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likeshipsonthesea · 4 years

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dex, team bicycle

the following bullet fic has been in my drafts for over a year now and tonight i remembered it existed, read it, and decided to post it. why? who knows. don’t ask questions. just ~enjoy~

so i got an ask about how anon trusts me implicitly when it comes to writing bc they believe that dex is the team bicycle and eventually ends up with nursey and thinks i’m down with that too and tbh they ain’t wrong so like

here’s a bullet fic instead of me doing any of the work i SHOULD REALLY FUCKING BE DOING okie

first things first here’s the dealio this is crack-ish but also not so crackish that my dumbass couldn’t see it happening so let’s just suspend some disbelief and have a good time

first time dex hooks up with a teammate it’s not at a kegster

maybe a little later he’s a little too tipsy at a kegster not really knowing his own tolerance for tub juice yet and he’s dancing, a little more white boy than maybe one would like but he’s having fun with it and that’s half the game, and he’s sweaty and maybe some glitter from other dancers has rubbed off on him and he’s glittery and shining and he catches someone’s eye across the room (holster, i’m thinking holster) and holster sees him and thinks fuck and dex is maybe really into how big holster is and just like follows him up to the attic when holster grabs his wrist and pulls because why not--

but this is not about that (at least not yet) this is about how dex, new to samwell and ncaa hockey and everything, wants to be the best he can be in everything so naturally he goes to the best person to help him with every thing (for school he gets tutors and goes to tutorials and goes to all the profs’ office hours, for social stuff maybe he trails ransom around idk (that’s for later)) but for hockey he obviously goes to the person you go to when you need help with hockey

jack

LOOK OKAY I GET IT ZIMBITS FOR LIFE BUT HEAR ME OUT

jack likes hockey. jack likes people who like hockey. jack likes when people are really into hockey

so when the little angery frog that seemed real appreciative of his butt on hazeapalooza comes to him with this frowny face determination asking how he can be the best player he can be, a part of jack’s brain that’s very quiet and seldom acknowledged goes “huh.”

and maybe they start meeting up for their own practices, practicing drills and plays so dex can get his speed up and reaction time down and just get better and jack’s benefiting from it too in a way, like trying to help a defensive player makes him have to switch up his thinking about things a bit and it’s helping his defensive play on the ice

and so this goes on for a bit and maybe they build up some inside jokes in between all the intensity and maybe there’s some playful moments in the locker room when they bump arms or throw a few chirps around and it’s cute okay and not too serious, jack isn’t in love with the kid (he’s a kid, lord, okay a lil problematic but if y’all know anything about my oc luke dex has Problems with Authority figures so whatever)

but the truth is jack doesn’t really have many people he’d be comfortable “relieving some stress” with, like there’s shitty but he’s ridiculously straight, and Camila went and got herself a girlfriend so that’s no longer a thing, and dex is there and eager and fun and

and long story short they end up fucking in the locker room oops

it doesn’t happen too many times after that, maybe once on a roadie, a few times at the haus. it’s fun, not in a laughing way or whatever, but it’s casual and it’s nice to get off and it doesn’t make jack any more anxious and dex is probably working through some issues he has with tall dark haired captains and they both get something good out of it, which is the point, anyway

and it ends maybe before winter break, either jack decides to focus on the nhl and his thesis and dex totally understands or dex realizes that maybe his thing with dark haired captains isn’t completely healthy and ends things but either way it’s nbd and no one on the team ever really knows, though it’s not like they lie about it either but who’s gonna ask, right?

and so dex and jack were fuckbuddies. for a time. noice.

now let’s return to that kegster scene, hmm?

so the way i picture it is dex hooks up with holster at a kegster, realizes it probably wasn’t the smartest idea he’s ever had but doesn’t completely freak out because holster’s a relaxed kind of guy, dex is sure it won’t get nuts

meanwhile holster wakes up freaking out because he just fucked ransom’s frog and that is so not cool so then he panics and avoids ransom and dex for like a week and then decides okay okay it’s not a big deal he just won’t tell anyone, it won;t happen again, it’s fine

and then he walks in on dex hooking up with ransom and he’s like Wow Okay So the Fine Thing Didn’t Work Out Huh

turns out while holster was freaking out ransom was really mopey about it and dex, not really knowing how to fix it, tried to comfort him and ended up... in bed

look this version of dex is a little thotty and knows like two ways of comforting people and he didn’t think getting drunk in the middle of the day was a good idea

and so long story short after some brief HUHs going around dex ends up hooking up with both ransom and holster for a bit (sometimes both at once!) and eventually the both-at-once-stuff makes ransom and holster actually acknowledge the feelings they’ve mostly been ignoring since their frog year and they explain this to dex who’s like okie bc he’s really only there bc they’re both hot and so ransom and holster get together and dex sometimes helps them out on date nights and that’s about it

lbr tho they never tell anyone how they actually got together bc they would never live it down so they say nothing and dex doesn’t either bc it’s not his relationship and the world goes on never knowing

so now we’re getting into the middle of spring term dex’s frog year and he’s kind of maybe sort of acknowledged that he has some kind of emotions about nursey that aren’t helpful so he’s attempting to repress real hard, but he’s also learning to repress less about other things, specifically his enjoyment of baking.

yup. you guessed it.

Bitty.

so he starts helping bitty in the kitchen A Lot, and sometimes they talk and sometimes they don’t and sometimes they talk about important things but most of the time they don’t, but at this stage in bitty’s life he is crushing very hard on a certain dark haired captain and that’s kind of really apparent in, like, everything he does so it takes dex maybe two weeks to realize what’s going on

and okay so it’s a little awkward bc 1-the fuckbuddies thing but also bc 2-dex knows how it feels to have feelings for a friend and it kind of sucks like a lot and he wants to make bitty feel better and yeah maybe this is another case of dex being bad at comforting people with his clothes on

but maybe also one day they’re talking about relationships/being gay idk something and bitty maybe casually (southern euphemistically) mentions that he’s never, erm, never quite, uh, never done the dirty with a boy and maybe he sounds a lil embarassed about it idk and dex’s I Can Fix That brain switches on and he says, “I can help.”

and bitty’s like. what.

dex blushes and clears his throat and says it again. “i can help. i’ve, uh, done it before, and i can, like. show you.” then he pauses and, very uncasually, says, “casually.”

bitty, also pink at his point because he’s a sweet southern boy who doesn’t speak of such things, asks, “you’d be willing to do that?”

dex nods. he does not say that he’s done something like that before. he very pointedly does not say that.

and bitty, well, he’s pining and he’s been at college for a year and a half and the most action he’s ever gotten was with that boy who puked on his shoes and, you know, he came to samwell so that he could be who he is and maybe this is a way he can prove to himself that he is being true to himself.

it also doesn’t hurt that dex is v pretty, okay, bitty loves a boy with big shoulders and freckles.

and so dex and bitty start hooking up.

it’s somewhat like my The Arrangement fic where dex is sort of “showing bitty the ropes” but bitty, lbr, he’s a quick learner and he did his research so it very quickly just becomes hooking up for the sake of it

and it’s good. like. really good and both of them are benefiting from having someone to escape from their ~feelings~ in and bitty’s more comfortable in sexuality (like, his sexuality not his gayness ya feel me?) and everyone’s having a great time

then they lose the playoffs and emotions run high and bitty realizes how decimated he’s going to be by jack leaving and they don’t really have a conversation about it (let’s be real, neither of these boys talk about their feelings, at least not at this point) but dex goes home that summer with the understanding that he and bitty are no longer doing the thing, and that’s okay with him, really, because maybe now his feelings for nursey are becoming More of A Thing Than He Was Hoping They Would

of course bitty gets with jack at this time, so he’s kind of through the roof, and if, maybe, they have a conversation about their ex’s/past lovers and find they have.. more things in common than expected, well, at the least it’s a bit of a laugh and at the most well. let’s just say sometimes a ginger is mentioned in their bed WHATEVER OKAY MOVING ON

dex comes back in the fall ready to suppress the fuck out of his emotions and play some damn good hockey and who appears but this super eager tadpole

this now plays out as the first two chapters of my The Arrangement fic, though i guess now for canonical reasons whiskey ends up with lax bro and not tango, but that’s alright, we’re good at working on our feet here

for those who haven’t read the fic, dex shows whiskey how to gay sex while simultaneously gaining his trust and encouraging him to bond with the team and for personal reasons whiskey is a little shit but not as much of an asshole as he was in canon (look i love the guy but he’s a dick) and anyway go read my fic it’s good i promise #selfspon moving on

the latter half of dex’s sophomore year is spent mostly Not Pining for nursey and getting closer to him, friend wise, until the whole dib-flip, living together situation occurs, dex has a Freak Out, and ruins things a little

..this is getting off track, but long story short, his captains kiss each other on live tv and dex’s family starts to suspect that all those rumors that drifted around him in high school may have more truth to them than they’d been hoping and dex has a less than great summer break, coming back to school in the opposite of a good mindset

nursey also has a not great break (his parents are fighting, then he comes to school and breaks his wrist and can’t play hockey) and well we all know where this ends up

this leaves dex in a very mopey gross state and who to help someone feel better in their time of need than the sweetest little waffle you’ve ever seen in your life?

yes, it’s time for Hops.

now, this is a rather short lived affair, but over thanksgiving break, the entirety of the haus goes home to their families except for dex (who says he can’t deal with bus fare, and begs off any offers of help) and hops, who technically isn’t in the Haus, but stays there for the break while his parents are on a work trip during the holiday

dex ends up finding out just exactly how College Hockey Boy hops is when he almost burns the kitchen down trying to make a grilled cheese and dex decides then that he has to help this boy learn how to human, so they spend the first two days together with dex teaching hops all the basic skills dex thinks someone should know

this is included but not limited to: how to cook without making fire, how to change the oil in your car, how to hotwire a car, how to fix various different appliances, how to take the optimal notes, how to basic code, and how to sort and do your laundry

hops is enjoying the crash course (kid is just grateful to finally know where the detergent goes in a washer) but also, like, lbr. watching someone be competent in a thing--esp a thing you are yourself not good at--is a giant turn on, and so after two days of watching dex be really good at adulting, they settle onto the couch after doing the dishes and hops just gets on his knees and--

we aren’t smutting here on good christian tumblr but boy. hops is an eager kid.

anyway they spend a week fucking and then stop because hops falls in love with a girl in his intro class and then spends the next two months asking dex for advice on how to woo her, even though obviously chowder would be a better bet.

then comes the playoffs and everything is heating up and they’re on roadies nearly every weekend, still keeping up with their coursework, and it’s A Lot, and dex is really feeling it this year, especially with all the shit bitty’s been getting, and one night, on a roadie, he and bully get back to their room and dex collapses with a groan on the bed and bully, chill as anything, is like. “you seem pretty stressed. wanna fuck?”

and, you know what? dex is still his thotty (though more mature) self and he’s like, life sucks a little right now, why not get off

and so he does.

he and bully hook up through the playoffs and into the post-season (that post-final game sex is A Lot my dudes lemme tell you) but then dex gets elected captain and something twisty in his chest tells him that he should not be fucking someone on the team, especially not an underclassman, when he’s got that authority over him, and so he breaks it off with bully

who is pretty chill about it, since he’s bully, though he does miss the sex. the sex was p good.

and, to be quite honest, that’s it. dex wouldn’t fuck any of the baby frogs for the same reason he broke it off with bully (also ngl the senior-freshman thing doesn’t do it for him anymore) and so dex goes through his senior year of college without having any fuckbuddies--his first year of college so far, actually, where he doesn;t

the end

lol jk he and nursey start hooking up and it’s a Whole Bundle of emotions

in keeping with the rest of the fuck buddies, dex thinks that this is just like all the other times and nursey has no reason to think dex wants anything more and like. the sex is good, like very good, and neither of them are complaining per se but they’re also in love and haven’t said anything, and i imagine there are some ill-timed confessions prior to the final game of the playoffs and then they win another ncaa championship title and have sex in a janitor’s closet (but like,, emotional sex) and they live happily (thottily) ever after

i also like to imagine that there’s a point somewhere down the line when they all meet up for a reunion and something happens-- probably ransom and holster get a lil tipsy and finally tell the truth of how they got together-- and everyone basically does the spider-man meme but with “wait-you had sex with dex? i had sex with dex” and nursey--who knows bc dex told him when they finally got together-- is just sitting there all smug with his arm around a steadily reddening dex bc he’s fucking proud of the fact that everyone knows exactly how good his boyfriend is in bed

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chrisevansgoodgirl · 4 years

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the closest i’ve been to a bar was at ballet class

summary: just some smut building up to 🎟🩰(that’s a ticket and ballet slippers in case you aren’t reading this on mobile)

pairings: reader x natasha romanoff, reader x steve rogers, reader x carol danvers, reader x ...someone 👀

word count: a little under 12,000

warnings: everything. as usual, all kinds of sex in here. i can’t remember all of it. some is pretty rough so avoid if that is not your thing.

a/n: so...i may have added a fourth and bc i’m a jerk, i’m not yet tagging who... but i’ve been thirsting for this character so hard lately and idk why! i’m done tho, i swear! no more. none.

a/n2: so, obviously there is no show here and they have yet to find out about each other but i started writing that but this all happened first and it would have been like a billion words. so part 3 will be coming!

a/n3: part 1

Your ballet instructor was Natasha’s number one enemy. It had started almost instantly. As with her experiences in ballet, she felt that your instructor was someone who simply needed to be watched. She said ballet instructors were hardly ever completely honest, they always had ulterior motives.

You highly doubted your instructor—a 38-year-old woman with an amazing husband and three adorable children—was up to no good. But you couldn’t take another lecture!

Natasha liked to remind you that she had been at this for a long time. Sure, she was paranoid, sometimes. But other times, she was very much correct and that was enough for her. She just wished you would put your guard up sometimes.

So she claimed, anyway. And she was convincing, but at the end of the day, she was glad you weren’t jaded and cynical. It meant she got to take care of you. It meant that she got to protect you in all the ways she knew how—threats, murder maybe.

She was waiting for you at your apartment around noon after practice was over. Her eyes sought out any signs of stress. You knew you looked tired—a big show was coming up, that same show you knew was going to conclude this whole sneaking around thing you had going on. You also knew there was a huge bruise on your shin and arm that she would be furious about when she undressed you.

"Hungry?" she inquired. No 'hello', no 'I missed you', but Natasha liked to save that for when you were falling asleep. She really thought you wouldn't remember how sappy she'd gotten in the morning. You let her pretend because the alternative was no sappiness.

"Starving. Are we going somewhere?"

"Let’s stay in, I’ll make something."

You opened your apartment for her and she waltzed right in. She directed you to change as she headed for the kitchen.

You didn’t have the energy to try to hide the bruises. It was better to get it out of the way. Besides, were you going to say no when she wanted to fuck you?

You chose a tiny bra top and a pair of tiny shorts. Maybe your ass would distract her.

She was at the counter, waiting to see what you came out in. A box of pasta in front of her, a few jars and a saucepan off to her side. It wasn’t anything too crazy but you were okay with that, and at least she wouldn’t get to tease you in that restaurant she loved taking you to.

Concept: picture that scene from a movie where the rich, white man has his favorite restaurant that he takes his billions of too-young, way-out-of-his-league dates to and the staff is used to not mentioning any of the terrible things they see to his wife. Now, take that vision and place it on Natasha. Subtract all the dates and the wife and that Natasha was out of your league, and that had you sitting at her usual table of her favorite overpriced, noisy, terribly lit restaurant at least once a week. At least you were starting to make friends with all of the hostesses and most of the servers. But they weren't naive, they knew when Natasha was, in a sense, in a mood, and they knew when to be succinct but still helpful. That was what made part of The Incident possible—

"What is that bruise?" she demanded, startling you out of your thoughts.

You contemplated the innocent act for a moment, but you'd rather be dismissive. It was just quicker. "Nat, I'm fine—"

"Did you get that in class?"

"No."

"Where, then?"

You sighed. "When I was leaving class. I fell walking down the stairs."

"Because you’re so tired!"

"I am not that tired," you protested.

"Y/N—"

You sauntered over to her, sliding in between her and the counter. "I guess I am a little tired but only because I’ve had some trouble falling asleep lately."

She already knew where you were going, but she would never refuse one of your challenges. You weren’t in charge, she was, and you wouldn’t know that if she was too soft with you. She sighed, "why is that?"

"Because you haven’t fucked me in so long."

She rolled her eyes.

"When you tire me out, I sleep like a baby. Without you...I have to tire myself out and that can take forever."

She sighed, knowing she was not going to get you on a different path. "Forever, huh?"

You nodded. "I mean...I can think about you when I do it. Your mouth, your fingers... But it’s not the same."

"And how often, exactly, do you think about me?"

It was the closest she was ever going to get to asking where she stood with you. She knew there were others but she wanted to hear that she was special compared to the rest. She was, so special you couldn’t put it into words. But that didn't mean Steve and Carol weren't special in their way as well. You figured they were going to have a hard time wrapping their mind around that when they found out about this. A competition? Sure, they could understand that.

"Very often," you promised. "I missed you."

You craved them exactly as you had gotten used to having them in your life. The mornings had you longing to be with Natasha, staying in bed late while you thought about how she wasn’t going to be walking you to class or waiting for you after. Nights were reserved for Steve when you realized how empty your bed felt and wanted to have one of your under-the-covers conversations with him—a trend started in the winters when he would unintentionally wake you up because he was trying to slip out of bed, it was your way of keeping him there for just a little longer. Then there were weekends, random mid-days, and every Thursday night that Carol had you set aside just for her so she could take you to Maria's for dinner.

Natasha's hands settled on your hips. "I missed you, too. But that doesn’t mean I don't want to hit your damn teacher."

"Why waste time?"

"I’m nearly retired," she countered. "I have the time."

"No, you really don’t." You slowly removed your shirt and then shimmied out of your shorts before kicking them away. "All of your time needs to be spent on me, not worrying about my teacher."

Natasha always looked at you like she’d never seen anything quite so beautiful regardless of how little time elapsed from the last, but there was something different this time. For the first time since she’d met you, your skin was an unpainted canvas. Steve and Carol had been gone as well and that meant there were no bruises anywhere because there was no one else.

Natasha liked marking you up because Steve did—not that she knew that, but it was a possessive outlet for them both. Steve’s marks were always bigger, bigger fingers, bigger love bites, she’d known instantly that he was a man—random, inconsistent. Hers were smaller, healed quicker, but no doubt sent the message that you were fucking a woman. Something she wanted to be known to whoever else was sharing your bed.

She lifted you onto the counter, leaving your hips hanging over the edge as she dropped to her knees. Immediately, her mouth was set to your inner thigh where she nipped at your skin and kissed after. She never once took her eyes off you as she switched legs..

You wouldn’t beg, even after the eighth time she made that switch. You knew she had her plans and not even you could change them. That didn’t mean you weren’t dripping and squirming, cursing her for being so thorough, however.

She shoved your legs apart wide as she stood, dipping down to run her tongue through you slowly, just once.

You shuddered when she caught your clit. "Natasha—"

"Hush." She eyed your pussy, then the rest of you. "You are delicious, baby. I can’t believe I had to go so long without tasting you." She chose your hip bones to mark up next but finally, slid two fingers inside you. She didn’t move them, she just wanted to fill you up a little.

You clenched around them several intentional times and she didn’t bat an eye. She was trying to drive you crazy; she hadn’t said it but the second you tried to take, if you rolled your hips, if you grabbed her arm and attempted to rush her, she would make you wait longer.

She trailed up to your breasts, small kisses scattered without pattern before she started to bite and suck until your skin was numbly tingling. You knew her game was over when she pressed her lips to yours.

You wasted no time, opening your mouth for her tongue and moaning out of the sheerest need. There was just something about Natasha’s lips that could always get you weak. They were beautiful to look at but they felt even better gliding across your skin, kissing, sucking.

She was the one who pulled away, turning down to look at her fingers still inside you. "You are soaking my hand."

Now you grabbed her forearm, pulling her fingers in deeper. "Fuck me, please."

She acted as if she was thinking about it, arched her eyebrow and curled her fingers once, twice, and then yanked them away from you.

Your eyes widened up at her. What the hell?

"Go sit at the table while I finish making the pasta."

Your mouth dropped a little. "Um...?"

"Hurry up," she ordered.

She was serious, dead serious. You slid off the counter, leaning down to reach for your clothes.

"I didn’t tell you to get dressed," she pointed out. With her hands on your arms, she stood you back up and turned you around. You went to move away but she grabbed your ass and leaned down to kiss your cheek, then gently urged you forward. "Sit down, stop pouting. Be a good girl or else I won’t be fucking you, understood?"

No, hell no, not understood. At all! But you didn’t say any of that as you moved for the table. No, no, no way in hell.

Steve teased, even Carol had her tendencies to make you wait, but Natasha was different. After that first time in the studio, she had never again made you wait for something that you wanted. She gave and gave until you shamelessly flaunted how spoiled you were to anyone who would listen—mostly the ballerinas from class. It was that Natasha didn’t need to be as in control as them, it was that it didn’t need to be some power struggle.

