

“y/n!” she gasps, tone scolding. “Go put your shoes on! Walking around without them— this isn’t how I raised you, my goodness. You’re going to wear holes in your stockings! Go go go!”

Startled by the way she raises her arm in promise, you yelp and scamper away, back towards the stairs. “Okay, I’m going!”

You’re about halfway up the stairs, petticoat and skirt swishing violently from how fast you scaled them, when she calls after you.

“And don’t think you’re off the hook, missy! You and I are having a long, in-depth chat after dinner!”

You can only resign yourself to your fate.

x - x - x

“I’m in trouble, Mina. Oh, I’m in trouble.”

“It can’t be anything more than the trouble you’re going to be in for wearing holes into the hotel room carpet— stop that! You’re making me anxious!”

You halt mid-pace, sending your friend a pained look. She’s sprawled across the second bed in your hotel room, reading some magazine that touts the latest in makeup and jewellery from some of the more big-name brands.

“Please, just this once, let me be the one having a Diva moment,” you say, almost begging— to your own distaste. You just need someone to vent to, but she’s not exactly being helpful.

“What is this about?” she asks, closing her magazine to pin you with a borderline-grumpy look. “What has your knickers in such a— oh, I love those shorts! Are those new?”

“Uh, yeah. I bought them the other week,” you answer, looking down at the light blue shorts you’d slipped into for comfort’s sake this morning. They’re so comfortable, in fact, that you regret that you’re unable to wear them in public. You quickly shake your head when you realise you’re getting off-topic. “Hey— I told you what this is about! Did you listen to a single thing I said since I got back last night? Do I mean nothing to you?”

“You’re so dramatic,” Mina utters under her breath. “Yes, I was listening! I was just checking we were talking about the same thing!"

The look you give her is dubious at best, "Okay, then what am I talking about?"

"Those two hot cats you grew up with," Mina says, waving her manicured hand dismissively. "What about them is giving you such grief?"

"I ran into them yesterday," you say, eyes unfocused as you fall back into your thoughts once more. "They want to meet for dinner, to catch up."

"Oh, well that's fine," Mina says. "You don't have feelings for them anymore, so it should be alright, yeah?"

You bite your lip, wincing and giving her a look that could only be described as a mixture between sheepish and remorseful.

"Oh, y/n," She sounds a lot like your mother with the tone she's taken now, "Don't tell me..."

"I thought I was over it!" you say, wailing almost, as you throw your arms into the air. "They were already so distant before I left, you know? And it's been so long that I thought the feelings went away."

You huff, one hand on your hip and the other splayed over your face. "But then I saw them yesterday, and I think I nearly had a heart failure. I don't think... that those feelings went away."

When you manage to glimpse her way, Mina is wincing, teeth visible. She reaches up to scratch her hairline, almost dislodging one of the curlers she has wound in her hair. "Well, it's just one dinner... When is it? I'm sure you have plenty of time to get rid of those feelings before you--"

"It's tonight," you say with a certain level of resignation, walking over to your own bed and finally throwing yourself onto it in defeat.

"Tonight?!" Mina positively squawks, scrambling into a sitting position in her disbelief. "Uh, y/n, I do hope you haven't forgotten, but we have a show almost every night Saturday--"

"I know," you bemoan, staring at the ceiling and trying to ignore the odd marks there-- you don't have the brain space to wonder how they even got up there in the first place. "The dinner will be finished in time, I'm not worried about that. I'm just... worried about what will happen during, you know? It's kind of stupid but... what if they hate me now? I didn't even tell them when I left, didn't give them an address to write me or a number to call..."

"Yeah, that was kind of a rude move," Mina says bluntly, "But I don't think they would invite you to dinner to catch up if they hated you, y'know? They were your best friends, they probably missed the hell out of you."

You ponder her words, unable to pick them apart with logic. "Maybe," you mutter, picking at a loose thread on your blouse."... I did miss them."

"See?" Mina says knowingly, giving you a look before falling back on the bed and reaching for the chunky romance novel that she has perched on the headboard above the bed.. "And who knows— you're a hot catch, they might end up returning those feelings and you might come out of this a lucky woman! Well, probably a bit sore in certain places, but lucky nonetheless—”

"MINA!"

The pillow you threw smacks her square in the face, but does nothing to muffle the cackle she lets out after. God, she's not the first choice to come to for advice, but to her credit you do feel a bit better now.

x- x - x

Seven o’clock that evening finds you hovering nervously outside the doors to Dana's Dinery, hand outstretched to take the handle but unable to follow through completely with the movement. For the moment, you're stuck in your thoughts, and your thoughts are stuck on the same thing that had plagued them earlier in the day.

What's going to happen when you walk in there? When you're seated at the table with them and in the process of catching up? You shouldn't be as fearful of it as you are, but you can't help it. The evolution your feelings for them undertook a few years ago aside, they were still very much your best friends. Their opinion of you... well it sucks, but it still matters to you.

Didn’t stop you from doing what you did though, did it?

Huffing and deciding to ignore the nasty little voice that is attempting to make an already stressful night even worse, you force your limbs into action and simply resign to bite the bullet. If they are upset with you, then being late to dinner certainly won’t help things. 

“y/n! Over here!”

With how quickly they spot you, mere seconds after passing through the doorway, a part of you wonders if they saw you hovering outside like a coward. Shame flushes across your neck and ears at the thought, but you do your best to remain at least outwardly unaffected.

Over in the booth at the very end of the diner, nestled against the window and the wall, the two men who have been haunting your thoughts for more than a day sit. You recognise the booth— it’s your Corner, you always sat there with them, to the point where if the staff saw anyone else sit there when they knew you were coming, they’d politely usher them to a new seat. It makes something shift inside you to see them there again. You don’t feel like you’re in school again, but something else feels akin to that time…

It’s probably the butterflies.

Namjoon is grinning at you widely, waving his arm; he’s ditched the leather from yesterday and is now donning a fitted black button-up that brings a nice contrast against the sun-kissed hue of his skin, though his hair is still swept into its style somewhat half-heartedly. Seokjin next to him is in a tan knit turtleneck sweater, glasses perched on his nose and hair attended to much more neatly than the man next to him. Both men are looking at you as you approach, but their stares (especially Seokjin’s) are a little too intense for you to handle, and you end up looking away as you take a seat across from them. 

The booth is less squeaky than you remember, but somehow just as plush. You place your purse and cardigan onto the red leather next to you, clasping your hands together and offering a tentative smile. The soft rock tumbling from speakers around the diner isn’t going to fill the lull in conversation for very long. “Hey, sorry to have kept you waiting…”

Seokjin raises a brow, and you know in that moment that they did indeed see you hovering outside the diner. You don’t have time to process the embarrassment that follows that realisation, though, before Namjoon begins speaking with a warm smile. 

“Don’t worry, you didn’t,” he informs you, eyes glimmering like he’s just happy to have you here. It makes something painful throb in your chest. “And loosen up, would you? You’re sitting like you’re at a job interview.”

To your embarrassment, a brief internal examination of your posture tells you that he is right. Sheepishly, you allow the tension to drain from your body, leaning forward onto the table slightly. “Sorry,” you mumble, offering a smile. “Guess I’m just a bit wound up from being home. I forgot how chaotic it is here…”

To your surprise, Seokijn snorts; your fears that he was truly upset with you are dispelled somewhat as a lopsided grin tugs his plush lips, eyes meeting yours levelly.  “Tell me about it. My mother had my aunt and the cousins over when I got home. I haven’t felt as exhausted as I did after that night in, well, years.”

You don’t notice the smile Namjoon shoots to the man beside him when he first speaks, but you do notice when he lets out a laugh and beams so brightly that his eyes almost close and something you completely forgot about makes an appearance. His dimples have always been a weak spot of yours, and you’re slightly horrified to find that glimpsing them now has led to a skipped beat in your chest and a flutter in your stomach. 

It’s not looking very good for the state of your old feelings right now…

“You never unwind properly,” Namjoon says, somewhat chastising despite his playful tone. He doesn’t pursue it further, though. Instead, he turns to you with a soft smile. “So, y/n, how was college? If you have replaced us as best friends, I will never forgive you.”

You can’t help the laugh that tumbles from your throat at both his words and his face, Seokjin chuckling to himself in the corner. Still smiling, you tell him that no, you haven’t replaced them, and sort through the events of your first year for something they’d like to hear. 

Just like that, and definitely much easier and less stilted than you feared it would be, the three of you seem to sink back into something like the old dynamic you used to share, conversation beginning to flow and laughter beginning to tumble. There are some small differences, of course. Namjoon, who used to be much more clumsy and prone to blushing in his fluster, now seems to have come into his own and his presence commands your attention whenever he speaks or gestures, each movement sure and with confidence. While Seokjin used to be the more blatant joker between the three of you, now he seems to sit back a bit, observing conversation contentedly until he sees the perfect opportunity to chime in and elicit a few laughs. 

And then, there’s you.

Well, you suppose you haven’t changed all that much. When Ms. Cara comes around to take your order (amongst gushing about how grown up and handsome and beautiful the three of you look), you still order the same thing from the menu, go about eating it the same way (fries before burger, being sure to leave some so you can slip them under the bun), and feel the same butterflies running amok in your stomach as you did years ago. You know that you’ve changed a lot, an almost scary amount, but sitting here in this diner with the two men who used to be your best friends, you’re only realising just how much of you is the same.  

“I still don’t know how you can eat that,” Namjoon says, pausing in scarfing his own dessert down to judge you for yours. “You always used to get it— aren’t you sick of it?”

“Hey!” Seokjin intercepts, pointing his spoon at Namjoon. “The Fun Sized Sundae with the Triple Sauce Special is a respectable choice of dessert, and I won’t have you shaming it when you’re just sitting there with pudding and custard!”

You chuckle at Seokjin’s avid defence of your choice— the two of you were the only ones with a big enough sweet tooth to be able to combat the sugary monster that is your choice of dessert. He hadn’t braved it tonight, though, opting instead for apple pie.

“I actually haven’t had it since I was last here,” you say, without even thinking. Another spoonful is already on its way to your mouth as you continue, “It’s one of the things I missed most after I—”

You cut yourself off, realising your blunder too late. The looks in their eyes tell you they know what you were about to say. After I left. Ah, how could you forget? You’ve been here over an hour and this is the first time it’s crossed your mind since you entered. You left— you. Not them, but you.

Your appetite suddenly begins to fade, and you place your spoon down as gently as you can. It still tinks against the bowl, but does little to break the tension beginning to seep into the air.

You clear your throat, growing a little antsy in your seat. Even as you ask, you’re unable to meet their eyes, “Ah, what time is it? We— I got a little carried away…”

The question had mostly been to dispel some of the awkwardness, but Namjoon’s response had you shooting up ramrod straight. “It’s five-to-nine.”

“Oh, shoot,” you don’t even think about the words escaping your mouth, just that way more time had passed than you thought and if you stay any longer then you’re going to be bordering dangerously close on being late for your other very important commitment tonight. “I— I have to go. I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise how late it was.”

You hurry to gather your cardigan and purse, starting to shimmy out of the booth, when Seokjin speaks up, “Is everything alright? Where are you off to in such a rush? If you need, we can walk you—”

“No!” you burst, regret swallowing you moments later when you see how taken aback the two men are at your sudden rise in tone. “No, sorry, it’s okay. I just, um… I just have to pick up something, for Lisa’s party.”

“At nine o’clock at night?” Jin verifies, brows drawing down.

“Uh, yeah,” you say, voice small as you manage to finally get out of the booth and stand somewhat sheepishly at the end. “I’m so sorry, it was so lovely meeting you two again and catching up. I’ll, um… I’ll see you, at Lisa’s party.”

You barely allow them enough time to bid their own farewells before you’re turning on your heel and hightailing it out of there before one of them comes to their senses and offers to walk you again. 

You definitely do not need one of your old best friends walking you to the entrance of a club.

A fifteen minute cab ride is what you choose instead, and it isn’t long before you’re slipping into the building from the back entrance and dashing through the halls.

“FINALLY,” Mina erupts dramatically when she catches sight of you bursting into the dressing room, brows raising so high they almost meet her bangs. “I almost thought you were going to stand us up, Miss Luna.” 

Your eyes sweep over her form, alarm filling you at the fact she’s already mostly dressed, from her netted stockings to the many fluffy and feathery layers that she’ll be discarding on the stage tonight. She’s currently sitting at the dresser, putting the final touches on her makeup with small detail brushes.

“That lip colour is too orange,” you inform her, hastily rushing over to the chest that you know contains your outfit for tonight. Mina halts in her motions, staring at herself in the mirror for a long moment before she tilts her head back and lets out a loud, torturous groan.

“I knew it! Momo, you lied to me! I asked you if this colour was too orange or warm and you said—”

You shake your head, slinging the clothes you retrieved over your arm and making your way over to the screen in the corner to get changed. You feel a little bad for the girl currently on the receiving end of Mina’s whines, but on the other hand you’re now free to rush about and catch up to the rest of your co-performers. 

Within the next ten minutes you’re dressed and ready to go, dropping into a seat next to Mina and reaching to begin powdering your face.

From the tingle of excitement beginning to thrum in the air, you can only assume it won’t be long now before the show begins.

x   x   x   x 

Burlesque. It’s something that you know from experience, something you’d sadly gained before you grew more skilled at hiding your profession from the judging eyes of others, has some quite divided views and opinions. Despite how open-minded and liberal as your parents are, you know even they would struggle to come to terms with the fact that their beloved daughter had moved away for college and somehow come to perform in burlesque theatres on the side. 

You don’t even have a clear explanation as to how or why you’d ended up down this path, just that you had. Contrary to what a majority of the population would likely hope, you aren’t ashamed, and you don’t regret it. This is something you love, and you think part of the reason you had been so drawn to it in the first place was the promise of power nestled within a certain kind of anonymity.

Your act, after all, is a masquerade performed beneath the security of an intricate lace and silk colombina disguise.

When you’d first left, you’d felt… well, there wasn’t any other way to put it but rejected, and abandoned. You might have been the one that left, and it’s something you regret now, but at the time it was Namjoon and Jin who had grown distant from both each other and you. Coupled with their increasing popularity and the way their lives seemed to be picking up speed in the direction they’d always dreamed of, it made you realise that their world was getting a little too big for you, and in the scheme of their lives you no longer held a starring role.

So you’d packed up and moved away, and in the midst of your aimless moping in another city, you’d stumbled upon this… and from the first taste of empowerment it gave you in the wake of all you had been feeling, you quickly decided you weren’t going to be letting it go anytime soon. 

And now here you are; an act with such high regard and admiration that you had been called to perform it in other cities. It was a stroke of fortune that one of the stops was your own hometown, at the same time as your sister’s engagement party no less. You had wondered at the time what the catch had to be, and now, of course, you know.

It’s that in an instance of divinely aligned misfortune, the two people you’d planned to avoid indefinitely happened to be here as well.

It’s been a few days since the night you spent catching up with them, and there is enough distance between then and now for you to have calmed significantly when thinking about it. It had been kind of weird, sneaking away from the diner to come perform that night. Even though years have passed, you’re still so used to telling them everything whenever you see them, that holding something back feels foreign, and oddly enough… you feel a little guilty. The first excuse that comes to your mind in your defence is that  ‘they wouldn’t understand anyway’. You know that is baseless, though. Both of them have become popular and risen to fame not just because of their natural musical talent, but for the topics that their music so brazenly broaches.

The truth is that you know they wouldn’t judge you for anything you do, and you’re not quite sure why you’re so resistant to them knowing. The human mind is a mystery, and yours is no exception.

A slow, smooth saxophone melody brushes your ears, a lower note capturing your attention and bringing you back to the present moment. Amongst the faint tendrils of smoke that reach you from the seating area, an itch rises at your brow and you fight to contain it, not wanting to rub off the thin arch you’d drawn on so carefully earlier. It was always like this; you always got itchy before performing, for reasons unknown to you. One of your friends had theorised that it was due to nerves, or something similar. It drove your manager mad, because you’d ripped your costume pantyhose a few times while scratching your thighs in the past.

Mina’s act precedes yours, usually, and tonight isn’t any different. She’s good, and you can’t help but marvel as you watch her. Her movements are fluid, full of a certain zest and allure that mix into a single heady cocktail that has the crowd enraptured as she allows her skirts to drop ever so slowly with each smooth swing and sashay of her hips. When the ruffled fabric hits the floor there are hoots and whistles from the crowd, and Mina’s beaming face peeks over her shoulder to deliver a wink. The room eats it up.

It’s a special performance, tonight.

Due to confidentiality, none of the performers had been told exactly who was attending tonight, just that they were Very Important People, and they were to be shown the best performance they would ever see in their lives. It was an ambitious set of instructions, but you know that both yourself and the other girls in the show are some of the best in the business, so you aren’t too worried about meeting expectations. You plan to exceed them. 

You always put effort into your appearance, but tonight you admit that you did try the tiniest bit harder than usual. Your hair is pulled back from your face, twisted and pinned into curls at the top of your head; the rest of it you simply allowed to hang to its natural length and shape, though you took care to make sure it was soft and silky enough to gleam beneath the stage lights. At Mina’s insistence, you’d allowed her to pin a few small glittery ornaments amongst the curls, and as you peek out and see just how full the room is, you find yourself thanking her mentally. It’s the little details that really pull together a performance and hammer home the effect it has on the audience, and it looks like a full house tonight that you’re going to wow. Though, none of the faces seem to jump out at you so far— you still don’t know who tonights VIPs are. 

Even though tonight is meant to be a big, important night — as it had been emphasised to you so many times — you still find your thoughts wondering back to a certain two men and the reappearance of the feelings you’d once harboured for them. You’re conflicted, as anyone might expect of someone in your situation, but you can’t say you’re very fond of the feeling. Hence, despite your best efforts, your thoughts just keep coming back to your current predicament. Lisa’s party is tomorrow, and you know from yesterday’s visit to your home that your mother had already extended an enthusiastic invitation to both families on either side of the fence. So you know that there is absolutely no way that those two aren’t going to be there, since even if they hadn’t already expressed their intention of attending, their mother’s would drag them over by the ear.

You’re not sure why you’re still worrying about this. You already met and caught up with them! And it went well… or at least it did, until the topic of your abrupt disappearance from their lives was brought up. 

Perhaps that is why you’re so conflicted still. That is an issue that has yet to be resolved.

When you tune back in to the moment and catch your manager sending you a whithering look, you shake your head and decide to try and ground yourself so that you’re not off with the fairies by the time your cue to perform rolls around. You bring your gaze back to the stage, finding that in the time you spent in your own head, Mina had managed to strip down to just her shelf brassiere and the panties and baby blue garter belt with straps that stretched over her shapely thighs and attached to the top of her stockings.

You get lost in the moment, watching as the spotlight follows her across the stage and illuminates each small gesture she makes that draws the audience further and further under her spell. Her hair is perfectly curled and with each flick of her head and bat of her lashes, the strands slide over her shoulder and bounce against her back. As she reaches for her final garment to discard, it isn’t long before the light fades in tandem with the last note of her song, and the audience gets only the barest glimpse of Mina’s almost bare form before the stage is blanketed in darkness. Cheers and applause break the beat of silence that follows, and then Mina is hurriedly rushing past you, beaming with pride and holding most of her discarded skirts bunched up to her chest. Soon, the applause fades out, the hollers nonexistent, and the stage is cleared.

Now, it’s your turn to wrap the audience around your finger. 

Taking a deep breath and revelling in the light fluttering of your stomach that never seems to fade no matter how many shows you perform, you listen for the first few strumming notes of the song that accompanies your routine. When the low, bass riff of guitar finally brushes the air, you make your way slowly onto the stage and let yourself fall into the familiarity of the show.

It’s kind of ironic, you can’t help but think to yourself. Considering the events of this week, the song you’d chosen to tailor your routine to is kind of funny. For the first few years of their careers, you’d seen Namjoon and Seokjin simply go their separate ways. You thought that would be it, that your friendship had broken up for good, but to your complete and utter surprise, at the beginning of this year there had been a new record to grace the radio and enrapture young fans across the country. An unexpected collaboration between two of the biggest figureheads of the rock and rebellion movement that had started to sweep through the youth. 

When you had first heard the song, you’d done a double-take. It wasn’t anything like the rapid, upbeat rock that came to be synonymous with Seokjin’s name, or the heavier, laidback tune that usually accompanied Namjoon’s records. The beat that lay beneath the lyrics was sultry, deep and dark and made your heart skip a beat and your stomach dip. However when the lyrics registered in your mind, you’d had to fight the urge to cry. They weren’t strictly sad, per se, but to you… they had spoken a little deeper. It felt paranoid to think it, but a part of you had to wonder at how… targeted… the song had seemed to be—

Was it made... for you?

You wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it aloud to anyone or even yourself, but you liked to think so. It helped, when you found yourself missing them and yearning for the way things had been. It soothed the traitorous aching of a heart that didn’t seem to remember that the choice to leave hadn’t been theirs, but rather yours.

In the version that accompanies your performance, there are no vocals. Even so, the beat is easily recognisable and as it begins to play, an excited murmur sweeps through the crowd. Something about it is a little odd, but currently your back is turned to the audience, so you don’t get to investigate the feeling. Instead, you let each note that enters the air and brushes against your skin to soak into your being, closing your eyes for the barest second to centre yourself before you feel the heat of the lights begin to grace your skin, and you start to slowly swing your hips.

It is only instruments that brush your ears now, but you can hear the opening lines of the song so clearly in your head you can’t help but mouth them in time.

We're part of the moonlight, Ain't a fantasy...

Can't breathe in the sunlight, Gotta hide your heart...

Following the rise and fall of the beat, you turn your head over your shoulder to deliver a sly smile and a wink, moving your hips all the while— a round of catcalls and surprised murmurs results. You are the only one of the performers to wear a mask after all, so you’re not surprised by the response. Turning back around, your ease yourself into the familiar motions of your routine and let the song and atmosphere carry you away.

At any other time, you would probably find it funny how second nature stripping yourself of your clothes has become. The silky gown that drapes over your shoulders and ends in faux fur ruffles that trail across the floor is the first to go, revealing the entirety of your stocking-clad legs through a sheer petticoat, and the corset and cushioned bandeau that hides a sheer, cheekily embroidered bralette beneath. The audience eats the reveal right up and at the enthusiastic response, your chest swells with pride. You’re smiling, but with a flick of your wrist you snap open a fan and use it to cover the bottom half of your face, leaving only your eyes to peer out at the crowd from behind the mask. You’d discovered early on that a little bit of mystery keeps them intrigued a little longer.

You don’t pay much mind to the audience as individuals; more often than not, when you perform they become a faceless blur. But as your routine goes on and your body follows each sultry move to the beat, one item of clothing discarded after the other, you find yourself paying a little more attention than you usually would. 

It’s as the top part of your corset meets the floor and your sheer bralette is exposed that your eyes sweep over a certain portion of the room, and you realise very suddenly and abruptly who the guests of honour are tonight.

And you cannot believe the atrocity of your luck.