Maybe she was trying something different, but that meant that you could do that, too. Instead of sitting in a chair like a boring mouse, you turned to her and sat on the table instead.

She was pouring the box of pasta in the pot, but she turned up to arch an eyebrow at you.

You lifted one leg, then the other, setting the arches of your feet on the edge of the table. You were obscenely spread for her and she acted as if that wasn’t unnatural.

You brought your hand down to your pussy, two fingers slowly tracing circles around your clit. You watched her watching you the entire time, there was never a break in her resolve. But you were too far now to just quit, besides that was more than likely was her feigned indifference was trying for.

She didn’t stop making the pasta either, but that was how you knew you were winning. She was trying to speed dinner along because she was going to remind you that she was in charge.

It was so cute that they believed that. You worried that she may not let you finish that night, so even if you wanted to give her that little bit of obedience you could manage, you weren't convinced it was in your best interest.

Your hand began to move frantically as you cried out her name because you were just mean like that. Your eyes closed and your head fell back as you took in two of your fingers. Your hips rose to grind against the heel of your palm, around that time you were almost certain you’d heard something clatter in the kitchen.

Your finish was little more than a show, an end you’d drawn yourself to many times in their absence but one that you played up. It felt as good as it could have but you needed them, nothing else could suffice. That didn't mean you weren't acting like it was the best orgasm you'd ever had.

You came down quickly and did so without a word or even another glance at her. You climbed off the table, sat in a chair, and looked at her once more.

She looked down at the counter in front of her and shook her head. Yep, you were in major trouble, but you deemed it well worth it.

After an uneventful meal, she took you to the bedroom where she edged you ruthlessly. She was trying to get you to apologize for misbehaving, but you refused. Well, until she told you that she wasn't going to give you the presents she brought you back from Paris. (Later, you opened a new pair of thigh-high boots and a diamond choker with a dangling charm of cursive letters spelling out angel.)

And finally, when you gave in and apologized, she herself was worked up beyond comprehension and set your cunt over her face so she could eat you out until you were crying and delirious. Thankfully, she didn’t stop even though you begged her to, not until she was satisfied.

That was the first night Natasha stayed over. She kept her arms wrapped around your bare torso to keep you pinned to her as tightly as possible. You felt her running her hands through your hair until you fell asleep, enjoying the sound of her breathing in the quiet room.

In the morning, you woke first. You were able to watch her sleep for a while, surprised by how peaceful she looked. And you were caught off by how good she looked in your bed, her red hair fanned out over your pink pillowcases, the sunlight filtering through the blinds and layering her in gold light.

Her arms were slack around you, her right falling away as you sat up. You situated yourself on her side, crossing your top leg over her hip. You took her hand in yours, guiding two of her fingers to your already wet pussy.

You teased your clit for several minutes, careful not to wake her just yet. When you were ready, you slid down on two of her long fingers. Still, she was not woken by you.

You rolled your hips desperately, moaning every time your clit swept against her palm. You felt her fingers curl on their own and moaned louder, an attempt to get her conscious.

When her eyes shot open, they focused on you instantly. You continued to fuck yourself on her fingers, setting your head on the pillow next to hers and staring in her eyes.

"Fuck," she whispered. Then she was up and urging you onto your back. She spread your legs wide and slotted herself between them. She started slow, hands groping your breasts as she dragged her pussy against yours.

She was deliciously slick, you could feel her cunt dripping onto yours. Wet sounds filled the room, along with the small, desperate noises that spilled from your open mouth.

When she knew she was close, she used your thigh as leverage, moving quicker. It was a breath-taking scene when Natasha got lost in pleasure. She shut her eyes, tilted her head back and her red curls lined her back, her breasts bounced hard because that was how she was fucking you. She didn’t stop until you were both screaming each other's name and coming.

She collapsed on top of you, mouth lazily seeking out yours. "That’s the best way I’ve ever been woken up."

You smiled.

"Turn over, let me see your gorgeous ass."

You waited until she stepped off the bed to roll over, eagerly sticking your ass out for her. She had never asked you to do this so you were excited to see where she would take it.

You heard her get back on the bed and then felt her hands gripping your ass hard.

"You have such a beautiful ass."

You smirked, glancing back at her.

She set her body flat against your back and you titled your head just so you could kiss her. She began grinding her cunt against your ass, nipping at your lips as she moaned. One of her hands slithered down between your pussy and the mattress, her fingers circling your sensitive flesh skillfully.

Her soaking pussy brushed over your ass desperately, you could feel her soaking you all the way down the back of your thigh. She got herself off on your skin, never once easing up on your clit even though you’d finished and were terribly oversensitive to her touch. Instead, once again, she stopped only when she wanted to.

And if you thought that would be the end, you didn’t know her very well. She sat up and brought you with her. She took your hips in her hands and situated you over one of her thighs, her front pressed to your back once again. "Come on my thigh, baby, don’t stop until I tell you to."

You leaned over, using your elbows to keep your balance. You rode her thigh hard, making sure to give her quite the show of your ass. When you were reaching your end, you grabbed one of her hands and set it over your ass. She took the cue immediately, grabbing you, digging her fingers in.

When you finished, she shoved you flat onto the mattress. You were only half aware of what she was doing behind you, still floating from your orgasm. You snapped right out of that when you felt her lips against your ass. She kissed you several times before you felt her tongue against your hole.

You startled, hands fisting in the sheets. You were definitely surprised, you guys had never even approached this topic. But just as soon as you had felt her, she was gone. She turned you back over, kissed up your body, stopping only to worship your breasts. When she reached your mouth, she gave you an out-of-place chaste kiss and sat up. "Seriously, we need to get out of bed or I'm never going to stop fucking you."

When Carol opened her apartment door for you, things quickly changed. She gripped your arm and walked you to the couch where she forcefully sat you down. One thing was clear: she was in no mood to hear you speak.

"Stay." She headed to the kitchen where you heard cupboards being opened and slammed shut, the fridge a few times. Mostly, she was just walking around.

Perhaps you should have been scared, but you were just wet. So fucking wet.

She came back with a beer, glanced at you, then began pacing. "You’re..." she trailed off and shook her head before taking a long drink from the bottle in her hand. "I mean, I can’t even..."

It was definitely a mistake to laugh.

Her eyes widened and she turned to you, a clear warning, but one that you would not heed. "Just try to make me understand," she finally settled on. "What possessed you?"

"Well, you were gone for quite a while."

"So, you missed me?"

"Of course."

"So, you decide to be a brat?"

Was that supposed to make you regret acting out? It was a somewhat humiliating thing for her to call you but you didn’t dislike it. "Well, you weren’t paying enough attention to me."

Again, that sharp look that you were sure was supposed to make you backtrack. "I only pay attention to good girls, girls who behave."

You hummed, standing. "I suppose I should go home, then."

"Sit down," she growled.

Instead, you tossed your purse on the couch and slowly removed your jacket. Nat had left you covered in marks but she was secure enough in her place with you that she didn’t need to do so in a way that would inconvenience you. She understood you were a ballerina so she left your neck, shoulders, and chest mostly untouched. Your breasts, stomach, and thighs were another story, but you were still in a tiny ass skirt that allowed Carol to finger you in the car before you’d arrived at another little gathering Maria was having—who had more parties, her or Tony Stark? She was giving him a run for his money.

Which was where you’d started acting out. Carol had picked you up around noon and you were as sweet as could be. But around 3, you were suddenly hit with the realization that you wanted to be fucking her more than anything else. It started with a text about how you had taken off your underwear. She was having none of it, she told you this was not happening. You let her know that the scrap of lace was in her purse.

You sent a picture 30 minutes later. She warned you to stop. You sent a video showing her just how wet you were for her, then told her all the things you wanted her to do to you. All the things you had missed while she was away.

In total, you sent her 27 texts, 2 videos, and 7 pictures. You’d received 4 responses, but the final one was completely out of place. Show me your ass. You obliged but then nothing. She said nothing, she requested nothing further.

Did you feel as though you'd gone too far? Not exactly. Carol was definitely into the most public shit, making possible for the second part of The Incident. You still blushed thinking about that day.

She rolled her eyes at your display of disobedience, bringing the bottle to her lips once more. "Strip."

You didn’t need to be told twice. First, it was the shirt, and you paid no mind at all to what Natasha had left you with, but you noticed Carol's lingering gaze. Next, you pushed your skirt down and stepped out of her pumps you’d borrowed. You loved wearing heels when you were out with Carol, she was taller than you without and sometimes it brought you to her level or made you just a tad taller.

She made her way closer to you, setting her bottle on the coffee table off to her side. Abruptly, she grabbed a handful of your hair and pulled you closer to her. "If you wanted me to get rough with, princess, all you had to do was ask."

You didn’t have time to respond before she was kissing you, greedy and demanding. But just as you reached up to touch her face, she yanked back and turned you around with her hands on your shoulders. She grabbed your hair once more and forced you down toward the table.

You were on your knees, bent over the edge, your breasts flat against the freezing glass. Your cheek was pressed so hard against the solid surface you almost couldn’t open your mouth to speak. "Carol—"

"Silence."

It was a while before you heard her move, she got down behind you and kept one hand on your head as the next began to feel through your folds.

She slipped one finger inside you, pulled back, then added another. She curled up against that spot that always made you buck your hips wildly, even though now you were digging into the sharp wooden border of the table she’d bent you over.

"You know how to drive, right, princess?"

You paused for a moment, confused.

"Answer me."

"Um, yes?"

"You know that when you reach a traffic light, green means go and red means stop, don’t you?"

"Yeah..."

"So, right now, bent over this table, your soaking cunt filled with my fingers, you are...?"

She was speaking slowly as if you were a child that could barely comprehend this conversation. Never mind that you were definitely getting lost and her fingers were turning your brain to mush. It was another humiliation tactic and you felt yourself blushing. She’d never been quite so...formal. "Green?"

"Are you asking or telling? Green means that you are still my desperate little whore that needs to be fucked hard."

"I’m green," you assured.

"And if at any point you feel like you need me to slow down or you are beginning to get worried or uncomfortable, if you need any verbal communication, you’re yellow. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"And you understand if you need me to stop, if I’m hurting you or you don’t like what’s going on, you can tell me you are red and you know I won’t get mad at you?"

"Yes."

"One more time, what are you?"

"Green."

She pulled her fingers from inside you. "Arms on the table."

You hurriedly obeyed, gripping the edges hard. Carol never really spoke to you like this, it was all spoiling you in attention and affection. This was something else, something you hadn’t anticipated when you started this game.

She brought her hand down on the right side of your ass, your hips stuttered forward and your gasp and the echo of the smack filled the room. Your cheeks burned and your eyes filled with tears. It didn’t hurt, she was experimenting, but you knew it would eventually.

"And what are you now, princess?"

You swallowed, willing your voice to stay even. "Green."

She finally let go of your hair and you tilted your head a little just to get the pressure off your cheekbone. She repeated the slap on the opposite side with just a bit more pressure.

You shuddered and blurted out the same color. Your skin was stinging but you felt yourself growing wetter, your slick running down your thighs now.

She had you in this cycle until she found enough force that it was barely manageable. Tears were running down your cheeks, landing on the table and she had to hold you up on your knees because you no longer could.

She hummed. "These marks are going to be pretty in the morning."

You realized then where this came from. Had you come to her with the same attitude but without all of those marks Nat left you covered in, you probably never would have pushed Carol to this point. They had both officially found their ways to be just the slightest bit possessive.

"You sorry?"

You snorted. "No...are you?"

"Excuse me?"

"You should have fucked me at the party if you really wanted me to stop sending you pictures and videos."

She rolled her eyes. "Stay here. I'm not joking."

You smirked as she stormed off to her bedroom. You knew what she would be coming back with. She returned naked, save for her strap. A smooth red dildo hung between her legs, one of the larger ones she owned.

You went to stand up but she clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

"Crawl over here."

You lifted your eyebrows—crawl? Hadn't she just called you ‘princess’? But you could be a ‘whore’ since she called you that, too. On hands and knees, you made your way to her.

She reached down to grab your hair, pulling you up to stand on your knees. She said nothing else as she used her other hand to press the tip of the dildo against your lips until you opened your mouth. A struggle that ended with the sounds of you choking on the piece of silicone down your throat.

The rest of the night was spent on the couch. She made you ride her strap until you physically couldn't continue, which ended up being a bit after two in the morning. She didn't tease or edge, she allowed you to come as many times as you wanted to, in fact, she ordered it—unstated, but the threat that would come from not playing her game was clear.

She didn't help, however, she stayed still underneath you and didn't say a word. She just watched you, watched as you pathetically attempted to get her to break. You would kiss her, take her fingers and suck on them, place her hands over your breasts. A few times, you even got up, turning your back to her before sinking back down on the dildo, knowing that she would love the sight of your battered ass.

Steve understood your love of ballet.

Sure, Natasha knew what you were talking about and related to you somewhat, but she also had her opinions about ballet and sometimes she was a little closed off about your dancing. And hell, Carol would support you doing anything. Tap, softball, book club, Broadway, murder, she just wanted you to be happy.

With Steve, well, he sort of understood interests that left you a little battered and bruised. His new obsession (TM) was patching you up through those unanticipated injuries and wrapping your feet before you practiced at home to prevent injuries. It was a careful 20-minute process where he was utterly focused on making sure you were completely protected. And either he paid tremendous attention to you—his skills at quickly prepping your feet was enviable—or he had a thing for ballerinas. You were okay not knowing.

When he called you and told you he was coming over, you noticed something in his voice. It was different, not that usual sweet and doting tone, but you'd heard it before. Steve was always confident and assertive, but this was...something else. Something more. When he told you that you needed to get dressed in nothing more than a leotard, you wanted to be a brat and flat out refuse, maybe just tease, but you didn’t. You had enough sense to know that it wouldn’t get you the results you wanted.

You also had reason to be nervous. Carol had left you some nice marks. They didn’t really hurt anymore, but they were there. There was also no false illusion about what they were. Steve would know and you just weren’t sure how he would feel about them. Most of your ass was covered with what you were wearing but there were still the especially dark areas that could be seen through your one-piece, and there were a few bruises that extended the cut of your outfit. Not to mention, there was no way to hide what Natasha left on your upper thighs.

But you just decided to act like it wasn’t an issue. He was the one who said he couldn’t be your boyfriend, right? He couldn’t get upset over others leaving marks behind. At least that was what you kept repeating to yourself as you walked toward your barre in the corner of your apartment living room.

You began going through your usual warm-up routine, only glancing at him when you felt you wouldn’t be caught. He was laid out on the couch, eyes following your legs as if he hadn’t seen you do this a dozen times already. He was already hard, made more noticeable by the one leg draped over the edge of the cushions. His hand was on his thigh, fingers twitching just barely. The control he was trying to maintain was clear on his face, through his sharp blue eyes, his set jaw, and furrowed brow.

It was silent the entire time and your nerves were growing. Eventually, you would have to turn around and he would have the perfect view of your ass. He’d already noticed your thighs, you saw him eyeing you when he was prepping your feet for the pointe shoes. But he didn’t say anything and he wouldn’t, because he wasn’t allowed to. Right?

With a finishing soutenu turn, you were facing the opposite direction. You heard him sit up but then it was completely silent, minus your breathing and your shoes brushing along the floor.

When you were done, you stayed put. You’d gone as far as teaching him a lot of ballet vocabulary because he knew what he wanted to see and after your warm-ups, he would often direct you. It was always somewhat thrilling—apparently, you both shared this depraved ballerina kink. Maybe there had been role play—maybe he was the casting director and you were a desperate ballerina auditioning for a role, willing to do anything to get it, and maybe he pretended he had a million and one critiques for you, and maybe instead of having the talent, you got the role after you sucked him off.

“Face the barre. Run through your pliés.”

You turned to your side, pretending to be focused on keeping your hips squared and your pelvis locked. You could do pliés no problem, but the alternative was meeting his stare in the mirror and you were too nervous to do that. You completed the demi-pliés slowly and the grand pliés much the same. Normally, he would speak during this step, knowing that he wasn’t going to distract you, but nothing.

You waited for more instructions but they never came. You felt his arms wrap around your waist and you startled—you hadn’t heard him get so close.

He just held you for a moment, pinned your back to his chest as he kissed the side of your face. His hands began to squeeze your breasts and you melted into him eagerly. But soon, gentle touching became rough grabbing and all you could do was watch him in the mirror. He looked at you like he was starving and he touched you like it had been ages.

One of his hand dropped down and grabbed your ass. You held on tighter to the barre, shuddering. "What do you call him?"

Because you just didn’t know what was good for you, you laughed. "Are you jealous?"

He gripped you harder, bringing down his other hand to join. "I don’t need to be. What do you call him?"

'I’m not fucking another man," you informed, amusement still clear in your tone. Steve Rogers jealous, you never thought you’d see the day.

"Then what do you call her?"

She had you call her captain, but you couldn’t exactly tell him that. "What do you want me to call you?" you purred. "Sir?"

"No."

You hummed. “Master? You don’t strike me as the type, but you’re weird enough that I wouldn’t be surprised."

"No."

"Then I’m not sure what you want, Steve." You did know, you’d always had the suspicion since he liked to take care of you and loved calling you baby girl.

"I won’t ask you again," he finally said. He didn’t much care what you were doing with other people, but he did have a special liking to your ass. Maybe he was just mad that someone was spanking you before he was.

When it came to Steve, you knew how to get under his skin. You always knew just what to say to shock him and he could pretend all he wanted that he didn’t love when you would say the filthiest things to him, but you knew better. And after he just handed you this, how were you supposed to resist? "I don’t think I’ll have enough time to answer."

He lifted his eyebrows. "Oh, are we on a clock?"

You shrugged, leaning back to set your head on his shoulder. "Well, yeah, if you want to fuck me before mom gets home."

He scoffed, averting his gaze forward.

You knew you’d caught something though, his hands tightened on your hips and his jaw was doing that thing.

"You are sick."

You snorted. "And you’re hard, so."

He turned you abruptly, pinning you between his body and the barre. "Fine, what’s the story?"

You hummed. "You met my mom in a bar, you liked her, you started this all with the purest intentions. But then you stayed over one night, and there I was. You’ve tried fighting it—"

"But you don’t make it easy," he sighed.

You smirked. "I’m sorry, daddy. Really."

Any last reluctance he had was destroyed when you called him daddy. "Well, baby girl, daddy really isn’t okay that you’ve been letting so many other people fuck you."

You shrugged. "Maybe I was practicing."

He scoffed, fully aware of how you were intending to turn this. "Practicing. For what?"

"You. I just wanted to make sure I was good when you fucked me."

He hummed, turning you away once again. "And are you?"

"Good?"

"Mhm."

"The best," you promised.

"Baby, I don’t know how I feel about sharing you. What if I wanted to be your first?"

"I—"

He brought his hand up to your neck and you fell silent. "Daddy is really disappointed."

Rarely did Steve commandeer your scenes. Mostly, he pretended that he was just humoring you, then he fucked you well enough that you weren’t in the position to tease him afterward. It was a great system. But you weren’t complaining that he was suddenly changing things.

"Are you sorry for letting me down?"

You nodded quickly. It was surprising how naturally he could commit to this character.

"How are you going to make it up to me?"

"I’ll do anything," you promised.

He took his other hand, palm sliding over your ass. "Have I ever told you how much I love your ass?"

"No."

"I do... you ever had your ass fucked?"

That was a huge no. The men you had been with up to that point, prior to Steve, did not meet your standards that well. There was lacking trust, skill, most of them couldn’t define 'foreplay' if their lives depended on it. And after, well, Carol was the only one who liked straps so much and she’d never brought it up.

"No."

"No?"

You were about to repeat the answer when his hand came down on your ass. It (illogically) was the last thing you were expecting and you pathetically squeaked before you could stop yourself.

"You know what I want you to call me. Correct?"

"Yes, daddy. No, I’ve never been fucked there."

"You want daddy to fuck you there?"

"Will daddy forgive me?"

"Maybe."

Pouting, right now? Steve Rogers knew no bounds. "Yes, daddy, I want you to fuck me there."

"Spread your legs and hold the barre."

You hurriedly did as he asked, watching his face in the mirror. His eyes were focused on your ass, the way you moved, the way you were teasing him by leaning over just a little.

First, he moved your suit aside and buried two fingers inside you. You were obscenely wet, something he chuckled at.

You would have blushed, had you not already been. He pumped his fingers in and out, ordering you to watch, even though you couldn’t see much with your leotard in the way. When he added another finger, you squirmed a little, trying to get more comfortable.

"Does that hurt?"

"A little, daddy." It always hurt, taking Steve was always an adjustment process. The first few times, uncomfortable, an orgasm without his fingers rubbing quick circles around your clit was impossible. You were getting used to him, it was still a stretch, you’d just grown to like that ounce of pain because you knew how much pleasure was going to follow.

"Well, imagine how they’re going to feel in your ass. Then imagine how my cock will feel. Worried?"

"No, daddy. I like it when you hurt me."

He thrust his fingers a tad indelicately and your hips jerked.

Ass—obviously you’d said that to get a rise out of him, but still, rude. You had completely soaked through your thick suit by the time he pulled his fingers out, and not a single finish to show for it. But you figured he knew what he was doing, he’d probably had experience with this before so you were fine letting him run the show.

He pulled the material over your ass so he could watch you take his fingers.

"Take it off, daddy," you pleaded, voice all weak and breathy. You were pathetic.

"Can’t, baby. If your mom walks in, you can’t be naked."

You whined unintelligibly. Was he serious right now?

"Don’t misbehave," he warned. "I don’t want to have to punish you. Understand?"

"Yes, daddy." You set your forehead to the bar, angling your head so you could still see his face.

"Are you ready?"

You nodded slightly. "Yes, daddy." You startled a bit when you felt his finger, taking a breath when he told you to. The first finger didn’t hurt but you felt impossibly full—he was right, how were you going to take him? There was a sting when he got to his knuckle but he told you to relax so you tried.

His opposite hand reached through the suit where he pressed his fingers flat to your clit and began to massage them over you, back and forth, with a toe-curling pace and pressure. He pumped his finger in and out of your ass until you were crying out about your approaching orgasm. His finger felt different now, better, and you weren’t sure any finish had ever built up so intensely.

Before you could find out, he stopped touching your clit, dipping his first two fingers down to tease your entrance. It was then that he decided to add another finger to the one working on opening your ass for him. He was quick about it, slid one finger out, shoved two in.

You threw your head back, moaning loudly.

"Starting to feel good, baby?"

"Yes, daddy." Maybe just the looming promise of the right kind of pain, but not necessarily good. Not yet.

He continued his pattern of edging you until he had four fingers inside your ass. Your legs were shaking and his other hand was completely soaked. He never stopped talking, telling you about all the times he had thought about fucking you like this, how he touched himself during these fantasies, how he was going to make you feel better than you’d ever felt.

Steve wasn’t the most forthcoming man. He didn’t lie, never, but sometimes he kept things so completely to himself and you never had a clue. When did this obsession with your ass start, and how? And if Carol had never spanked you, would he even be doing this now? What other fantasies was he keeping to himself?

"Do you want to go to your bedroom, doll?"

"Not yet."

"Do you want your mother to catch us?" he joked.

You snorted. "Maybe I do."

He leaned over you, kissing the side of your face. "You know, I’m just saying, if you really did have a mom and I was your stepfather and was trying to fuck you on a clock, we would have definitely been caught by now."

You couldn’t possibly refrain from smiling. "You’re such a dork, Steve."

He smiled a little. "You think you’re ready?"

"Yes."

He arched an eyebrow at you. "Don’t drop the act now, baby girl."

You scoffed. "Yes, daddy. I’m ready." You watched him in the mirror as he moved his pants out of his way, something he eventually had to remove his fingers to do. You immediately missed that full feeling.

He adjusted your leotard out of his way once more, opposite hand leading his cock to you. He pressed in just barely, allowing you time to adjust or to protest if this was a failed experiment. You guys had had a few of those. Beyond handcuffs, he did not like tying you up. You guys actually weren’t overly into public sexual situations, save for the final act of The Incident. And phone sex was something that only occurred in times of true desperation. This would not be making the same list.

He folded his hands over your hip bones, pulling you back further on his cock. Your mouth dropped and your eyes slammed shut. It didn’t feel natural, it was like your body was trying to push back at him but well, Steve was nothing if not stubborn. He just kept pushing and pushing until your ass was flush against him.

It felt like an eternity when he started to pull out and then another eternity when he thrust back in, but you enjoyed every second. You felt high by the time his hips were moving easily, steadily. It was this maddening feeling like you were on the edge of something really good but he wouldn’t touch you anywhere else and it just wasn’t enough to finish. You suspected he knew that.

His hands moved up your hips and your waist until he could grab your shoulders. He stood you up, his hips stilling, your back flat to his chest. Just when you thought you he couldn’t get any deeper inside you. He pressed his hands up until he closed around your breasts. He pinched your nipples through the material, lips brushing against your ear as he spoke.

"Let’s go to the bedroom."

He would have a much better angle to watch, of course. Two months prior, you were days away from a huge audition so you were either at the studio or at home practicing. One night when you arrived home at nearly 10, it just felt like something wasn't right. Like someone had been in your apartment, nothing looked off. You just felt it.

You didn't lock the door behind you, just in case. You kept hold of your phone. You hadn’t spoken to Natasha that day and you worried she wouldn’t answer, she didn’t generally stay awake so late. And well, it wasn’t like Steve was a stranger to your AM calls or texts. But Carol lived closer and would have been there in a second if you’d needed her.

You made yourself move, tomorrow was another busy day. You flipped on your bedroom light, nearly sprinting straight back out when you saw flowers on your bed. But fear was quickly replaced with all sorts of confusion.

It looked like an expensive bouquet and there was a card right next to it. And see, these were not roses or daisies, these were dahlias—dark red, full, extra flowers. And who was more extra than... As the card read—ding, ding, ding. Steve Rogers.

When you’re not so busy, we’ll try it out.

Fear soon returned. Oh no, you thought to yourself. What could he have possibly done? It took you only three more seconds to find a full ass mirror over your bed. At the moment, you were stunned, but once more, pulled yourself out of it with your insistence of sleep. You did not have time for this.

However, when you were in bed, your phone charging next to you, you just couldn’t fall asleep. Of course. You had to call Steve. He’d broken into your home, or allowed others to break into your home, without your permission. All to put a fucking mirror over the god damn bed? He was insane, you realized.

"Hey, doll."

He sounded so smug. "You’re sick."

"Hmm, does that mean you don’t like it?"

"That means what I said: you’re sick."

"Take your clothes off."

You snorted. "Who said I’m wearing any?"

As mentioned, this wasn’t your usual routine with him. Steve loved seeing you, feeling you—phone sex just didn’t cut it. But who knew when you would have time for him next?

"There are many toys in your bedside table, pick one now."

You eagerly obliged, spreading your legs and fucking yourself with a vibrator he’d used on you several times. He told you to watch, to not take your eyes off the mirror.

The mirror added to discovering that Steve Rogers liked role-play had been some of the most pleasant surprises of your life. It was fun for both of you, never a question about when or where. When either of you wanted it, the other was always up for it. You’d thought it was just a one-time thing after the ballet incident, but then he found handcuffs in your room, which believe it or not, you hadn’t actually been using for sex. They were sex handcuffs, but they were just part of your costume to the Valentine's Day party Carol had taken you to, thrown by the lovely Maria.

Regardless, he asked you about them and you dismissed them. He then “arrested” you for “being a brat”. That got you bent over the kitchen counter as he fucked you from behind. He had you beg him to let you go but didn’t stop until his cum was dripping out of you onto the floor.

Then he’d noticed you were struggling in one of your classes and offered a prize for doing well on an upcoming exam. Of 50 questions, you’d only missed 4. He laid you out on your bed and told you he was going to eat you out. After the first time, you attempted to pull him up to you, gasping about how you needed him inside you, please Steve. He grabbed your hands and held them down, ordering you to call him professor Rogers.

Then there was the loose sugar daddy scene. He’d bought you a diamond choker on one of his trips away and it was stunning. You felt spoiled and wanted him to feel the same. You got on your knees and stayed there until you were sure your jaw was going to suffer permanent damage if you kept your mouth open that wide for much longer. It was three days later that he sent you a screenshot of your Instagram post about the diamond choker and told you to get dressed exactly how you were in the photo. So, in a rose pink wig, a tiny pink satin dress, a dangerously high pair of red heels, and the diamond choker. He didn’t use your name when finally got to your apartment, he called you baby and made you ride him, fully dressed, until you couldn’t sit up on your own.

Then there was the time Steve Rogers actually sent you the address to a sex shop and told you to meet him there. You’d had no idea until you pulled up to the building but you knew immediately that you were going to enjoy this. He asked you to help him find toys that his wife would enjoy—you told yourself you could play along, but you definitely needed to smack him upside the head later. When he got you in the car, after a little back and forth, you being somewhat mouthy, he placed one of the vibrators inside you and wouldn’t turn it off. His fingers paid attention to your clit the entire drive home.

Your payback for that was you dressed as one of his former chorus girls. A designer at the university that you’d met because she always made the costumes for the show was all too happy to help. You sent him a picture of the outfit then flipped the skirt up to show him you weren’t wearing underwear. The absolute last thing you expected was for him to show up in one of his suits. He was wild almost animalistic, he made you scream so loud that three different neighbors came to check if you were okay. Which had been a great source of pride to him.

Then you bought a stripper pole. It took 7 entire classes before you had any idea what you were doing. Though he appreciated it, it was a requirement of patience that he did not want to execute. Natasha, though,

Natasha loved watching you dance. Carol had the same problem as Steve but if you let Natasha, she would watch you for hours.

When you woke up, it was because Steve was getting out of bed. You glanced at the clock, 4 in the morning. He was getting up for his run, then he'd head out to the tower for another day at the office.

He fucked you again before he left. He had you on top of him, chest to chest, his arms wrapped tight around your back, one hand on the back of your head to hold you to the bend of his neck. He liked to do this with the mirror. He liked holding you flat against him and then watching your ass as he fucked you fervidly. He had become wild and insatiable since the mirror's arrival.

Natasha liked to lay you down, tie your legs to the bedpost, sometimes your arms, and would spend hours teasing you with her mouth. Sometimes, when she knew you weren’t too tired, she would tell you to finger yourself and she would stay next to you and watch in the mirror for as long as you would allow it.

Carol liked making you ride her and you couldn’t deny that was a beautiful scene to watch play out from above. She also liked to turn you away from her, settle directly behind you, drape your leg back over her hip, and fuck you with one of her straps.

They had their shared interests, that was undeniable. You still blushed every time you thought about The Incident. It occurred four months ago. They’d been on a short trip; not even a mission, they’d promised, they’d told you it was more politics than saving the world. The first one you saw when they got back was Carol.

She had texted you while you were out with friends and asked where you were. You informed her that you would be shopping alone after lunch. She joined you because she had a present that she just couldn’t wait. It was a vibrator that she could control from her phone. She never used it while you were walking, concerned that you may actually fall and hurt yourself but if you stopped to look at something or sat down for even a second, it was on.

Natasha had taken you to the restaurant. She told you to go to the bathroom and take off your bra and panties and she handed you her purse to place them in. She made you sit down next to her, slipped the same vibrator inside you, then made you sit on her lap for the entire night. She let you watch her phone, let you know when she was going to speed up or slow down, and all she did the entire night was sip on her wine and keep a tight hold on you so you couldn't move away from her.

Two days later, Steve made you wear it to class. Not ballet class, actual classes where you would be sitting down. It was so random when you would feel it and it was terrifying as he wasn't there. You never knew when or where, or if you were standing up and reading! You wanted to hit him when you got back to your apartment and he was waiting for you. You didn't, but you were really upset. Mostly because he hadn't let you come the entire day.

You wanted to know why? You’d asked, but their answers were dismissive and it wasn’t like you could elaborate on what you actually meant. You weren’t just asking why, you were asking why all three? It was just one of those answers you weren’t going to get while you were still keeping secrets from them.

When Natasha showed up after Steve left, it was two hours before class. You were still in bed checking social media when she slipped under the covers and made you come with her mouth and fingers. You’d taken a shower since Steve left, fortunately.

She kissed up your body and settled on top of you. You undressed her, kissing her bare skin as soon as you exposed it, her arms, her chest, her stomach, her legs, her ass, her cunt. She wanted you on top, grinding against her as she watched in the mirror.

She walked you to class and you fingered her in the dimly lit hallway before she left. She picked you up afterward and made you eat since you simply did not have the time to before class. She walked you home, set up her phone on the table next to the couch, sat down, sat you on top of her, and made you ride her fingers. Sometimes, Natasha wanted videos.

In between your second and third lecture classes, the biggest gap in your day, Carol texted. She picked you up in her car and drove out to some hiking trails that she felt were empty enough. In the back of her car, she had you pressed down to the seats, ass up as she fucked you with her strap. She held the side of your face down against the leather, not so much that it would stifle your screams.

When you finished, she made you clean the seat with your tongue. You could distinctly tell the difference between her taste and yours. She watched you as she removed the strap, taking the dildo and fucking herself with it.

She laid back and let you on top, directing you to sink down on the dildo as it was still buried in her pussy. You didn’t stop taking it until your pussy was against hers, thankfully it wasn’t one of the longer ones in her collection. Leaning over, you used the side of the car to keep your balance. She rose onto her elbows, nipping and sucking at your nipples as you ground your wet center against hers.

This was a regular day, one you had grown to love, one you were completely obsessed with. You were scared. You felt that the likelihood of them all being okay with this was low. But you were not so scared that you would ever lie to them. Withhold information? Sure. Lie? Out of the question.

You'd finally confided in the ballerinas. They'd always known about Natasha because she was at practice all of the time, but you only told half-truths about Steve and Carol. You didn't actually want them to know that you were sleeping with three Avengers. Maybe it was because everyone was drunk, but they promised you that Natasha adored you and she wouldn't leave you.

Okay, but what about Steve and Carol? You were stressed, really stressed. During the preparation period for shows, when training was intense, the ballerinas often went out on Saturdays and got wasted and talked. This was why you were in a loud night club with dancing and alcohol, and no one who was going to stop any of you from getting in trouble.

You were impaired but you were not a bad friend. At the bar, you counted all of your friends. They would likely be leaving with someone as they had all found someone to dance with, you would make the rounds in a minute. It was a rule, if they wanted to leave with a guy, that guy had to give you his number. You would verify it right then and there by sending him a text, then they could be on their way.

It was one in the morning when the girls started leaving. You had a drink at your side and five new names (proven by ID) and numbers saved in your notes.

"That's sweet."

You turned to your left, eyebrows shooting up. Gorgeous blue eyes, long brown hair, and beautiful fair skin. Wanda Maximoff was either sitting right next to you at a bar or you were completely imagining her. Given your drunken state and your current obsession with her, it was possible.

"Well, they don't exactly agree...I read stories about guys and bars and how to avoid getting chopped up into little pieces."

She smiled a little. "Who makes sure you get home?"

"I live close."

She hummed. "Were you heading out?"

Yes, you should say yes. You should leave because this could not happen. You didn't know how to explain that you were sleeping with three of them! And Wanda was wearing this red dress that was really tight and so low cut, so, how would you explain four?!

"Maybe...after I finish my drink."

She eyed your glass for a moment. "I'm Wanda."

"I know. I'm Y/N."

"I think you're the first person who's recognized me all night."

"You're stunning. I don't know how anyone wouldn't recognize you."

She smiled slightly, turning back down to her glass.

There was something so wrong with you. Instead of leaving, you just wanted to sit there and drunkenly flirt, clearly.

"Can I buy you another drink?"

No, say no! "Sure."

It was two drinks later, technically three drinks later, since you finished your drink and then she bought you two more. Things were starting to get...closer. You guys were closer. You'd started out at a normal distance, at least you assumed, but the next thing you realized, you were centimeters away from her.

She had her hand on your arm and she'd stopped ordering drinks. She was ready to leave or almost ready to leave. You hadn't neglected your duties as the best friend. You had 12 names and numbers in your notes but now you were realizing that you were all alone and if you wanted to do something, you could.

You'd talked about yourself a little, the usual. You were a student, you were a ballerina. However, you left the part out about your apparent gambling addiction! She didn't share much and you didn't think that was odd, the others didn't for a long while. They had to be a lot more guarded than you. You completely understood.

Wanda glanced at her phone when the conversation died down, or when you stopped babbling like the intoxicated fool you were, before looking back at you. "Can I be honest with you?"

"Yeah." You should still be saying no. You should try being honest. You should say: I'm sleeping with three of your team members and I should go home. But god, she really was fucking stunning.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No."

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No."

"I do. I have a boyfriend that I love very much...but sometimes, there are things that I want to try. Things that he doesn't want to try."

"Are you...referring to me?" That was a stupid question, you were almost sure. But was she? Was that what you were supposed to be picking up?

She scoffed. "In a sense, yes. I do think you are beautiful and you're nice, and really cute. I want to have sex with you, but it can't be a relationship. My boyfriend is offering me an open arrangement... I'm still with him, very committed, but sometimes...I would like to call you and meet you. Does that sound like something you would be okay with?"

Should you be offended by how many Avengers didn't want to be in a relationship with you at this point? You may end up dwelling on that later, but now, you were thinking about having sex with her. She looked soft and sweet, very unlike Carol, Steve, and Natasha. You weren't saying she was better or worse, it wasn't like you were comparing them to rank them.

You were just acutely aware of the fact that they were so dominant and you were not. Wanda didn't seem to need that so much, she seemed like she would be fine just having sex. Meaningful sex, but not too meaningful. Soft sex, but not boring. In fact, it sounded like she wanted to try something different, and maybe you wanted to also.

So, you said yes. Mostly because it reminded you that Natasha, Steve, and Carol all said they were not able to be in an actual relationship with you. You were getting ahead of yourself, maybe they wouldn't care at all. Maybe it would be a complete non-issue, and you shouldn't miss out on having sex with Wanda if you don't have any proof that they'll react negatively.

She kissed you the first time while you were both still sitting at the bar. After you'd given her your consent, she set her hand to your cheek and pressed her lips to yours. It was all soft lips and tongue, no teeth, no power play. She tasted like alcohol and lip gloss, at least her mouth did. You wanted to know what her pussy tasted like, which you didn't fail to whisper to her when she pulled away.

She immediately took your hand and led you out of the club. It wasn't terribly cold as you waited for the Uber she sent for. She was just a bit taller than you and wrapped her arms around your shoulders as she leaned down again to kiss you. Your hands started at her hips but soon began to roam, her ass, her waist, her back, her shoulders to pull her down closer.

By the time the driver showed, you were both completely flushed and very ready to find a bed. She was taking you to a hotel. You figured that was best, no need to add any more people to the list of individuals who randomly show up at your apartment without calling or texting.

She kept her hand on your thigh the entire drive there but didn't dare move it underneath your dress. Another point of difference between her and her teammates. Any of the others and you would have already finished at least twice.

Getting up to the room was a blur. Thankfully, she did all the talking. You weren't sure how to function under this kind of calm, steady build. It was always fast and immediately, but Wanda was taking her time and making sure everything was how she wanted it.

When you finally got into the room, she didn't bother turning on the light. She curled one arm around you, the other pulling your hair off to the side as she began to kiss your neck. She held you against her as she walked forward. There was a bed that you supposed was big enough, a small bathroom, a sad excuse for a kitchen, a huge window with dirty curtains shining light on the mattress.

None of that really mattered, anyway. She led you closer to the window, stopping only when she wanted to remove your dress. It hit the floor, she peeled the curtain away from the window, and her hands were all over you. "Is this okay? I like the moonlight tonight."

She waited for your confirmation before she ran her hands up and down your sides, a teasing touch before she grabbed your breasts. She was still kissing your neck, gentle and open-mouthed.

You turned your head upward, catching her mouth. She opened her lips for you instantly and you took full advantage of that with a slow but sloppy kiss. Her fingers trailed down from the middle of your chest, straight down your stomach, and all the way to your pussy.

She hummed when she felt you were wet. The brushes against your clit were faint but somehow it was enough, it didn't take long at all for you to unhurriedly fall apart. Your legs were shaking and your mind was even more blurry than before.

You turned to her to slip her out of her dress. You kissed across her collarbone, then over her chest, glancing up as you closed your lips around one of her nipples. Her eyes fluttered shut, her head fell back, and she opened her beautiful mouth to moan.

Your hands on her hips, you directed her to the bed. She sat down first, grabbing your arms to pull you down with her. Your naked skin was flush against hers and all you did for the longest time was kiss. Hands buried in each other's hair, quiet moans and gasps filling the room, all the while just building up to this intense scene.

When you sat up, she remained on her back. She pushed your hair over your shoulders so she could see your chest and your face. She was right about the moonlight, it washed over her so well.

You kissed her chin, off to the side of her jaw, then down her shoulder and arm until you reached her hand. You took it in yours, the same with the other as you lowered onto your knees on the floor, intertwining your fingers. There was no prelude, you simply took her with your mouth.

She cried out your name, arching her back and squeezing your hands. She tasted sweet, smelled musky and a little like vanilla. You kissed down the length of her soaking cunt, sliding your tongue into her entrance.

"Oh, fuck," she gasped. "Do that again."

You obliged, releasing one of her hands so you could rub her clit with your fingers. She took her newly freed hand and grabbed your hair. She pulled you down harder, rolling her hips up slowly, trying to get your tongue in deeper.

Not even a minute later, she was making you aware of her approaching orgasm, "I'm close, suck my clit--please, fuck! Suck my clit."

You ran your tongue through her as you brought your hand down, you closed your lips around her and began to suck hard. You pressed two fingers inside her and pumped them in and out, moaning when you felt her clenching around them.

She was shaky and smiling as you lazily licked her through her finish. She pulled you up as soon as her brain was working enough to tell her arms to pull you up. "And how do I taste?"