Two familiar faces return your gaze from the centre-back portion of the room, in one of the deluxe booths. It’s a wonder you can recognise them through the haze of smoke created by cigars and cigarettes, but you think that you’d be hard-pressed not to, at this point. Seokjin and Namjoon sit back comfortably in the booth with two unfamiliar men on either side of them, their eyes lit with a certain kind of intrigue and focused solely on you. For a heartbeat, your chest feels so tight you can’t take in a breath, stomach fluttering. Just barely, you manage to maintain your face and stop yourself from stumbling in your routine. The beginning of panic begins to bubble beneath your lungs, but in a split-second it is stopped in its tracks as something seems to snap inside you and you come to a realisation.

You’re wearing a mask. They don’t know it’s you.

It strikes you again, the way they eyes are trained on your every move, and it knocks you breathless once more, though for a different reason this time. Exhilaration begins to course through you— you feel powerful. When you were with them the other day, the weight of the knowledge of your wrongs and your guilt held you on unequal ground. But now, here in the heady allure and smoky seduction in this room, you have them in the palm of your hands and the dynamic is switched, if only for a moment. 

With barely a moment having lapsed since your initial realisation, you slip right back into the next move in your dance, each shift of a limb accompanied with just that little bit more oomph than before. This is their song, the song you suspect they wrote for you, and since you don’t think you will ever be able to forget it, or them, you will make sure they won’t forget this.

One fluid movement leads to the next, the beat picking up ever so slightly as you bend, legs straight and behind pointed at the crowd, before easing your way back up and unclasping the hooks that keep your corset together. When it falls, you turn and bend once more, this time facing the audience so that they see it when you push your breasts together and wriggle your shoulders, a cheeky wink accompanying the resulting jiggle of your chest. 

More hoots and hollers, as expected of an audience that seems to completely consist of men tonight, and you’re pleased to see that the two guests of the hour aren’t completely unaffected either. Namjoon is leaning forward slightly, gaze intense, and Seokjin’s eyes have narrowed in focus as they follow you across the stage. 

Following each note in the song, you strut across the stage, and when there is a pause before it picks up once more, you drop to your knees and reach forward to the floor, arching your back with your behind to the audience again. Using the strength you’ve built in your thighs over the years, you slide one leg up and turn yourself around, using the momentum to slip into an abridged version of the splits. While in this position you bend backwards, one arm reaching back to unravel the ribbon that keeps your flimsy bralette up. When you feel it come loose, you bring your hands to each piece and make a faux-shocked expression, ever so slowly peeling the sheer fabric down and revelling in the way the room is watching with bated breath. 

Your breasts bounce as you yank the bralette all the way down, the tassels that were hidden beneath and keep the barest remainder of your dignity intact jiggling with the movement. Using the cheers that result as a distraction of sorts, you deftly remove the bralette with one hand and discard it slyly on the floor, bringing yourself out of the splits but moving to another position on your knees, sliding your legs apart. There are a few soft gasps and sharp inhales that echo from the front of the crowd, and you can tell from the way their eyes are focused on the inside of your thighs that they’ve glimpsed the pretty picture inked into your skin there. You don’t leave their gazes to wonder too long though, reaching up to pinch the dangling ornaments of your tassels and using them to lift your breasts. You ignore the low, pleasurable tingle that shoots through you at the sensation of tugging on your nipples, fighting to keep your legs open, and release the tassels from your grip. Your breasts bounce generously once more, cheers sounding across the room at the sight. You deliver a wink, before bringing yourself off of the floor in a fluid movement, hearing the final notes of the song beginning to play and a low, sexy saxophone drawl emerging to intertwine with the rest.

The end of your routine passes in a blur, your mind slipping into a haze as you simply move, barely aware of the way you dance and sashay across the stage. A feathery boa situated strategically to the side becomes incorporated in your final moves, allowing the audience peeks at what they can’t have and drawing them further and further in until the music hits a crescendo and with it, you fall into your final pose.

The last thing you see, as the lights begin to dim and the crowd erupts into applause, is the way Seokjin and Namjoon’s eyes are boring holes into you, transfixed on the place where your hip meets the inside of your thigh and the intricate depiction of a crescent moon and a rose that are inked into the skin there.

 x    x    x

 “...sweetheart? Is there a reason why you haven’t gone outside yet? Everyone is by the pool with those wonderful finger foods your Aunt brought with her!”

You startle at the sound of your mother’s voice, almost dropping the grape that had been en route to your mouth as you stared into nothing, rooted in place in the middle of the kitchen. The day of your sister’s engagement party has come, faster than you were able to prepare for, and now that you’re no longer on the stage staring down your two ex-best friends from behind a mask, you’ve lost a lot of your gall. In fact, it could even be argued that your spine had slipped right out of your body the second you stepped off the stage that night. It’s the early afternoon, and Namjoon and Seokjin have been here for about… perhaps half an hour. You don’t claim to be perfect, but the way you’ve been skulking about and hiding in the kitchen is pathetic even to you. 

It’s just… how do you face them after that? They’ve technically seen you almost completely in the nude! If your grandmother ever caught wind of the fact that a man had seen you without clothes then she’d marry you off immediately— not to mention if she ever found out Seokjin and Namjoon, of all men, had seen you like that, she would have an absolute field day!

It was bordering on disheartening, but at this point, even after all this time, you’re pretty sure most of your family loves those two more than they love you.

“I, um… just wanted some grapes?” you blink, offering a sheepish smile that you hope your mother doesn’t find suspicious. That is quickly shot down when you see her brow raise and her bright cherry lips quirk to the side, eyes flicking to the empty glass by the grapes that reeks of gin. What can you say, you thought downing a glass would help you cope, but you’d been wrong. 

“Uhuh…” Your mother says, folding her arms and leaning her hip against the bench; the fullness of her skirt swishes behind her in an echo of the movement. “Well, now that you’ve eaten half of the vine, maybe go outside? Mrs Kim has been asking where you are, I think she missed you almost as much as we did.”

Your brows furrow, “Wait, which Mrs K—”

“Off you go, sweetheart!” 

You don’t even get to finish whatever you were saying because your mother moves into the kitchen solely to chase you out of it. You drag your feet as she herds you out— or at least, you do before she reaches for the kitchen towel by the oven and starts twisting it.

“I’m going!” you promptly flee after grabbing a handful of grapes to-go, holding up a proverbial white flag. Your mother is a little too good at turning mundane household items into a weapon. Now she’s put the fear of god back in you, you find yourself thinking that it’s no wonder your father has always been so well-behaved compared to the stories some of your friends would tell you about their own parents.

It’s a beautiful day, really. It’s part of the reason you were annoyed at yourself for hiding inside, even if it was only for about half an hour. The sun is out, the sky is clear, and while the sunlight warms your skin there is a cool breeze every so often that keeps you from overheating. Some of your younger cousins are in the pool, and have probably been there since around ten minutes after they arrived an hour or so ago. You’d barely gotten a hug in greeting before they were off, the backyard pool held a little more favourably in their eyes for the moment than their own flesh and blood.

They’re cute, though, so you decide that perhaps just this once you will let them get away with it. You’re going to rain down a storm of kisses on them before they leave, though. No one ignores you for an inanimate object and gets away with it!

As you exit the house and step beneath the sun, the skin of your arms and lower legs warming instantly, you just barely manage to dodge as one of your cousins comes bolting past you, followed barely a second later by his mother, your aunt, who is hotter on his heels than you might have anticipated for a woman her age.

“Jackson! You better get back here with those patties, boy, or you’re gonna regret it!”

You know you shouldn’t laugh, because it will encourage the bad behaviour, but the sight is so funny you just can’t help the way you burst into giggles, shaking your head and turning in the direction of the large gazebo that is rooted by the pool and is currently sheltering most of the guests from the sun. A quick scan also reveals that the lady of the hour, your sister, is over there too. Your eyes narrow when they catch sight of the champagne glass in her hand; hopefully she’s forgotten any and all things you’ve told her in confidence recently, or else they’re about to become public knowledge.

“Ah, y/n, just a moment!” 

You pause in your steps, turning just in time to catch in your arms the plate of small pastries your mother shoves into your hold. 

“Wh—” you don’t get to question her, as she simply flashes you a bright grin and nods her head to the table. “Take these over there, will you? And make sure Jin and Joon get some, I made their favourite!”

And then she is off, shooting back into the house and leaving you on the grass. At the delicious smell that wafts up to your nose, you send a cursory look down at the plate and hum in recognition,ignoring the way your mouth salivates. Ah, these are their favourites. This plate probably won’t last very long when you bring it over there. 

You’re on your way once more, now with the plate of sweets in tow, and the closer to the gazebo you grow you catch the sound of the radio, on one of the channels most popular with the youth and playing one of Lisa’s favourite songs. She’s dancing, dragging her friend Rose with her, giggling like a madwoman as she does so. It brings a smile to your face without you even realising. 

“Oh, y/n! There you are! Where have you been? We thought you might have gotten lost!”

Your attention is drawn to the side of the gazebo closest to the pool, where a few people are lounging in the chairs there, beers and glasses with clear, bubbling contents that you can only assume is gin and tonic on the table and in hand. The older woman who called you over with such a teasing tone is Mrs Kim— well, one of them. Both the Kims are here, and you realise belatedly that of course, their sons are too. It was Seokjin’s mother that noticed you, and as you make your way over you see Namjoon’s mother next to her, and the two men in question in the lounging chairs opposite. They seem to light up at your arrival, and you try not to think about the way their reaction makes your stomach flutter. You aren’t here for them, you’re here for their mothers! 

“Sorry,” you apologise, leaning and placing the plate down on the small table in the middle of the seats. Straightening, you dust your hands against the patterned skirt you have buttoned over your matching swimsuit. “I did get a bit lost, there’s so many kids here right now I thought I might have turned up in the wrong house.”

Both women erupt into laughter at your words, and you take the opportunity to smile at Jin and Namjoon, offering a timid wave. They return it, before following your finger as it points to the plate and they realise you’ve brought them their favourite baked goods.

“Cinnamon scrolls!” Namjoon croons, material of his navy button-up creasing as he hastily leans forward to swipe one off the plate. “And they’re shaped like little fish, like she always used to do! I can’t believe your mother made them today.”

“Of course,” you say, snorting lightly. “She’d do anything for her two favourite sons. She made it because they’re your favourites.”

The two of them beam in pride at that, before proceeding to consume the plate of sweets.

“Ah, and she sent you too, sweet y/n! Our favourite daughter! And even more stunning than I remember, right Soo-ah?”

Seokjin’s mother, Jia, hastily reclaims the conversation and succeeds in making you flush pink at her words. Jisoo, Namjoon’s mother, instantly nods, her short curls bouncing with the action, and shoots you a devious grin. 

“It’s been so long since we saw you last, y/n. You didn’t get a husband while you were away, right? We still want you as our daughter-in-law, you know.”

This time it’s not only you that feels the embarrassment heat your cheeks— to your side, both men choke on the mouthful of scroll they’d been in the process of devouring, Seokjin’s face going bright red as he brings his fist to hit his chest and attempts to dislodge the pastry. Amongst his own struggling, Namjoon reaches to smack his friend on the back, clearing his own throat.

“Ah, no…” you say, awkward and smoothing your skirt to distract yourself; it feels like the eyes of the entire party are on you, despite the fact you know better. “I’ve just been focusing on school…”

“Oh, tell me, dear, do you still do those wonderful paintings? I still have that one you gifted me for my birthday before you left.”

Namjoon follows up on his mother’s question, shooting you a smile that somehow is a combination of both bashful and proud. It makes a dimple pop in his cheek. “She still has it displayed above the dining table, actually. She nearly killed me when I almost knocked it by accident a few days ago.”

Jisoo doesn’t even bat a lash, smiling at you brightly— though a bit drunkenly, if the almost-finished glass in her hand is anything to go by. You’re surprised— you know from all the dinner parties your three families held over the years that despite their petite stature and classy, ladylike countenance,  both Kim women can outdrink their husbands and your father. You wonder just how much they must have had already to have such silly grins on their faces.

“I do!” You answer, feeling your chest warm in affection. It was silly to have ever doubted it, but it made you feel somewhat eased to know that you haven’t lost your place in their lives despite your departure. “But, actually, while away I actually took up sculpting. I’ve been doing that a bit more…”

“Oh, are you talking about your works, sweetheart? Ah Jisoo, Jia— they’re absolutely wonderful! I have photos that she brought, here let me go get them—”

You feel heat flush to the tips of your ears, greeting the arrival of your mother with an embarrassed look. “Alright, let’s not bash ears about it—”

“Oh!” Jia and Jisoo perk up at your mother's exclamation, and you shrink into your seat as you watch her reach into one of the hidden pockets in her skirt and pull out a handful of small photos that you’d printed to show her. Your hubris seems to have come to nip you in the bottom. “I forgot I popped them in my pocket to show you earlier! Here, see— isn’t she just so talented? My baby girl must have been the absolute queen of her department.”

All three parents are oblivious to the way you’re shrinking into your seat in mortification, but Seokjin and Namjoon are anything but. They’re grinning at you, relishing in your discomfort much like they used to. 

“Hey, y/n, could you get us another drink? I’d go get it, but your mother actually told me earlier I wasn’t allowed in the kitchen until she’s finished with the pastries…”

You shoot him a grateful look, shooting to your feet and slipping out of the little seating area. “Yup, doing that! Getting drinks! Be right back, don’t wait up!”

Though you doubt any of the adults heard you, they didn’t wait anyway. In fact, in the time it took you to head into the kitchen and bring back three drinks on a tray, your mother has since downed her glass and has started on another topic of conversation. Thankfully, the victim is no longer you. 

“Oh, Namjoon, where are your peepers?!” Your mother gasps suddenly as you return, pointing at the man beside you. There’s the barest slur accenting her words, and you resign yourself here and now to a night of loose-lipped blabbering from both your sister and your mother. “I’m not goin’ crazy am I? You used to run into things all the time when you were a kid ‘cause you were blind as a bat!”

Namjoon winces, but Seokjin bursts into laughter. Glad for the conversational shift, you take one of the last remaining chairs and settle down, your own drink now in hand. Namjoon reaches for the refill you had brought him, using the opportunity to hide his face, and only when Jin has settled down does he manage to wipe his eyes and claim his own glass.

“I’m tryin’ out something new,” Namjoon answers after a hearty gulp, clearing his throat. He reaches to scratch the back of his neck bashfully. “Lenses, I think they’re called. They’re convenient, especially when I’m performing, but they’re expensive and so dang fragile I’m gonna need to take out insurance on them or somethin’.”

“Isn’t this your last set?” Seokjin queries knowingly, laughing as Namjoon grimaces. “Don’t worry, he’ll be back in the peepers you know and love by the end of the week. If he doesn’t break them, he loses them.”

You half expect Namjoon to be irked but he just sighs with a small smile, apparently having made peace by now with the clumsiness and two left feet that have haunted him since childhood.

Your mother decides to tease Namjoon a little more, before she changes the topic and starts gushing about their career, and how she can hardly go a day or two without hearing one of their songs on the radio. All three women are beaming with pride, and though slightly bashful about it you can see Namjoon and Seokjin’s chests swell slightly. 

Lisa, the star of today’s show, happens to walk by right when your mother is interrogating them about where they’ve chosen to settle down for the meantime, and eagerly joins the conversation.

“Ah, cool cats like you must be absolutely rolling in dough by now! How many mansions do you have already?” Lisa laughs, looking for a free seat and simply sitting on you when she doesn’t find one. She’s quite a bit heavier than you remember, and you feel your breath wheeze out of you at her abrupt drop onto your legs. 

“Unfortunately, none,” Namjoon laughs, gesturing to his mother, “Though, the pressure is on. I think ‘Ma wants a nice place to retire before my career is over.”

Jisoo takes a sip to hide her sheepish grin, crossing one leg over the other and smoothing her skirt afterwards. Seokjin lets out a soft chuckle before he turns to your mother and answers the question she’d asked earlier.

“We have a sweet pad back in the fat city, actually. We both were leanin’ to the same penthouse with the best view but in the end decided to compromise and split it.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” you mother exclaims, eyes alight. The last time she’d looked this excited was when you told her you were staying for the whole week. “It’s so good to hear that the two of you stuck together even though you’re such big news now!”

Guilt. You bring your glass to your mouth and take a large gulp in an effort to drown it, the tart fizz of gin and tonic barely disguising the familiar curl of guilt in your gut.  Perhaps if you ignore it, it will go away. 

“Oh, speaking of— that latest record the two of you released together, it really does razz my berries like nothin’ else!” Lisa gushes, throwing a hand out to wriggle her fingers for emphasis. “It’s real hip and different from all your other tracks. Trust you two to be settin’ trends!”

Starting to get slightly tipsy now from the generous downing of your drink, you can’t help how you chime in with little thought,  “Oh, I really do love that one. It’s perfect to dance to.”

“A dance?” Lisa queries, turning to pin you with a confused look over her shoulder. You realise your slip up in that moment, when you glance to the side and see both men looking at you with unreadable expressions.  “It’s a bit slow for a dance, I think.”

“You can dance to anything,” Namjoon swoops in and unknowingly saves you, shrugging nonchalantly. The expression that was present on his face earlier is gone now, but it takes a split second longer to fade from Seokjin’s features.

Sinking into your chair as much as you can with Lisa’s weight pinning your legs down, you bring the glass to your mouth once more. 

Slip-up aside, you can only hope it won’t be as difficult to get through this party as you thought. 

 x - x - x

The day has progressed nicely and as daylight begin to bleed into night, your father emerged to help man the barbecue and dinner was served —  it was a somewhat rowdy affair, given how much alcohol the party had consumed up until that point. After eating their fill, most of your relatives and small cousins went home — they have a strict bedtime to uphold, after all. You made good on your promise to smother the little ones in kisses as they left, and it was with pink cheeks and bright grins that they bid you farewell. 

It’s getting well into the night at this point, and only a few guests are left. Lisa is inside with a cluster of her friends and her fiance, your mother and the Kims are underneath the gazebo with their husbands— this has left you by the pool with Namjoon and Seokjin. They’d gotten a little bold earlier and when you’d teased them about something, you’d had an unceremonious reunion with the pool. It was startlingly similar to what occured right before your mother took that photo hanging in your room, and made an odd mixture of affection, nostalgia, and something a little bit bittersweet settle in your abdomen. 

Just as it had the other time you’d met with the two, any tension and awkwardness had quickly melted away as the evening progressed. A few drinks in your systems and anything and everything is now water under the bridge. All too easily the three of you had fallen back into the same comfortable, playful air that you’d always known—

That you’d missed so much.

You’re lounging now in one of the rubber duck-shaped floaties your mother bought recently (she’d made you blow it up, gushing all the while about what a bargain she’d gotten on it and the companion swan floatie). Your head is more than pleasantly fuzzy, and you decide as you finish this glass that perhaps you’re done drinking for the night. You kick your legs lazily, feeling the heavy material of your skirt swish in the water as you propel yourself around the pool. Normally, the skirt is meant to come off before you take a dip. However given the nature of your entry into the pool, you hadn’t exactly had an opportunity to discard it. 

“No, no— I remember it cleary— clearly.” Seokjin waves his hand, finger pointing at Namjoon— the man in question is cackling in the deep end, falling off the swan floatie that he was attempting to climb onto. Both men are at the point in the night where they are beginning to slur their words, and to be fair you’re not much different. You’d lost count of how many times either of them have slipped up in their words.  “It wasn’t me who fell and broke y/n’s coffee table. From what I remember, it was your buttocks that hit it.”

“But you pushed me!” Any attempts on Namjoon’s behalf to hide his grin and even pretend to be angry prove to be fruitless. He has the same dumb dimpled grin on his face that you remember from your teen years. “It was uncalled for, assault!”

“You!” Seokjin’s mouth drops open, his legs kicking in the pool in his outrage. Namjoon’s eyes almost disappear as he cackles, throwing his head back. It melds into the sounds of the festivities over by the gazebo, where the radio and Lisa’s own gleeful laughter echo into the night. “y/n can confirm, it was Joon, right?!”

You put your arms behind your head, pretending to lounge back on the floatie despite how tentative your position is on the slippery rubber. “I don’t recall, suddenly I can’t think.”

“Yah!”

Your jubilant laughter means that you don’t see it when Seokjin slips completely into the pool, diving beneath the water to where you’re lounging and coming up beneath you. A scream rips from your throat as you're flipped from the floatie, tumbling backwards and into the water with a hefty splash to boot.

When you come back up, gasping breaths above the surface turning into laughter, it takes a moment for realisation to reach you through the sluggish fog in your brain that your skirt has detached. Still laughing, you catch sight of it and reach for it where it’s floating across the pool, recognising the sound of the two males guffawing behind you. When you slip on the bottom of he pool for a moment and get water up your nose, you decide that perhaps it’s time for you to call it a night soon.

“Woah, bubs, are you okay?”

When you slip again, a strong arm catches around your waist like an iron bar, holding you to the surface. Blinking the water out of your lashes, you turn to see the owner; the breath is startled out of you as your gaze meet the dark depths of Seokjin’s own. His hair is still dripping, an inky wayward mess atop his head, and the t-shirt he’d donned as he first entered the pool so long ago is clinging to each line and plane of his body. 

For a moment, yearning and a feeling all too familiar takes up the space of your lungs, and you find that you can’t breathe. 

“I think… I think it’s time to call it a night,” you manage to say, a new kind of lightheadedness emerging to addle your thoughts. You turn, breaking the hold Seokjin’s gaze has on you to seek out the edge of the pool. You feel his eyes bore holes into you for a moment longer, before two hands come to grip your waist and he moves you through the water to the rim of the pool. 

“Probably for the best,” Seokjin says, grip tightening in a split-second of warning before he heaves you up and onto the brick that lines the poolside. Off-kilter and unexpecting of the movement as you were, you have to balance yourself with your legs, which almost end up smacking Seokjin in the side. Through your inebriation, you don’t realise the way your thighs have parted in the process, the detached skirt in your hand doing little to cover you where it is laying sopping wet on the brick.  

“You’re being almost as clumsy as—” You’re also so busy trying to quell the fluttering in your stomach and find your bearings you also don’t notice the way Seokjin’s eyes move unwittingly down your form, falling to your thigh at eye-level. “...Namjoon.”

You blink, eyes finally focusing but heartbeat still thrumming in your ears.

“I don’t know if I will ever be that clumsy,” you manage to say, as comprehensible as possible. Seokjin’s hands leave your waist as you stumble to your feet, wringing out your skirt before attempting to button the drenched garment back up above your hips. 

“Hey!”

At Namjoon’s outcry, you grin and bring your hand up in a wave. 

“I’ll see you guys later,” you drunkenly promise, completely forgetting that in a few days, you’ll be out of this town and out of their lives once more. “Goodnight, you two.”

They return the sentiment, and you grab a towel from one of the poolside chairs, wrapping it around yourself and making your way back in. You miss the way that their eyes follow you as you leave their sight and reenter the warmth and light of your home.

x - x - x - x

The night has drawn to a close, and the two men have long since climbed from the pool and dried off with the fluffy towels your mother so generously laid out for them before she got too tispy. A sharp look from their own mothers reminded them earlier that there are still plates to clear and things to tidy, so despite being guests they do their best amongst the alcohol-induced fog clouding their minds to help clean up the aftermath of Lisa’s engagement party. 