"Amazing."

She smirked.

You had to figure her boyfriend wasn't much for going down on her since she was looking at you like you were the reason the sun would rise tomorrow morning.

You laid on top of her but she quickly rolled over, legs slotting so you could grind against one another's thigh. Her slick center against your skin was almost enough to make you finish. Again, her mouth was on yours and nothing was hurried. You canted your hips, catching your clit on her soft leg, and she did the same.

Soon, your hips started to gain speed, you were close and could tell she was, too. The sounds of wet pussy slapping against thigh nearly drowned out the desperate screams and whines you both made.

You completely soaked her thigh with your orgasm. As she continued pursuing hers, she reached down, hand gliding between you and her wet skin. She brought her fingers up to her mouth, humming and sucking on them. "I can't wait to have you sit on my face." Then she closed her eyes, her hips stuttered, and your leg felt much hotter.

She didn't waste any time at all, she rolled back over and hauled you on top of her. Your hips jerked when you pressed against her, still sensitive from the last finish. She didn't seem to mind, she just placed both hands on your hips and moved you relentlessly against her.

"Hands behind your back, lean onto the mattress," she instructed.

You quickly did so, relieved to have some type of balance.

She loved watching your breasts bounce this way, loved watching your eyes roll to the back of your head. And she especially loved when you sat up again to grab her hands, an attempt to pull away from the overstimulation. She didn't allow it, she kept her grip tight and pulled you in faster as she rolled her hips up.

#natasha romanoff x reader #steve rogers x reader #carol danvers x reader #will tag the fourth a little later bc i believe in surprises #my writing

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sirsparklepants · 4 years

Text

I've been staring at my WIPs a lot recently, as you do, and I think it's time to release everything I've got of my favorite story I will never write. I kind of fell out of Overwatch before I had the spoons for longfic, and now there's so much lore to catch up on (this dates from before Doomfist was released) that I'm just not going to be able to incorporate, but it's still a really great idea that I really love, so I'm going to put my story notes and snippets out into the wild.

The Darkness In Our Hands

Jesse McCree wasn't expecting to get a message when the Recall went out. He'd been Blackwatch, after all - he'd written half their playbook. But he'd lived five years with the death and slander of Gabriel Reyes burning in his chest, not knowing who to blame, and this new Overwatch was the best way to find out who had killed him so he could kill them right back. But the deeper he looks, the more mysteries he finds - and he'll need some help if he's ever going to get his justice.

[[MORE]]

Crime and conspiracy fic

Opening: McCree, in the middle of nowhere, New Mexico - give insight into the state of the world and how territorial governments are, him thinking on Reyes and what he owes to him, the recall message, decides to respond but have his own agenda.

He travels thinking about how different from the rest of Overwatch Blackwatch was, and how he hopes at least one Blackwatch agent has made it back, thinking about past with Genji - flashbacks to unsavory missions maybe? Arrival - he sees new faces and is not particularly prepared because he didn't feel it was secure enough to ask on a comm line who was there. Not as familiar with this base, paranoia rising, but then a familiar face! Sort of. (when he arrives Reinhardt and Brigitte are fighting about Brigitte calling Torb on him, Reinhardt doesn't want to pull Torb away from his wife) ← might combine these two into one chapter?

Genji puts him off when he initially tries to talk though, and when McCree pulls him aside to speak about his own personal mission Genji talks first about Hanzo and Genji's changes, and McCree realizes that Genji is so utterly different as to be unrelatable, so he never does tell Genji the whole story of why he's there. Genji asks him to give Hanzo a chance instead of acting on his loyalties to Genji and providing retribution. End of section, Hanzo arrives

McCree and Hanzo spend some time scoping each other out but they can both tell they're very different from the people around them. A particular do-gooder incident happens and they bond over looking at each other like “r u srs rn”. Meanwhile, Winston is creating profiles for everyone and trying to find a fit for like… intelligence gathering, brute force, explosives, etc - team roles I guess? In the interests of that are exhaustive interviews and training. First kinky sex somewhere in here

McCree is getting antsy at this point and I need to move along from character development to actual plot, so time to send out trial field intel squad for a rootin tootin hopefully not shootin time! They go - somewhere with a large Asian population where someone McCree’s size won't stand out. Uh. This is a note to do more research into where Omniums are. Hong Kong maybe? Hong Kong is a good city for crime. Maybe Singapore if I want to make things difficult for them what with all the weapons laws. Anyway. Somewhere with an omnic population that's not great with outsiders but Genji knows enough about their culture to be respectful and he's metal enough he won't stand out. They're not actually researching Talon but McCree is! Hanzo catches him and then they're wary partners. The omnic culture thing is a breadcrumb, be sure to emphasize it.

They leave and Genji finds out Jesse and Hanzo are screwing and starts laughing and taunting them both and being a fucker, he gets slightly let in on the Reyes plot, Intel Squad tentatively a success, they've all bonded and everyone is confused about it

Meanwhile while they were gone a stomach bug swept the base and Mercy throws a fit about not being a GP. McCree shares a cigar with her to calm her down and starts making a plan to try and get information sneakily out of everyone by reminiscing - I think??? No one knows who Reaper actually is at this point??? Anyway everyone talks shit about the UN and there's more worldbuilding dumps because this feels like the right place to put it. McCree and Hanzo and Genji are kept basically quarantined until the base isn't contagious and in that time they devise A Plan. Also enter Zenyatta because Mercy really needs a backup doctor

Lúcio isn't vetted yet so McCree gets sent out alone to send him an offer, there's a Talon base in Brazil he investigates on the way maybe? I feel like this is enough outline to be getting on with atm tho. Yeah, talon base in Brazil where there's a mention of Talon trying to infiltrate Vishkar

Meanwhile, Ana and 76 have shown up at Gibraltar because they figured out someone was tracking their movements and wanted to go to ground in the general area but spotted the activity there and they're both not best pleased that Overwatch has started back up. When McCree comes back with Lúcio there's another fight he walks into - a running joke? Every time he returns to base there's someone yelling. Second kinky sex, very dominance and pain flavored because McCree needs to shut his brain up. Or maybe not, that’s a long time to go without porn??? Maybe they have coitus interruptus with Genji and that’s how he finds out

Ana and 76 hang around for a while but can't stomach the idea of being there too long because they have their own mission but they drop the bomb that Reaper is Reyes and he's Teh Evulz now because they know too much and i need to get rid of them so we don’t have experienced field operatives for mccree to work around. Also some Widowmaker info dump here. McCree pretends to be shocked but he has a different definition of evil than most people so he doubles down on his investigation and wants Hanzo to give up some contacts. Metal arm fisting here maybe???

what. the fuck. has reaper been doing all this time. has he just been swanning around in the background ruining investigations? maybe he’s laying low because the winston raid thing made him so visible? talon needs to work underground so yeah this sounds right. in the meantime VISKHAR because lucio is here now so we can talk more about the evils of corporations and have corporate espionage going on. Lucio says they should look more into vishkar and they make contact with symmetra who is a whistleblower, ideological clash because that’s what i’m about. lucio and symmetra are both trans with prosthetics btw, that’s happening now because i said so and because hormones are a horrible way to control someone and so it makes sense that vishkar controls sym’s access to them along with her arm. because they’re fuckers. A N Y W A Y vishkar knows things about the old omnica corporation.

sombra makes contact with them here because she’s been keeping an eye on the new overwatch and talon thinks that maybe mccree could be an ally, not that he knows that at the time but they test him out with a dead drop with omnic-related code shit on a TEAM MISSION which happens to, idk, build goodwill or something. winston got info from someone for something and i have to have at least one team mission happen in the foreground, it can’t be all background shit and Intel Group. the mission goes. okay-ish. someone gets fairly seriously injured? tracer, maybe, or reinhardt, either way i can write their significant others fussing over them. it’s a member of old overwatch so winston can be conflicted and take people off field missions for a bit so mccree can tinker around and end up having to ask zenyatta for help. a much longer sex scene than normal here somewhere? OHYES this is where i’m gonna stick the scene where Hanzo makes McCree take off his prosthetic legs and makes McCree leave on his prosthetic arm (because pain kink and metal arm kink and he has to have both arms to handle him) and basically makes McCree fuck him in exactly the way he likes, up to and including making McCree bounce him up and down on his lap. AND THEN ACTUAL AFTERCARE HAPPENS FOR ONCE, A TURNING POINT. perhaps there’s a scene where one of them lays their head on the other’s sweaty heaving chest and doesn’t even mind the sweat in fine romance novel tradition

something has to happen here for pacing reasons but i’m fucked if i know exactly what. uhhhh for Reasons they have to go to an omnic city? more omnic culture and worldbuilding dump here.

aaaaand then the Reveal Chapter: reyes knows something about this mystery mccree stumbled into when he was investigating the death, and he’s willing to talk. hanzo and mccree make plans to meet with him. and then we find out that the reason reyes blew switzerland was because he was working for talon ALL ALONG. the chapter ends with a ridiculous dramatic sequence where mccree puts together all the evidence and goes “so talon was created to fight the god programs”

okay this is the chapter when i get down to the nitty-gritty and break down the structure of talon and have like. a nice artsy chapter explaining how the omnics came to be and how the government created wars to be fucks and all that. i will get to the details of this LATER but the important part is that at the end of it hanzo and mccree are secret talon moles and they have actually pretty kink-free sex while staring into each other’s eyes and kind of freak each other out with how they like and trust each other and that doesn’t happen in their world but it’s overshadowed by the freakout of them agreeing to work for a shadow organization that wants to destabilize all the world’s governments, the fuck were we thinking??? the fuck was i thinking this isn’t even the proper climax, i die

okay for pacing reasons i have to have at least two chapters of them doing double agent things and getting more deeply involved in overwatch, fuck. some public missions should be mentioned where they like. intervene in humanitarian crisises and shit. crises. whatever. maybe hanzo and mccree have to split up and feel sad that they miss each other? one chapter for hanzo to make contact with his shady criminal underworld people to get verifiable info - maybe like. idk. plastic surgery clinic records - and mccree to re-emerge and rehabilitate his image?

and after that one chapter where like. winston gets suspicious about shit. and maybe??? they have to bring EVERYONE in on this huge conspiracy? they have enough evidence to convince other people? yeah i like this, i want to emphasize how ragtag and vigilante-like and underground the new overwatch is. probably an actual defining the relationship talk and possessive sex here.

story ends with like. a giant news story break i think. as i get closer to the end i’ll know more about what threads need resolving. BUT that is the end of my outline. I DID IT HOORAY

Notes

So McCree responds to the recall not because he believes in the cause like Winston does - he probably still sees most of Overwatch as outsiders, although he's at least surface friendly with most of them by the time he leaves based on in-game interactions - but because something in Overwatch killed Reyes, who he doesn't yet know is Reaper, and joining back up with Overwatch is his best chance to find out what it was and hit them back for killing someone who had his loyalty. He's friendly still because that's the best way to get what he wants, i.e. information and access to records, but this isn't like Blackwatch. He's not surrounded by people who came from the same type of lawless loyalty structure he did, who think the way he thinks - they all believe in restorative justice, and his whole life, justice has been nothing but punitive. The only person he was counting on to understand him, Genji, has changed, and it's probably better for him, but he's become different. He doesn't lash out the way he used to. He believes in second chances, where in the places they both came from, you paid for a second chance in blood. He's done with revenge. He's well and truly gotten out of the life, and McCree has never changed his mindset and never will, because it's kept him alive this long. But Genji has brought along someone he does understand - his brother. McCree gets Hanzo, he gets why he did what he did, even though he regrets it. McCree isn't happy about it, but when he was fifteen he came along to meet the cartels with Deadlock, and when he was sixteen he saw what they did to turncoats. You pay for treachery with blood in their world, and Genji betrayed the Shimadas by passing along information. Hanzo paid when he lost his place, and he made his clan pay for what they made him do. Him, McCree understands, and McCree starts testing him out, because he could use an ally in finding out what was under the surface of squeaky clean Overwatch.

And Hanzo understands him. Hanzo is here because he owes a debt to his brother, still, and because he wants to understand Genji. But everyone in Overwatch is alien to him. They take him working for them as a given, as if of course he would want to make up for what he's done. But there's a difference between owing a debt and regretting his whole life. Hanzo was an assassin after he left the Shimadas, and he feels no need to atone for that. It was what he was skilled in, and he also became skilled in finding things out his clients did not wish him to, because being manipulated by his clan taught him to be canny, to find out people's real motivations. So he knows McCree wants his skills for something, but he's willing to make an alliance for the sake of mutual understanding.

So they ally together, with the understanding that any betrayal will be paid in blood, that they both know different tricks of the trade. McCree wants information on Overwatch, and Hanzo wants protection and information on Genji. McCree works on the old guard to find things out, and Hanzo gets in touch with his criminal contacts in every place he's deployed on a mission. And they start to find things out about Talon...

I don't actually know what the resolution to that story would be. The talon-is-hydra-overwatch-is-shield thing has been done. Maybe I'd go a route of "talon was actually founded by Reaper to fight corruption in the UN and that's how he has all those Blackwatch members" and there would be a worldwide conspiracy where the God programs and therefore the omnic crisis were created by top tiers of government and weapons corporations to create a threat that would keep governments separate, give them more power, and give the companies more profit.

...y'know what I actually really like that idea. The world was getting closer and closer to more human rights and one large global government, and corporations and world powers really didn't like that. So what's the best way for humans to give power to government? When they want to be protected from a threat, of course. And they won't be thinking rationally. They'll want to stay apart, because of course the whole thing is *insert other country*'s fault. So Hanzo and McCree run into Reaper and discover this conspiracy and are from then on Reaper's agents inside Overwatch, both to get information and to get enough media exposure they're familiar faces and trusted by the public. So when they blow this thing wide open, it can't be swept under the rug.

Bonus things in this story:

-they have to bring Genji in because he has the most connections to the omnic community through Zenyatta and Omnics have some key evidence to the conspiracy

-bastion provides an essential clue.

-omnic culture and worldbuilding

-underground cities

-Sombra is key, both as a contact that knows what's going on in Mexico (where Important Things should happen just because I mentioned the cartels so they should play at leat a minor part) and in helping them to get into Blackwatch data undetected

-symmetra helps them spy on Vishkar, which was one of the corporations to profit the most from the crisis because they got the most contracts for rebuilding

-Hanzo, McCree, and Genji sit around and exchange stories about things they had to do for deadlock/the Shimadas; it's all horrifically violent and gory but they all three get drunk and laugh about it because it's their life and they won't let it break them and it kept them alive

-it ends with Genji being happy that he's not forced to do lots of violence any more and McCree and Hanzo being perfectly happy with their very violent lives

So Talon has a ruling council which both Reaper and Doomfist are a part of and factions are #confirmed (ty for info people who are up on overwatch lore I Cannot watch a video rn), and Talon is all involved in a global conspiracy. That's canon. So what if Talon is several disparate movements that allied themselves? They need to fight this war on all the fronts they can, given the potential power of their opponents.

Irl, the UN is not a super powerful body - people put much more faith in individual governments of countries. So what makes the UN able to create a peacekeeping force? Well, what if before the crisis, some large thing happened that made the world move towards one earth government and the UN being powerful is remnants of that?

Kind of tempted to channel my frustration with the world falling apart and all the political conflicts into saying that in like... 2022 or sth, something bad enough happened that humanity decided that the only solution was to come together - perhaps we came close to nuclear annihilation? Just writing about it as a small bit of backstory and making the Scary Potential a side note in history seems like it could be really reassuring. Thoughts? (2020 note: I wrote this in 2017 and all I have to say today is OOF)

With this cooperation between nations, corporations couldn't take advantage of cheap labor in developing countries any more, and there was more of a focus on education. That could account for the leaps and bounds in science in sixty years. But that lack of cheap labor meant that robotics was developed more and more, until automation became artificial intelligences. Omnics.

The game takes place in 2076 and the Crisis took place anywhere from 20 to 30 years before that. I'll say it didn't officially start until 2050, but for several years there were developing tensions and small-scale attacks. Historians disagree about the exact cause of the crisis.

It was in the best interest of the Omnica Corporation to not let on how intelligent and sentient Omnics were - with the new focus on human rights, it was only a matter of time before an omnic rights movement erupted.

But the information started to leak. Sometime in the late 2040s, people who worked closely with Omnics started to talk to other people, tell them about how they really were intelligent and person like. And if it came out that the corporation had been deliberately hiding that, things would be bad.

So they had to do damage control.

Meanwhile, the governments of nations that used to be world powers, that used to do as they pleased, aren't that pleased with the fact that they have a lot of eyes on them and they can't meddle the way they used to in the world.

So they get together, and they throw money at the problem, and they come up the the God Programs.

Scientists worked in cells, and when they were done, they often disappeared. There could be no evidence.

And then it didn't matter how intelligent Omnics were. They were the enemy, and everyone hated them. The top executives of the Omnica corporation knew they would be hated, so they had a backup plan. They disappeared. They had surgeries. Their money went somewhere else under a different name. And they resurfaced in areas very far from any of the fighting.

Here is the secret that the Omnics and Sombra help uncover: Omnics were not meant to evolve, to change, beyond basic learning. Originally, they couldn't modify themselves. They had to come to a licensed technician, who was human. Quality control. Planned obsolescence. What the God programs did was take that cap off, distribute a patch that meant that Omnics could fix themselves - but there was a worm in the code that allowed them to be taken over. And the information that would allow that to happen? Before the crisis, it was proprietary corporate information. That shit had the highest security levels in the modern world. Corporations are very protective of their secrets. So either they were infiltrated or the crisis was an inside job. Either way, it was orchestrated by humans.

There's an implication that no humans worked in the Omniums at all, that they were completely automated, and I'm just... Gonna ignore that because it boggles the mind. The people who worked there did have to wear constant radiation shielding because apparently if Omniums are destroyed they leak radiation (or is it that the Australian one was destroyed with a nuclear device? Can anyone help me find a straight answer on this because it makes no sense) but they did work there because automation and seeing things indirectly through cameras and things means the Omniums were networked, and if they were networked they were less secure. So people worked there.

The plan to make the god programs was started off by the fraud accusations and was what caused the executives to bail the fuck out. Several plastic surgery clinics got entirely new wings just before the omnic crisis and I think this should be a weird clue that someone - probably Sombra through her hacking or Symmetra through her knowledge of corporate ins and outs - digs up.

The God programs and the militarized omnics that were pumped out allowed omnics to modify themselves and to develop things like their own independent communication methods and languages. Omnic language is a combination of binary and different computer code languages. There are different regional "dialects" depending what code language was easiest for the omnics in the area to learn and adapt to when modifying their own programming. It's also most often encrypted with... Probably some method I'll have to do research on.

Oops well I think I just ran myself into a big fuckin' wall here, and that wall is Widowmaker. She is canonically brainwashed by Talon into an assassin, and I don't want to make her husband Awful Abusive Forever and erase what was done to her.

Maybe Widowmaker is the face of Talon's moral ambiguity - she was created by a now-defunct Mad Science branch because while her husband wasn't awful for her, he was in a key position, and killing him would destabilize the power structure, and because Talon as a group's motto is probably "the end justifies the means", they still use her. This is probably a major sticking point for any omnics that want to join Talon's cause, and I could use that to highlight how desperate people can get when they're facing someone who has massive power over them.

Actually, have a couple of crime and conspiracy fic tidbits related to that: when he first went on the run, Hanzo got a nasty infection because he was so used to biotics that he didn't glove up or properly sterilize his tools before treating his own wounds. After a ten day course of penicillin derivative and a bad stomach reaction to them, he learned. Conversely, Deadlock probably had one or two fairly low-power biotic emitters, probably military surplus, and use of them was a privilege if you were high-ranking or a reward if you'd done particularly well but got kind of fucked up in the meantime. McCree has one or two big scars on his torso, and they're pretty visible because he got them young, but they don't inhibit his movements because he got treatment for them during his Blackwatch days. Hanzo, on the other hand, has a nasty hypertrophic scar on his upper thigh from the infection he got, and it occasionally restricts his movements.

Snippets

The stomach virus one

They hadn't been directed to medbay after the debriefing. This new Overwatch hadn't exactly established much standard operating procedure - hard to when you were a bunch of vigilantes and more or less all wanted under international law - but it still struck Jesse wrong, whatever Winston said. He'd known Angela longer than he'd known anyone here but Genji. They didn't run in the same circles, but they'd both been recruited before they were really supposed to be, and that gave them a bit of camaraderie Jesse wasn't afraid to lean on. He left the Shimadas to their not quite good-natured bickering and headed for the office just off the infirmary.

Angela's face, when he opened the door, made him glad he'd stopped by. Even her legendary (and probably nanite-enhanced, given the direction of her research) youthful looks were flagging under some kind of strain. Her undereyes were dark and her mouth was drawn, which in a trauma surgeon used to work in the field meant she'd been working for days on four hours or less. Jesse didn't have to do much beyond waving the nice cigars he'd picked up in (location) at her before she was out of her chair and headed towards the nearest balcony with him, monitor clipped to the lapel of her white coat. They hadn't smoked together since the recall, but the old tradition they shared seemed to be as clear in her mind as it was in his.