As they do so, the same thing is true for both of them: there is a lot on their minds.

Seokjin had to turn to Namjoon earlier to confirm what he’d seen, and when he saw the man in question already looking at him with wide eyes, he knew he hadn’t just drunkenly imagined it. They both saw it, the glimpse of a strikingly familiar picture peeking from the inside of your thigh. They’d seen that very same tattoo in the very same place just a few nights ago, only last time the owner had remained a masked mystery. Now, they’d glimpsed the same image on the body of their childhood friend, the girl they’d both fallen in love with and subsequently drifted apart over only years ago because they were young and jealous and stupid. But, things are different now; they’re now only two of those things, and after they made up over a year ago their friendship is stronger than ever, in… more ways than one.

But despite how much has changed over the years, there is still one thing that has remained constant; and that is their feelings for you.

Truthfully, after not seeing you for so long, they had started to think perhaps they were finally getting over you. Impossible as it had seemed, considering how smitten they were. A cold realisation washed over them the second they saw you again, though, that those feelings hadn’t disappeared like they had suspected, but simply remained dormant. Seeing you at the diner and finally getting to catch up after being apart so long, missing you so much, had pretty much cemented that. When they’d returned to their hotel room after, they didn’t need to say a word and only shared a look to know they had both come to the same conclusion.

They were both irrevocably, pathetically, undoubtedly still in love with you, even after all these years. 

Then had come the show.

It was the reason they’d returned to this town, technically. An important friend of theirs had invited them both to celebrate the success of their latest record and talk about future opportunities; the location happened to be a club currently hosting a highly regarded burlesque set. They’d felt the second the final masked performer had come on stage that there was something odd, something special about her. She had used their song, on her thigh had been a tattoo that tickled something in the back of their minds, and there was something in the way she moved that had been so jarringly familiar, but neither had been able to pin where they had seen her before.

Until tonight, that is.

It hadn’t been an intentional reveal on your part, but there on your thigh had been the exact same tattoo they’d glimpsed in the club, and they’d known the second they saw it that it wasn’t a common design. At first, on the night, Seokjin thought that it might have struck them because it was drawn similarly to how you always used to doodle moons on all of your schoolbooks, and now it all made sense. 

The only thing left to consider is, what do they do now that they know?

“Oh, my boys— my precious, helpful, lovely boys!”

The two men turn in tandem, easily catching sight of your mother as she stumbles her way over to them. They were in the process of moving some of the plates to the kitchen before they heard her drunken cooing, and Seokjin finds himself thanking the heavens they’d put them down quickly because in the next second your mother is throwing her arms around them and they’re being yanked down to her height from the sheer strength of her grip.

“I missed you two, we all missed you two,” she blubbers, hugging them close like she’s worried they might slip away into the night the second she loosens her hold. A second shy of suffocating them, she finally releases her grip, and they straighten with warm faces. Namjoon knows without even having to check that he’s got a real goofy grin on his mug right now. 

“We missed you too,” Seokjin says, and he means it. Your family and Namjoon’s family are both pretty much his own at this point, and he’d found himself missing every single member while he was away. Each time he returned home, he was sure to visit the other two houses at the end of the cul-de-sac, though the times he’d been able to actually make his way back to his home town were unfortunately few and far between. The same is the case for Namjoon, as he knows, except likely a bit worse since he knows Namjoon has always been a real Mummy’s boy.

“But I doubt it was as much as we missed you!” Your mother argues, and it makes both men smile. The next few words to escape her mouth knock the expression straight off their faces, though.  “y/n especially. Oh, I remember she was so heartbroken when you three started growing apart. I think part of the reason she left was to get away from it. The way she used to talk about you boys…” Her gaze slips to the side, eyes slightly hazy in recollection. “I thought for sure that she was going to end up marrying one of you.”

They don’t even get a good second to unpack that, before the haze leaves your mother’s eyes and she is giggling, leaning forward with a cheeky glint in her eyes that they know for sure they’ve seen in your own. She brings her hand up to shield her mouth as she whispers in a voice that is not at all as quiet as she likely thinks it is, “It’s a bit improper, but I think she used to like both of you.”

Namjoon chokes on his own spit, and Seokjin’s mouth falls slack. “What?”

Your mother merely giggles, leaning back and spinning on her heel. “Thank you so much for your help, boys, but you ought to be on your way! Your mothers are about to head home and neither of them are walking in a very straight line.”

She halts, turning over her shoulder to shoot them a wide grin. “I’m glad you two came. Thank you.”

And then she is gone, and a blanket of silence falls over the kitchen. Seokjin and Namjoon turn their heads, locking gazes. 

Well, at least now they know what to do.

x — x — x

 You swear there is something odd in the air of the club this evening. 

It’s something subtle, and none of the other girls seem to have noticed it; they continue as always, tittering away in the dressing rooms and giggling amongst themselves when one of them makes a joke that probably shouldn’t be repeated outside the room. It’s the last night you will be performing here, and also the last night you will be staying. You were planning on making a quick visit home tomorrow morning to say farewell to your parents and congratulate your sister once more, before being on your way. You hadn’t decided yet whether you were going to go out of your way to track down Seokjin and Namjoon to say goodbye to them as well, but the idea of it… well, it sets your belly alight with nerves. You have no idea what you would say, and you know — you know— in your gut that doing it would revive the elephant in the room that you’ve all been ignoring up until now. 

But if you don’t, then you’ll be doing the exact same thing you did last time, and this time around you don’t know if you’ll get their forgiveness, let alone deserve it. 

By this point in the evening, you’ve already slipped into your costume and powdered your face. Since you wear a mask while on stage, you don’t really need to apply any heavy makeup around your brows and eyes; you usually settle for accentuating them naturally. 

Mina has disappeared since you last saw her, which is odd since she usually lingers to talk your ear off about any handsome faces she might spy in the crowd as the room beyond the stage begins to fill. You’d started to look for her earlier, seeking a distraction from the depressing inner monologue you have running, but hadn’t managed to find her. This means that for the past half hour or so you’ve been left to your own devices, fiddling with different parts of your dress and costume like a child twiddling their thumbs in the principal’s office. Part of that time, you spend trying to ignore the events of last night and any feelings that may have resurfaced as a result of your return to this town. For the rest of it, you attempt to think about what you’re going to do tomorrow when the rapidly-approaching hour comes when you have to leave again. God, where on earth did Mina get off to? You’re going insane here.

Oddly enough, it’s her that finds you a few minutes before the show is set to start. By this point, it’s a wonder you haven’t torn your hair out of it’s meticulous styling.

“Where did you pop off to?” you ask her before she even has a chance to say hello. She raises her brows, laughing at your rapid questioning. 

“Big boss wanted me for something,” she supplies, cocking her hip and resting a hand there. “Actually, I was asked to pass on a message to you.”

The confusion must be evident on your face, because Mina is quick to wave her hand. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad— though it is a bit odd. He just asked me to tell you to meet him in one of the private rooms in the VVIP section. I think it was the very last one…?”

That is odd, considering she’d apparently just come from meeting him. Private shows aren’t something you do, so you can’t think of a reason why the big boss would ask you to meet him there. 

“Huh, ok. So soon before the show…?” you ask, just to be sure. You don’t have your mask on you right now, so you need to calculate how long it’s going to take you to return and get it. Mina shrugs, nodding. 

“I suppose so. Don’t worry,” she smiles, something indecipherable yet oddly devious entering her gaze. “You won’t be there long enough to mess anything up. The show will go on, Miss Luna.”

You could almost swear there is something hidden in her words, but don’t have the time or the thought to dwell on it. Instead you return her smile and turn to be on your way; the VVIP rooms are on the other side of the establishment, and you don’t want to keep the big boss waiting. You’d only met him once, the owner of this club, and he didn’t strike you as anything in particular. The only thing you’d thought to note is that he smoked perhaps a few too many cigars, because his office was almost always filled with curling, coiling smoke that leaked into the hall  each time you moved past. But he was quite mild-mannered and polite as far as men in this business go, so you’re not particularly concerned for your wellbeing as you make your way to meet him.

It takes a little longer than anticipated, since you ran into one of your co-performers and they cornered you for help with their outfit, but finally you’re arriving in the second-floor wing that houses the VVIP rooms. Instantly, it’s evident where you are. The carpet is a little more plush, the wallpaper a little more maintained, and the hall decorated a little nicer than the rest of the place. Spotting the room on the end, you make your way down there and knock on the door thrice before grasping the handle and easing it open.

“Mr. Leigh? What did you want to t—”

The rest of your sentence dies in your throat before it even has a chance to reach the tip of your tongue, feet freezing mid-step as your eyes fall upon the occupants of the room. For once, you don’t have any sort of instinct that kicks in to save you; you simply stand and stare with wide eyes.

“Took you long enough, bubs.” Seokjin straightens from where he had been leaning back against the plush crimson leather of the circular lounge. “We were beginning to think you weren’t going to show.”

A myriad of thoughts suddenly flood the blank space in your brain, all in contention with each other. Oh no, they’ve seen you— no, you have a mask, they don’t know who you are— no, you don’t have your mask—

Dressed in your performing attire and standing before Seokjin and Namjoon, in one of the VVIP rooms in the club where they attended your show, you aren’t a faceless dancer. You’re y/n, and it feels like they can see every single bit of you there is to see.

You don’t even know where to begin.

“I…” You attempt to say something, anything, but your tongue has suddenly turned to lead in a pact with your stomach, sinking down and refusing to dance for your words.

It takes you a moment to realise as you watch them straighten, but neither of them look surprised. It leads you to believe that somehow they figured it out on their own, though you have no idea how. You don’t really have the presence of mind to ask them right now, either. In fact, it could even be argued that you’re almost panicking.

“We have a lot to talk about,” Namjoon speaks up, offering you a smile that holds neither judgement nor disdain. “We wanted to catch you before you inevitably skipped town without saying goodbye.”

That stung, just as much as the guilt that struck you for the truth of his words. You’d been contemplating it, leaning towards it even, but suddenly you feel you have to defend yourself. 

“I hadn’t decided that yet,” you say quietly. You let the door fall shut behind you, silently acquiescing to the unspoken demand weighing heavy in the air.

“Don’t lie.”

Your eyes shoot even wider, if possible, at the sound of Seokjin of all people snapping at you. His tone was sharp, and you half expect him to look furious, but when your eyes flick to his face it gives nothing away. When he continues in the next second, though, you see it in the depths of his eyes. Hurt.

“We used to tell each other everything, back then.” It could have been a trick of your mind, but you swear you heard his voice break slightly. “I don’t want that to change. So no lies tonight, y/n. We’re going to talk as adults, openly and honestly.”

For reasons beyond you, something about the promise woven through his tone makes you nervous. A tremor fights to shudder its way down your spine; for a moment, you feel akin to a small, cornered forest animal, even though they are the ones sitting against a wall and you are in the open. You don’t know what to say. 

Namjoon steps in, saving you from fumbling for a response as he always seems to do. “You don’t have to stand there, ready to bolt, you know. You can come sit down.”

You shake your head, suddenly recalling your commitments outside this room and feeling relief flood you at the realisation that you have an excuse to remove yourself from this situation you’d tried so hard to avoid. “I can’t. I have to go p—”

“We already talked it over with your boss, he was happy to take you out of the performance tonight. It’s okay, the others know too.”

You deflate, looking at Namjoon with a sinking feeling in your stomach. He doesn’t hold your attention all that long, though, before the sound of Seokjin’s voice brings your gaze to him once more.

“Why did you leave? Without even saying goodbye, or telling us where you went?” You feel rooted to the spot, pinned first by the weight of Seokjin’s gaze and then his words as they slam into you, unfiltered. 

“Hyung.” You think you hear Namjoon murmur softly, giving the man next to him a pointed look. Seokjin is unphased, looking at you expectantly, “Be honest.”

It’s just as panic begins to seep into the bottom of your lungs that anger sparks and sets it alight, transmuting it to something red and hot in your chest. 

“You want me to be honest?” you ask, heat beginning to colour your voice and sharpen the tip of your tongue. “I left because of you— both of you. I don’t know if something happened between you or if I just wasn’t enough, or you felt I was holding you back, but you drew away and you left me. You both left me before I ever left you.”

You see it the second your words enter the air like a whip, the hurt and guilt slipping across their features. Anger bubbles in your throat, stings your eyes, and urges you to let loose everything else rising to the tip of your tongue, “I left because I couldn’t handle the pain of my two best friends slowly easing themselves from my life, like— like I was old news. Like I no longer had a place in that shiny, brand new world they’d stepped into.”

More rushes to escape, feelings kept bottled up tight for three years suddenly flooding forth with the force of a tidal wave, but you bite it down, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath that rattles through your chest. When you’re sure you have a firmer grasp on your emotions, you allow yourself to speak once more. “If an apology is what you want, then I’m sorry. I’m sorry for leaving without saying goodbye. I’m sorry for my part in hurting you. But you… the two of you hurt me, too. You meant the world to me and when you pulled away you made me feel like nothing.”

Your eyes remain closed, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you will yourself not to cry; silence sinks over the room, only broken as your ears adjust to the thin buzz of electricity thrumming through the walls. One moment, another-- you try and focus on breathing in, and breathing out.

“Something did happen between us, you know. We fought over you.”

Your head snaps up, eyes locking onto Namjoon. He stands, dusting his legs as he straightens and adjusts his jacket. Slowly, like he’s worried he will spook you, he begins to step closer. “I’m sorry, y/n. We never meant to hurt you, and didn’t realise the way our immaturity was hurting you, too. You took up such a big part of our lives, and after you left it was painfully empty… when we saw you again this week, it was the first time we’d felt whole in years.”

Stunned, you’re rooted to the spot and can only watch as he comes close enough to touch, hands reaching for your own; faintly, you register the sound of Seokjin getting up from the couch as well. When he reaches your side, you risk a glance to his face and are surprised by the soft, remorseful expression resting upon his handsome features. 

“I’m sorry, bubs, for hurting you.” He lifts a hand, the warmth of his palm cupping your cheek. “You are irreplaceable to us, and we will always want you as a part of our lives. No one meant as much to us as you did then, and no one means as much to us as you do now. The two of you are my world, and I know the same goes for Joon.”

There’s something different hiding in the depths of his tone that makes your heart patter faster against the confines of your chest, something in the way they share a look so full of something warm that your own cheeks heat in response. Both of them… with each other, too? 

 “Why are you saying this?” Now, you meant to tack on. Why is he saying this now?

Namjoon’s eyes are warm as they meet your own. “Because we should have said it three years ago. Plus… we got a tip from an anonymous source that our feelings aren’t as unrequited as we once thought.” 

You don’t even need to wonder who it was that could have exposed such a thing; your mother had been mysteriously avoidant of your gaze this morning, almost knocking a few things off the bench in the extent of her effort to evade meeting your eyes.

“If nothing else, please just tell us before you go,” Seokjin implores, voice a low murmur. “Whether it was true then, or....”

You have a feeling you know what he was going to say: or even now. You’d known it the second you glimpsed them back in this town that those feelings you’d harboured for years and years weren’t ever going away. Even seeing them a handful of times has made your heart ache with the revival of your love and the magnitude at which it had bloomed once more in the tender soil of your being. The words rush to the tip of your tongue, but even now when the two objects of your affection have all but confessed to you, fear barrs them from leaving your mouth. Because it’s not appropriate, a voice murmurs it’s familiar tune, It’s so unlikely— what if you are just reading too much into it and are mistaken?

Honesty, Seokjin had requested. You take a deep breath before admitting the words that will seal your fate, for better or for worse.

“I did love you, then,” you say, catching it as they both seem to tense. “I should have known better than to think those feelings would just go away.”

It takes a moment, but soon both men are erupting into bright grins. In his glee, Namjoon folds you into his arms, smacking a soft kiss to your forehead, your cheek, and finally your lips— the suddenness of the action brings a gasp to your lips, but you’re definitely not going to complain. Especially not when the way his mouth moves against yours lights something bright deep within you. 

You don’t get to enjoy the sensations for longer than a moment before Seokjin’s voice is parting the air, a completely different tone underlying his words than what you expect from seeing his stupid grin earlier.

“Ah-ah-ah, don’t think you’re off the hook just yet, little miss. “ You meet his gaze over Namjoon’s shoulder and a shudder shoots down your spine at the look in his eyes. “We have a lot of lost time to make up for, wouldn’t you say?” 

x - x 

Barely ten minutes and a private car ride filled with scandalous touches and even more scandalous noises later, you’re being pressed against the wall in the bedroom of the penthouse suite in the most expensive hotel your town has to offer. Namjoon’s mouth is on yours with a kiss so impassioned that it pulls the air from your lungs and the strength from your knees; you don’t even realise that the lights hadn’t already been on when you entered and it was Jin responsible for illuminating your path into the suite.

A part of you expects some internal resistance — it had been three years since you’d last seen them, before this week — but instead you’re simply overwhelmed with how right it feels. Soft, fluttery warmth like sun rays on a winter’s morning fills you up to the brim, the feeling so foreign you’re worried your heart might actually burst. 

Namjoon’s hands come to your hips, pressing them to the wall before sliding up to the dip of your waist. He isn’t overly bold in the way he moves his mouth against yours, but it makes a whine build in your chest nonetheless. A part of you disagrees with it, and when you recall that you’re still here dressed in the costume that usually gives you the power over men, you push back and turn the two of you around. 

When his own back meets the wall, the softest gasp escapes Namjoon’s mouth and you swallow it down, your hands coming to cup his jaw. You take the lead in the kiss and he doesn’t put up a fight, grip tightening on your sides as he holds you closer. 

“Ah-ah, bubs.”

An unwitting squeak escapes you as two large hands find purchase on your waist and you’re pulled apart from the man panting against the wall. You blink and before you know it Seokjin has you falling onto something so plush and soft you know immediately it’s a bed. Your eyes are quick to find Seokjin’s, and the raven-haired male shoots you a stern look that is only contradicted by the heady mixture of affection and lust in his gaze.

“You don’t get to call the shots tonight,” he informs you simply, striding closer to where you’re laying on the bed and tugging on the string that holds your silken gown together. It’s designed to come undone, and so it’s no surprise that at the lightest pull the silk is sliding off your body, revealing the outfit you’d paraded on the stage before them barely a few nights ago. Faintly, you register the bed dipping behind you, but your attention is otherwise occupied when Seokjin reaches for the bedside table and retrieves something long and black. 

“Her wrists?” Namjoon asks, unknowingly answering the question you had forming in your head. Seokjin nods, tossing the tie  to him. Your gown is slipped from your shoulders completely, sheer petticoat ruffling as you’re scooted backwards until you feel the firmness of Namjoon’s chest against your back and Seokjin is sliding between your legs, in the midst of unbuttoning his shirt. 

“Do you know what you did to us when we saw you that night?” Seokjin asks, voice smooth as honey. It’s a struggle to remain focused on his words when Namjoon brings your hands together in front of you where you’re propped against him, beginning to bind them a little too expertly with the tie Seokjin had passed him. Your heart beats a little faster, thighs trembling as heady anticipation whirls within you. “What you do to us?”

“Just seeing you was already dangerous enough,” Namjoon murmurs, husky tone brushing the shell of your ear. “But you danced to our song, the song we wrote for you. It’s like you knew what it would do to us…”

It makes something swell in your chest, the confirmation that they had written that song for you. You catch something fond flick through Seokjin’s gaze before he tuts, shaking his head. He pushes your now-tied hands up and over your head, back until you feel the side of your thumbs grazing the back of Namjoon’s neck. Lips brush your neck, eliciting a shiver that Seokjin eagerly drinks in. Long, deft fingers work to undo the top part of your corset, the cushioned bandeau, and slip it from your form. You can visibly see it as his eyes darken, drinking in the sheer bralette barely supporting your breasts. You also know the second he glimpses the tassels pressed beneath, because his teeth sink into his lip and he takes in a sharp breath. 

Namjoon’s wandering hands come to trace the underside of your chest, breath catching in your throat when he takes their weight into his hold and kneads. Warmth shoots to your core, the hints of pleasure curling your toes. You feel breathless as they work in easy tandem, Seokjin slipping your petticoat over your legs and Namjoon removing your bralette. You shiver once your chest is bare, not from the cold but from the intensity and the weight of their gazes as you feel them fall upon you. 

“Leave her corset,” Seokjin instructs, flicking one of your tassels and eliciting a yelp. He settles back further between your legs, wrapping his arms around your thighs; his gazes falls upon the tattoo on the inside of your leg and the corner of his lips curls up. 

The plush of his lips presses against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, the sensation tingling along your nerves. He doesn’t comment on the picture, but when his mouth touches where it is inked into your skin you feel your heart skip a beat nonetheless. 

Your mind is pulled from the sensation of fingers slipping beneath the edge of your panties when Namjoon’s fingers play with the tassels attached to your nipples, tugging and pulling and eliciting all sorts of heady sensations that make your thighs shake. “Joon,” you breathe, something else resting on the tip of your tongue only to be replaced with a whine when Namjoon pulls a little harder, soft open-mouthed kisses pressed to the sensitive column of your neck.

It’s like all of your nerves are alight at once, each touch and brush of their skin against yours heightened and making your heart race and your breath come a little quicker. Seokijn quickly slips your panties off, but leaves the pantyhose and garter belt. His eyes drag a trail of heat up your body, halting where Namjoon has begun to suck marks onto your neck like an artist decorating a canvas. For a moment he is mesmerised, and you can’t help the words that slip from your lips.

“You like what you see?” You ask, curving your back ever so slightly to emphasise your position. Seokjin pins you with an unreadable look, jaw ticking for a moment. 

“Very much so,” he answers, pulling away from you for a moment. He reaches behind him, retrieving something you hadn’t even noticed before now, and when you realise what it is he has in his hand you feel your stomach simultaneously drop and flip in excitement. His eyes meet yours for a moment, an unspoken question whether what he is about to do is okay, and had it been anyone else you know you would have refused, but you trust him. You trust them. You offer him a small nod and you receive the smallest smile in return before he is bringing the camera up to his eye and lining up his shot. 

Flash. Click. The camera isn’t as bulky as you’re used to, and you figure it must be one of the newer models you are far too poor to afford. One picture seems to be enough for him for now, but you know as he places it well to the side that it won’t be the only appearance it makes tonight. 

“Just in case you decide to fly the coop on us again,” he says, a sly look on his face. You scoff, knowing that he’s joking, and hold up your hands, still bound. 

“Like this? Not likely.”

He chuckles, and you feel Namjoon’s chest rumble with a soft laugh against your back as well. The lighthearted moment is over as quick as it arrives as Seokjin settles back between your legs and hardly waits for you to orient yourself before dipping his head down and delivering a broad swipe of his tongue up your slit.

“F— Jin!” you yelp at the sudden shock of pleasure, wriggling in Namjoon’s arms slightly; he nips at your skin in light reprimand, and Seokjin lifts his head only for a moment to scold you with a cheeky gleam in his eyes.

“Careful now, bubs,” he cautions, delivering a small kitten lick to your clit between utterances. “We might have the penthouse but there are still people below us.”

Surprisingly— or perhaps unsurprisingly, when taking the rest of your life and profession into account — the idea of being heard has the opposite effect on you than one might expect. You bite your lip, tipping your head back as Namjoon’s fingers begin to play with you once more and Seokjin begins to bury his face between your legs in earnest. 

It gives you a bit of whiplash, when you think about it; you don’t think you ever would have expected to end up here, in this situation. Crushes or no crushes, you hadn’t even expected to see them again let alone become the meat in a famous musician sandwich. 

It’s almost shameful how quickly the heat and pressure builds within you, Namjoon managing to tug the tassels off completely to roll your flushed buds between his fingers. The noises that sound from Seokjin’s ministrations between your legs are so downright lewd you can feel your face flush with heat, your thighs trembling either side of his head. You attempt to keep your own moans and whines in until Seokjin delivers a smack to your thigh and sends you a warning look. 

Just when you think you might be about to reach your peak, Seokjin stops, pulling back and licking your cream from his lips. The look you send him must be devastated, because he looks absolutely smug. 

“Now, this isn’t just about you,” Seokjin says, carding a hand through his hair before he finishes undoing his shirt and slips it from his form. Your breath catches at the sight of his sculpted torso, and the ink that decorates it in pretty splotches of imagery. You feel so ridiculously naughty, finding the tattoos on him as attractive as you do, and you’re aware of the irony but you just can’t help it. Seokjin could manage to make a potato sack look good. “Hasn’t Joonie been good? Been making you feel so good, with nothing in return? I think we should pay him back.”

It’s all the warning you get before you’re flipped over, braced on your elbows and knees. There is rustling before something plush is slipped beneath you, and Seokjin lowers you down between Namjoon’s legs with the pillow propping your hips up for him to continue where he left off.

Dazed from the sudden shift and beginning to lose yourself to the feeling as Seokjin returns his mouth to your soaked centre, you tilt to meet Namjoon’s dark gaze and offer him a brief smile. You can’t deny, the angle you’re viewing him from is nice, especially as he wrangles his shirt off and you catch glimpses of firm abs and chest. Namjoon, too, has decorated his skin, and it’s somewhat ridiculous how viscerally you’re reacting to it but you really think you might be about to drool. 

The pleasure quickly beginning to build in you once more from Seokjin’s plush lips and agile tongue leaves you no room for pleasantries, “Can I suck you off, Joonie?”

You hear his breath catch before he tips his head back and lets out a soft groan. “Do you even have to ask?”

His response only fuels your eagerness, mouth beginning to feel empty when your face is so close to his crotch you can feel the heat of his body. Considering the state of your hands, Namjoon makes quick work of his belt and slacks for you, shimmying them down with his briefs just enough to let his member spring free, almost completely hard at this point. 

“Holy shoot, Joon,” you curse, eyes wide with a mixture of shock and lust. God, you don’t think you’ve ever wanted anyone as much as you want these two men.  Namjoon shoots you a cheeky, if somewhat dazed, smile that makes his dimples pop out.

“It’s not just me you have to worry about.”

Well that’s a condemning statement if you ever did hear one, considering how you’re hoping this night will go. One of the more open and liberal girls that worked the show with you had once said “god gave me two holes for a reason, girls!” and right now you find you couldn’t agree more. 

You’re sick of your mouth being empty, you decide, and so you forego further foreplay and simply reach for his cock, taking the length into your hands and promptly enveloping his tip in the heat of your mouth.

“Fuck!” Namjoon swears loudly, thighs tensing against your shoulders. The yelp that escapes you as Seokjin smacks your ass melts into a moan that elicits a throaty noise from Namjoon, as well. 

You press and drag your tongue along the underside of his length, gradually working your mouth lower and lower until your nose is brushing the dark patch of curls across his pubic bone, a surprisingly pleasant mixture of musk melding with his cologne and brushing your senses . Even without the pleasure flooding your nerves from Seokjin’s tongue and the way he latches his lips around your clit, the deep, throaty noises tumbling from Namjoon’s mouth are reward enough. Since your hands are bound, your mouth has to do most of the work; when you sink down enough that his tip bumps the back of your throat, you do your best to fight your gag reflex from kicking in fully. 

Namjoon swears once more, just barely stopping himself before it gets too reminiscent of a sailor’s vocabulary. The sensation of your throat constricting around the head of his member makes his hips twitch and buck up ever so slightly, his hands winding into the hair at the nape of your neck. Struggling to keep on task through the haze in your mind, you do your best to build up a rhythm that has Namjoon’s abdomen trembling from the effort of keeping his hips still.

In tandem, the two of you seem to be rapidly approaching your highs— unfortunately for you, that same attention to detail that makes Jin’s ministrations so mind-numbingly good is what alerts him to that fact. Right when you feel yourself tense up in the prelude to your orgasm, Seokjin rips his mouth away, the bed shifting behind you. “Not yet, bubs.”

You can’t help the whine that sounds from your throat, the vibrations making Namjoon jerk.

“Fuck, I’m—”

Flash. Click. 

Another whine, different in tone this time, escapes you at the knowledge that Seokjin has added another filthy memory to his collection. 

“Joonie, you better not cum until I say so. y/n, off.”

Namjoons nails scratch lightly against your scalp, almost making your eyes roll back as he whines lowly in protest. You know you should listen and do as Seokjin says, but you can’t help but push a little, taking your sweet time as you pull your mouth slowly from Namjoon’s length, sucking all the while. The noises that tumble from Namjoon’s mouth as a result are incriminating enough, and even though you knew Seokjin wasn’t going to let it slide it still comes as a surprise when there is a sharp, painful smack against the globe of your ass. It’s hard enough and loud enough that your back arches slightly, mouth leaving Namjoon with a pop so you’re free to cry out. 

“Jin!”

Seokjin’s hand is cool against the smarting flesh of your behind as he rubs soothingly over it, raising an eyebrow as you meet his gaze over your shoulder. “I told you off, bubs. Let’s not make me repeat myself.”

Somewhat petulant despite the giddy butterflies in the pit of your stomach, you allow him to grab you by the hips and yank you back with a pout, breathless with anticipation when you feel his fingers drag over the dips and curves of your body as though mapping them out. He makes you sit up, your back against his chest as he explores your front, drinking in each gasp and whine as he pinches and tugs your nipples and rolls them between the pads of his fingers. Down, down, down he goes— when his finger drags along your slit and slips over your swollen clit you cry out, unable to help the unwitting buck of your hips. 

“After all the effort I went to to clean you up, you’ve gone and made a mess again,” Seokjin murmurs, pillowy lips brushing the edge of your ear. You quiver in his hold as he rolls a lazy circle around your bud, thighs threatening to close around his hand. You’re suddenly aware of how empty you feel, surprised that you’ve almost orgasmed twice without even being penetrated. 

You try and cant your hips up, not above whining and begging at this point— if he denies you your high one more time you just might go insane. “Please, Jin, please—”

Namjoon, who had taken a moment to recover after almost blowing his load earlier, shifts forward on the bed to join the two of you. His lips find your neck, your jaw, until they finally meet your lips once more and he swallows your sinful noises down. 

“What, you want more? You want my fingers? Look at you. You want to be filled so badly you’re willing to rock against anything with a pulse...”

Heat flushes up your neck to your cheeks, Namjoon’s kiss muffling your whine; you hadn’t thought you would be one to fancy this sort of thing, but if the wetness gushing forth at his words is anything to go by then apparently you do. 

Namjoon parts from your lips, waiting until your eyes focus on him so that he can hold your gaze. “Baby girl,” he murmurs, voice rough. His hand slips down to join Seokjin’s, finger dipping ever so slightly into your slit. The true meaning of his question isn’t lost on you.  “Who do you want?”

You feel almost unhinged with how much raw, restless desire is coursing through you right now— you couldn’t have stopped your answer even if you’d wanted to. “Both… both of you…”

There is a moment of silence following your response, but you don’t have time to wonder whether you said the wrong thing. In the next second Seokjin is swearing lowly under his breath, pressing his lips to your throat to hide his groan.

“Joonie, bedside table. You’ll have to prepare her.”

You’ve never seen Namjoon move as fast as he did the second Seokjin spoke, flying from the bed; he’s back within seconds after retrieving something from the drawers to the side, placing them on the covers. A small rectangular tin and a slim bottle. 

When he sits, waiting eagerly with his cock still flushed and hard and bobbing from the movement, Seokjin turns you around in an abridged version of the way you were before. Taking note of the uncomfortable angle of your arms, he undoes the tie, but doesn’t discard it after slipping it from the reddened skin of your wrists.

With your ass now pointed in Namjoon’s direction, it isn’t long before his hands find purchase and your most intimate area is revealed to him.

“Fuck,” he swears, “You’re so wet, baby. We might not even need the extra help, hyung.”

“Use it just in case,” Seokjin instructs, before turning his attention to you. “Now, if you want to cum later I think you should earn it now, hm?”

Your hands were already moving towards his belt and fly before he’d started talking, but his words renew your vigour. When you free Seokjin’s crotch from the confines of his slacks and briefs, you quickly understand just what Namjoon meant earlier. Namjoon has length, but Seokjin is thick. You wrap your hands around him and can’t help but marvel at his size— you’re a little ashamed of how excited it makes you.

“Ah!” Your plans to engulf Seokjin’s cock in the heat of your mouth are interrupted by a sensation at your rear. You wiggle slightly, unable to help it. “That’s cold!”

Namjoon places a featherlight kiss to your cheek, thick, slippery finger beginning to ease into your hole now that it is sufficiently lubricated. Suddenly aware that your attention is in the wrong place, you do your best to hurry back to what you were doing before you earn yourself another smack. 

“Perfect, bubs.” The groan that rumbles from Seokjin’s throat in praise is so raspy and low that it makes a shiver roll down your spine. As teasingly as you dare, you’re suckling around the flushed head of his cock, feeling it twitch and throb in your hands in response. It’s already a tight fit in your mouth, you can feel your thighs quaking in anticipation as you imagine what it would feel like filling you up. The thought takes you by surprise.

Since when did you start thinking like such a wanton whore?!

Well, you suppose, there is no time like the present. 

Seokjin’s hand threads through your hair, his hips rocking ever so slightly; you watch the way the muscles in his abdomen undulate at the movement and fight to keep your saliva in your mouth as you begin to bob your head down his length. Considering his girth, it’s hard to keep your teeth tucked behind your lips, but you somehow manage; when the time comes that he reaches your throat you’re in a better condition than you were earlier for it, but it’s still a bit of a shock to the system.

“Oh my god,” Seokjin’s thighs quake for the slightest second against you. “Fuck. No wonder Joonie almost blew his load. Look at you. You do this often, huh? Look how well you swallow my cock…”

You moan around him, his words and the oddly pleasant sensation of Namjoon working his fingers in and out of your asshole melding into a pool of heat in your abdomen.  Your eyes flutter closed as you try to focus on making Seokjin feel good, and you’re only distracted by a muted flash behind your eyelids.

Click.

Another shot saved. You take Seokjin further into your mouth, trying to go as far back as you can without gagging. He doesn’t seem to mind the way your throat constricts around his length though, if the noises escaping his plush lips where they part are anything to go by. Namjoon gradually adds one finger after another, making sure you’re accustomed to the stretch at least a little before the next joins. By the time he has squeezed in three fingers and scissored them a few times, you find yourself shaking a bit from the sensations. It’s odd, different to what you’re used to, but oh even with the light burn that accompanies each finger it still feels so good. 

You’re so focused on the sensations that you don’t even realise the attention you’ve been giving Seokjin has strayed, lips sucking a little harder and your hand stroking a little tighter. The salty taste of precum coats your tongue and you have half a mind to be ashamed of the way it makes you long for more. It proves to be a little too much for Seokjin at once, though. His hand tightens in your hair, pulling you gently off of him as he struggles to catch his breath.

“Not yet, bubs,” he says, voice rough. His eyes are like magnetic pools as they draw you into their depths, their hold only broken when Namjoon slips a final finger in and you shut your eyes on instinct, mouth dropping open at the sensation. 

“Are you ready, baby?” 

Namjoon’s voice makes your stomach flip, his free hand smoothing over the curve of your ass. You find yourself nodding before you even have the thought to do so, and with that Namjoon shifts on the bed behind you. Seokjin helps you move backwards, your eyes trained on his length somewhat longingly. There is the sound of something tearing softly behind you and you find yourself thankful that they took the initiative and you don’t have to ask them about protection.

You’re moved so that you’re straddling Namjoon’s hips with your back to him, still facing Seokjin. The two of them have since discarded their slacks and briefs  and are now presenting themselves in all their naked glory. Namjoon mutters a tender warning, informing you it might burn a bit, and you’ve heard of that but aren’t about to turn tail when you also know it’s going to feel so good after. You feel his tip press against your ass, alarmingly bigger than his fingers, and Seokjin helps ease you down slowly, inch by inch, with a firm grasp on your hips. 

True to the warning you’d received, it does burn; Namjoon had made sure there was more than enough lubrication for an easy glide, though, and by the time he has seated himself fully in you, you’re making noises you don’t think you ever have before. The line between heady pleasure and light pain is so blurred that you’re worried you might have fried your nerves at some point tonight. 

“Oh—” you take in a shuddering breath, shifting your hips ever so slightly and moaning in tandem with the man beneath you. “Joon…”

“Ride him,” Seokjin instructs, hands leaving your hips to reach for his camera once more. “Let’s make him feel good, hm?”

Who are you to say no? 

You pride yourself on having a lot of strength in your limbs, thighs especially, but still they tremble as you roll your hips up until just the tip of Namjoon’s cock remains in you, and then ease back onto him again. It takes a second before you realise the low moan you hear is coming from you, mind so addled with pleasure at this point you almost feel like you’re floating. Bracing yourself on your thighs, you do your best to set a rhythm and maintain it, ignoring the fatigue of your muscles and focusing on how good it feels and the noises tumbling from the man beneath you. 

When there is a sly touch against your swollen clit, you cry out loudly— Namjoon almost shouts at the way you clench around him, his hands flying to your hips to hold you in place for a moment. You look to Seokjin with wide eyes, panting slightly.

“Didn’t you wanna cum so badly, earlier?” he queries, fingers slipping down to slide through the slick mess around your entrance. You moan as he easily sinks two fingers in, pumping lightly. “Don’t stop, fuck yourself on my fingers, bubs.”

It feels so good you think you might tear up; obediently, you resume the pace you set earlier, now riding both Namjoon’s length and Seokjin’s digits. Each time you sink down he curls them, and you don’t know how much longer you can keep this out before your legs become too akin to  jelly to support you.

The answer is: not much longer. Seokjin quickly grows tired of it when your movements slow, thighs trembling from the effort. With a hand to your stomach he pushes you back, shifting your legs so they’re folded with your feet flat against the covers. You scramble for purchase, Namjoon quickly supporting you from behind. 

Seokjin tuts, muttering playfully about having to do everything himself, and it’s all the warning you get before he adds another digit and begins to finger your sopping entrance so hard and good that for a moment your vision goes white.

“S-Seokjin!” you drop your head back, nails sinking into the bedding as he begins to curl his fingers into that delicious spot inside of you with each pump. You had been slowly but steadily climbing back up to the precipice of your orgasm earlier, but now you’re heading there at breakneck speed. Before you know it the coil of pressure is snapping inside you and you’re shaking, pleasure numbing your limbs and making you whine.

By the time your high fades and you tune back in to the moment, you quickly become aware of two things— one, that you’ve somehow managed to coat Seokjin’s whole arm in your fluids, and two, that Namjoon has gone so tense and still beneath you that you think you might have almost killed him.

“Good girl,” Seokjin praises, sucking your cream off the tip of his fingers before wiping the remaining excess on your thigh so he can reach for his own rubber. “Do you need me to wait another moment?”

Assessing your current state, you find yourself shaking your head. You might have thought you would be too sensitive to continue, but Namjoon is still fully seated in your ass and now your pussy feels too empty for you to bear. Seokjin is only too happy to fill that void. 

Nestled between your legs, when he lines his cock up at your entrance and begins to slide in, you all but lose the ability to think. You clench unintentionally from the sensation of being filled so completely, making both men groan and Seokjin halt in his movements. He waits until you relax again before continuing his motion. 

When both men are fully sheathed inside you, you think this really might be what bliss is. Soft, panting whines and moans tumble freely from your throat as Seokjin pushes your thighs to your chest and begins to set a mind-numbing pace. It’s borderline brutal, the way he slams into you and splits you open so hard and good; each time his hips hit home you feel your whole body jostle.

“You can move, Joonie,” Seokjin somehow manages to articulate, sweat beginning to bead across his forehead and dampen the strands falling over it. You don’t know how he can talk, because you know if you tried at this moment you’d likely end up biting off your tongue. 

You feel Namjoon shake his head, hair brushing the space between your shoulder blades. “‘m close,” he mumbles in explanation, a short moan following his words. “Wanna cum together.”

It’s such a sweet desire in the midst of such a lewd situation that you almost get whiplash between the swelling of your heart and the pleasurable ache filling your insides. You feel that he will get his wish soon, because despite your recent high you’re already well on your way to reaching it again— Seokjin’s hips have begun to stutter, too, and you know he isn’t far behind. 

It all reaches its peak when Seokjin slips his hand down, following the angle of your hip bone to your core and rolling your bud with his thumb. It proves to be too much for you, because in the next moment you’re letting out a loud train of expletives and clenching tightly around them as pleasure floods your system once more, mind absolutely blank. The tightness of your heat around them is their undoing and barely a moment after you reach your high they follow suit, the sounds tumbling from them borderline sinful against your ears. 

It takes a bit longer for you to come back to earth, this time. By the time you do, Namjoon is winding his arms around your waist and rolling to the side, taking you and Seokjin with him. You let out a noise of surprise that curls into a laugh, hands gripping his arms as you hit the bed; both men are still inside you, and while you secretly wish it could stay that way for a bit longer, you know you should probably clean up. 

“No,” Namjoon says before you even go to move, a pout in his tone as he buries his face in the back of your neck. Seokjin nestles closer, pressing his lips to the hollow of your throat. “Stay, just a bit longer.”

That’s a dangerous request, especially considering the way your eyelids are beginning to feel heavy after the events of the night. For them, too, you can hear the way their breathing has already begun to even out. You couldn’t be mad if you tried, though, because just being here in their arms feels so right that you don’t ever want to feel anything else. 

“I guess we can nap…” you say, sounding tired enough that it elicits a chuckle from Seokjin. You let your eyes close, nestling your cheek against the top of Seokjin’s head and enjoying the light scent of his shampoo and cologne. You let out one last warning before you let yourself fall into the abyss, though. Just so they know who’s boss.

“If I see those photos anywhere near my house, Seokjin, it won’t just be me getting disowned.”

The laughter that tumbles forth in response just adds to the warmth flooding your being, and you let yourself relax, contented and truly happy for the first time in three years. 

[dynyamight]

here’s a concept: deku, a farmer boy goes out to the Wild West and encounters a cowboy kacchan. deku teaches cowboy kacchan to plant corn and take care of chickens. they then become close. after that they marry and are known at the “maize buckaroo duo.”

(this is so random hshshshsh. but the idea just sparked outta nowhere ;33)

i offer you, farmer!deku x cowboy!bkg you give concept. i create fanfic. ;33 i luv this idea & ilysm

—

When Midoriya registers the fast, loud gallops outside, hitting and snapping down on the ground, he ceases his movement, before smiling hard.

The Monday morning has just started, and already there’s excitement in his chest. Those familiar sounds gave him the absolute flutters.

However, that excitement drops. Daisy huffs, back kicking at the milk bucket in an annoyed fit. Midoriya hurriedly picks it up, before all their shared, hard efforts were to go down the hay. Literally.

“Sorry, sorry!” Midoriya urges the cow, quickly smacking his wet hands on the folded towel on his knee. Then, resting a short calm palm on her snout, he whispers reassuringly, “You did amazing, today. Let’s get you back on the field.”

After setting the bucket aside, Midoriya takes the rope around Daisy in one hand, and lifts open the gate with the other. Together, they slowly make their way out of the stables, more or less. Daisy steps on Midoriya’s heels, hurrying him up.

However, stepping outside, Midoriya already knows to turn to his left, instead of his right at the gated grass field. From the sounds he heard inside, he bets on seeing Dynamite, first.

And, sure enough, turning around the corner of the stables, the proudful stallion meets his eyes, neighing a loud greeting over his way. Midoriya halts Daisy and offers a small wave back.

There’s a small jolt from Dynamite, before he starts walking, at a quick pace over towards Midoriya. Finally, that’s when Midoriya sees Bakugou, riding on the back of the horse, the finest, leather saddle equipped.

Midoriya shakes his head, smiling up. “Surprising to see you, so soon. It’s not even sunrise, Kacchan.”

“How fucking rude,” Bakugou clicks his tongue, before stopping Dynamite’s steps with a small pull. He tips his black, cowboy hat down, though barely. “Not even a damn ‘morning’ my way.”

“You’re never one for pleasantries, anyway.” Midoriya teases, pointing at his hat. “You didn’t do a full tip, you know.”

“Tch, you ain’t special.” Bakugou huffs, “Be grateful.”

Taking a few steps forward, Midoriya pats the side of Dynamite’s face. “Good morning, boy! How are you, on this fine early day?” He holds in the laugh, glancing at the scowl Bakugou sends his way.

Dynamite doesn’t give any cues of delight. But, by the way Midoriya feels the stallion lower his head, and press firmly against his hand, it’s not too far-fetched to assume he loves the touch.

On the other hand, Bakugou swats at Midoriya, face twisted in disgust. “Gross! I don’t want that fucking creature’s juices all over him.”

Behind Midoriya, Daisy stomps on the ground. ‘The field, remember?’ Midoriya imagines her quip. And, from the wagging of her tail, she’s losing her patience. Quickly.

“Yeah, yeah.” Bakugou sneers aloud, speaking directly at Daisy, “Say whatever you want. But, I ain’t wanting your spoiled cheese on my damn horse.”

“That’s not what she’s upset about.” Midoriya deadpans. “And, what? Can’t handle milk, out of all things?”

“Milk that came straight out of her tit.”

“Where else would it come from? Trees?”

“Whatever, I just don’t want that shit on my horse, for fuck’s sake.”

Though, they couldn’t argue anymore about it. With a strong force, Daisy begins to pull Midoriya away, forgoing staying another second away from her beloved grass.

Fortunately, for Midoriya’s heart, Bakugou cues Dynamite to follow, trailing right next to them. “Damn, she reminds me of my hag. So fucking dramatic.”

“Your hag?” Midoriya questions, tossing a curious head over. “Is she your dog?” He guesses.

“My mom.” Bakugou corrects, nonchalantly.

Midoriya supposes the open expression of shock wasn’t concealed well, because Bakugou lets out a laugh, turning away with a fist to his mouth. “You’re such a mama’s boy.” He snickers. It leaves Midoriya red in the face.

It’s just he would never call his mother anything, but an absolute blessing. He loves her, dearly.