He was quiet for a few moments, just passing her the lighter, until they'd both blown out slow mouthfuls of fragrant smoke. Then Angela sighed, and some of the tension slipped away from her shoulders as she stared off at the waves. "You probably shouldn't be even this close to me, Jesse."

Jesse laughed at her, a low quiet chuckle. Anything truly serious and Athena wouldn't have let him anywhere near medical. "And why's that?" he asked her, slowly pulling in the rich smoke and rolling it around his mouth.

"The whole base has come down with a nasty stomach virus," she told him. "I have most of them in cots, hooked up to IVs. It's horrible! A certain amount of bodily fluids is to be expected in this job, of course, but the cleaning drones simply can't keep up. It's as much as I can do to keep everyone hydrated and mostly clean. Comfortable is out of the question. It's very contagious, and I haven't done work like this since my residency! I'm not a generalist. I don't prescribe birth control or deal with routine ailments!" Her accent grew sharper as she spoke, and when she'd finished, she took a deep breath before taking her own smooth pull of cigar smoke.

Jesse winced. He was glad any lingering sour smell was covered up by their cigars. He'd take blood and guts over vomit any day. "The whole base?" he asked. No wonder the corridors had been so quiet.

Angela nodded emphatically. "Everyone present, except for Winston, of course. I'm simply thankful it isn't zoonotic."

Jesse whistled. The infirmary had to be filled to capacity. "And nothing you've given 'em makes the nausea any better? That does sound nasty."

Angela froze with her cigar halfway to her mouth, and then began to curse emphatically. (German curses here.) She pulled her bangs with her free hand. "I can't believe I've been so stupid! I never give patients an antiemetic, it's dangerous when they could have been drinking poisoned water, but that doesn't apply here! (More German curses.)" Eventually, she subsided and took a particularly vicious pull off of her cigar.

"Easy with that," Jesse told her. "That's the good stuff - don't waste it."

"Oh, I'm not wasting it, believe me," she told him. "It's keeping me from storming Winston's office and demanding he add a generalist to the staff. Doctors have specializations, and this one isn't mine!"

"I could talk to him, if you like," Jesse told her. His voice was even, though inside he was triumphant. He'd wanted a reason to bring Zenyatta on, and the universe had just dumped it in his lap. "Might even have someone in mind."

"Would you?" Angela asked him, staring wistfully at the half a cigar she had left. "It's only - I have to dose everyone now, and wait half an hour to see how they respond, and I haven't slept since - too long."

"Wouldn't mind a bit," Jesse told her. "You worry about clearing out the infirmary. I'll work on our fearless leader."

Angela looked, briefly, as if she was about to cry. Instead, she breathed in deeply and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, her expression had settled. "Thank you, Jesse," she told him, and smiled. The expression was no less lovely for being surrounded by signs of her exhaustion. "These really are quite nice," she added, puffing again on her cigar.

Jesse laughed. "You come find me whenever you need another one," he told her. They smoked the rest of their cigars in silence.

The twelve o'clock high one

76 - Morrison - sighed. There came the sounds of him pacing around the room, his ridiculous boots heavy against the grating. "Winston," he said finally, "you like movies. You ever watch any old war movies - from the 20th century, I mean?"

"Well, no," Winston said, sounding honestly puzzled. "Most of them are well over a century old. I didn't think they'd have much cultural relevance."

Morrison snorted. "Not much cultural relevance," he repeated. "Maybe not out in the world, but here in Overwatch - in any place you've got to take command and order people into the line of fire - they still matter. Put one on your list. Twelve O'Clock High. The original, from 1949, not the remake they made right after the crisis." His gruff voice didn't make it a suggestion. Still used to ordering people around, McCree guessed.

"I will, but why would you pull me aside just to say that?" Winston sounded baffled and slightly irritated.

Morrison sighed again, a heavy put-upon sound. "This would be easier if you'd seen the damn thing. Used to have all the command track recruits watch it." The pacing sounds started up again for several moments.

"It's a movie about leadership," Morrison said finally. "And about what happens when you get too close to the people under your command. It's bad for you and it's bad for the mission, and it gets people killed. You can't be their commander and their friend at the same time."

"I fail to see how any of this is your business," Winston said, voice firm and starting to get frosty. You tell 'em, bud, McCree thought.

"I watched this organization fall once because of its commanders," Morrison said. "I can't watch you make the same mistakes. I bowed too far to the UN, but Reyes was too close to his men. Some of them came in young, but they'd done things that made sure they would never be kids again. Reyes couldn't see that. They were all loyal to him in their own way, as much as they could be, but he thought it meant he owed them some loyalty too, and he couldn't do that and send them into danger like we had back then for special ops. They got into his head, made him too much like them, and he snapped."

Winston was saying something else, and McCree forced himself to pay attention to that instead of the rush of blood in his ears, his clenched hands, his pounding heart.

"I believe that will be all, 76," Winston said. The frost in his tone had thickened up into a full ice sheet. McCree took that as his cue to slink out before the super soldier sniffed out his hiding spot - literally, maybe.

Morrison thought his loyalty put Reyes in a bad spot? It sure had - but it was his lingering loyalty to Jack Morrison that had gotten him killed, McCree was sure. Morrison really was blind if he thought Reyes had been doing anything in Zurich besides trying to pull Morrison's blond ass out of there before it blew.

what I have of chapter one

Jesse McCree had disappeared. Oh, he surfaced every now and then in some attention-grabbing way, but it wasn't healthy for a man with a bounty as high as his to go around under his own name. He'd taken a handful of false identities with him when he'd left Blackwatch, and he did enough flashy stunts with his familiar getup from the bounty posters to keep anyone from digging deeper and finding them. Most people figured he spent the rest of his time lurking around all the lonely, uncivilized places of the Southwest, like he had before he joined up - it was closer to the twenty-second century than the twenty-first, but urban sprawl hadn't conquered all the emptiness of his home state yet. So he was very surprised to receive any communication addressed to Jesse McCree at all, much less on the secure comm he carried more for sentiment than practicalities these days. And yet there was still a quiet, persistent chirp indicating a message for him.

Jesse wasn't stupid, of course. He didn't open the message that day. He'd spent too much time in a covert ops unit to trust anything that could send an active signal. He let it stay in the hard-sided guitar case that held his weapons and anything else he didn't want connected to the soft-spoken insurance adjuster who rented his Albuquerque apartment. Instead, he used his legitimate phone to reserve Chris Stevenson a campsite at a national park and rent a car for the weekend. No one had yet managed to bring enough signal towers out there that phones worked, and the campers liked it that way. Chris liked it too - it gave him a good excuse for not being available if his boss called with a last minute assignment, he told the park ranger.

Jesse, on the other hand, wasn't much for camping - he'd spent more than enough time out under the stars, first in Deadlock and then in Blackwatch, and his back wasn't as young as it used to be. But needs must - the signal could be a trap, or it could be someone from the old days needing his help. You could say a lot of bad things about Jesse McCree - most did, these days. But he knew what he owed Reyes and Blackwatch both, and he paid back his debts.

The canyon he'd chosen had several isolated hiking trails, and he set off for one just after dawn the day after he'd arrived. The other tents, few as they were, were quiet. He still waited until he'd reached the peak of his chosen trail, where he could see anyone coming, before he played the message.

Of all the faces he'd expected to project in front of him, Winston's wasn't among them. He was too recognizable, and Jesse stifled the urge to curse. The audio was routed through the wireless headset he'd brought, of course, but five years on, Winston's face still screamed Overwatch to anyone who cared to see. A talking gorilla was hard to forget. Still, Jesse let the message finish - it was very early - and dropped the comm into a pocket of the backpack he'd brought with him. Then he sat down right where he was.

Anyone passing by might have thought he'd be watching the sunrise, but he'd seen too many from the wrong end when he was with Deadlock to be stunned by nature's beauty any more. Chris was watching the sunrise, of course - a natural early riser, he saw sunrises from as many places as he could get away with. But Jesse McCree just happened to be staring at the horizon while he contemplated his options.

He didn't doubt the comm had sent some sort of locational ping out, so he'd need to burn Chris no matter what he decided. A pity - he'd liked being somewhere familiar, a place where he knew the lay of the land, how to find the best restaurant in a little highway town, which outcroppings kept you out of view of the satellites passing by, which streets nice people avoided at night. Couldn't be helped, though. Most of the Southwest was dangerous for him now. He couldn’t be sure someone hadn’t piggybacked whatever ping Winston’s call had sent out. He was inclined to curse his luck, hop a train, and move out - somewhere east, maybe - except. There was something he owed, and a debt to a ghost didn't make it any less real. He didn't have anything in common with the old Overwatch staff he guessed that idealistic message had been aimed at, but they had resources and records. Maybe he could use them to track down what really happened to Reyes.

Jesse’d been halfway to disappearing on a deep-cover mission - all they did in Blackwatch those days - when the news about Zurich broke. He could smell bullshit on a cover story from a mile away, and this one reeked. Reyes wasn’t jealous of Morrison - that asshole had to deal with the paperwork and politics while Reyes got to intervene in the real hot spots. If he’d been in Zurich, it was out of a sense of loyalty to his old army buddy. That loyalty had gotten him killed, and no one in Overwatch seemed interested in doing anything but slandering him after the fact.

Just because they didn't do much of an investigation didn't mean that they didn't still have records up in Gibraltar, though. The Watchpoints had all been networked at one point. Athena had had limits put on her when the Petras Act passed, but Winston had made her devious, under all the fussing. She had to be if she was going to fight Overwatch’s enemies. McCree's access had been stripped when the UN had recalled Blackwatch’s authorization, but that meant jack shit if Athena decided he needed to know something. And he knew how to ingratiate himself with her.

It’d mean the end of his relatively peaceful existence, but hell, he'd already known he'd have to get rid of Chris and go on the run. Might as well run a little farther than usual. He could check out the lay of the land, see who all was there and what they were up to. It wouldn't be fun - he was Reyes’ man to the bone, still, and none of the proper Overwatch agents would understand that - but this was the closest he'd come to being able to pay back the man who'd changed his life in years. He couldn't let it slip through his fingertips.

International travel was, according to those who could remember, a bit more difficult to manage now than it was before the Crisis. The United States especially had buckled down on the jingoism, blaming most of Europe for letting the Omnica Corporation run wild. It wasn't as bad as it has been in the 20s, of course, but if Overwatch hadn't provided the encryption on his passport themselves, McCree would have found himself paying a pretty penny for a good fake. As it was, he wasn't exactly flush with cash right now, so he was glad Chris’s papers were still good.

Chris Stevenson, despite his whitebread name, had family in Spain: a sister who'd recently taken ill. So he - and Jesse McCree, under his skin - was flying to Madrid. Teleporters were still new and expensive, and Chris couldn't afford one. The days of the ancient, cramped airliners were long over, though. Chris had a ticket on an overnight flight, with his own little cot and plastic privacy wall and two credits to use in the onboard cafeteria.

The flight attendant directed them all through the ship’s amenities, pointing out the cafeteria and the bathrooms as well as the small rec area, on the way to direct them all to their berths. They had to go through the first class lounge first thing, of course - probably to make them all regret they hadn’t coughed up enough to spend half the trip on leather furniture drinking premium cocktails. Jesse couldn’t care less about it. He planned to eat, sleep, and then eat on this trip; airline food wasn’t that great, but he’d eaten plenty of bad shit in his life, and he’d need the rest and the calories to find the best ways to ditch Chris’s identity and make his way across the border into Gibraltar.

The berths were more private than the ones on most of the Overwatch transports he’d been on in his time, but that wasn’t saying much; military didn’t think anything of communal bunkrooms for everyone but officers, and Overwatch had always been true to its military roots. The ship wasn’t ritzy enough to have sound cancelling tech in any cabin but first class, so he could hear the contained but emphatic ruckus happening two berths over. Politeness would have dictated Chris did his best to ignore it, but Jesse had always been an incurable snoop, and years of covert ops hadn’t exactly curbed that. He tucked his bags under the plastic frame of his ship’s cot and leaned against the thin barrier under the guise of working his boots off.

“I don’t see why we’re kept out of the lounge,” a voice Jesse pegged as belonging to someone around Reinhardt’s age said crossly. “We paid our fare just like everyone else!”

“I’m afraid the lounge is for first class passengers only,” said their flight attendant, in the calming tones universal to customer service employees who weren’t allowed to tell customers to fuck off but who really wished they could. “However, if you would like to upgrade -”

“Don’t you upgrade me!” the older voice said again. “I went on these transports when they were first made, twenty years ago, and they didn’t have any sort of restrictions! This is just - it’s a cash grab, is what it is, by unscrupulous -”

“Pop! He can’t do anything about that. I’m sure it’s corporate policy,” interrupted a younger voice, audibly embarrassed. “I’m so sorry about this.”

“It’s quite all right - I understand change is difficult. Can I offer you -”

“We’re not interested in little placating gifts, like drink tickets, you corporate shill!” the older voice yelled again.

Jesse felt a twinge of sympathy for the flight attendant having to deal with all that, but he felt it was safe to tune out at that point. His boots - sturdy hiking boots, not the attention-getting cowboy boots of his wanted poster getup, good for grip on all sorts of surfaces - were unlaced and under the bunk and they weren’t quite underway, so he decided he’d be hitting the cafeteria early. And maybe he’d shell out for a drink for the old man’s traveling companion, he thought, shuffling quietly past the squabble. He was sure the flight attendant couldn’t drink on duty, or else he’d send him one first.

It was a ten-hour flight, and mission discipline should have sent him right to sleep for seven of them after his mediocre cafeteria meal. But he hadn’t had anyone hanging over his shoulder to enforce that discipline in five years, and sleep didn’t come easy. After an hour of trying to force himself into something deeper than a doze, he gave up and summoned the flight attendant for a drink. Jesse would have preferred to work out his troubles in a gym or at the range, but the transport had neither, and this was a good enough substitute to quiet the buzzing of his brain enough for a few hours’ rest.

He just couldn’t work it out, was the thing. Why had Winston called him, of all people, back? It didn’t fit with the do-gooder message he’d sent out. Jesse didn’t recall running with him much on the very few occasions he’d been sent to liaise with the main Overwatch forces, so it wasn’t out of some misplaced nostalgia. Winston’d been close with Tracer, though, and she’d seen him in action enough to know that he didn’t hold with tugging on heartstrings as a way to run things. None of Blackwatch had. Why did Winston bother sending the message out to them at all?

Jesse doubted many of the Blackwatch members - those still out of jail after the Petras Act stripped them of their pardons, anyway - would be at Gibraltar when he showed, with a message like that. Maybe Genji would. He’d been pretty tight with Reyes. Not as tight as Jesse, but the man needed some guidance on letting anger fuel you instead of rule you when he first joined up, and Reyes had that in spades. Jesse hoped he’d be there, or else he’d be running a covert mission in enemy territory solo, with no extraction plan and no end point. He could do it, but it’d be tricky. He hadn’t used anything more than basic infiltration skills in years, since his neighbors rarely required the effort. Overwatch was all trained operatives, though, and he’d be kept on his toes even with reliable backup.

Wasn’t worth borrowing trouble about, though. Jesse had more immediate concerns, like the best way to ditch Chris without raising too many suspicions, and how long he’d have to wait in Madrid before Peacekeeper made her own way across the Atlantic. And before all that, he needed to sleep. He knocked back the last swallow of his liquor and laid down, determined to get a little rest while he was secure.

It turned out that Peacekeeper wouldn’t be in Madrid after all. His smuggler contact had left him a coded message that told him to meet her for dinner in Malaga. Jesse’d had to hustle to get to the train, but he’d made it - and he was riding on the inside this time. Europe had more satellite cameras fixed on it than the deserts of the US did, and there was no reason to draw the attention of their flagging algorithms. Besides, the wireless connection inside the train was better.

One of Overwatch’s support staff had cooked up a program that disengaged an identity from public records gradually, in case anyone needed to use them again or the activity was being monitored. Jesse wasn’t supposed to have it still, but it’d been useful enough he transferred it from phone to phone. Over the next couple of weeks, Chris’s landlord and acquaintances would receive messages that his sister was sicker than he thought and he’d need to stay in Spain to manage her affairs. His bank account would make purchases to back that up. And with no close friends in the area, he’d quietly disappear unless Jesse needed him again. The program needed a stable connection to work, though, so it could learn from the communications he’d sent as Chris. The connection on the train was nicely anonymous, so it couldn’t be traced back to him.

Twenty minutes out from Malaga, Jesse took his bag into the bathroom. Instead of Chris’s baggy sweatshirt and wind pants, he put on tight jeans and a flannel button-up and pulled out a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. When he came out, he begged a hair tie off of a woman on the train, waggling his prosthetic fingers in explanation (they did get tangled in his hair if he wasn’t careful). When he was done, he looked like a tourist of a different type - a hipster American with a backpack and a guitar. The two days of stubble on his face made most natives peg him for an aging graduate student and give him a wide berth.

Carla, his contact, had left him a note at the Malaga information desk, and he followed her instructions to a worn-down bar that had probably been popular before the Crisis. It was looking a little worse for wear, though, and even before sundown had plenty of quiet, dark corners. Jesse spotted her iron-gray braid at a corner table and sat down, though not before getting a glass of wine at the bar.

“Auntie,” he said in Spanish as he settled in. He was sure Carla had heard his boots and spotted him well before he’d reached her table, but no use not being polite to someone who had your prize possession. “I hope you’ve been taking good care of my girl.”

Carla looked up at him and rolled her eyes. “Don’t I always?” she said in her crisp Iberian accent.

“You do, but the way you left Madrid, I’d almost think you wanted to keep her,” Jesse said, smiling in a way that didn’t hide the watchful glint in his eye.

Carla shook her head, but Jesse noticed she didn’t outright deny it. “Madrid gets so crowded this time of year,” she said. “It’s a little quieter here.”

“La Linea is even more peaceful, I hear,” Jesse said, leaning back as he sipped his wine. “That’s where I want to take her next.”

“Ah, going to take her to see the Rock?” Carla asked. “It’s quite the sight.”

“I am,” Jesse told her. “In fact, you could call it the reason we even came to Spain. There’s a little problem, though.”

“Oh?” Carla asked. “Nothing to spoil your holiday, I hope.”

Jesse put the fingers of his flesh hand to his mouth and then put it back on the table, like a man fighting the urge to bite his nails. “I hope not either. See, I want to cross the border, but I don’t have all her papers - her mother, you know how she is. But I really want her to be able to see the sights. Are the guards there understanding?” Meaning, of course, could they be bribed.

Carla shifted in her chair and leaned in on one elbow. “Most of them are family men and women, not career military the way it was a few years ago,” she said, meaning mob. “They should be able to work something out with you - they understand how it is for men in your position. After all, it’s not like there’s anything really dangerous she could get into these days.”

“That’s true,” Jesse agreed. “And I’ll keep a close eye on her, of course.” Meaning that he’d make sure Peacekeeper didn’t cause any trouble that brought too much attention to their operations.

Carla nodded. “I might just know a young man down there who could help you,” she said. “I’ll send him a message once I see you both get on the bus, and he’ll look out for you both.”

“I appreciate it,” Jesse told her, with an expression of relief. Carla’s reputation would make it a lot easier to get past the border guards while he was carrying. “How much did she cost you? I know how my girl can eat.”

“No, no,” Carla said, waving her hands in a way that was all show. “She was a pleasure. It wasn’t any trouble.”

“I insist,” Jesse said firmly. “Let me pay for the train tickets, at least. You couldn’t have been expecting Madrid to be so busy.”

“Well, that’s true,” Carla said. “But I’d watch your girl for you any time, you know that.”

“I do,” Jesse agreed. “Now, c’mon, tell me how much the tickets were, and I’ll pay you back.”

Carla named a sum with a show of reluctance, and Jesse added it to the already agreed-upon price before transferring it to her account. If she’d had to leave Madrid in such a hurry, it was probably because the law was getting too close for comfort, and Jesse was sure she’d had to bribe her way out. It was just good business to pay her back for that, and he’d been trusting Carla with Peacekeeper for a long time. His burner phone beeped, and after a moment, so did hers. She nodded, satisfied, and pushed away from the table.

“Come, let’s go get your girl,” she said. “I’m sure you missed her. She’s waiting at the bus station.”

Carla had been as good as her word. Even with Peacekeeper sewn into the lining of a laptop bag, Jesse hadn’t had any trouble getting past the border into Gibraltar, and even if she wasn’t at his hip, he felt better holding her steadying weight. He’d transferred all his belongings into a hiking backpack when he’d gotten there, and only as he started up the Rock did he send the signal from the communicator that would tell Athena and Winston he was on his way - and exactly how close he was. There were plenty of hidden protections that he was sure were still active on the base, and he’d need the signal to get in.

It only took a few moments to connect, and Winston’s voice was cautious as he answered. “McCree?”

“In the flesh,” Jesse answered. “Know I didn’t call ahead, but I was hopin’ my invitation still stood.”