The moment they step onto the wide, open area of the field, Daisy tosses her head, wanting the rope around her neck off. Hushing her quiet and still, Midoriya loosens off the knot, allowing the loop to widen, and finally, pulling it over her head, free.

As Daisy trots away, passing through the sheep and goats, Midoriya’s surprised to see Bakugou pulling himself off Dynamite. Landing smoothly on his feet, leather boots shiny with clean spurs, Bakugou fixes his hat, showcasing more of his face.

His red meets green. “Nice farm you got building.” He compliments. “An improvement from before.”

Midoriya nudges him, with a dull elbow jab. “Stop, It looks the same.”

“That ain’t true.” Bakugou firmly states. “Two months ago, this place had nothing.”

“Well, it’s still not enough to open a public business.” Midoriya sighs, readjusting the straps of his brown overalls. ”I might have to pull out another loan, in order to afford some harvest equipment for my corn.”

“Tch, that’s why you should join the rodeos.” Bakugou insists, crossing his arms to his chest. “It’s the easiest way to make money, here. Good money.”

Midoriya looks back at Bakugou, unimpressed. “Says the state champion.”

Dynamite snorts, conveniently in tune to Midoriya’s mock. It causes a slight reddening in Bakugou’s face. He quickly turns back to his horse, munching on the grass. “Shut it.”

“Anyways, I’ll find a way. Rodeo, or not.” Midoriya continues, yawning in between his words.

“Geez, where’s your damn etiquette.”

“Left it back home. With all my sins and exes.” Midoriya teases, outright. And, despite the smack over his head hurting, Midoriya can’t help, but laugh. “I’m serious!”

“You’re so annoying.” Bakugou grumbles, digging one of his spurs on the ground. “Bringing up stupid shit.”

Midoriya shrugs, still rubbing the back of head. “I promise you, I was a lady killer, where I’m from.”

“Killing those poor, innocent ladies with your bad breath.”

Immediately, Midoriya raises a hand over his mouth, puffing out an air. Though, all he can smell really, is Daisy.

God, did that mean his breath smells like Daisy? The cow?

Bakugou rolls his eyes. “Gullible Deku.” He simply states. “Your breath s’fine.”

Midoriya groans, and he tries to smack Bakugou back over the head. Though, Bakugou dodges his hand easily, leaning away.

“Making fun of a farmer on his own bought land, is an insult to his pride.” Midoriya huffs, taking back his hand.

“What are you going to do about it?” Bakugou mocks, a grin forming against his lips. “Make me work? Not a chance.”

With a lightbulb feeling running through his mind, Midoriya absolutely loves the off handed suggestion. “Actually, yes! You can help me feed the chickens!”

Turning his heels quickly, Midoriya smiles at the absolute panic in Bakugou’s voice. “Hah? What the— No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you are!” Midoriya sings aloud, taking quick steps towards the gate. “C’mon, hurry up, now! Leave Dynamite out on the grass!” He calls out, as he opens the gates, and goes into a full sprint out.

By the time he reaches the stables, goes to his feeding cabinet, shelves crowded with plastic containers and bags of nutrients for his livestock and crops, and grabs onto the chicken feed, Bakugou has begrudgingly made his way inside.

“It smells.” Bakugou complains.

“Suck it up.” Midoriya laughs, before taking a plastic bowl off the shelves and setting it down on the counter. He pours the feed inside. “I bet the rodeos smell just as bad.”

“They don’t.”

“Well, you’re being paid to say that.”

Bakugou walks over to him, standing by his side. He leans on the counter, as Midoriya lifts the feed bag back into the cabinet. “If they did, I wouldn’t do them.” Bakugou states, narrowing his eyes. “Simple as that.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Before Bakugou can insist otherwise, Midoriya pushes the bowl into his hands. He holds back a laugh, when Bakugou almost drops it completely. “Now, let’s head to the coop, shall we?”

Clicking his tongue, Bakugou grimaces. “S’too fucking early for this.”

“Hey, you’re the one who showed up.” Midoriya reminds him, as they walk to the back of the stables, where the clucks of the chickens resound louder. “Which, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s with the sudden visit? Forgot to buy eggs, from yesterday's pick up?”

“Does it matter?” Bakugou questions, instead.

That takes Midoriya aback. “I mean, not really. But, we never meet on the weekdays.” He admits softly. He takes a moment away, to crack open at the tall, wooden gate at the end of the hall.

The chickens weren’t too active, thankfully. Several of them are still sitting perched and hidden inside the coop. Otherwise, only a few were already walking around outside the coop, clucking aimlessly.

Midoriya feels Bakugou lean close to him. When he looks, he notices a chicken had passed by Bakugou’s boots, with no pay to mind. However, Bakugou was visibly losing his mind.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared.” Midoriya smiles.

Bakugou scowls, glaring right down at him. “They got bacteria. Sick motherfuckers.”

For a cowboy, Bakugou has a keen distaste for getting unnecessarily dirty. It never fails to surprise Midoriya. “Well, just wash your clothes when you get back home.”

“I got other shit to do after, you know.” Bakugou growls.

“Again,” Midoriya sighs, “You’re the one who chose to be here. I’m simply utilizing you.”

As Midoriya leads Bakugou over to the coop, he grumbles under his breath. “Gonna have to pull another loan, if you want me working for your ass.”

Rolling his eyes, he ignores the silly comment, and instead gestures at Bakugou to start throwing the feed at the nearby chickens, surrounding the coop. When he stares back, confused, Midoriya remembers the guy’s not a farmer in the slightest. “Start throwing the feed.”

Bakugou hurriedly starts tossing small amounts. “I knew that. Thought you were gonna say something else.”

It’s hard to imagine what else an open hand in air would mean, but nevertheless Midoriya doesn’t argue. The chickens awake are already bustling over, surrounding the dropped feed in seconds.

Taking a handful from the bowl, Midoriya kneels down, going close to the small crowd of chickens. He notices some of them quickly waddle over to him, instead of feed dropped on the ground. The few that come to him peck at his hand, and it floods warmth to Midoriya’s heart.

“They prefer off the hand, huh.” Bakugou comments above him.

“I would like to think that they like me, but sure.” In seconds, the feed’s all gone, and the chickens wait around him for more.

“You should kneel down, too.” Midoriya offers gently to Bakugou, making sure his voice doesn’t startle the creatures. “Feed them off your hand.”

There’s an obvious hesitation, before Bakugou gets low, kneeling next to Midoriya.

One of the chickens tries to reach into the bowl in hands, in which he pulls it away quickly. “I’m getting fucking attacked already.”

“They’re eager.” Midoriya insists.

Dipping his hand into the bowl, Bakugou raises a handful of his own. He whips his head to Midoriya, glaring. “If my hand bleeds, I demand a lawyer to prosecute you.”

They don’t even hurt that bad. Though, telling Bakugou that would probably have him second guess everything. Hence, Midoriya shakes his head. “You won’t.”

Within a few seconds of only impatient clucking surrounding them, Bakugou finally puts his hand out. In seconds, the chickens start to peck at his hand, picking up all the feed quickly.

Midoriya stares at Bakugou. He’s cursing them out, demanding them to stop pecking so hard, for fuck’s sake. And, despite the apparent discomfort from the first handful, Bakugou goes for another handful, offering his hand once more.

Again, the cussing ensues, but it’s still all Bakugou’s free will. He could have stopped at the first hand, but he didn’t. Instead, he’s still kneeling next to Midoriya, feeding these silly, rambunctious chickens.

When Bakugou definitely had better things to do.

“Why did you show up?” Midoriya asks once more, standing up. The chickens have already departed, as Bakugou had tossed the rest of the feed from the bowl, out in the open. “You only buy my products on Sunday’s.”

“Why do you keep asking.” Bakugou reflects back, opening the wooden gate open for Midoriya.

Midoriya steps in front of him, back inside the stables. Once inside, hearing the wooden gate close, he turns around, facing him. “You know, I’m not letting you off, without hearing what’s on your mind.” He softly smiles.

Bakugou stares back at him. And, for an odd moment, his eyes scan all over his face, jittering, until they cease. “You’re making this a big deal, Deku. Just wanted to check up on the farm.”

Ah, that does make sense. “Oh my— Then, why didn’t you say that earlier!" Midoriya laughs.

Bakugou shrugs. “Again, it’s not a big deal. Now, where’s the damn sink?”

Midoriya leads them back to the entrance of the stables, where the sink was, alongside various cleaning supplies perched on shelves. They wash their hands, in silence.

They don’t say much either, when they head back to the grass field, to pick up Dynamite. Though, Midoriya doesn’t mind the silence. Bakugou has a limit to his social battery, and Midoriya has grown to know when it’s time to give him his quiet and peace.

After Bakugou sits back up on Dynamite, and they walk back to the open road, around the corner of the stables, he slightly pulls the reins, causing the stallion to come to a stop. It causes Midoriya to look up, wondering if the cowboy forgot something, back in the stables.

Instead, there’s a slight flush in his cheeks. He coughs loudly, clearing nothing in his throat. “There’s a rodeo this Friday.”

Midoriya waits for the rest, but instead Bakugou says nothing else. “Oh, uh, okay? Will you be participating?”

“Yeah.” Bakugou simply utters.

Again, nothing else is said. “Well, I wish you the best of luck, then.” Midoriya offers, despite the confusion in his mind.

“Are you—” Bakugou stops, inaudibly grumbling under his breath. “I mean, the rodeo ain’t too far from here.”

“Oh!” Midoriya’s genuinely surprised, “Who would have thought? That’s a shocker.”

“Yeah. You could go, even.”

“I’m not joining rodeos. No matter how many times you demand.” Midoriya laughs.

“No, to watch.” Bakugou corrects, though the moment he slips the words, it suddenly causes his entire face to go red. “Fuck, I mean, you could watch. Other riders, and competitors, or whatever the fuck.”

Midoriya can’t seem to understand where Bakugou’s coming from. This cowboy wants him, a new residential farmer, to watch a rodeo. A rodeo, which he has never seen in his entire life.

Though, if Bakugou’s asking, Midoriya’s heart will always simply agree. “I’ll go watch, then.” He reassures him, “And, I guess I’ll cheer you on, if you’re any good.”

Bakugou’s face calms, though there’s still a stiffness in his shoulders. “Cool.”

Midoriya thinks he wants to say something more, but instead Bakugou brings his thighs closer to Dynamite, squeezing him slightly. Instantly, Dynamite starts trouting off.

Before he can call out, Bakugou looks back at him. “Starts at 7 in the afternoon! Don’t be fucking late!”

And, just with a small kick, Dynamite starts racing off on the road, Bakugou leaving Midoriya only with his thoughts.

There’s not a lot of information about the rodeo, though Midoriya knows he will most definitely ask around for the rest of the details. Essentially, it’s a nearby rodeo, that starts at 7PM. Surely, there are others in town that know where exactly is the event.

Midoriya can’t help, but drift his focus away from the rodeo, and back to Bakugou’s distant figure. Against the morning sunrise, he looks so cool.

But, a farmer like him, attracted to a cowboy like Bakugou, is so embarrassing.

[imagine-loki]

Loki's Daughter

TITLE: Loki’s Daughter CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 13: The Grimoire of Curses AUTHOR: traveling_classicist ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Avengers: Endgame AU Loki that gets away with tesseract has been using it to explore the universe. During his adventures, he comes across a little girl with developing but oppressed magical abilities. Intrigued (and subconsciously lonely) Loki keeps her around. RATING: T

AO3 Link: Here NOTES/WARNINGS: None for this chapter. Enjoy!

————————————————————-

Loki had scoured over his new collection of books on curses. He was becoming increasingly frustrated with each discourse he picked up; more frustrated and more discouraged. Kuna, on the other hand, enjoyed her new freedoms. The freedom to explore where she wanted, eat when she wanted, sleep when she wanted.

She could even play, something she had always really wanted to do but was always forbidden from doing. The strangest part of all: she didn’t have to work. Ever. In fact, Loki actively stopped her from cleaning, tidying, cooking, or any other attempts at non-child-like behavior, and promptly pushed her outside to play.

Loki had even begun to teach her how to read and write. He had spread out a large piece of paper in front of her and taught her how to hold a quill and dip it in ink and write out the Asgardian futhark. She had never been so excited in her whole life. She memorized the whole futhark in just a few minutes. She learned how to write hers and Loki’s names and the names of her toys. Loki was a good teacher. Kuna was convinced he knew everything there was to know.

Now, she was able to write whole sentences and read short stories in their storybooks. Loki even made up stories for her to read which were her favorite.

One day, Loki sat in their hammock grumbling at another book, while Kuna swatted at an imaginary beast with a stick. She had learned to be quiet when Loki was reading because he wanted to concentrate on his books, so she kept her stories about slaying imaginary beasts inside her head.

“Arrgh, I’ve had enough of this!” Loki slammed the book closed.

Kuna jumped, dropping her stick. Her shoulders drooped and her head hung low. She looked up cautiously, afraid she had caused his angry outburst.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t yell like that. What do you want to do today, Kuna?” he asked.

“Me?” she asked, shyly.

“Yes, you,” he said. “I can’t take any more of these bloody books today. So, what do you want to do?”

Kuna had never been asked this question before, so it required much thought. She walked over to the hammock and crawled into it beside Loki. She tapped her finger against her lips in thought.

“Mmm. Will you teach me how to fight monsters?” she asked finally.

“How to fight monsters,” Loki repeated.

Kuna nodded, excitedly.

“That’s very specific.”

Kuna continued nodding.

“All right, come on!” Loki jumped out of the hammock. It flipped over, depositing Kuna on the ground. She hopped up, undisturbed, and ran for their satchel with the silver dagger.

Loki snatched it up. “Nope!” He stopped her at arm’s length with a hand on her head.

She giggled, trying to reach for the satchel.

“You’re going to learn with this.” He gave her the wooden dagger he had bought for her on Tenanci’i.

“Aww,” Kuna pouted.

 “Stand up straight!” Loki commanded.

Kuna stood as tall as she could. Loki adjusted her feet until she stood about shoulder width. He positioned her left hand on the hilt of the dagger.

“When your other hand, your off hand, is empty, it’s going to balance you,” he said. “Don’t let it fall to your side like a dead fish.” Kuna chuckled at this. “Keep it up and always moving. You can use it to punch with, like this,” -he showed her a quick jab- “or to block.”

Kuna copied his movements. He began to call out actions for her to do, holding the dagger in a downward position in her left hand. When she was able to do this on command, Loki began teaching her movements with the dagger.

“It’s not all about stabbing, even though that’s pretty fun,” Loki said.

Kuna giggled, pretending to stab him.

He laughed and gently took her wrist, positioning the dagger in different ways. “You can slice and cut, forward and back, up and down, hack, and even stab with a dagger,” he explained, moving Kuna’s hand with each word. “They’re very multifunctional weapons. You can even throw it if you’re in a pinch.”

“But then I wouldn’t have a dagger anymore.”

“Very clever,” Loki said. “It should never be your first move if this is your only weapon. And there are better weapons for throwing anyways. Only throw this if it’s your last resort and you know you’ve got a clean shot. Otherwise, you’ll be in trouble.”

“Hmm.” Kuna weighed the wooden dagger in her hand. She turned it over and made a swipe at the air.

“Good,” Loki said. “Now, faster. Put more power behind it.”

She made the same movement again, swinging harder. “Don’t lose control,” Loki instructed. He readjusted her stance, and she struck the air again. “Better.”

They continued with different moves and attacks until Kuna was out of breath.

“Take a break,” Loki said, giving her one of their canteens. He smiled at her. “You learn quickly. I don’t even think I picked up a weapon this fast.”

Kuna could barely contain her happiness. She took the canteen and drank. The cold water felt good. She laid back in the grass under the trees.

“Do you think I could fight as good as you someday?” Kuna asked.

“Let’s find out,” Loki said. “Come and get me.”

A wooden knife, like a giant splinter, dug into the ground to the right of Kuna’s head. She gasped and rolled to the side, grabbing her own dagger. She came up on one knee and looked for Loki.

“That was impressive,” he said. Kuna ran towards his voice. He rose up out of a bush. She jumped up and slashed at him, but he disappeared.

“Hey!” she cried as she crashed through the bush. “You can’t use magic!”

“Why not?” his voice came from behind her.

“That’s cheating!”

“There’s no cheating in a fight, little raven,” he said, laughing as she bounded through another illusion. “You have to use what you’ve got. And I have magic.”

Kuna fell through another Loki. She stood and looked around. Something hard hit her in the back of the head.

“Ouch!” She looked down at an acorn rolling at her foot and frowned.

“And I have acorns,” Loki taunted. “What have you got?”

Kuna looked at her dagger. It wasn’t really helping her if all the Lokis were ghosts. Another acorn whistled towards her, this one from her right. She swung the dagger and blocked it with a satisfying thwack. A smile spread across her face.

“Don’t celebrate too long,” Loki chuckled from behind her. “Or you’ll be dead.”

She whipped around and dodged Loki’s arm as it came down to hit her. She stabbed at his leg, and he disappeared just as she had expected him too. With this Loki gone, she ran to the bushes to her left and pounced into them. She came down on an empty patch of dirt and twigs.

“Too slow!” Loki sang.

Kuna growled. She ran to the nearest tree and climbed up into the branches.

“Now, we’re using our brain. I was beginning to think you forgot it was there,” Loki taunted her.

She followed the sound of his voice and jumped through the trees towards it. An acorn smacked the back of her head. She turned to find the Loki that threw it and saw two Lokis, one in the tree and the other on the ground.

“Now, concentrate,” they both said. “Which one is me?”

Jumping towards the one in the tree, she made a quick jab at him, which he easily avoided. He gave her a good shove, sending her forward off the branch. She stretched out her arm and grabbed a lower branch, swinging to the ground. She felt a thump on the ground behind her and turned, slashing wildly with her dagger at the Loki that had dropped from the tree, but he disappeared.

Another appeared behind her, then another and another until there was a circle of Lokis surrounding her. She turned in a circle, trying to figure out which one was the real one. They each smiled at her devilishly.

Then a blue glow began to radiate from one of the Lokis to her left. A soft, lilting melody drifted on the air. She turned and leapt onto the glowing Loki, slashing at him. She crawled up his body and onto his back like a monkey.

“Ahh!” he screamed. The other Lokis vanished. She had caught the real one.

She raised her hand to stab him, but he caught her wrist and pulled her off his back.

“Aww,” she whined.

“So close, little one. Very impressive but I’ve been doing this a lot longer than yo-AHHH! DID YOU JUST BITE ME?!” He let go and she dropped onto her feet, giggling. She skipped up to him and stabbed him in the tummy with her dagger.

“Stab! I win!”

“Agh! I’m dead!” Loki yelled. He fell backwards dramatically. “Blah!” He stuck out his tongue and closed his eyes and made his body go limp.

Kuna walked over and put a foot up on his chest, raising her dagger to the sky. “I’ve defeated the mighty Loki!”

“Surprise!” Loki grabbed her around the waist and pulled her down. She squealed.

“No fair! You can’t come back to life!”

“Oh, but that’s sort of my thing, love,” he said. “I can’t believe you bit me. Come here! Let me see those teeth!”

“Grrrrrr!” She growled at him, baring her teeth.

“Do you have fangs?!”

“Raaawr!” She opened her mouth wide enough for Loki to see a row of sharp teeth, like a big cat’s, running back into her mouth.

“You have got fangs!” Rolling up his sleeve, he examined his wound. “Do you have venom in those? Am I going to turn into a Kuna, now? How have I never seen those chompers you’ve got in there?”

Kuna smiled big. Only one set of her sharp fangs was visible in her smile, the rest were hidden. She growled at him again and snapped her teeth, not able to control her giggles.

“Yeah, all right. You’re very ferocious,” he said. “But no more biting! Not me at least. Bite anyone else.”

“But you said I should use what I’ve got.”

“I did say that.”

“So, I could bite in a fight?”

“Yes, it’s rather effective actually,” Loki said, rubbing his arm. He picked up the canteen that was laying on the ground and took a drink. “How did you know which Loki was me?”

“The tesseract told me,” Kuna said, flipping her dagger in the air.

Loki spit out his water. “The what?!”

“The tesseract! I concentrated on trying to find you like you said, and the tesseract told me which one you were.”

“How did it do that?” Loki asked, a serious tone in his voice.

“Y…You were glowing, and I could hear the tesseract singing so I… I knew it was you.”

Loki sat in silence for a moment, thinking. Kuna pulled her legs up to her chest.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked.

“No, you didn’t,” Loki said.

“Are you mad?”

“No. You did exactly what I would have done. I’m just concerned with how the tesseract is affecting you.”

“Why?”

“It affects people differently. Sometimes in strange ways. I’ve not known it to ‘sing’ to anyone before.”

“I like the way it sings.”

“What does it sound like?”

“Like, um, hmm…” Kuna wasn’t sure she could make the same sounds as the tesseract did. She tried to hum like it but the noise she made was not at all like the tesseract’s pretty sounds. “That’s not right. I can’t do it like the tesseract does.” She shrugged.

“Hmm. Well, I don’t hear anything.”

“Maybe your ears are clogged.”

“That’s probably it,” Loki said, chuckling.

She nodded and tried to flip the dagger in her hand again. The wooden blade smacked her hand and fell to the ground. She frowned at it. Loki picked it up.

“If that had been real, you would have lost fingers,” he said. “Watch carefully.” He flipped the dagger in the air and caught it effortlessly. “It’s all in the wrist.”

He smoothly turned the dagger over and offered the hilt to Kuna to try. She took it. She timed a toss of the dagger and it flipped gracefully, catching it by the handle this time. She smiled and looked up at Loki.

“Well done,” he said. “Just wait until you can do it with two at the same time.”

“Ooooh,” Kuna breathed.

Loki conjured two daggers and showed her a smooth double dagger flip. The glint of the daggers shown over Kuna’s face. She was overjoyed. She could not wait to start training with two daggers. She wanted to be just like Loki.

“I wanna try!” she said.

“I don’t think you’re ready for these yet,” Loki responded. “Weapons like these need to be treated with respect. They’re sharp and they’ll easily cut off those fingers of yours or more if you’re not careful.”

Kuna frowned.

“You’ll get there, little raven,” Loki said, tussling her hair. “Come on, let’s go inside and get something to eat.”

At the thought of food, Kuna happily bounded past Loki and jumped through the door. Loki had finally figured out a way to keep the door open, so he did not have to awkwardly squish through the awful honey-like material. Kuna bounced around the tent, gracefully avoiding the stacks of books Loki had left everywhere. She parried and jabbed with her dagger at invisible enemies.

Loki made her a sandwich from their supplies as she played. He frowned at the basket that kept their food. It was getting dangerously close to being empty. They would need to teleport somewhere to get more supplies soon, but there was enough for them to eat for the rest of the day.

He handed Kuna the sandwich as she hopped by. She barely stopped as she began stuffing bites of it into her mouth.

“No, no. Come, settle down,” Loki scolded. “You’ll upset your stomach, jumping around and eating like that.”

“Hmm,” Kuna mumbled and plopped down across from Loki. She held her sandwich in two hands and took big bites.

Loki frowned at her. “Do you even taste your food?”

“Mmm-hmm!” she nodded, cheeks bulging with sandwich. “It tastes so good!”

“Fair enough,” he said, taking a dainty bite of his own sandwich. He picked up a book and opened it setting it on one leg while he ate.

Kuna watched him. She sat up straighter and crossed her legs. She remade her sandwich, which had fallen apart in her eagerness to eat. Sitting up tall, like Loki, she took a small bite of her sandwich and chewed slowly. Loki turned a page and took another bite of his sandwich and Kuna did the same.

Loki caught on quickly to this game of pantomime. Without looking up from his book, he raised his sandwich to his mouth, Kuna following his movements. Before taking a bite, he lowered his hand and turned another page. He could see Kuna frown at being denied a bite but lowering her sandwich into her lap as well.

He lifted the sandwich again to his mouth and then looked across at Kuna. She stopped cold as if caught doing something bad. Loki lowered the sandwich, keeping eye contact. Kuna copied him. He quickly jolted the sandwich back up towards his mouth and Kuna did the same. His eyes narrowed. Then he smiled.

In a quick movement, he tossed the sandwich over his shoulder. Kuna gasped. Loki raised his eyebrows at her, daring her to copy him. She shook her head and shoved the rest of the sandwich in her mouth. He rolled his eyes and laughed.

“I don’t waste food,” Kuna said, mouth full.

“That’s very good,” he replied, revealing his own sandwich that he had hidden in a quick invisibility spell. “Neither do I.”

Kuna’s mouth fell open, chewed food showing on her tongue.

“Eww, gross, Kuna! Swallow that!” Loki laughed.

Kuna giggled and swallowed her food.

“Speaking of, we’re starting to run low on food,” Loki said, his tone changing.

Kuna glanced around nervously.

“It’s fine,” Loki consoled her, seeing her anxiety. “I mean to say, we’ll need to go shopping for more. I’m not going to let you go hungry.”

This comforted Kuna. “Where will we go?”

“I’m not sure yet. But I think we’ll need to pack up camp and move entirely. I don’t want to stay here for much longer.”

“Oh, but I like it here.”

“It is very peaceful here, isn’t it?”

Kuna nodded.

“But I think we’d get bored if we stayed here forever.”

Kuna cocked her head to one side, confused.

“Well, it’s nice, sure. But there’s no one else here but us. No creatures, no people. No excitement. I think we’d get bored.”

“Hmm.” Kuna thought about this. The excitement she had had with Loki regarding creatures and people so far had been mostly scary and life-threatening. “No, I like it here. I wouldn’t get bored.”

“I bet you would.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“You mean to tell me you don’t want to see all the beautiful planets out there in the universe? All the systems and stars and galaxies?”

Kuna thought even harder. All the beautiful things the tesseract had shown her had captivated her mind and visited her dreams for nights. She wanted to see them all.

“Is it safe?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” Loki said. Kuna paled. “But you have me with you and I’ll keep you safe.”

She relaxed a little.

“And now that you’re learning to fight, you can defend yourself, too.”

Kuna nodded, thinking about their lesson and her dagger.

“So, what do you think?”

“I guess so. As long as we’re together.”

“Always,” Loki said, smiling at her.

They spent the rest of the day relaxing. Loki attending to his research and Kuna studying her letters. As the day wound down, Kuna had her supper and fell asleep on her bedroll, cuddling her toys. Loki, surrounded by stacks of books, lit a small, dim orb of light with his magic so he could continue reading without disturbing Kuna.

He looked across the several stacks of books around him. He had taken hundreds. When they were in Odin’s study, he had seen how difficult it was for Kuna to catch all the books he was tossing to her in his raven form, so he had begun storing them himself, whisking away entire shelves of books into his pocket universe in some cases. As long as they were in the sections about curses, he could figure out if they were of use later.

Loki reached for a new book but bumped another stack with his elbow. It fell over, scattering across the floor. He grit his teeth at the sound and peeked at Kuna. She turned over and squeezed her dragon. Loki let out a sigh of relief and then groaned at the mess on the floor. He started to pick up a few books, when a large black volume caught his eye. It was quite old, embossed with ancient Asgardian runes that had been rubbed nearly clean of their golden sheen. However, what caught his eye was not the antiquated runes of a long dead language but deep cuts in the leather of the cover in the modern Asgardian runes.

BEWARE

DO NOT OPEN

EVIL RESIDES

“Well, that’s a little dramatic,” Loki said.

He picked up the ancient tome and sat back slowly onto the floor, crossing his legs. As he held it, he could feel a dark resonance emanating through his aura. He looked closely at the book and found it was not black leather at all, but that the book had been heavily burned. The ends of the pages too had been blackened in the flames. At some point, someone had tried to remove some of the charring on the cover, but the book would have been a total loss by any library’s standards.

“Seems like someone tried to burn you,” Loki muttered. He turned the book back over to the eerie message carved into the front. “And you clearly resisted.”

The graffitist had tried to destroy the embossed title of the book, but the restorer had succeeded in revealing what was left of the title.

G—M—IRE –F C—ES by ——————- ———————–

“A “Grimoire of Curses”, you say? You sound perfect. I’m gonna open it,” he said, deviously. He could almost hear his father admonishing him for not heeding the rather specific warning on the cover. “I don’t negotiate with book defacers. Or book burners.”

He gently opened the cover, and the title page confirmed his guesswork.

GRIMOIRE OF CURSES

BY

THE QUEEN OF DEATH

“’The Queen of Death’,” Loki read. “How delightful.”

He chuckled at the author’s absurd name and then flipped to the next page.

It felt suddenly as if a lump had caught in his throat. He swallowed hard. The more Loki read, the heavier his chest began to feel. The resonance he had felt in his magic before began to grow. The air felt thick with each breath he took. It felt as if a whirlpool had started in the page break and was slowly sucking him in. He shook his head and blinked, steeling himself, strengthening his aura against this onslaught.

The book was clearly cursed itself and he was certain for any novice sorcerer it would be impossible not to be corrupted by it. But he was no novice. He let out an exasperated breath.

 “You won’t hide your secrets from me.”

The book seemed to react to his determination. He felt a pain in his head like he had been hit with an axe. He felt cold. He’d never felt cold. He shook his head and glanced up at Kuna.

“I’m doing this for her,” he said under his breath. He felt the thickness subside and turned to the next page.

He searched the book for Kuna’s curse, his shaky finger tracing down the lengthy column of curses in the table of contents.

“Curse of agony, blah, blah, curses of fear, of frenzy, da, da, da, of lies, of leaping, oh my, of melting flesh? No, no, no, Loki, we’re here for a reason,” he stopped himself, pulling his eyes away from the page and taking a deep breath before looking back again. “Da, da, da, of poison, oh, of possession. Stop! ‘T’ where are the ‘T’s””

He stopped abruptly on an entry:

CURSE OF TIED TONGUE

As he turned to the pages and began to read through the ritual for cursing an individual with a tied tongue, the blood began to drain from his face. He clenched his jaw so tight his teeth began to hurt. The heaviness he had pushed out began to creep back over him. His ears began to ring. With each step he read to this vicious ritual, a pit in his stomach grew.

“Restrain the victim, if possible, for they will struggle incessantly to escape. Some form of hypnosis or mind control will also suffice. For ease of the caster’s concentration, keep also the victim’s mouth gagged for the duration of the ritual, except for final steps.”

Loki tried unsuccessfully to block out the image of a restrained and frightened Kuna from his mind. He grunted in frustration and forced himself to focus.

“Force the victim into a state of agony - by any means of the caster��s choosing - whilst chanting the following incantation which bars them from speaking of the caster’s chosen subject.”

Through the din of ringing that had begun in his ears, Loki thought he heard Kuna scream. His breath caught in his throat as he sat up hard against the wall. There was absolute silence in the tent, save for Loki’s ragged breathing. He looked at Kuna, fast asleep on her bedroll.

“Kuna?” he whispered.

“Mmmm,” Kuna hummed softly in her sleep, undisturbed.

Loki closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. He opened his eyes and looked down at the book. He felt exhausted. Slowly, he opened the book again to the page he had been reading.

“When the ritual is complete, the victim can be released. They will no longer be able to speak of subject of the caster’s choosing. Instead, the action will be replaced by the agony the caster forced upon them. Persistent attempts by the victim to speak of the subject can result in eventual amnesia in its regard. Examples of successful states of agony include pain of the body (specific or generalised), inability to breathe, inability to speak, inability to form coherent speech, etc, etc.”

Additional agonies had been scratched in the margins in different hands and inks.

“Sudden onset of singing, dancing, sleeping.

Frenzy.

Fear.

Death.

Melting flesh.

Combine ‘agonies’ to increase power of curse.”

“Gods,” Loki cringed.

He scanned further down the page, looking for how to reverse the curse. Not seeing it, he turned the page.

“UNTYING THE TONGUE”

“Gross,” Loki muttered. He ran his finger down the page, reading the instructions.

“This doesn’t seem so bad,” he said. “Actually, seems rather easy. We could do this tomorrow. Or now.”

He noticed a smudge at the end of the page and leaned closer to see. The dim light he had conjured was not the best for night reading. The little orb of light bobbed around the ceiling of the tent, occasionally flickering.

“Come over here, you stupid orb!” Loki whispered aggressively at the floating sphere. “You’re supposed to be over here! By me!”

The light tottered over, bumping into the wall as it drifted towards him.

“Useless thing,” Loki grumbled as the light settled over his head.

He leaned in close to see the smudge was actually an indication of a footnote.

“Ugh, of course, there’s always a bloody footnote.” He rolled his eyes and searched for the footnotes. The more digging he did in the book, the heavier the feeling in his aura became, and the more agitated he felt. Finally, he found them, buried in the back of the book.

“Here we go,

Only the casting sorcerer can lift a tied tongue curse. Death of the caster does not release the          victim from the curse.”

Loki looked up, staring blankly across the room. He sat up and slowly closed the book. He stood and walked outside the tent into the crisp night air. His fist was clenched tight, his teeth near to cracking under the pressure of his jaw. He looked down at the book in his hand. His whole body now shaking with anger.

He threw the book as hard as he could, letting out a shout as he did. The book sailed kilometers into the darkened horizon. Loki growled and hissed. He felt the sting of tesseract energy as a portal opened beside him and the book sailed through it and smacked him in the face.

“Arrrrgh,” Loki growled. He glanced back at the tent, and Kuna still asleep inside. He swung the book around in frustration. Opening another portal to a random place, he stuck his head through and screamed with all his might.

He felt no remorse for the humans on the other side of the portal, whose dinner he appeared to have abruptly and loudly interrupted. When he had finished, his energy felt clean again, free from the book’s dark grip. His mind felt lighter, though he was still racked with rage over the conditionality of these curses.

He returned to the tent. Kuna had not moved. Loki stood over her for a moment, watching. How could someone do something so horrible to someone so small? What threat could she possibly pose to anyone to justify such drastic measures?

He shook his head. It didn’t matter now. What was done was done and he was going to undo it. He stretched and popped his back. Laying down on his bedroll next to Kuna, he watched her chest rise and fall with her gentle breathing. He pushed a lock of hair off her face and pulled the blanket up to her chin. With a flick of his hand, the dim light he had been using to read by went out and he fell asleep.

***

Kuna’s eyes opened slowly. She felt a weight on her side that had not been there when she fell asleep the night before. She looked down and saw Loki’s arm draped over her. She smiled. Very, very slowly, she turned over onto her other side to face him. She put her head on his chest and snuggled close. He didn’t push her away this time. He was still asleep.

She drifted in and out of sleep for a bit, savoring cuddle time with Loki. Light began to shine in through the windows of the tent. Kuna wondered how long Loki would sleep in. She was normally up before sunrise.

Her stomach growled. She grimaced and looked up at Loki, watching him. Carefully, she wiggled out from under his arm, replacing her toys under his arm where she had been. He snored softly but did not wake.

She stretched and yawned, then flinched at the sight of the room. There were books scattered everywhere. Loki had clearly been up reading last night. Kuna got up and started picking up books and stacking them in neat piles. She lined the walls with them, so they were out of the way. Each stack was perfectly level, spines facing out.

Finished with this task, she looked around for something else to do. Her eyes landed on a rogue book. A big, black book with scratches on the cover. She walked timidly over to it and knelt down to pick it up. Her hand hovered over the book, suspended in the air like it was repelled by a magnet. She shook her head and stood up. Something felt wrong about that book. It felt magicky. Stepping just outside the tent door, she picked up a stick and returned to the book and pushed it with the end of the stick over to the wall.

She looked over at Loki, cuddling with her toys on the floor. She had grown impatient with Loki’s excessive sleeping and so had her tummy. She laid down and crawled close to him.

“Loki?” she whispered. He did not stir. “Loki,” she said again, a little louder this time. Still there was no response. She apprehensively raised a finger and poked his arm. He snored on. Kuna frowned.

“Loki?” she asked again, a little louder. He turned onto his back, taking her toys with him. Kuna jumped and dove under her blanket. She peeked out from under to see if he was angry, but he was still asleep. Crawling closer once more, she poked him in different places, his arm, his leg, his chest, even his face, but he did not wake. She lifted her finger again and moved slowly towards his hair.

“Don’t you dare,” he said, a smile creeping across his face.

Kuna erupted in giggles. Loki sat up. He held out the stuffed animals in his hand and looked at them, confused and laughed, then grabbed Kuna putting her in his lap. She squealed with joy.

“Loki! Loki! Loki!” he mimicked, over and over, poking her chest and sides and neck. Kuna could not contain herself, she was giggling, trying to poke him back. He set her down and shook his head, laughing.

“What? What is it, child?” he asked, still laughing.

“I’m hungry,” she said, sheepishly.

“Are you?”

Kuna nodded.

“Well, we’re going to have to fix that, aren’t we?”

She nodded some more. “Yes, please.”

“Let me see here,” Loki said, as he searched the basket for some breakfast for Kuna. He pulled up only a small bit of bread. “Oh, is that it? I think it’s time for us to go shopping again.”

“Did you eat dinner last night?” Kuna asked him.

“Hmm? Oh, no, I was reading for a long time and the book was very frustrating and–” Kuna pushed Loki’s hand with the piece of bread back towards him. “And… I must have forgot. Kuna, you’re going to eat this. Don’t worry about me. We’ll go shopping today and get more. I’m fine.”

“You have to eat too,” she said.

He gave her the bread. “I’m fine. Eat this for now.”

“You eat.”

“No, you eat.”

Kuna stood and shook her head. “No, you.”

“Kuna–”

“You! Ah!” She pointed at Loki and then opened her mouth and pointed inside.

“You’re becoming very stubborn,” he said. “Who knows where you could have gotten that from.” He took a small bite out of the bread to pacify the defiant child. “Oh, you cleaned. You didn’t have to do that,” he acknowledged the tidied tent.

Kuna shrugged. “I don’t mind. But I think there’s something wrong with that book over there.”

“Which one? The black one?”

She nodded.

Loki gulped, choking a bit on the dry bread. “You didn’t open that one, did you?”

“I didn’t, I swear!” Kuna said, dropping to her knees and putting her hands over her head. “I promise! I didn’t open it. I promise!”

Loki sighed. “No – it’s all right—I didn’t mean to scare you like that. I—I just—oh, please don’t cry.”

“I promise I didn’t look at them without your permission!”

“It’s all right. I believe you. Please, don’t cry.” Loki reached forward and put his hand on Kuna’s shoulder. “I’m not upset with you, I promise.”

She looked up at him and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Scooting closer, she reached out to him, and he picked her up, setting her in his lap.

“Is that book bad? Will it make me blind?” She sniffled.

“No, no, no. It won’t blind you, darling, but it’s not a very nice book. I think it’s been cursed.”

Kuna shrank in his lap, staring at the book. “Did you open it?”

“Yes. But I’m a very powerful sorcerer so I know what to do with books like that.”

“Throw them away?”

“No!” Loki chuckled. “You don’t want to throw a book away! What if there are incredible secrets in there?”

“They should stay that way,” Kuna whispered.

“Oh, where’s your sense of adventure, Kuna? That book,” -he pointed at it- “gave me the answers to what we were looking for.”

“It did?”

“Yes. Well, sort of.”

“What did it say?”

Loki had fallen into a trap. “Um, well.” He feared unintentionally setting off Kuna’s curse by telling her about it. “It gave me instructions on how to help you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, that’s why we took all these books.” Loki was surprised by her lack of memory regarding the reasons they had gone to Asgard.

“How can a book help me? You’ve already helped me so much. You freed me and you gave me food and clothes and toys and–”

“Yes, but… well.” He ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. Kuna looked up at him inquisitively. “That book is a book about curses. All the different kinds of curses and how to perform them. That’s why I didn’t want you to read it.”

“A cursed book of curses?”

“Precisely.”

“That sounds scary,” she whispered, wrapping herself in Loki’s cape. “How is that going to help me?”

Loki hesitated. “Well, Kuna, I think someone on your home planet may have cursed you.”

Kuna’s face went blank, expressionless. She turned grey. She shook her head, first a little then frantically, side to side.

“Now, now, everything’s all right,” Loki consoled her, gently rocking her.

“No. No!” she whispered. “I’m not cursed! It’s not true!”

“Shhhh,” Loki whispered, rocking her. “I’m going to fix it.” He gently stroked her hair and hugged her, holding her tight.

“I don’t have any magic, sir!”

Loki closed his eyes. He had triggered her curse. With time, she calmed down, clutching a handful of his hair. She sniffled and occasionally let out a sob.

“Look at me, darling. Do you remember who did this to you?”

“No,” she whispered.

“You told me once someone hurt you with magic,” Loki said. “Who was that?”

Kuna shifted uncomfortably, rubbing her arms. “Sometimes when I was bad, my masters would use their magic to punish me. It hurt a lot.”

“Mmm,” Loki nodded, hugging her again. “I’m sorry, darling. They were horrible people. I doubt were ever truly ‘bad’.”

Kuna stared at the ground.

“I’m guessing these Masters don’t let slaves use magic,” Loki said.

“Oh no!” Kuna exclaimed. “For a slave to have magic is the worst sin imaginable! If a slave has magic,” -she shuddered with fear- “all the masters slaves must be culled, and the slave’s family too.”

“My, that seems a bit much,” Loki said.

Kuna shook her head. “Slaves shouldn’t have magic. They would use it for evil things.”

“And who told you that?”

“The Masters,” they both said in unison. Loki nodded.

“Yes, I’m starting to understand,” Loki said, rolling his eyes. “What sorts of evil things would a slave use magic for?”

“Slaves are weak, and magic makes weak people do bad things. Slaves would use magic to trick and steal and kill people.”

Loki put both hands on either side of Kuna’s head. “My child, you have been brainwashed.”

Kuna put her hands on Loki’s. “No one’s washed my brains!”

“No, it means that these Masters on your home-system have forced you to believe all these things that are not true so that they can continue doing whatever they want to you.”

She gasped. “With magic?”

“Mmm, no. Propaganda can be just as powerful as magic.”

“Propa-what-now?”

“Propaganda. I’ll explain later, what’s important is that they are very wrong about slaves and magic and you.”

Kuna looked down at the ground again. She did not know what to think. The Masters had never been wrong about anything. Ever. At least, not that she could remember.

“Kuna,” Loki said. She looked up at him. He wiped the tears off her cheek with his thumb. “I know this is a lot to take in. It isn’t easy learning that your life has been a lie, believe me. But I’m going to make things better for you. Do you trust me, darling?”

Kuna nodded and hugged him tight.

[hardskz]

bow down.

pairing — bang chan x genderneutral! reader

genre — modern royalty au, drama-ish, smut; sexual tension-ish, hand kink, brat tamer! chan, degradation, leg humping, humiliation

synopsis — you have eyes. prince bang chan is a whole snack. but you also have too high of an ego and can’t seem to accept that prince chan isn’t full of himself unlike the other dozen members of any royal family you’ve met before. alternatively, this is the disney channel movie ‘princess protection program’ but make it porn only.

note — this fic with a wc of 7k+ does not include any spoilers to the movie and you don’t even have to know what the movie is about you’ll get the gist as you read. ngl half of this is from one of my drafts from like 3 years ago and i never continued it so here i am turning it into filth hahahah (and i needed a fresh idea for brat tamer chan and hence why i think the sfw part is better written than the nsfw lmao) rip also pls accept this as the follower milestone gift and 1 year anniversary special :’)

“I’m pretty sure I asked for a puppy for my birthday — which was three months ago may I add — not for a new roommate?”

You look back and forth between Youngjae and the stranger sitting on the couch who is staring back at you with a curious expression. He looks around your age and you admit, his face isn’t the kind of face that makes you thank your parents that genetics did a decent job on you. It’s quite the opposite, actually.

His face is the type of face that makes you ask your parents why genetics didn’t do a better job on yours. Okay, you haven’t reached that stage of visual inferiority yet but that’s mainly because he is dressed in clothes that were trendy in the 15th century or something. The garments clinging to his skin look like a bad fusion of a suit (which college student wears a suit in their free time?) and the ridiculous costume the marching band at your former high school had worn whenever a football game was up. And those weird golden pins clipped on the blazer makes it seem as if he used to be in the marines or comes from a royal bloodline or—

Oh. 

“Don’t mind my cousin, your Highness. (y/n)’s humor has always been questionable.”  Youngjae sends you a glare before he puts on his sweetest smile — you know, the act he puts on whenever he tries to negotiate a bonus with his boss or woo his date — and opts to ignore your presence. “Anyway, since we are dealing with a more serious issue at hand than originally expected, we need to give you a makeover to—“

Before he gets to finish his sentence, you violently tug him away from the prince and despite Youngjae thrashing around and complaining, you manage to send the guest a forced smile and leave his vision. The moment you let go of Youngjae in the neighboring room, he readjusts his collar. “What? Couldn’t you have waited once I was done? Also, was it necessary to crinkle my collar this much?” he hisses but you get straight to the point.

“What is he doing here?”

“Uh, sitting on the couch?”

“That’s not what I mean.” you grit your teeth and land a punch on his arm. “What is he doing here?”

Youngjae looks over your shoulder, making sure that what he’s about to say next is only heard by you. “Prince Chan is,” he hesitates, unsure how to approach his topic. You know it’s taking up his last nerves to conclude a logical explanation as the tip of his tongue pokes out of the corner of his lips; a habit he has adapted ever since he stopped chewing on his bottom lip. “The predicament he’s in is worse than we expected. Well, his dad is partially at fault because he forgot to tell us this not-so-small critical detail that—“

“Youngjae, you’re rambling.”

“The point is.” he sighs and gives you a distressed look as if he already knows you’re not going to like the information at all. “We can’t send him to the family in Goyang, the place he was originally going to stay in. He’s one of the more extreme cases and the Board agreed that he had to live with one of the active combatants to ensure his safety.”

Silence engulfs the kitchen and you know he’s waiting for you to count two and two together.

“He’s going to live here,” you deadpan eventually and Youngjae nods in confirmation.

“I know you’re not very happy—“

“Not very happy is underwhelming.” You earn a flick against your forehead and yelp in pain as you over the spot he just hit. “Ow! I was just stating the truth!”