#overwatch #mchanzo

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mysticalmusicwhispers · 4 years

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HELLO... i am back

yes aditya gets a treat because otherwise indus is going to murder him and then transfer him far far away and never unground him ever and we can't do that to a baby. also i hope no actual murder of chickens occur in their plot thing but it could also be something Worse so Yikes!

i wish yao didn't know what a hickey is but. welp he would. actually this makes me propose a situation (nsfw-ish? implied nsfw?): nyo china buys encyclopedias for yao to read and one very old one has a section with a full diagram of sexual intercourse. it isn't porn, it's those diagrams where the skin is missing and serves as a view into the organs of the human body but just in a... position. so 8 year old yao reads all about sex and goes to nyo china being like "hey so sex is for making babies right? so if i want children i have to have sex right? there's no opting out of it?" and nyo china is like fuck it the kid might as well get his sex ed + introduction to adoption stuff now since he knows about it already. then the next day a teacher has a badly hidden hickey and yao is trying to figure out how the fuck that happened before he remembers that certain animals bite each other during sex and asks nyo china about it.. and then boom. (the encyclopedia part was unfortunately inspired by irl events 😔)

but anyway imagine yao mistranslating the code.. and being like "wtf why do you want to BITE people" and india + iran being like ??? and then they get an unfortunate sex ed that night (baby! yao's mildly inaccurate version: "sometimes weirdos like biting each other during sex many animals do this as well and this is called a hickey. sex is this thing that adults do for fun and sometimes to reproduce. but you should only bite other people and have sex with them if all of you are interested and not just because you want a baby, because there are other ways of getting one. if they try to have sex with you or bite you or touch you in Bad Touch areas you should -" "kill them? and get an adult later?" "yeah exactly" "how do you know this tho??") then yao probably tries to find the sex encyclopedia to bring to school to show india and iran but nyo china threw it out because it was 20 years out of date and said that pluto was a planet ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

also YES MISS VIETNAM DESTROY THE PROPERTY OF THE RICH... CUT HIM DOWN TO SIZE imagine getting 2 entire ass houses at 18 lol and there was actually a person who was going to get a mercedes in my class. apparently his parents were buying 2 and wanted him to pick the one with the colour he liked more as a gift at 18 and keep the other for themselves. he asked us which colour Mercedes was better, someone accused him of being a braggart, and then there was so much drama... i am glad i am no longer in that class. rich people.

also yeah miss vietnam is definitely one of those nice but strict teachers!! she'll definitely be kind to everyone but she won't tolerate bullshit and god knows yao is full of it. but also imagine vietnam teaching india's class and then yao pouting to india about the assignment he got a b on (a slight improvement from the c) only to be met with "what? she's so nice and smart lol you're just an asshole i kind of want to make friends with her tbh" and yao's like How Dare You Backstab Me Like This? but yes she really forces him to Think instead of just letting him be and that's very good for him!! and she gets an intellectual outlet too :D

also yeah like linh is going to struggle.. how do you write "he's a complete asshole but tolerable and intellectually fun after a while" in a GOOD manner?? this rec letter will probably be full of phrases like "a spirited personality given to debate" or something

This is also a late reply :’)

I wasn’t really thinking about anything specific for the plot; I was really just trying to find a word that was slightly similar to hickey and decided on a dead chicken lmao. But honestly, it would probably be something like “I’m going to bring a (dead) chicken to class for show and tell and you two need to act horrified and cause a ruckus because it would be fun and it would scare the other kids :)”. (this is probably bullying, so in an effort to make them slightly better kids, an alternative plot is that a stray cat has been coming to their school and in order to make friends with it, they feed it a whole-ass dead chicken Nyo China got from the butchers and was planning to cook for dinner. The teachers are horrified and confiscate Yao’s backpack for fear of germs and salmonella.)

THE ENCYCLOPEDIA OH MY GOD nyo China, miss, please, he’s young. But the encyclopedia reading is so accurate o-o small and independent Yao + voracious reader + lots and lots of books about Everything + nyo China’s hands-off “it’s never too early to know” caretaking/parenting strategy = what other things has he been exposed to... (let’s face it he’s probably said the F-word or insulted someone in Mandarin without meaning to, but came off as a disrespectful little chaos ball) BUT THE BADLY HIDDEN HICKEY and the ANIMALS BITING EACH OTHER salk;fsdl;ksdjl way to unconsciously roast your teacher lmao. I love nyo China’s no-nonsense way of approaching Strange Questions Asked by Eight Year Olds but I do not know how to feel about her very direct answers 😭 Also, I am very sorry for your personal loss 😔.

Scene 3 is 100/10 canon now. “weirdos who bite each other during sex” Yao thinks hickeys are weird, and good for him. Also the little summary!! Of course Yao pass on everything he knows to India and Iran... at least it’s not a fucked up version of sex-ed, even if it may have some small inaccuracies. rip outdated encyclopedia. Also “ ‘kill them? And get an adult later?’ ‘yeah exactly’” GOOD nyo china thank you for doing at least one thing correctly

also your class is crazy??? A MERCEDES oh my god... how do his parents love him so much? My parents probably wouldn’t even trust me with a second hand from 2005 lmao. Also, wtf rich kid, why would you be crowdsourcing opinions for YOUR car? (ngl I kinda think he was bragging too 😂, but drama? Do all these people have nothing else to do besides gossip smh)

Vietnam has a blacklist of Confirmed Assholes she needs to keep an eye on and Yao got on the list in the first few days after being very tryhard and simultaneously arrogant, so he just assumes she’s naturally mean because he never saw the other side of her. But then he starts hearing reviews from his friends who all say she’s their favorite teacher so far and he’s all like “????? Excuse you???” Also yes go get her friendship Aditya hopefully it will mellow you out a little as well “A spirited personality given to debate” YES YES YES! That sounds like such a nice phrase but it’s just code for “loves to argue with me and that’s cool I guess”. The recommendation makes Yao glow (to admissions) despite how much Vietnam thinks it’s bad and also how much bs-ing she thought she did. Admissions officers think Yao’s amazing and contributes greatly to the classroom environment and Vietnam is like “yeah, in a way, as long as you don’t mind someone who thinks every word you say is somehow wrong and will fight you to prove it lol. just take him, I’m trying to get rid of him”

Since there’s essays involved I’m assuming she teaches either history or literature? Kinda on the fence because I feel like she’d be good at giving a no-nonsense version of history filled with interesting details and prompts that make you think (and also hosts monthly debates on controversial issues), but I also want Yao to be as un-confident as possible in his abilities in her class, and I feel like he would be less comfortable/sure of his answers and thoughts in a lit class than a history one. I’m not sure though

#the ancients elementary #musings #luyous #aph china #side note i love how we're literally penpaling over the internet. both of us take a few days to process the ask and then respond and i find #it hilarious and amazing. thanks bones lol <3 :)#to process the ask/reply*#also you have no idea how much i was laughing reading this so thank you for that too 😂#hws china #aph vietnam #hws vietnam #hetalia #hws #aph #nyo china #fem china #headcanon musings #ask musings #answered

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iredreamer · 5 years

Note

Thank you so much for your insights on Anne's life and the details of social norms back then! I really enjoyed reading your posts, and it's absolutely fascinating! I have seen some controversy around her relationship with Ann. Aside from the show of course, what is your perspective on their relationship?(I have read in a couple of places that Anne kind of just "settled" for Ann and her heart really lied with Mariana) So I was wondering, as someone who read about both the Ann(e)s what you think?

hey :) I’m finally answering you! Thank you so much, I’m happy you’re enjoying the history facts haha.

Okay, this turned out to be waaaay longer than I thought, so grab a cup of coffee (or tea I guess) and sit comfortably!

First of all, I think this is a difficult answer because I do feel like everyone could elaborate their own opinion on the matter, and at the end we would never know were the truth really lies. To have some kind of unbiased opinion one should read every single entry of Anne’s diary about Miss Walker and Mariana and compare how she acts with both of them and how she writes about them, and of course that can’t be done (at least for now) so…this is my opinion and it’s of course based on what I have read (my sources: Gentleman Jack: The Real Anne Lister; Presenting the past: Anne Lister of Halifax, 1791-1840; Nature’s Domain: Anne Lister and the Landscape of Desire and Female Fortune: Land, Gender and Authority: The Anne Lister Diaries and Other writings). We should also consider that these two women [Walker and M] were really different from each other and Anne meets them in two very different moments of her life, when she meets Mariana she’s in her 20s and when she meets Ann she’s 41, in twenty years a person changes, their priorities change and even the way of showing love and affection changes.

Okay, now, about the Mariana-Anne-Ann thing…I already wrote something about the matter and you can find it here, it summarizes a little what I think about Anne & Ann’s relationship and also has some facts about how things went between them and with Mariana.

I also posted some extracts from Anne’s 1832 diary in which she says more than once that she feels like she’s falling in love with Miss Walker and that: “I really am getting much more in love than I expected to be again”. So let’s debunk the myth that she didn’t give a flying fuck about Ann Walker.

Now, let’s dive in, I have many thoughts about all of this and I tried to organize them as best as I could but I probably failed, so this might be a bit of a rant and all over the place, I hope you enjoy reading it anyway! And, one more thing, most of this long rant focuses on the Ann(e)s relationship and what are (some of) the things and facts that make me think that they did love each other and that Anne Lister did care about Miss Walker. Here we go…

Anne Lister wanted a wife. She says it many many times. She’s always writing how she wants someone to spend her life with, and when she comes back to Shibden at 41 she wants to settle down. She’s tired of all those women who used her for sex, company and sometimes even money without seriously committing to her (and yes, Mariana is one of those women). I love when at the beginning of Nature’s Domain Liddington writes that Anne Lister could have adapted the opening of Pride and Prejudice: “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single woman in need of a good fortune must be in want of a wife”. So, she was in search of a wife…

In 19th century marriage was a “legal agreement”, you didn’t marry for love but for money, so, yes, that’s what Anne was looking for in a woman: money and status, but also the desire of a happy life together. When she meets Ann and decides to court her she writes many times how she likes her company and how she wants to make her happy and how happy that would make her in return: “I really think I can make her happy & myself too”. And: “She [Miss Walker] falls into my views of things admirably. I believe I shall succeed with her - if I do, I will really try to make her happy - & I shall be thankful to heaven for the mercy of bringing me home, having first saved me from Vere, rid me of M-, & set me at liberty.” I think the fact that she was looking for happiness and thought she could really achieve it with Miss Walker is often overlooked and it shouldn’t be, it’s an important fact.

One of the things that struck me while reading Anne’s diary is that, when things don’t go as she planned, she writes again and again how she doesn’t care about Miss Walker, how she doesn’t care how things will turn out in the end, how she doesn’t care if Ann decides to commit to her or not, but her actions and her behavior conflict with all that. It seems as if she’s trying to convince herself that she doesn’t care, to protect herself from going through another heartbreak. This is an example, Ann had to give Anne a final answer about their commitment, Anne writes:

November 2, 1832 / We fretted ourselves to sleep last night - she lay on me as usual to warm her stomach & then lay in my arms – but I was perfectly quiet & never touched her queer – the tears silently trickling from my cheeks down hers. Somehow I was shockingly attendri [softened] tho’ perpetually saying to myself ‘Well, I care not how she decides…’. On awaking found myself as tearful as ever (…) We wept (& kissed) – I thanked her & she left me. (…) Both of us attendries & the tears starting perpetually I said my mind was made up for the worst – she said ‘Well, but she had not given her answer yet’…. She would (& did) mend my gloves – begged me to promise to let her have a night-chemise for a pattern – but she saw I declined promising. She hoped she should do many more things for me – never knew till now how much she was attached to me. I made no reply… she hung upon me & cried & sobbed aloud at parting… ‘Well’, said I to myself as I walked off, ‘a pretty scene we have had, but surely I care not much & shall take my time of suspense very quietly & be easily reconciled either way’.

The most important fact (I think) that gives us some insight on how Anne felt about Miss Walker, is that Anne was the only one who genuinely cared about Ann’s health. Anne Walker’s mental health was really bad but Anne stayed close to Miss Walker and helped her for months, trying to make her feel better, trying to restore her health. At that time the engagement was off, so it’s not like she [Anne Lister] was acting like that because she hoped her kindness would convince Ann Walker to marry her, it’s not like she was doing it for the money, she was doing it because Ann needed her. In her diary she says how the situation is unbearable for her, but still, she doesn’t leave Ann’s side. Why do this? It was all off, she didn’t have any obligation to look after Ann. Why take such responsibility? Why stay in a situation that threatened her happiness and mood if she didn’t care?

Anne Lister writes, again, how she doesn’t care about Miss Walker but then ends up crying when the thought of her crosses her mind: “Seeing her always unhinges me…I was low and in tears at dinner and could not get her out of my head and why? For if I had her what could I do with her?” Come on…it’s hard for me to think that the sadness she felt was only because things didn’t go as she planned, it’s hard for me to think that she cries only for the money. Do we really have to think her that cold? I think Anne couldn’t stay away from her really: “This girl, without really having my esteem or affection, somehow or other unhinges me whenever I see her…“.

When they see each other again, after being away from each other for 10 months (during that time they kept a correspondence even if it wasn’t a direct one), they are very happy to reunite and they end up together again: “Much talk last night till 4 this morning and then not asleep for a long while. She [Miss Wlaker] repented having left me”. Anne Walker starts talking about wanting to commit again and at the end they marry each other. Was their journey an easy one? No. Was it an happy one? Not always. But I do believe they cared for each other.

And I just wanna say, in those 10 months they spent apart, Anne Lister never tried to find a serious partner, she was always flirting and shit because that’s who she was, but she always wrote how she didn’t want to go too far with anyone and she just kept thinking about Ann Walker, even if she didn’t want to think about her, even if it was all off. She worried when letters about Ann Walker stopped coming. I mean, come on…

So, fast forward to their marriage and what happened after it. Mariana tried to tempt Anne but with no luck. Anne went to visit her for Christmas and this is what happened, from Anne Lister’s diary:

December 23, 1834 / I led the conversation to A- [Ann Walker]; said I liked [her], was more than comfortable and whatever might be said, money had nothing to do with it. M- [Mariana] asked if it was true that she has three thousand a year - I said no, but our fortunes would be about equal and that we should have five thousand a year… I was thankful things were as they were, for I was determined to have [some]one and certainly could not have done better.

December 25, 1834 / M- [Mariana] came to me a little before eight and staid till nine in bed with me - rather in the pathetics - she cannot get over her love for me - but I behaved with perfect propriety

Anne comes back home to Ann Walker (they were already living together, Ann Walker moved in at Shibden Hall after their marriage, going against her family) I think they’re cute:

December 26, 1834 / A- [Anne Walker] jumped up & came to me in her dressing gown & clock, delighted to see me back again - had given up in despair. Had tea - the 1st thing we did was to laugh aloud at her droll figure & the bustle I had made - explained, sat talking - told her I myself was astonished how little I had thought of M-, either of going or returning - very glad to be back again - mentioned how I had offered her the use of Shibden in the event of Charles’s death.

Reading her diary entries (from 1833 till 1836) it’s clear that she and Ann talked a lot, their sex life was great, Anne introduced Ann to her social circle, they had fun playing backgammon (fun fact: Ann Walker was really better at it than Anne Lister ahaha), and yeah, they were just like any other married couple. There were also bad things in their marriage: Anne Lister had to be the one introducing Ann Walker to new people, Anne Lister read all Ann Walker’s letters and always suggested how to answer, and more…

So, what’s the point of all this? I do think that Anne Lister cared and loved Ann Walker. For sure the relationship with Ann Walker was not the most romantic one she had, but it was the most serious one, they found each other. Both of them wanted a “traditional marriage” and by traditional marriage I mean a marriage in which the roles were very clear. Ann Walker wanted someone who could take care of the business estate, manage social relationships and basically “play the husband” and Anne Lister was more than happy to take on that role. They were polar opposites but they wanted the same things in life.

For sure their marriage wasn’t perfect, but Anne behaved as she did because she saw their union as a serious one, “she saw absolutely no reason why property should not be as important a consideration for Ann and herself as it would be in any heterosexual alliance.” [J. Liddington, Female Fortune] at the same time we shouldn’t forget that “she did often demonstrate a warm affection and care for Ann” [J. Liddington, Female Fortune].

About her relationship with Mariana, I haven’t read much of Anne’s entries about her, but from the little I’ve read and from various commentaries, I can say that she for sure loved her (and yes Mariana was her first real love and their relationship went on for something like 20 years). Mariana manipulated her and led her on for years. The two always talked about how when M’s husband died they would live together, but from 1830 Anne Lister kinda stops caring about it, she’s tired of the situation and hates to be second to anyone. Their relationship deteriorates with time. She even wrote about Mariana that their passion turned into friendship or something along those lines. If you wanna know more about Anne & Mariana’s relationship I really suggest watching this video of Helena Whitbread talking about it, it really sheds some light on their relationship, their dynamic and how badly Mariana hurt Anne.

What I believe: Anne’s love for Mariana was disinterested and wholeheartedly felt, there’s no doubt about that (I mean, she saw her when she was 19 and fell in love with her right in that moment), if Mariana hadn’t been the bitch she was, Ann Walker would have never came in the picture. But the truth is that Mariana was always ashamed of Anne, used her and kept her close, taking advantage of her love but never committing to her, always and only concerned about her status. So, in conclusion, I’m happy Anne found someone like Ann who was brave enough to be with her and make her as happy as she could, and I think that must have meant something in the end.

I hope this long thing I wrote gives you an idea of the dynamic between Anne and these two women. There’s for sure a lot more to say and to analyze and there are still many Anne Lister’s words that haven’t seen the light of day so, who knows what else is there to know about how she truly felt about these two.

And one more thing, I think we shouldn’t expect Anne Lister to be the romantic heroine we would like her to be, because she wasn’t. She was a flawed, not “very nice” woman who lived in the 19th century and tried to do all she could to be happy.

#ask #anon #gentleman jack #anne lister #ann walker #mariana lawton #me screaming about gentleman jack #this is long af #sorry #real people: anne lister #real people: ann walker #real people: mariana lawton #AL and AW: courtship #AL and AW: married life

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kweebtrash · 5 years

Note

Could you make a drabble with Johnny masturbating while thinking of Eri? 🤭

I already did this in Ch. 3. So i decided to do a masturbation scene with phone sex, teasing, dirty talk, Johnny being really desperate and needy?, and a smidge of daddy kink. So like I hope that’s ok? Also in Johnny's POV(obvs).

[9:45pm]

Wyd?

I typed out my favorite three letters in hopes of enticing her enough to come over. I had no idea why but the feeling of her beneath me while I fucked her hard was suddenly stuck in my brain. It had been all I could think about for the past half hour and I couldn’t quit. I imagined pinning her legs down with mine and laying my body over hers which made her look smaller than she actually was. She would almost always squirm against me, shoving her ass back to take me deeper and I just-

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: not you. Bye

What?? Now I would have to spend extra time convincing her. God, fuck my life.

C'mon baby. I'll really make it worth your while

🦇BattOuttaHell🦇: yah I'm sure🙄 I'm busy

Doing what?

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: none of ur business. I'm busy

Jesus did I really have to beg? I bet she wasn't even doing anything. It’s fucking Tuesday night. Who does anything on a Tuesday?

Please baby? I can't stop thinking about you

Girls liked that shit,I didn't they? I mean...it was actually true though.

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: BWAHAHAHAHHA

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: lmao ur that desperate huh baby boy?

I'm not desperate 😑 just horny

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: hate to break it to ya but horny and bugging me is you being desperate

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: srsly tho I'm stuck studying for an exam I know jack shit about. I'm screwed

You can also be screwed if you come over

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: pls die

Why are you so violent all the time?!!

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: bruh violence is my middle name

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: sry but it'll just be u and ur hand tonight

I groaned because I really really didn't want that. I would much rather have her squeezed around my cock and hear those soft breathy moans she made all the time. She would always hold onto me then, maybe dig some scratches into my back as I went as deep as I could go. I groaned in frustration and wanted to throw my phone but persisted. I was going to regret typing this and was already cringing but I figured I had to pull out the big guns. We were still trying this whole thing out but a test drive wouldn't be so bad.

Princess, daddy really needs you

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: oh my god Johnathan

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: 🚫🛑✋

I thought you liked that???

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: I do

The ellipse signaling her response bubbled for awhile and I wondered what the hell kind of paragraph she was writing.

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: princess has to study. I'm srsly gonna fail😭😭

Just a little break? Please??

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: daddy with you it's never a "little break"

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: ull keep me there for hours and then I won't sleep and then I'll be tired and then I will fail

I sat up a little straighter staring at that word. It had a much different and more profound effect on me when she wrote it. I didn't cringe; instead I felt it deeply seeded within the base of my cock and it made my hormones go into overdrive. I quickly typed out a response hoping to make the conversation a bit more...dirty.

That's for sure

You know how long I can go and how weak you are for me when I've been inside you for hours.

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: I mean it's alright ig

Goddamn it! Why was she like this? She was such a frustrating little shit!