“Will you stop interrupting me? Geez. Yes, I know that you’re not happy at all. I know that you’re not a huge fan of the majority of our family working in this business. But please do me this one favor or so help me God— try to be nice to him for the next year.”

“He’s staying for a year?” you shriek and in the blink of an eye, Youngjae clamps your mouth shut.

“Can you keep it down?!” he whisper-yells, then retreats his hand and reverts to a conversational tone with a frown. “It’s just a year, okay? Y’know, just... say hi to him whenever you see him. Act civilized.”

You grimace as he stresses his last words like you didn’t know what human decency was. The longer you keep the petrified expression on your face, the more it turns into a staring contest between the two of you. Just as if you were each other’s reflection, you mimic his actions and vice versa. When Youngjae squints, you squint. When you shoot him a glare, he returns it. It all boils down to the final blink that Youngjae feints and you’re the first to look away.

“Okay fine! I’ll try to behave,” you mumble in defeat.

A satisfied smile makes its way on Youngjae’s lips. “It’s always nice negotiating with you.”

Being born into a family where the majority works for the royalty protection program (short: RPP or as you like to stylize it: argh-pee-pee), also known as the secret service for people with crowns on their heads, comes with many perks. In your eyes, this privilege comes with many, many downsides that aren’t worth the advantages. Sure, there is the one or other occasion where you can waltz around in fancy evening attire and attend an actual ball, but overall, it’s a pain in the ass.

Even though it’s prohibited to openly declare that you work for the RPP, the news always finds its way out. Usually, it takes approximately a week for pretty much half of the neighborhood to find out. And it certainly isn’t nice hearing whispers about your dad being that guy working for the program whenever you step out of your house, which is ultimately why you moved in with your cousin Youngjae. (Housing in your small town wasn’t really affordable for a dirt poor college student after all!)

Youngjae has always been your favorite cousin out of the... whatever number of cousins you have. But here’s the thing. He also works for the RPP.

However, somehow he managed to — and up to this day it still remains a mystery to you how on earth he did that — keep his job a secret. Especially with his tendency to dish out the worst kinds of secrets when he’s slightly tipsy. Frankly, you once considered printing out the image of a trophy for that remarkable feat.

With your dad and cousin both active in that business (because organization sounds too shady), it’s not the first time you meet a prince, so you already know how the entire thing works. The concept is quite simple; they get sent to a household but before they settle in and take on a fake identity until their circumstances have improved, they undergo a makeover. Most of the time, it ends up in the glow up you secretly crave but in Prince Chan’s case, you suppose he can’t get any more attractive.

Oh boy. You’re in for a ride.

You’re busy slicing bell peppers for the meal you were cooking when both your cousin and the prince enter the kitchen and Youngjae explicitly demands you to pay them attention. You don’t react immediately, but the moment he threatens to swipe the knife away from you, you perk up and set your desire to prepare your fried rice aside.

“(y/n), uh, hi? I’m Bang Chan and I’ll be your new housemate for a year. I hope we can get along.” Chan recites his introduction without any mistakes and earns a way too brotherly pat on the back from Youngjae, considering that they just met this morning. It’s truly amazing how fast Youngjae can get people to warm up to him. 

Chan is stripped out of his weird clothes and instead, looks like he threw on the next best thing lying around in his room. Nonetheless, despite the seemingly little effort that was put into the outfit, it looks oddly good. The stylists didn’t seem to do much to his hair and just parted his bangs a little, so one could catch a slight glimpse of his forehead. It’s just a small detail, but you find yourself liking his current appearance much more appealing than before, though you’re pretty sure his clothes played a major part in your previous distaste. 

“Remember Jihyo?” Youngjae interrupts your train of thought. “She’s Chan’s relative. And because I’m the genuine friend who loves to help her out, I decided to agree to this after she went down on her knees and begged me to let Chan live with us for a while—“

“I’m not interested in your blown up, fictional background stories, thank you very much.” you backtrack. “Wait. Did you say Jihyo? Seriously? Jihyo is his alibi?” Of course, you remember Jihyo. It’s quite difficult to forget her when Youngjae used to swoon about her at every hour of the day, back when they were a thing. Besides, she still stops by every few months.

“C’mon, you have to admit there is a similar vibe between them!” 

You furrow your brows and inspect Chan a second time. Your gaze wanders back to Youngjae and then returns to Chan anew. It’s obvious that the latter is feeling as if he were up for auction and you can’t really blame him for feeling so uncomfortable. You’ve heard from a few friends that if looks could kill, you’d have the highest killing record. 

There’s no similar vibe in your view, but for the sake of entertaining Youngjae’s thoughts: “He does seem similar to Jihyo.”

“Told ya. But back to more important matters,” Youngjae coughs and wraps his arm around your shoulder to pull you closer, but it somehow seems as if he’s opting to strangle you. “My duties are calling, so I won’t be back until late. You look like you could need some help with cooking, by the way. I’m sure Chan right here is willing to help you!”

“I’m almost done though—“ you choke when he tightens his embrace. By now, his arm is no longer hugging your shoulder, but rather crushing your throat.

“You look like you could need some help,” he repeats, this time with added urgency. “It’d be a great opportunity for you to bond since you’ll also share pretty much all classes at uni. Did you know, he has the same major as you! Besides, it’d be a very useful life experience for him if he helped you with cooking.”

“Of course, how fun!” you hiss, voice going an octave higher from the lack of oxygen. “I already said that I’m painfully delighted about that, so you can let me go now, Youngjae!”

A sneer and a jab in his arm later, Youngjae finally takes his leave. That nasty liar, leaving an hour earlier than his schedule stated. You know that silently cursing at him isn’t going to make your problems dissolve because that’d be a dream come true.

“Listen, let me get things straight.” you sigh, picking up the knife to resume chopping your vegetables. Youngjae may have ordered you to act civilized, but having eye contact with Chan when you’ve been starving for the past hour isn’t your priority. Food doesn’t make itself. “I don’t have any intention of getting close to you and I expect the same from you. Don’t step a foot into my room, don’t talk to me unless absolutely necessary, and don’t think I’ll run around and do your chores or cook your meals like one of your little servants. Just because you’re a prince doesn’t mean you’ll be treated like one under this roof.”

“We live in the 21st century, not the renaissance. Your idea of royal families is very dated.” Chan chuckles dryly.

“Baron Yoon Jeonghan from the seven islands is a stuck-up prick and out of touch with the world. It took him several visits to the slums, multiple voluntary hours at the kindergarten, and stripping him off his bank card to make him see reason,” you deadpan. Fuck Baron Jeonghan. Just thinking about your first and last encounter with that entitled douchebag almost makes you slice your finger instead of the bell pepper. “Duchess Yoo Shiah threw a hissy fit when she found out her clothes weren’t dry cleaned and bought from Zara instead of fucking Dior. The one who takes the cake when it comes to privilege is Princess Kim Min—”

“Everyone knows they are problematic,” Chan interjects. True, he has a point. There’s nobody out there who doesn’t know about Baron Jeonghan or Duchess Shiah but he’s also missing the entire point.

“And guess who gets stuck under the care of the RPP?” you raise a brow at him. He blanches at the realization as if he got struck with lightning. Perhaps you should give him more credit because he seems to own more brain cells than Baron Jeonghan. “Exactly. Everyone problematic.” 

Chan’s jaw is clenched as he racks his brain to come up with a smart comeback. The sight of him stumbling on his words is nothing but pitiful, so you turn back to the cutting board and grab an onion to slice in half. “I’m not interested in your sob story, your Highness. I don’t care why you’re under the protection of the RPP. The only thing I care about is that you stay out of my business.”

“Chan is fine. No need for the title,” he sighs with a strain. “Perhaps I should’ve been more considerate with my first comment. Youngjae already told me about your… negative attitude towards the entire setup. It wasn’t my intention to anger you. Sorry.”

Well, that’s new. Out of the dozens of aristocrats you’ve met (and sadly also shared a house with back when you were 16 years old and still living with your dad), he’s the first to drop his title within five minutes for the sake of the disguise and apologize. 

“We live under the same roof so we should get along with each other. If there’s something you need help with, just ask me, (y/n).”

“Thanks for the offer,” you reply nonchalantly because act civilized unless you want to suffer from a late-night sneak attack from Youngjae if he finds out. “But no thanks. I don’t need your help.”

You find yourself in need of help a few weeks later, right before the dreaded exam season.

“No. Forget it, Bam. I’m not going out clubbing with you tonight. In fact, I won’t do that anytime soon.” you let out an exasperated sigh as you try to break down to your friend that you prioritize your grades over his need of getting wasted.

“C’mon!” he whines so loudly that you have to put your phone farther away from your ear. “You’re not in that much stress yet! You have to make the most out of it before you drown in your exams.”

“Things are different for engineering students like, uh, me for example!” you hiss. “I fell behind and need to catch up. Ask Yugyeom or Changbin.”

“First of all, Yugyeom is always at the bar doing his job. And Changbin never picks up his phone. There’s nobody who’d dance with me!”

“You abandoned me at the bar for some chick the last time,” you deadpan. “I’m very sure you’ll find someone.”

Bambam finally gets the gist and gives up. “Fine then. Your loss. Have fun dying in numbers and variables instead of living in the moment. You’re going to regret it—”

You end the call and set your phone on mute before throwing it on the bed. Sometimes you wonder whether you were on drugs when you decided to major in engineering. The longer you stare at the jumble of numbers and letters — some of them in Greek too — the more you think your brain cells are decaying.

That’s how you find yourself in the kitchen, complaining at Youngjae’s expense and telling him how much you’d rather drown in bleach than subjecting yourself to Algebra II. 

“You know there’s someone you can ask for help and he’s right here,” Youngjae drawls before chugging down the rest of his beer. If he’s going to be a victim to your temper tantrum about a major that you chose yourself, he might as well get a drink so he won’t go insane from your monologue about numbers and graphs and formulas he’s forgotten since he graduated from high school.

You gawk at him. “You? Are you hearing yourself? You almost failed maths. Twice!”

“Because I didn’t mean myself, dipshit,” he says blankly and his eyes flit over your shoulder, “Speaking of the devil. There comes the man of honor.”

You whip your head back to the door to see Chan enter confusedly. “Uh, did I interrupt something?”

“Yes.”

“No, we were just talking about you!”

You send Youngjae a death glare which he casually shrugs off. “(y/n) here is bitching about her Statistics I class and needs a tutor!”

“It’s actually Algebra II if you bothered to pay attention—”

“(y/n) needs a tutor!” Youngjae exclaims and nearly trips on his feet when he gets up from his chair. “Channie, I heard you’re good with numbers. Didn’t you get accepted into all Ivy Leagues in the States for all engineering programs?”

“You didn’t have to word it like that,” Chan laughs it off and nervously rubs the back of his head. He’s not denying it though.

“Obviously he would. He’s loaded and lives in a castle,” you mutter under your breath, but everyone catches it.

“Hey,” Youngjae warns. “That wasn’t necessary.”

“It’s alright,” Chan says casually. “I just wanted to get myself a snack. But if you have some questions, don’t hesitate to knock on my door. The offer still stands, y’know.” He digs through the cabinet until he finds two packs of the strawberry flavored Pocky knockoff that is 1) apparently his favorite thing to eat and 2) half the price of the Pocky version. He gives Youngjae a thumbs up before he returns to his room.

The moment Chan is out of sight, Youngjae whips his head to you, nostrils flaring. All that’s missing is steam coming out of his ears and his face running red and then he looks like the impetuous brother in every kids cartoon ever. “Really? He’s been staying with us for how long now? Four weeks? Five? Yet you’re still acting as if he murdered you in your dreams or something.”

“I don’t like him,” you state coldly. Youngjae looks like he’s about to rip his hair out.

“Look, I get that you don’t like me being active in this field of work, and I get that you have some hatred against the royal families. But you know you signed up for this when you decided to move in with me.” Youngjae pauses to get a breather and pop a new beer bottle open. “Besides, Chan isn’t like Baron Jeonghan or Duchess Shiah. I have eyes, (y/n), and I’ve seen you two avoiding each other as much as possible. And he doesn’t just laze around — he does the fucking chores and cooks dinner too! Chan is good, (y/n).”

The last words make you snap. “Good? Are you fucking serious? Because that’s why the press in his kingdom is depicting him as a tyrant who cares more about building his sick harem instead of helping the poor. And wasn’t he diagnosed for having anger management issues?!”

All the color leaves Youngjae’s face. This is obviously something you shouldn’t know. While he’s scrambling for words, you take the chance to add, “Dunno why you’re protecting him when he’s making headlines as a prince who can’t keep his dick in his pants.”

“Chan isn’t just a prince,” Youngjae says quietly. “He’s the crown prince.”

Your eyes widen at the confession. “What? Isn’t that even worse with that reputation he has?”

“It’s all propaganda,” he sighs and takes a swig, “The ministers are doing everything they can to finish him off. You see, Chan is the only child of the current king of the seven islands, and if he’s wiped out, it’ll be utter chaos. Chan’s smart and I admit, he used to have anger issues, but he’s worked on them. Though I guess he’s resorted to bottling up his feelings when push comes to pull. The point is, all the higher-ups don’t want him as their future king because they know that Chan is very much capable of pulling through with his own ideas and that doesn’t sit well with them. And a supposedly impulsive future king is the last thing anyone wants, hence why his people are eating up the news.”

“Oh.” you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel an ounce of remorse. However, it’s not the first time you’ve heard such stories. 

“Yeah. Oh,” Youngjae mocks, “If that’s the main reason why you don’t want to talk to him, now you know better. He might have power, but he’s not a monster. And for the record, he got into all Ivy Leagues and elite schools all over the world through his intelligence, not his status.”

Although you can see it in his eyes that Youngjae is done with the heated discussion, he’s still waiting for you to say something. You frown. “So… you think he’s a good tutor?”

“He’s your only shot.” Youngjae says nonchalantly, then adds with a warning tone, “But remember: Act. Civilized. Oh, and don’t tell him I told you about his circumstances. It’s supposed to be confidential information.”

You roll your eyes. How the fuck hasn’t Youngjae been busted yet?

Nonetheless, you’re trudging to Chan’s door a few minutes later, your fat binder of incomprehensible math formulas and (Greek) letter heavy in your arm. Chan opens the door with surprise etched on his face after you knocked, but it settles to warmth when you begrudgingly ask him to help you understand Algebra II. 

“Sorry, it’s a little messy here,” he chuckles airily once he lets you in. It’s not messy per se, just a few clothes piled up in a corner of the room and some books and messily written notes lying on his bed. Still, it’s by far cleaner than the pig stall that is Youngjae’s room (and yours when you’re having a very bad day).

Chan clears his desk and drags his other chair to the table before plopping down on it. “So, what’s the problem?” Instead of answering, you just shove a sheet of paper up his face. “Y’know, you can talk to me. If this is about earlier, it’s really alright. I’m not mad or anything,” he says with the same friendly tone you’ve been hearing ever since he moved in, yet he still takes the sheet from you. You watch his brows scrunch together the more he reads on, and you can already see the question forming in his mind.

“(y/n), you do know this is the basis to understand—”

“I was absent when the professor covered it and everyone I asked couldn’t quite explain it to me,” you respond before he can finish speaking out his thoughts. “All my friends were like—” you gesture with your hands, “—you just do this and that and then hope your hunch is right. Before you say it, yes I know that I don’t get the material of one entire unit and the exam is two weeks away.”

“Then let’s not waste any time,” Chan says before grabbing his iPad. You stare at him blankly as he writes something on his tablet. The last thing you expected from him was to accept it and try to hammer as much of missing information as he can into your brain, but then again, you’ve never seen him backtrack whenever Youngjae asks him something. Speaking of Youngjae, perhaps he is right. Chan does seem to know what he’s talking about.

“You have to subtract X first, then replace it with Y,” he explains as he circles said letters in different colors. By now, you’ve leaned closer to him to get a better view on what he’s writing (his handwriting isn’t the worst you’ve ever had to decode; refer to Youngjae who you’ve internally awarded with the worst handwriting of the decade). 

Chan is exceptionally good at explaining. You feel like you’ve figured out a secret of the world that not even Pythagoras found out as you slowly understand what on Earth you are supposed to calculate with the formula. Chan is patient, always asking if you got it or if you needed another clarification, and takes the time to draw colorful graphs to visualize the jumble of numbers. His voice is pleasing to the ear too, soft and gentle to the point where you’ve blurred everything out except Chan. Chan’s voice. Chan’s hand.

You didn’t mean to stare, but with him always adding something new every five seconds as he goes on with his monologue, you can’t help but do so. His fingers aren’t long — that’ll always be courtesy of Hyunjin from Subway and yes, his very pretty hands might be the sole reason you only insist on going to that one specific Subway at the intersection next to KFC — but just one glance at Chan’s hand and you know that he’s strong. 

He’s barely applying pressure to the pen, but you can see the veins slightly protruding. Chan’s sleeves are pushed back and if you move your head a bit, you’re more than certain that veins are bulging out from his forearms too. However, you don’t muster up the courage to do that because Chan will definitely notice and the last thing you want on your platter is to tell him that you were too busy checking out his arms instead of listening to him talk about Algebra II.

Eventually, Chan sets the pen down to stretch his hand. He says something, but you don’t pick up what exactly. Not that it’d matter much anyway since you’re too busy admiring his hand—

“(y/n), you there? I called out your name several times but you didn’t react.” Chan’s breath hitches and surprise flashes in his eyes for a split second when his gaze meets yours. You don’t understand his hesitation, but then horror bubbles in you once you realize that his hand is firmly gripping your chin and keeping your head pointed at his direction. The very same hand you’ve been staring at for God knows how long. 

“I’m good. Just a little tired, but I’m good,” you stutter, though it comes out very breathlessly as if you just finished a marathon.

“Tired?” Chan echoes, concern settling into his features. “You should’ve said so, then I would’ve stopped talking. You need something?”

Now that you think about it, you’ve never got a close look at Chan. Sure, he’s handsome, the countless pictures of Google prove that he’s also too photogenic for his own good (goddamnit, why didn’t your parents make you just as photogenic?) but in person, he’s something else. His lips are plush and look very inviting to kiss, and the lower your eyes wander, the more you see a toned chest hidden underneath that damn shit that hugs him in all the right places.

Fine, his hands aren’t the only attractive thing about him. Then again, he’s a prince.

“I said I’m good.” you snap out of your thoughts and finally gather enough control over your nerves to tear his hand away. “And I caught everything you said.” Of course, you know that’s a blatant lie and he knows so too from the way he’s looking at you. That is until he quirks a brow.

“Okay, then what did I say before I called you?”

Your mouth feels dry. It’s almost as if he knew the reason for your distress. “I caught everything relevant to this,” you mutter, suddenly finding his curtains much more interesting. What an interesting design, maybe you should get yourself new curtains too—

“Then you wouldn’t mind solving these questions, right? Just so I can make sure that you got everything down.”

“Sure,” you reply because that’s the only thing you could say without hurting your ego and straining your vocal cords. Chan doesn’t comment any further and looks for some practice questions before sliding the iPad to you. Already the first question makes your head spin in disdain. Numbers? Variables? Never heard of them.

Chan is watching you like a hawk as you fiddle with the pen, unable to write down anything that makes remote sense. Feeling his eyes on you makes you feel helpless and you shift around in your seat. “What are you staring at?” you glare at him once you give up for good, and you just hope that your look is as intimidating as you pictured in your head.

“You’re definitely exhausted. You’re shaking,” Chan points out. Your eyes widen as you stare down and realize that your thighs are shaking, and it’s then and there when you realize that you’re feeling hot. Seems like Chan doesn’t realize that because the worry written on his face is genuine. “You say the exam’s in two weeks right? We can stop for today and work on this tomorrow. That is if you still want my help.”

You nod and add in a tiny voice, “Yes, please.”

You’re too busy ignoring the heat building between your thighs to notice the borderline feral sound that leaves Chan.

“And here I thought you had quality bonding time.” Youngjae gives a disappointed look. “You’re acting even colder towards him than before your exam meltdown. Your prick level can only stoop down so low.”

You ended up getting tutor lessons from Chan every day before the dreaded day of judgment: the exam in Algebra II. You spent more hours in his room than on your own if you were completely honest, and the results were fruitful. While you did manage to pass the exam with a fairly high score, the price you had to pay was hell.

It’s almost as if Chan caught up on your hand fixation. Sometimes he twirled the pen in his fingers, sometimes it was the simple bracelet dangling on his wrist. Just when you thought he had you figured out, he asks you if you’re alright, visibly oblivious to his effect on you. Such duality in a person should be illegal, you conclude. If you die from whiplash, you know who the perpetrator is.

“You were the one who pretty much pressured me into asking him for help,” you drawl.

“I had good intentions only! You can’t keep up the I-hate-royal-families-blah-blah mentality the entire time!” Youngjae wails before stuffing a handful of chips in his mouth.

“Watch me.” You internally cringe at the loud crunching sounds he’s making and add vigorously, “And stop chewing so loudly.”

“You’ll get around or so help me God—” he groans when his phone buzzes. He doesn’t spare a glance at the caller ID because there’s only one person who has set his ringtone to the baby shark song specifically for when he’s calling. “I gotta go, Jinyoung’s being a bitch again. Don’t murder somebody. Thanks.” You only watch him shuffle for his bag and grab a handful of chips before he’s out the door. Groaning, you clean up the mess he’s made on the table. 

Just as you’re done wiping the crumbs off the surface, Chan pads into the room. 

“Hey, can we talk?”

“I established right at the beginning that you should only talk to me when absolutely necessary.” you scowl, trying to walk past him.

“Well, this is important,” he urges and blocks the doorway, effectively stopping you from fleeing. “And I do deserve one conversation with you after I helped you out.”

“You offered on your own. That’s not the same as asking for a favor.” You successfully push your way past him, but in the next moment, he spins you around and pins you against the wall. 

“We’re going to talk, whether you like it or not.” The sudden coldness of his tone has shivers running down your spine. Chan holds your wrist in an iron grip and if he clutched on any tighter, you wouldn’t put it past him to break your bones. Out of options, you comply and give him a curt nod before he lets go and takes a step back. 

“I don’t understand you, (y/n). I genuinely thought you would put your prejudices aside but instead, all I get are mixed signals from you.”

It’s your turn to gawk. “Me? Mixed signals? What are you talking about?” 

“I’m talking about how you keep looking at me as if you want me to fuck your brains out.” If the color hasn’t drained from your face yet, it has now. Chan smiles wickedly at your horrified reaction but doesn’t stop there. “I’m talking about how you talk like you don’t want anything to do with me but act as if you’re begging for my attention.” He takes a step closer to you, and you wish you could morph with the wall. “I’m talking about how you keep staring at my hands and think I don’t notice it.” You wince when he rests his hands against the wall on each side of your face, leaning closer so that you can feel his breath on your lips. “So, you have a thing for my hands?” Bullseye.

“You’re so full of yourself. No wonder your ministers want to get rid of you,” you snap because you’d rather suffer from food poisoning than admitting that you want Chan’s fingers in you.

Something shifts within Chan. He gapes at you, clearly not expecting you to even know about the ministers. His demeanor darkens in a blink of an eye, and you feel like your legs are about to give up on you when you meet his eyes, black and feral.