Bruh I'm just tryna get off ok? If you're not gonna come over can you at LEAST help me out a little??????????

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: wtf you want me to do? Sext you??

I mean it's better than you being a dick to me

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: aww baby boy wants to whineeee

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: u are pretty much begging at this point

I rolled my eyes hating that she was kind of right.

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: good thing I like to hear men beg for me

Oh shit. Did that mean that I was getting closer to her helping me? It was probably one of those kink things. I thought for awhile if I should actually swallow my pride and do it some more just to get her to participate. I was going to feel like an idiot but at least I'd be an idiot who came. I sent her a snap of me pouting with the puppy filter trying to be cute enough.

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: ur an idiot u know that right?

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: anyway idk how to sext?

What do you mean you dont know how to sext? You just do it.

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: well i’m not gonna say stuff your cock in my pussy thats fucking disgusting

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: also im a writer so it’s just gonna come out weird

Try me. You can like describe what you like me doing to you. Anything.

I set my phone down and waited for her to respond. It wasn’t that difficult. I did it all the time but i wanted her to start. I just wanted to hear her instead of being wrapped up in my stupid fantasies. I looked down at the bulge in my sweatpants and sighed. If i got started now then I would keep getting interrupted and have to wipe my hand off every time. I set my pillow over my head and hoped that if I suffocated myself enough then I wouldn't have to suffer any longer.

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: this is not going to be sexy at all lol

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: but i seriously love when you grab my hips and use it to fuck me deeper. I love how much you stretch me open, how much you fill me and those grunts you make when youre close

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: i love when youre fucking me from behind and press yourself into my back and pin my wrists down. You make me feel so small and wrapped up in protectiveness i guess? Or maybe possessiveness. You usually bite down on my neck and shoulders when youre like that. The hickies are a pain in the ass to cover but i love looking at them afterwards and feeling how tender they are. It makes me remember the ache and how i cant wait to fuck you again.

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: is this ok?

Fuck. yes. I typed out as soon as my phone vibrated with her response.

Shit, i couldn’t believe just her typing something could get me even harder but i could feel myself throbbing beneath my sweats. I wanted her to keep going but I needed to get off before i couldn’t take it anymore. I dared to call her and hear her seductive but shy voice. I dialed her number and hoped to God she would answer.

"Are you trying to have phone sex with me?" She asked instantly.

"15 minutes." I panted. "Take a break for 15 minutes."

"No more than that. I really have to study…"

"I promise, baby. I promise." I shoved my sweats off, keeping the phone between my ear and shoulder, and grabbed the base of my cock. The first stroke was slow, steady, full of yearning and as it turned out desperation. Precum was already covering my head and making a mess but I used that to my advantage. It added slickness to my strokes, easily letting my palm slide up and down my shaft. "Please just talk to me."

Her voice seemed to get a little lower. "What do you want me to say?"

"Anything." I bit down on my lip for a moment as my hips lifted into a particularly rough jerk. "I just want to hear your voice."

"I want to hear your moans then. Those pants, the groans, those little growls. Don't hold back, Johnny."

I set the phone on speaker so I could keep it beside me and have more freedom. "Ye-yeah. I won't hold back trust me."

I gripped onto the blanket beside me, trying to remind myself that I needed to use those fifteen minutes to my full advantage. I knew with how much of a brat she was, she probably already had a timer going. I slowed my strokes a little bit, giving my fingers time to roll over my head and dip into my slit. I breathed out a soft pant as I focused everything on how sensitive I was. With each stroke of my fingers I imagined Eri on top of me, grinding into my hips and taking every inch I would give her. She looked so utterly gorgeous, like a fucking goddess every time she smirked down at me or set her hands on my chest to steady herself. Why was she so damn perfect?

"A little louder Johnny. I want to really hear you or else I'll hang up."

"N-no." I choked out. "F-fuck...I'm just thinking about you!"

My fist was trembling around the blanket as I could hardly hold back. I squeezed my hand a little tighter around myself trying to replicate the way she clenched around my cock. It wasn't exactly the same but damn near close.

"Hmm? Thinking about me? What am I doing to my baby boy?"

“Riding me! Fuck you’re riding me so fucking good.” I groaned louder than I expected. My thighs were starting to tremble just a bit and i dug my toes into the mattress. I was bucking even harder than before, The thoughts of her were driving me crazy; her voice was adding to it all and those coy little giggles made it even worse. I wanted her so fucking bad.

“Do you want to cum?” She breathed out.

“Yes.” I growled deeply. “Eri...shit…”

“You’re super cute when youre begging. Do you think I should let you?” She teased.

“Oh, i’m going to, whether you let me or not princess. What daddy says, goes.” i released another growl and gripped my balls with my other hand, squeezing them in a chaotic dance of pleasure and need.

“Not when daddy calls princess begging to fuck. You can hold out a bit longer. I deserve to hear a few more moans.”

I let out a growl of frustration. “Eri.” I said sternly. “I swear to god…”

“Say my name like that as you fuck me from behind.”

I tossed my head back into the mattress as the vision popped in my head instantly. My hand stroked at an ungodly pace as i felt my release approaching fast. I was a mess of feelings and sounds, drowning in my own lust and letting my body fall into every awakened nerve. My muscles tightened and i felt warmth rush over me. My breathing deepened as I squeezed out the last few ropes of cum that splattered all over my stomach. My hand was drenched as well and i flopped back, sighing as i knew i had so much to clean up. I picked up the phone with my clean hand and took her off speaker.

“14 minutes, 39 seconds. Good job.”

“I knew,” I licked my lips and tried to steady my breath. “You were fucking counting, you evil little shit.”

“Whhaaatttt! I have to get back to studying! Except I might have a little fun myself.”

“Are you kidding me? After I asked? God, i cant stand you.”

She chuckled and I could just see that devilish smirk on her face. “Mhm, whatever you say. I have to get going now. Have fun cleaning up.”

#the stupid bat emojis didnt copy over #fuck google docs #messy #time stamp #johnny fanfiction #johnny suh #johnny #johnny seo #nct 127 #nct 127 fanfic #johnny nct #nct 127 fanfiction #nct drabble #johnny drabbles #johnny drabble #johnny smut #so like they were talking dirty which they dont normall do but ya know

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codeblve · 5 years

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howdy y’all ! lilac’s the name, writing trashlord character’s the game. i hail from a lil island known as australia... so in essence, i am never gonna be online at the same time as anyone else dkjfghdkfjgd. but !! don’t let this deter you. like a lil ol’ boomerang i’ll eventually find my way into your dms and hopefully we can plot/write with all your incredible muses. <3 a lil info about me though, i’m a tea connoisseur, sims enthusiast, and i talk daily about how i consider the barbie films cinematic masterpieces. if i haven’t scared you off and you’d like to get to know my sweet and memey tough boi, please press that readmore to complete your transaction.

⌠LUKE HEMMINGS, TWENTY ONE, CISMALE, HE/HIM⌡ welcome back to gallagher academy, BLUE HAWTHORNE! according to their records, they’re a THIRD year, specializing in AWARENESS TRAINING, BREATH CONTROL, HAND TO HAND COMBAT + COVERT OPERATIONS (CP); and they DID NOT go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of (a smiley face traced into the precipitation on a mirror after a long and warm shower, a constellation of bruises strewn across your body, impatient foot tapping in the hallows of detention, chopsticks fashioned into walrus tusks over a meal, climbing higher and higher with no sign of stopping). when it’s the (aquarius)’s birthday on 2/13/1998, they always request their CHEESY NACHOS WITH EXTRA GUAC from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation.

( PERSONALITY ! )

( for more details about blue, check out his stats & hcs here ! )

he is playful, jocular, impulsive, and honestly? immature lmao. he is honestly a Soft Jock™

he’s always been looking for the childhood he never got to have, y’know? he does this in the way he’s always cracking jokes, a bit of a class clown, disruptive. a wholesome prank or two.

he gets in trouble in school more than his fair share, simply for daydreaming or sneaking out. he doesn’t let the institution define him, but he can take orders when needed. he can be very loyal tho, and much like eggsy in kingsmen, if someone asked him to choose between his dog or orders ?? he’s always choosing the dog kdjgf

he is secretly very insecure and always has a need to please. if someone doesn’t like him, he’ll tear himself apart to figure out why.

he’s always telling jokes and always laughing. he’s known for his Memes and is always a good time to be around. social butterfly, gregarious. chances are if you don’t know him, you’ve heard him dkfgjdf

he’s also a bit Anti-( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( sex lmao ) because ya boi has commitment issues so high they’re floating out there in space

he can also be very maternal when the need arises. he is not good at talking about emotions but he’ll give you a meme or a hug to Heal You

he very much reminds me of the human embodiment of a puppy. cannot be alone for very long, has a short attention span, and craves validation lmfao. give him a squeaky toy and he will be Contented

as a soon-to-be spy he can be Tough in the field when he needs to be but he’s also v sensitive. most see him as a macho, just genuinely happy kinda dude but, he truly feels a lot. he won’t let you know that, though.

he struggles academically as he has a short attention span most of the time and thinks too little of himself. however, he’s a lot brighter than most people give him credit for. he’s incredibly creative and a lateral thinker. maths makes him want to die, tho. he does shine in physical trials at least, which is something !

also what’s money? blue does not know. he grew up with hardly anything, and has been working since he could. for this reason he’s quite frugal and struggles to throw things away.

blue’s troubled past ( explained below ) is something he doesn’t acknowledge, and not a lot of people know about. to many, he’s known as the local Meme Dealer. but to a lucky few, he’s known as a friend who would do anything for you.

most just know him as the moron named after a colour tho. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

( HISTORY ! ) - tw: illness/cancer, death, substance ( alcohol / drugs ) & depression.

blue hawthorne, who never goes by his birthname bc he hates it dfkjgdgdf, was born in the town of sparks, nevada !

it was always just blue and his mother, margarette. he never met his father and he was gone long before blue’s mother could even tell him about a pregnancy test. cut off from her family due to having a child out of wedlock, the pair started a life for themselves. all they had was a humble abode in a trailer park. material possessions were lacking, but blue never felt like he went without.

blue’s mother was by very definition blue’s best friend. they both shared a love of music and ballet, and margarette worked as many jobs as she could to allow for her son to take lessons. starting quite young, at the age of four or five, blue was actually quite good. the usually mischievous and erratic child found structure in the discipline, and it was the thing that brought him the most happiness.

as a child blue was often teased for his interest, and the fact that he was so close with his mother. despite being incredibly short and frail at the time, he was also very outspoken and strong-willed, and never let his peers get the best of him. he danced, he laughed, he bruised his knees at any given opportunity. made a lot of mistakes. what he lacked in possessions he gained in the abundance of joy he felt in his heart growing up. his mother and a few of his close friends were his world.

when blue turned fifteen, everything changed.

( illness / cancer tw ) the jubilant, mischievous, but altogether kind-hearted boy was given the heart-breaking news that his mother had been diagnosed with cancer. margarette hawthorne, much like her son, was a fighter - and didn’t let such a diagnosis keep her down. despite their dwindling lack of funds now going towards medical bills, and the fact blue began sacrificing his own childhood as he took to the role of a caretaker of sorts for his mother, he never took his time with her for granted.

things were okay for a while. there was a point where the doctors were convinced that she was going to make it. blue was a fool. blue believed them.

at the age of sixteen, blue lost everything. he lost his place to live, he lost his childhood and lust for life, and he lost the person he loved most in the world. he lost his best friend.

it wasn’t long before the overbearing sympathy from those around him soured blue. he was sick of being bullied, people not liking him, and altogether not being in control of his own life. most of all, he felt so hopeless as his best friend in the entire world was starting to fade. so what did this boy do ? he quit ballet (the thing he’d loved since he was able to stand), he started drinking, he got involved with a very bad crowd and became a frequenter of the local police station. blue became a certified Bad Boy™

blue was sent to live with the grandparents that despised him and never acknowledged his existence before that moment, having met them at his mother’s funeral. righteous and conservative in their views, they had cast aside their daughter when she had blue, and only reached out to her in her final months. for this reason, blue despised these people (he refused to call them family). he tried his best to be appreciative of a house and food ( which was much better than anything he had growing up ). but he was cold. always cold.

( substance tw ) in his latter adolescence, blue fell into a rapid succession of bad decisions. still small, still frail in stature, he found himself at a dissonance with his image and began growing insecure about his looks, the years of torment weighing on him. he found anesthetic in the party scene outside of school, taking to alcohol and drugs as a sedative from the life he felt forced to lead. he couldn’t decide if he hated himself or he hated the world more.

at the age of 17, his rap sheet seemed to grow with each rise and fall of the sun. he was hardly ever ‘home’ and couch surfed. at the age of 17 he’d gotten his own car and lived more out of that than the stuffy house on top of the hill where he was supposed to be. his grades were debris lost in his tumultuous storm, he was always looking for validation from the kids he hung around with and made some very poor decisions in the hopes he’d be liked. in the hopes he’d find a new family.

the partying, the stream of hook ups, his criminal record (mainly with petty theft, a few write ups for public intoxication and fighting), the instability of his living situation and his future all came to boil just before he turned 18. physically he’d started to fill out, and look more like the man people know today. he was no longer frail and no longer weak, and when asked, he used to his fists to forge that path he thought he wanted.

after a dark night, it became apparent to blue that his path of self destruction was hurting no one but himself. things had to change.

through nothing short than a McMiracle (sponsored by Ronald McDonald, bc no one else is rich enough to pull it off lmfao) blue managed to scrape by and complete high school. not well by any means. but he did it.

it was about now that blue had been informed of a small school called blackthorne academy. details were scarce, but what drew the blond’s attention was the tuition ( or lack thereof ). his acceptance cited his physical capabilities as seen through his many years of dance and explained why he was of particular interest to the school. he was suspicious, to say the least. but blue knew he wanted to become something, and to go to this school would not only take him away from a life he wanted to forget, but he would become self sufficient, and be able to leave his toxic family situation on his own terms.

bidding farewell to the grandparents he was only beginning to know, his grandfather saw no reason to extend her kindnesses, and cut blue off. at the age of 18 he was homeless, with nothing but a car and a handful of pokemon cards he’d had as a kid. not worth anything or even particularly sentimental, he just likes pokemon kgfjfd.

living in his car for a while before eventually crashing with a close friend, blue managed to absorb his days in work before eventually starting his tenure at blackthorne. although blue’s wild days are behind him, there are some things locked in his past that still haunt him. there are doors he never hopes to open again. but he got his fresh start, and is determined to live the life a young blue would have wanted for him, and one his mother could be proud of. and who knows, maybe he could go on and save the world.

( WANTED CONNECTIONS ! )

all of these are absolute trash, and i much prefer plotting with specific characters in mind to cater it to our muses and make it unique to them. (~: but i do have a few wanted connections here as a starting off point !! if any of them really call to you though, please let me know as i would adore to have anything listed !! with that in mind, i wanted to include a sample of a few of the connects on the page here to make things a lil easier.

— *. ; ( co-workers ) || this connection is a little up in the air as i understand that students aren’t allowed to leave campus without staff supervision, and tuition isn’t awfully high if you can’t afford it ! however, blue has no money, and if at all possible he would try and get some sort of job whilst at blackthorne/gallaghers. whether that be doing odd jobs as part of his covert ops classes, or even working for the campus doing things like lawn maintenance, working in the stables, or literally anything that was open ! ( his ‘job’ could even be bringing in dkfjgdf some sorts of contraband to sell to other students, lmfao. nothing illegal, just stuff you can’t get on campus ). this connection is meant for any muses that may also be employed, or want them to be, and these two could be co-workers ! with an admin blessing we can figure out what is logistically possible within the plot, and if your muse already has a job i’d be very interested to have blue be a coworker if you were at all interested !! <3

— *. ; ( protector ) || there are two things blue hates most in this world: liars, and bullies. as an older ( and arguably large ) student, he comes to find someone who is going through a rough time assimilating to life at the academy for whatever reason. on the surface neither of them have anything in common, but the pair form a sibling like bond, and blue is willing to do anything to protect their friend.

— *. ; ( aggressor ) || blue is very mild mannered for the most part, save for any jokes he likes to make. however, there is someone on campus who absolutely makes his blood boil. whether this person dislikes blue for his lack of wealth and sophistication, his inherent need to never pick sides, or his immediate abandonment of respect for blackthorne once the truth came to light. or perhaps he made a joke in their early days that rubbed this person the wrong way, and a toxic environment has persisted since then. i imagine this relationship has escalated to violence, and for whoever picks this up i’d really love to delve into their hatred and flesh out their angst !

there are plenty more connects on the page and like i said, i am literally happy to plot anything under the sun. (~:

thank you so much for reading ! if you made it all the way here ?? you’re a h*cking legend lmfao. if there’s anything here that stood out to you please hit me up either on tumblr dms or via discord ( my user is lilac 🍕#1835, or kjgdgdf the person with the crying squidward icon in the gc lmfao ). as there are quite a lot of members here, please like this here intro if you are interesting in plotting/writing with me so i know !! i’ll check out your beautiful intro and Throw (or rather, gently pass you) some ideas your way if you haven’t messaged me first. <3 but thank you so much again for making it to this point, here’s a proverbial cookie for your troubles. it’s double choc chip, enjoy it. (~:

#gallagher:intro #this was... so long aND IM SO SORRY #thank y'all for all being literal angels and making me feel so welcome (':#( ooc ; i have the power of god & anime on my side ! )

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freakynerd85 · 5 years

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Stupidity

Title: Stupidity

Pairing: James Ashton x Vivian (MC)

Rating: Angst

Word count: 1,474

My disclaimer: This character is owned by PB, I just enjoy some elaboration. I really love James Ashton and I love Choices fanfics, especially nasty ass stuff but there isn’t much featuring my original bae, James Ashton from The Freshman series

So, I decided to put my amateur ass talent to work and write with James being the *star of the story*

A/N: * is a separator due to scene change, use of Daddy. My pc is broken. This is my first time posting from my phone (a full story). Don’t judge me too harshly lol.

0Will my heart ever heal? Its been years and I can't stop missing my ex. I'm still not over the way he left me, let alone being over that he left me at all. To make matters worse, I KNOW his wife (the girl he left me to be with) is a murderer and if I could convince him to see her faults than he would leave her murdering ass and be back with me. My therapist tells me that I need to stop picking at the wound if I want to heal, but the only thing I WANT is my relationship with James back!! Sigh. She also suggested finding companionship in a pet. I love Ash, my cat but he is not a replacement. I guess I'm going to attempt to let it be. I miss him and I hope he thinks of me. Even this writing exercise makes me think of him.

Writing in a journal is something James would do.." Comfort shut the Moleskine journal her therapist insisted she started using and sighs heavily before flopping on her couch. Ash meows, but its a deep sound, unlike his usual voice. "Are you crying, boy? Come here." She pats her lap and as if he understands, Ash follows the command to sit on her lap. She pets him. "Your eyes look sad. Are you sad? What's the matter?" He lets out the same low meow as he jumps off her lap. "I guess we're going to the vet." She stood up to put some real clothes on. "The vet won't appreciate seeing me in lingerie the way James did -y'know what I mean Ash?" She looks around. "Ash?" and doesn't see her cat so she walks the house to find Ash sleeping on the bathroom floor. "My poor, sick boy" she puts him in his carrier and head to the vet

"Comfort Greene and Ash" the woman at the front desk calls for them and Comfort frantically rushes to the desk, for fear of losing her place. "Yes! Yes, we're here. Ash is my cat. He's a year old."

"Okay, Ms. Greene, the doctor will see you. Straight to the back "

"Doc?" Comfort walks in the room with Ash in hand, when a man in a blue jumpsuit turns around and smiles. His smile seems to glow, "uhh no, she stepped out. I'm just in here fixing the x-ray machine."

He's so attractive. Maybe flirting with him will help me forget about he who must not be named.

"She trusts you in here alone? You must be someone special." He smiles while putting strands of his golden blonde hair behind his ear.

"Nah. Just a maintenance man maintaining things." He holds out his hand. "Shaun. And you are...?"

"Comfort. My name is Comfort."

"Comfort." He repeats and realizes that he recognizes the name from Vivian's complaints and more importantly from the news coverage of The Black Mamba case.

"I recognize you...you used to date that Ashton guy."

"James! You know him?"

"I'm in love with the girl he married"

"Really!? I hate the bitch. I'm, probably obviously, still in love with him."

"It seems like we can help each other, Comfort. Meet me around 6 pm at Linnie's coffee. You know where it is. "

Although he has not completed his work on the machine, he exits the room leaving Comfort in a haze of anticipation and mystery that she quickly shakes away when the veterinarian, Dr. Moya Aven, enters the room.

"Dr. Aven!? I don't know why the name didn't occur to me when I was making the appointment. You were involved with the trial."

"As were you. What a small world. Anyway, my dear, what's going on with this little guy?" Her acknowledgment of mutual recognition is quick and seemingly dismissive as she looks over Ash.