“You’re playing with fire. Don’t anger me,” he warns, voice low and rough.

“So it’s true that you resorted to bottling up your feelings, your Highness?” you cock your head to the side. Chan clenches his jaw at the mention of his title, struggling to keep his anger in check. You laugh through your nose, then grab one of his hands and force it away from the wall. If he already knows that you’re thirsting after him, might as well go for it. “It’s funny how your ministers aren’t able to string you around like a puppet yet here you are, unable to do anything against a commoner. You know you have nice hands and you know my weakness and yet, you’re not using them on me.” He gulps when you fumble with his fingers. 

And then he understands.

“Unless I misread the situation,” he says darkly, though you distinguish the slight tremor his voice carries. “Do you really want this? I’m not going to go easy on you.” Chan is dead serious, judging by the way he’s looking at you expectantly. 

“The safe word is petunia.” You don’t take your eyes off him and add in a louder tone, “Now try me, do your worst.”

“You’re going to regret wanting me at my worst,” Chan growls and before you know it, he crashes his lips against yours. The kiss is anything but sweet, more of a clash of teeth and tongues and saliva dribbling down your chins, yet it leaves you boiling hot and wobbly on your feet. He presses you up against the wall and forces his leg between yours, the sudden contact making you hunch forward. You moan against his mouth when he tugs harshly on your hair, the sting making your nerves go haywire. In the meantime, your hands roam his upper body, blunt nails digging into his shoulders as you try to buck your hips against his leg. While he doesn’t budge, you manage to elicit a groan out of him.

When you pull away, you’re both gasping for air. Chan’s hair is disheveled from the way you’ve been pulling on them, lips pink and glossy. One look in his eyes is enough to make your heart stop beating. They’re dark and animalistic and set ablaze with unfiltered lust. You’re such in a daze from a simple kiss that you nearly stumble when Chan drags you to his room.

He manhandles you on his bed with ease before his lips latch on yours once more. You nearly sob when he rids you off your pants, putting pressure in all the right places to have you losing your mind. As you’re about to gain back some dominance in the kiss, he breaks it off. His fingers that were once ghosting over your underwear are now tracing patterns all over the material, making you spasm. “You’re such a brat, all bark but no bite. All it takes is one kiss and you’ve lost all your fight. Can you get any more pathetic?” he mocks as he focuses his fingertips directly on the wet patch of your underwear. Your eyes roll back as he rubs on the same spot, the broken moans leaving you eerily similar to cries. “Don’t tell me you’re about to come like this. How sensitive are you?”

“Am n-not—” you cut yourself off with a whimper when he lets the waistband snap against your skin.

“Yeah, you sure about that?” he grins and that’s when you break, feeling your high approaching at lightning speed. 

“Don’t wanna come like this—” 

“But I thought you’re not sensitive?” the satisfied grin just widens with every syllable that leaves his lips. “If you don’t want to come like this, all over your underwear, beg.” 

Chan applies even more force to your sensitive spots, and you struggle to have a clear thought. The smirk he delivers is lethal, and you couldn’t be any more convinced that he’s the devil’s incarnate.

“I’ll do anything, please. Don’t let me come like this, that’s all I’m a-aah-asking for,” you weep, your blood nearly boiling at its climax, “I’ll even take a punishment!”

“Say my name,” he orders, fingers still drawing circles.

“Your—”

“My name, not my title.”

Your breath hitches as you finally realize what he’s aiming for. He wants you to remember that it’s him who’s reducing you into this illiterate mess. Him, the one you’ve been despising since before you even met. If you still had any ounce of dignity left, you’d try to fix the power imbalance until you’re left with no choice but to obey, but now you’re so close and the last thing you want to do is come with your pants on.

“Please, Chan,” your voice breaks towards the end and in an instant, he pulls away. As you’re letting you’re basking in the break from his brutal tempo, not too affected by how your upcoming orgasm is fading away, Chan observes you.

And then out of nowhere, he flips you on your stomach and delivers a hard smack to your ass that has you screaming into the pillows.

“You said you’d take any punishment too, right?” You twitch as he rubs the small of your back. You can already imagine the handprints on your ass he continued to slap you with such force that has you moving up the bed. The pain that’s going to haunt you for days. Before you know it, you try to arch your back to lift your ass, but then the bed shifts. “But if you really think I’m going to spank you as a punishment, then you’re really fucking dumb. As if I’ll use my hands on you when we both know you love my hands.”

With that, he drops himself on his chair, spreading his legs that you can see the prominent tent forming in his pants. He orders you over with a flick of his finger, and just as you get up from the bed, a new wave of horror flushes over you.

“Crawl.”

The look you send him is priceless. There’s no fucking way you can do it. It’s just a few meters, nothing you can’t handle, but he’s there sitting on his Ikea swivel chair as if it’s his throne made of gold, watching your every movement like a predator. And then there’s you, only in a shirt and underwear, being forced to go on all fours as if you were his fucking dog—

The difference in power display couldn’t get any more visible. He really is the fucking worst.

“You’d really do anything, huh…” he muses as you drop on your hands and knees and crawl to him, never looking up. It’s only when he beckons you to stand up that you look at him with nothing but rage and shame in your eyes. Chan has always been slightly terrified with your death stare but right now, he can’t take it seriously and it shows. It shows in the way he smiles lopsidedly, in the way his brows quirk in amusement. “Now hump my leg.”

Humiliation runs through your body all over. Your fists are clenched as he waits for you to act, even pats his thigh in case you didn’t get the memo. But oh you do, and his thigh does look inviting.

“Hump my leg like the brainless bitch you are. If you want my hands or my cock, you earn it first. Especially since you treated me like shit ever since I moved in.” The last sentence burns you badly because he has a point. But then there’s the prospect of his hands and dick that’s bulging out of his pants. 

Pushing all thoughts away, you settle on his leg. Taking a moment to gather yourself, you tell yourself it’s all good and then you move. The first thrust knocks all air out of your lungs and you grab onto his shoulders for support. You didn’t even move that much, but Chan’s looking at you as if he’s about to fucking devour you and knowing that he is very much capable of moving you around, you’re starting to become overwhelmed.

Eventually, you lose yourself in the feeling of his rough jeans against your drenched underwear, humping on his thigh as your orgasm builds up. It’s silent, save for your pants, and the countless whimpers flying past your lips as your movements gradually become sloppier. You’re almost there and you know it. But so does Chan, and the moment he’s got it figured out, he lunges from your hips and forces you to pick up the pace. 

“Oh no, you’re going to come,” he growls, ignoring your pleas and sobs. Adrenaline courses in your blood and you know it isn’t long until you fall apart. You try to make him stop, even put your hands on his, but you don’t have the energy to actively push him away.

“Chan, please— I’m gonna—”

“You’re gonna come? Then fucking come on my thigh, (y/n),” he snaps, and then adds, “You hear that? You’re about to come from humping my thigh.”

Maybe it’s the realization that he’s right, maybe it’s the way he’s worded it. Either way, it’s the last straw to make you spasm as you come, soaking your underwear and even managing to make a mess out of his pants. Chan makes sure you ride through your orgasm, only stopping to move your hips once you’re all spent and resting your head on his shoulder. Your eyes are glassy, vision foggy, but the only thing you can envision clearly is Chan.

Chan jolts when your hand grazes over his bulge. You’re about to undo his pants, but he’s quick to stop you and restrict your hands behind your back.

“You think you deserve my cock? Dream on. As if I would fuck any commoner, especially those who don’t respect me,” he spits, and you flinch at his choice of words, clearly recalling that you used the exact same terms and he’s now using it against you. “You said you’d take any punishment. Well, guess what? This was just punishment number one.”

[echoes-of-the-clockwork]

Book Two: Sapphire (Ignis x Reader) Chapter VII

At the Alstor Coernix Station, (Y/n) was inside the convenience store perusing the many items they had for sale. Ignis has entrusted her with enough gil to buy them some curatives. Their supply was low and needed to be restocked. Glancing out the window of the convenience store, she saw Ignis putting gas in the Regalia while Noctis was chatting on the phone. Prompto and Gladio were eavesdropping on the phone call.

Looking back to the items in stock, she searched the shelves for Ignis' favorite canned coffee-ebony. What caught her attention was a small sign taped to one of the shelves.

*****

Due to road closures, we are SOLD OUT of Ebony Coffee for the foreseeable future.

*****

"Uh-oh..." she mumbled.

"What's "uh-oh"?" Noctis asked as he overheard her when entering the store with Gladio and Prompto in tow. She stepped aside and allowed him to read the sign for himself. His eyes widen and nearly popped out of his head as he read the small piece of paper. "Oh, crap. They're out."

Gladio shook his head in disapproval. "Can't let him see this."

"He'd be crushed." The prince glanced outside to see Ignis finished filling the gas tank and was heading their way. "Shit, he's coming this way."

"What do we do?" Prompto asked panically.

"Nothing," (Y/n) replied. "Iggy will be fine without his ebony for a few days."

"Weren't you the one who said, "uh-oh"?" Noctis asked.

"I was, but it's not the end of the world."

"For you it might not be, but for us..."

"Mama Iggy gets cranky when he hasn't had his ebony," Prompto added. "And he gets really irritated in battle if we don't listen to him."

She crossed her arms. "I'm pretty sure he gets irritated not because of the lack of ebony but the lack of listening you three do in battle."

"Damn, no need to call us out like that," Gladio chuckled.

"Still, Specs isn't gonna like being out of ebony." Noctis looked at the (h/c)-haired girl. "You tell him the bad news, (Y/n). The rest of us will try to get a running start to avoid him. And if you survive, we'll come back for you."

She sighed. "Iggy's not gonna lose his mind and go on a rampage because they're out of ebony! And why do I have to tell him?!"

"He is waaay nicer to you than the rest of us," Prompto responded. "If it comes from you, it'll cushion the blow! You make him...gentle."

"What are you talking about?"

"Listen, Iggy's got a soft spot for ya," Gladio told the petite girl, placing a hand on her shoulder. "We all can see the way he looks at you, but it looks like you're the only one who can't see it. Sorry to say this, but you're a little dense, sweetheart."

(Y/n)'s eyes narrowed in an icy glare. Her jaw tensed as her slitted eyes focused on the shield. She clenched her fists tightly by her side as her gaze bore into his amber eyes. She watched in anger and satisfaction as Gladio released her shoulder and stepped away from her out of fear. He swallowed in fright when feeling a chill creep through his body. He held up his hands in defeat. "Now hold on a sec, (Y/n)..."

Prompto and Noctis rubbed at their exposed arms, fighting off the chill in the air. They stepped away from (Y/n), their teeth chattering slightly. The two best friends exchanged glances before looking back at the angered guardian. They were too frightened to say anything and kept their mouths shut. Without saying a word, she walked out of the convenience store.

Ignis, who had just entered the store, saw her furious expression and looked towards his friends. "It seems one of you has infuriated (Y/n)."

Noctis and Prompto jabbed their fingers in Gladio's direction and said, "He did it," in unison.

"Shit..." The brute mumbled, eyes focused on the girl who was now outside. "Thought she was gonna tear me into tiny pieces."

"Dude, you called her dense. Don't you think it was a little rude and insensitive?" Prompto asked. "I mean, I would be pissed off too."

"What could possibly insinuate her to be "dense," Gladio?" Ignis pried.

"Oh, please," the brute scoffed. "Don't tell me you're unaware of how differently you treat her from the rest of us? Or the way you look at her? That'd make you dense too, Iggy. Probably even more than her. Do you realize how often I've caught you staring at her when she isn't looking in the last two days?"

Ignis didn't know how to respond. He was aware of his own infatuation with (Y/n), but he never realized how often his gaze would drift in her direction. He must've been doing it more than he noticed in the past two days.

"What? You've got nothing to say?" Gladio retorted after seeing Ignis fell silent.

"Is there a response you're wishing to hear?" Ignis replied.

"Just tryna see if our straight-laced tactician really does have a heart and actually can fall for a woman."

The bespectacled man pinched the bridge of his nose. He decided not to entertain Gladio any longer and left the convenience store. Outside, he found (Y/n) near the Crow's Nest, her attention focused on a wanted poster of a behemoth that was causing trouble in the Nebulawood. The reward was large and tempting for any hunter that was eager to test their strength and earn a pretty gil.

Ignis joined her and analyzed the poster. "Tis a feat fit for royalty."

"Aren't you the one who said to keep the trouble to a minimum?" She asked. "I'm pretty sure a behemoth is a large serving of trouble."

"The large sum of gil is not tempting enough?" He asked.

"I'd rather not be skewered by a behemoth even for a large amount of gil."

"A shame, truly."

She snorted with laughter. "Since when are you the reckless one?"

"I am the most cautious of us all," he remarked. "Regardless, we are in dire need of funds and such a tremendous feat would fill our purses."

"You really think the five of us could take down a behemoth?"

"I believe with our combined skills the beast would still be a formidable foe but one we could eliminate."

(Y/n) looked back at the wanted poster. "You certainly have confidence in our skills, Iggy. Maybe too much..."

"Or perhaps you lack the confidence in our combined strength as a group," Ignis stated, peeking at her from his peripheral vision.

She placed a hand over her chest. "Ouch... That one hurt." She then smiled. "I actually believe we could handle anything that comes our way if we stick together, but even a behemoth could cause issues. And it's not like I'm some large, mighty spirit that could match the size of such an immense beast."

""And though she be but little, she is fierce,"" the advisor quoted. "Such a quote describes your spiritual form well."

"Tiny but mighty, huh...?" She looked back at the image of the behemoth. "Still, we might be biting off more than we can chew with such a large target."

"As per words provided by Noct: only one way to find out."

She laughed. "Yes. His carefree nature truly does suit him well. Let's just hope his carelessness doesn't get him or anyone else killed..."

"Which is why we are accompanying him-to prevent such calamity."

Just then, the two heard a familiar 'click'. When they turned around, they saw Prompto with his camera aimed at them. He lowered the device and smiled innocently with slightly red cheeks. "Just takin' some sweet pics. Don't mind me!"

"Are we ready to depart?" Ignis asked.

"Yep! We're going to the chocobo outpost first, right?" He remarked with eyes glistening in excitement.

"It's up to Noct."

"What's at the chocobo outpost for us to do?" (Y/n) wondered.

"Chocobos!" Prompto squealed. "What else?"

"Don't we have royal arms to find?"

"Well, yeah, but this'll be a quick detour! Once we've ridden the chocobos, we can go back to searching for the tombs. And, of course, see Iris in Lestallum."

The girl sighed in relief. "I'm glad to hear she's safe."

"Me too. Guess we forgot to mention the phone call to you." Prompto lowered his camera. "Now then, let's go!"

Ignis and (Y/n) exchanged glances before returning to the Regalia. The three other boys were already in the backseat, waiting for them. The girl climbed into the passenger's seat and peered over middle console at the blonde in the backseat. "Maybe I should sit in the middle seat, Prompto."

"And let you be squished by these two?" He pointed to Gladio and Noctis. "No way!"

The shield wrapped an arm around Prompto's neck and used his other hand to drive his knuckles into the top of the boy's head. "You sure 'bout that, pipsqueak?"

Prompto struggled against the brute. "H-Hey, you're messing up my hair!"

Ignis started the car and pulled out of the Alstor Coernix Station. At Noctis' command, he drove in the opposite direction of Lestallum and headed to Wiz Chocobo Post. Prompto was able to break free from Gladio and giddily bounced up and down in the backseat. His excitement only escalated as the distance between them and the chocobo outpost shrunk.

The moment Ignis pulled the Regalia into Wiz Chocobo Post, Prompto climbed over Noctis. His excitement caused him to move faster, but he tripped on his own feet as he climbed out of the car. He quickly recovered and ran over to the empty pens.

Noctis readjusted his jacket from where he was trampled by Prompto before exiting the vehicle. Gladio closed the door behind him as did Ignis and (Y/n). She leaned against the car and looked around the outpost. "For a place with chocobos, it's eerily quiet."

"Think this side trip was for nothing?" Gladio asked.

"Best we find the owner of the establishment before drawing any conclusions," Ignis said.

(Y/n) wandered around the chocobo outpost while the boys spoke with the owner, Wiz. She browsed through what the store was offering before departing with a smile. She continued walking around until she was stopped by a large chocobo chick. It pecked at the heels of her shoes before rubbing its feathery body against her legs. Her brows furrowed in confusion as to why it was acting somewhat like a cat. Squatting down, she hugged her knees and poked the top of the chick's head. It 'kwehed' in response, fluffing out its feathers.

Smiling, she petted the top of its head. She had only seen pictures of chocobos and was flabbergasted at the size of the chicks. "You are one big chick, but adorable. And your feathers are soft." The chocobo chick bumped its plump body against her legs and caused her to lose her balance. She fell on her hindquarters and blinked in surprise when the chocobo chick hopped onto her lap. It flapped its tiny wings with another 'kweh' before nuzzling its head against her stomach. "Guess I have to add friendly and cuddly to the list."

While petting the chocobo chick that was curled up in her lap, she spotted movement from the corner of her eye. Turning her head, she saw three more chicks heading straight for her. Their chubby bodies bounced as they trotted towards her. Even a few loose feathers were knocked free and sent spiraling in the faint breeze that blew through the outpost.

The three chicks reached (Y/n) and tried to join their sibling. However, there was only enough room for one chocobo in her lap. The other three opted to snuggle their bodies against her sides and back before taking a nap. The girl sighed through her nose when seeing the predicament she was in. "What do I do now...?"

"Oh. Em. Gee!" A voice squealed. The spirit looked up and saw Prompto with his camera aimed at her. Noctis, Gladio, and Ignis were standing behind the blonde as he took pictures of her. "The chocobos love you, (Y/n)!"

"Where did these guys come from?" Noctis asked the spirit.

"They came out of nowhere and ambushed me," she said, continuing to pet the chocobo chick in her lap. "As you can see, I didn't stand a chance."

Not even a minute later, a woman with a yellow apron ran over. "I'm so sorry about this, miss! The babies escaped their pen. I hope they didn't cause you any trouble."

(Y/n) offered the stablehand a kind smile. "They were no trouble. They're quite friendly."

"They really are," she giggled. "This hasn't been the first time they've escaped. I've tried to come up with ways to stop them, but they're amazing escape artists."

The guardian managed to lift the chubby chick out of her lap so she could stand up. The three other chocobos that were snuggled up against her plopped against the ground when she was back on her feet. The stablehand rounded up the four chicks and escorted them back to their pen. (Y/n) brushed the dirt off her dress and tights before asking, "Did you learn why most of the pens are empty?"

Ignis stepped forward. "Remember our early discussion of the behemoth?"

She froze, eyes widening. "Don't tell me...?"

"It's a beast known to the locals as Deadeye. If we desire to use the chocobos, the behemoth must be dealt with."

Her sapphire eyes drifted over to Noctis. "Let me guess, you took the hunt."

"Yeah. Is...that a problem?" The prince questioned.

"Not at all. Just try not to get you or anyone else killed."

Noctis' opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. "Wha-? I..."

"You are audacious in battle, Noct," Ignis stated. "Which, mind you, has resulted in the injury of others."

"I am not that reckless," Noctis tried to defend himself.

"Sorry, buddy, but I've gotta side with Iggy and (Y/n) on this one," Prompto said. "You kinda are reckless in battle."

"So are you, blondie," Gladio remarked. "The only ones here who aren't reckless are myself, Iggy, and (Y/n). You two would be skewered meat if it weren't for the three of us watchin' your backs. Maybe you kids should leave the beast slaying to the grown-ups and stay here to play with the birds."

"We aren't kids!" Prompto screeched.

Noctis nodded. "Yeah!"

"Then prove it," Gladio shoves past the two younger boys. "Let's go take down a behemoth."

Noctis and Prompto dashed off with Gladio following close behind. (Y/n) clasped her hands together in front of her as she watched the three take off. "Gladio sure does love to egg those two on."

"Speaking of eggs, I do believe a scavenge for ingredients is in order once we've dealt with the behemoth," Ignis said.

The girl glanced at him in disbelief before laughing. "You would think about ingredients at a time like this. I'll see what I can do once we get back. We better catch up with the others. They won't be able to take down Deadeye without us."

"Yes, let's. Our assistance is always invaluable."

Ignis and (Y/n) left the chocobo outpost and caught up with Noctis, Prompto, and Gladio. They hadn't made it far down the dirt trail located just on the outskirts of the chocobo ranch when they regrouped with the other boys. They skirted around the Nebulawood in search of the entrance, but froze when the sound of snapping trees came from within the stone walls. The ground shook slightly with each tree that fell. It was like a domino effect where one tree would fall and then it would immediately be followed by another.

(Y/n) was pulling up the rear of the group when she suddenly heard the voice that had been haunting her ever since they left Insomnia. Stopping, she looked up at the sky and listened closely to the disembodied voice.

Vessel... Costlemark...

Her eyes narrowed in bewilderment. "Costlemark...?"

Ancient... Worship...

"I don't understand," she whispered. Her attention was drawn away from the voice when the sound of a threatening growl emitted from the Nebulawood. When it faded, she looked back up at the sky in hopes the voice would speak to her again, but it was silent. She promptly caught up with the boys just as they managed to locate the entrance to the Nebulawood.

Before they took another step forward, (Y/n) questioned the boys. "So this is Deadeye's prowling grounds?"

"That's what Wiz said," Noctis replied. "Why? You worried?"

"Not at all. Just do be careful. We don't need a dead prince on our hands."

"Hey, this'll be a walk in the park for us."

She sighed. "You say that now..."

"Wait 'til we actually face the beast before drawing any conclusions," Gladio finished the girl's thought. "Just try not to be an idiot and get your ass handed to you. We can't always be there to save you from all the trouble you put yourself in."

"Okay, I get it," Noctis groaned. "I'm reckless. Damn, you guys never learn how to drop anything..."

"We're simply here to watch your back, Noct," Ignis stated.

"Not to babysit you," Gladio added.

The prince threw his head back with another dramatic groan. He wanted to drop the subject and did so by ignoring his companions and entering the Nebulawood whether they were with him or not. Once a little ways into the rocky, windy structure of Deadeye's prowling grounds, he slowed his pace as he followed the path forward. They were surrounded by downed trees, possibly the ones they heard snapping earlier. From the damage done to the trees, it appeared something large had struck them down.

(Y/n) approached one of the fallen trees, her nose scrunching up when receiving a whiff of something that smelt awful. Gladio noticed her slightly disgusted expression. "What's up, munchkin?"

Ignoring the nickname, she responded with, "I've never encountered a behemoth before, but beasts and daemons all have distinctive odors. From the scent, I'm going to assume Deadeye caused all this damage."

"Behemoths have been known to stroke their bodies against trees and other structures to mark their territory, leaving their natural musk as a warning to other creatures," Ignis informed the group.

"Oh, nice to know," Prompto mumbled.

"Behemoths are territorial beasts. If we're not careful, none of us are coming out of this unscathed. We need to be extra careful in this area, especially since Deadeye has marked his territory," (Y/n) said.

Noctis rubbed the back of his neck. "Guess this isn't gonna be a walk in the park..."

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