"He's crying. Like a sad meow, as if he's being deflated"

"Oop. Found the issue" as she picks a short looking grain from Ash's butt. "Poor little guy stomach is bothering him. He's got worms. Easy to treat. " Dr. Aven gave Ash a shot, spoke about healthy upkeep and sent Comfort and Ash home.

Comfort stands in front of the mirror, holding a short blue dress in front of her figure. "Ash, should I wear a date dress? I mean, we're meeting to talk about the people we are actually in love with. But wearing a dress is fun. Plus Shaun is cute." Posing in the mirror silently, she speaks again "I

figured it out. You didn't help." She turns to look at her cat "Why am I trying to have a conversation with my cat? Am I talking to myself? Yes, Comfort, you're talking to your damn self." She chuckles before petting Ash and retreating to get dressed. After arguing (in her mind) about gold OR silver accessories, high heel or no heel she decides on gold accessories with a high heel and leaves the house.

The sun has almost completed its daily farewell when she arrives at the coffee shop, leaving the cafe near-empty and unlike the chaos of AM hours. She spots Shaun already sitting at a table, waiting on her.

"Hello, Shaun."

"Damn Comfort. You're hot as hell"

She laughs and looks down "Thanks." She looks back up at Shaun who slides her a cup.

"Its hot cocoa. I wasn't sure how you drank your coffee"

"You're not going to poison me, are you?" She laughs at her joke while Shaun remains stone-faced.

"Okay...well, um, the last time I was here was with James.

He introduced me to Vivian as well stood outside, waiting to see if Reyna was okay."

"I remember that hella different."

"How so?"

"Look. Comfort. You want James back and I want Vivian for myself. Let's work together to make this happen"

"You're straight to the point. Okay, Shaun. How do we do this?"

"Okay, I have minimal contact with Vivian so I know what moves she makes. I've been planting random notes to make her seem guilty. He'll get suspicious and that's where you come in. Befriend him, tell him some bullshit like you respect his marriage, you just wanna be friends. Then he'll run directly to you as Vivian looks guiltier and she'll run to me because he's being distant."

"Seem guilty? She IS guilty.",

Shaun allows his head to fall back while heavily sighing before he returns to looking at Comfort, slightly hunched he lowers his voice to a sort of half whispering, half normal volume.

"I forgot you don't know."

"Don't know?"

"Let's take a drive. My car." She follows his lead to his car and gets in.

"Okay Shaun, what the hell?"

"To make a long story kinda short, Vivian and I used to make out and touch but never had sex. She called it quits when James got with u and she wanted him back.".

"Okay, and...?"

"I acted like I wanted them together. Told her to talk to his girlfriend and scare her a little. I gave her what she thought was a sedative to knock her out while she talked to James. But it was really poison and she killed the bitch."

"Wait. You're blowing my mind here. So Vivian didn't even know she was poisoning her?"

"Yeah"

"And you said James girlfriend so that was meant for ME!?"

Silence.

"I am still in the car with you Shaun. Say something."

"Ain't nothin to say but to admit yeah u were the supposed target. Vivian thought ol' girl was his girlfriend tho."

I'll deal with the shock of almost being a murder victim when I'm home. Why you wanna kill, I'll just say "his girlfriend "?"

"Sending him into a depression woulda made him cold and distant which would a turned Vivian off of him and send her right back to me. Kinda what I'm tryna do now; making him question her innocence and all."

"Damn Shaun. You're kinda ruthless."

"Vivian for me. James for you."

"Why does Vivian still talk to you after you set her up like that?"

"She's afraid I'll say something."

Pulling to the side of Comfort car, they are back at the coffee shop and he is preparing to end the conversation.

"She's already been found not guilty."

"Nobody knows. Not James or anyone but she and I."

He leans to open her door signaling her to get out

"Okay. One last question."

No longer hiding his irritation, Shaun sighs and rolls his eyes "Okay, what"

"How the hell did you get snake venom?"

"Think about it. Where did we meet?"

Comfort finally exits the car as she yells, "THE VET!!"

Shaun shakes his head. "I have your number. I'll be in touch," shutting the car and driving off. Comfort gets in her car and does the same.

Shaun’s idea failed, James and Vivian continues their marriage happily and stopped talking to both Shaun and Comfort deeming them toxic to their marriage and bad for the kids to be around

#James Ashton #Choices #The Freshman Series #FreakyFics

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tybalt-tisk · 6 years

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Current Shallura WIPs

Now that Summer is here and I plan on writing a lot more. So here’s a list of things to expect from me over the next few months.

1) Only With You: Chapter 6.

Childhood!Shalllura AU. Allura and Shiro are best friends that meet as children and grow old together. Right now, they are about 4 years old. It’s full of fluff and humor. Also, it features Good Zarkon! He is Alfor’s best friend and business partner. Chapter 6 introduces Lotor, a person that brings out the jealousy in Shiro because he isn’t used to sharing Allura. I told myself that this was going to be a short chapter, but its already 11K deep...so yeah...Get ready for that...

Rating: G, then will eventually change into M when they are adults and realize their feelings. Here is chapter 5. Warnings: Fluff Fest. (And they were roommates.)

2) The Infamous Voltron.

Space Dystopian Mafia AU. (??) What if Voltron wasn’t the defender of the universe. What if instead Voltron was the codename for the deadliest gang in the known universe?

Based off of my headcanon. (That should tell you a lot more of each of their characters in this story. What makes it an “Evil Voltron” is that I want to take the darkest, most predatory elements of each of their canon personas and amplify them. By 1000x. It’s gonna take on a dark concept because of mental illnesses, blood, gore and such. I’m a slut for an evil version of literally anything, so this was something I’ve been thinking about for a while now. I just need to practice writing descriptive action scenes because I want this story to have a lot of action. I plan on having a teaser chapter up soon. Not sure how soon tho. However, I don’t have a plot for this story just yet. The only thing I have figured out is that each member has their vices.

Rating E. Oh yeah. It’a going to have blood, gore, extreme violence, and filthy sex. Pairings: Shiro/Allura, Keith/Lance

3) Mr. and Mrs. Shirogone

Assassin AU. Allura and Shiro live a simple life. A cute house in the suburbs that makes the upper-middle-class their bitch. After 5 years of marriage, they think they know everything about each other. For example. Shiro knows that Allura likes four spoonfuls of sugar in her morning tea, but only two for the cup she drinks before climbs into bed. He thinks its adorable how she thinks that waffles are superior to pancakes only because the “syrup pockets” give it the edge.

He also knows that it takes her exactly 43 seconds for her to pull up into the driveway and get into the house, leaving just enough time for him to put away his newly polished guns and clean the blood from his shirt. What Shiro doesn’t know is that Allura knows how to kill a man 3x her size without leaving a single bruise.

Life was more simple before they found out the person they vowed their undying love to was one of the world’s deadliest assassins, each with a 100% kill rate. It was also more simple before their competing agencies assigned them to kill each other. I have literally written nothing to make this plot become a reality. But I will. One day. Rating: M for violence and…things. Warnings: Blood, Gore, Spy Talk.

4) Hellooo Nurse!

Domestic AU. After a minor operation, Shiro is left high on drugs. Unable to remember much or control his tongue, Shiro falls in love with who he thinks is the nurse and uses cheesy pickup lines to gain her affection. Lucky for him she’s already his wife.

Rating: G. So much fluff. Warnings: Shiro is very much out of character for this. Shameless Flirting.

5) Not Over You

Breakup/Makeup AU. Just when Shiro finally thought he was over her, she came back into his life to remind him that he wasn’t. Two-shot. Rating: E. (They do the do, my guys) Warnings: Fluff and Smut.

6) Allura Whump.

I’m a sucker for hurt characters and their loved one needs to race against time to save them. So with that being said, Allura needs to get hurt. Badly. So its gonna happen. This is Shallura, but its mostly a team effort to protect and save her. But how can they do that in the middle of a war zone? Hmm...We’ll see. Rating: T Warnings: Blood. Blood everywhere. *evil laughter*

7) Chapter 2 of The Model and the Photographer.

“Lance was right, her hair was a mess and it looked like a bitch to get manageable again. The rain had converted it back to its naturally curly texture and it still somehow perfectly framed her face. Long, thick lashes, still coated with rainwater, surrounded the bluest eyes Shiro had ever seen. Her lipstick, that once painted her full lips, was now smudged across her chin and some even stained her teeth because of Lance’s harsh treatment. Her tank top rode up slightly and clung to her body in all the right places and he was pretty sure that one of her shoes were missing.

She looked a downright mess. She looked like she was out in the rain for hours instead of minutes. She was truly the definition of a disaster. She was - She looked - She-S-

She was fucking gorgeous.”

Chapter 2 of this is basically complete but its missing something. This one will definitely be up before Voltron S6 comes out on Friday.

That's all of my ideas I have for the summer. More will probably come and this list will get longer as time goes on.

#shallura #voltron #shallura fics #allura #shiro #tybaltwrites

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happycakestories · 5 years

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old mx fic dump pt. 7

some particularly notable aus -- they stand out for the imagery/themes or how much i personally invested in the story

rusalka au - still love the idea of a drowning kind of love, myths of alluring water creatures, and the wet, decaying rot of old eastern european mansions - the kind that still seem to grow, wholly alive, within the marshes

cowritten w a friend who made a cool graphic :)

honey’s mom is a rusalka and his father is a korean ambassador or whatever, she was supposed to lure the dad in and kill him but she falls in love with him and gets married to this mortal, he builds a house for them near the lake she came from, she hears the voices of her brothers and sisters calling her and telling her to go back, slowly driving her insane the longer she keeps away from the water

This undead rusalka is not invariably malevolent, and would be allowed to die in peace if her death is avenged. Her main purpose is, however, to lure young men, seduced by either her looks or her voice, into the depths of said waterways where she would entangle their feet with her long red hair and submerge them.

when honey is born she gets remorseful bc he’s half a fae and she condemned him to be shunned and also his nature is supposed to be inherently dangerous so she tries to keep him away from bodies of water of any kind

but rusalki need water to live so she has to stay in the tub for a loong time very often

lots of childhood memories of him grabbing a stool and scooching to the edge of the tub as she blew pink bubbles at him

honey wonders why he’s not allowed to go near water bc he’s a child and children are nosy and during a family outing when his mom is distracted he explores and gets lured into the water bc the other rusalki kinda want to kill him to get revenge on his mother but he’s half fae and he manages to escape

when he comes back he’s changed, he has blue eyes and her fears are confirmed

so that night after saying goodbye to her husband and son she goes back to the lake and makes a deal with her brothers and sisters, she goes back with them but they must promise they’ll leave her son alone

everybody tells honey his mother drowned, but he’s suspicious bc she never went near any body of water, so he investigate and approaches the lake and sees young, beautiful rusalki floating under the water, his mother is there too but she looks so different and totally not human, he runs away in fear and after this he develops a terrible phobia of water bodies

every night he hears his mother sing and call him, trying to lure him in, so his father for fear of his mental health decides to move, but everywhere they go in russia, honey’s mother finds them and haunts him, so his dad decides to go back to korea, where he marries hyolyn who is the daughter of some fancy ass noble family and honey comes to love her like a good stepson but he cant forget about his mom, who is like a ghost to him, and he cant help but wonder if the memories he had of her before she drowned are even real

then he’s introduced at a fancy ass party, and honey is super shy bc he doesnt know anybody and his korean isnt that good, but at the party there’s ck too, the son of a general, and he’s a little nerd and also doesnt have many friends and he sees this super pretty boy with the most unusual eyes

and he notices this super pretty boy with the most unusual eyes

and he's shy bc his korean isnt too good also living in russia he doesnt have any friends here

who is looking around nervously since he doesn't know anyone or the language well enough

and ck falls in love at first sight bc he's shy too and a bit nerdy and doesnt have many friends

for the first time he's the one that approaches someone else

he goes over coughing out an awkward "hi" as he leans against the wall next to the other boy

blue eyes perk brightly at his prescence and the other boy also lets out a soft hi in return

it's thick and clumsy and ck immediately recognizes the slavic accent

he takes a chance and switches to russian, re-introducing himself again in the other language

he's immediatly bombarded by rapid fire russian, the blue eyed boy jabbering away with relief in his eyes AND LIKE IM IMAGINING THIS 1910's SALON YKNOW, and the two boys huddled in a corner speaking in russian

and i was thinking that they become friends and ck notices his friend is weird, he doesnt want to go swimming in the pond in summer and sometimes he looks at water with authentic terror in his eyes

but he doesnt know he's afraid to see a face under the surface

i'm figuring they're around 12-13 at this point?

jooheon's still fully draped in a high colored blouse and pants

manyeo0

YES and at first he didnt want to let ck go into the water because he was afraid his mother would snatch him

happycakeycake

won't even take off his shoes near the water

OOH GROWING UP TOGETHR

but Ck is also so genuinely enthusiastic about going to swim

so he decides to follow him to at least watch over him

but he is NOT GOING IN

"i don't understand, i mean its just pool water..." changkyun mutters even as instant regret fills his chest at the other's shaking form

happycakeycake

there has to be a scene where jooheon totally looks feral and ck is actually scared

i want dangerous jooheon sorry woops

manyeo0

that we can get man, maybe the one time honey (as an adult tho) gets into the water

and ck is scared and turned on at the same time

happycakeycake

omg DUDE what if he almost gives into his instinct

and drowns ck

manyeo0

also my dude i want this fic to be FILTH Y

happycakeycake

but he snaps back in time

manyeo0

and then cue underwater sex like in movie

happycakeycake

to push ck back to the surface and onto the bank

manyeo0

happycakeycake

HOHA

manyeo0

yes man

i want the filth

manyeo0

romantic, pretty filth

happycakeycake

AND HE LOOKS UP INTO BRIGHT EYES, PUPILS SLITTING INTO THIN LINES OF BLACK

LIKE AN IDLE BOAT DROWNED INTO TWO ENDLESS POOLS

HE CAN'T LOOK AWAY

manyeo0

YES

happycakeycake

BUT HE GREW UP SO MUCH

manyeo0

WAHAHAH AND THATS THE ONE TIME JOOHEON ISNT THE SUB

happycakeycake

OH POWERBOTTOM JOOHEON COUGH

manyeo0

OOOH MAN

manyeo0

YES

happycakeycake

OMG OF COURSE

manyeo0

fucking on the riverbank

happycakeycake

like reeds and fallen petals from the water clinging to his body as he pulls onto the bank

pushing ck down onto the mossy ground

he can feel the wetness sinking in through his clothes but he can't bring himself to move

not with jooheon sat naked and wet as the day he was born, staring down at him

manyeo0

joklkllflfklfkfdlkd

happycakeycake

and then he gets ridden an inch withinhis life woops yep i can't write porn anymore

manyeo0

AND HE'S LIKE "I SHOULD BRING U TO THE RIVER MORE OFTEN WHOOPS"

happycakeycake

and all he gets in a response is sharp teeth against his neck, biting harshly before pressing a soft kiss against it

he shivers but makes no move to shrink away

manyeo0

my aesthetic for this fic is lots of water and lots of filth

happycakeycake

i love that please

and dark green moss

dark woods with decaying trees sticking out of rivers

manyeo0

maybe ck gets sent to one of those military schools

happycakeycake

nooOOOOOO

omg but when he comes back

manyeo0

and honey keeps studying at home and they only see each other when ck is back home but they write letters

happycakeycake

both of them would 've changed so much

YES

and ck gets progressively worried as the letters become rambled and messy

manyeo0

MGMGD

happycakeycake

jooheon's thoughts jumbling into conflicting opinions about the rivers and lakes

JOOHEON KINKILY DROWNS GUNHEE

happycakeycake

there's something so satisfying in the way the other man's eyes dull and his heartbeat lulls to a stop against jooheon's own chest

manyeo0

IOFOFJSMSMDN

he'd be horrified if he knew man

also i posted the thing

happycakeycake

he can't hold himself back from stealing the man's last breath of air with a searing kiss

swallowing his last gasp and sealing their mouths together until he grows completely limp in jooheon's hold

happycakeycake

oh my god but like what if changkyun totally saw that poor man walk into the lake

manyeo0

OJJDJDDDKKS

happycakeycake

and jooheon rises out of the surface, only able to whisper out a "hi" as changkyun's eyes widen in horror

and then the whole sex scene happens

manyeo0

OGHH HIT

YES

happycakeycake

except he totally forces him during it to promise to forget about it

i just want a scene of jooheon reveling in the extent of his full powers, breathing in the scent of the waters as the moon drapes across his skin

and changkyun can only watch to the side, terror and awe all mixed into one

-----------

The dry gravel gives way under Changkyun’s boots into the ever-familiar softness of wet moss, as he makes his way back home.

Hoseok always jokes that he’s going to become a forest hermit one day, but what with the continually mounting stress at work, the younger sergeant is starting to seriously consider it as a viable option.

Even the annoying scratch and tug of wild branches against his uniform seems almost playful and comforting this evening. His uniform coat, brocaded with a once-flourishing embroidery of a yellow bird, is slung casually over his shoulder as the forest gives him its usual clinging welcome.

It wouldn’t be quite an exaggeration to say that he was forest-dweller, since he had literally settled down inside a patch of quiet, secluded woods, easily buying up an acre or two of unused land to live on.

The dense underbrush finally opens to a quiet grass bank. It’s perpetually secluded - the forest hunching inwards like a mother, leafy arms spreading wide to block out almost all traces of sunlight. Everything flourishes in the dark, moss and mud squishing wetly underfoot as they appear in larger and larger pieces towards the pond.

Well, it’s more of a lake than anything: deep and dark enough to hide any man’s secret. Dilapidated trees, raised half mast in the water, reach with stiff branches for any kind of light, even as they inevitably rot deeper into the water with each passing day.

And all of this is Changkyun’s home.

He plops down at the edge of the bank with a content sigh, relaxing fully even as freezing wetness seeps through his trousers. His reflection is clear and unbroken when he leans over the water, a perfect mirror image of serious brows and slim cheeks.

He leans closer, enough so that his nose could kiss against his mirror self’s, his hair could dip against the dark surface, and his lips could press a cold greeting to his home.

His face is only a millimeter away from touching the lake when he’s grabbed and pulled face-first into the water, pale wrists and outstretched palms flashing across his vision to latch onto his collar.

The initial panic and breathlessness soothes over when a familiar softness fastens itself wetly over his frozen scream. His vision shadows over, and Changkyun can’t tell if his eyes or closed or if it’s the unreachable darkness of the water.

Either way he pushes back, hands coming up to grope for full cheeks and bare shoulders as he bites against a plush mouth. A gasp comes out, muffled into tiny air bubbles, rising and popping towards the lake surface.

In a few seconds he follows, gasping and collapsing onto the bank, mouth raw as it’s assaulted by the chilling air. He sits up as quickly as possible, lungs protesting and limbs groaning when he raises himself up to glance toward the water.

Vectored ripples streamline across the surface, flowing into a direct stop in front of his dangled legs. The bottomless reflection breaks into a pale face and lake-slick hair - slitted pools of blue that sit atop of round cheeks which bunch into dimpled glee.

“Darling!” pierces through the air as a happy shout from pink lips, cupid’s bow arching in obvious delight. The cooed syllables roll off in thick Russian, curling gutturally through a taut throat.

“How was your day?” Changkyun replies simply, switching abruptly to Korean and exaggerating each word teasingly as he watches his lover frown in immediate discontent.

“I- miss - missed you,” Jooheon slowly replies, choosing each word with careful consideration as he forces away the Slavic sounds fighting to escape through his throat.

It all started many, many years ago, in Russia, Vladimir district, in a villa next to a lake.

---

The thing Jooheon liked the most about his mother was her hair.

Most of the time she wore it pinned on top of her head, or coiled in elegant braids that framed her face. When she let it down it fell in heavy, wavy tresses, red and shiny as polished copper. She let him run his little hands through the silky locks, and sometimes he helped her untangle the most stubborn knots with her favourite silver brush. It was difficult to choose the thing he loved the most about her, because in his mind Mother was absolute perfection: she was beautiful and wise, she had strong and nimble hands and the softest voice he had ever heard.

Jooheon had inherited her pale hair and pale skin and her heart shaped lips, but the cut and shape of his eyes, their colour, those were like his father’s, Mr. Lee. He was an ambassador from Korea, which was very far away from Russia, and didn’t look like his wife at all. He even spoke a different language, and hired a teacher who taught Jooheon how to write and speak it correctly. It sounded strange to Jooheon’s ears, and so different from the lazy drawl of Russian, but he did his best because it made Father proud and Mother happy.

Not that his father was home much: he spent most of the year in Moscow to tend to his business, which made Jooheon’s mother sad, though she tried not to let it show. She wasn’t very happy in that big wooden villa all by herself, with only her little son, his teachers and a couple of maids to keep her company. Jooheon was very young at the time but he understood that his mother felt lonely and he always tried to do his best to cheer her up.

She especially got a wistful, far-away look in her eyes when she glanced at the lake next to the house, which was strange, since she never even walked close to it.

In fact, she seemed to have a deathly, unbreakable fear of all bodies of water, not just the lake, but rivers and small streams too. Jooheon was forbidden to go near water, not even on hot summer days when he would’ve loved to take a swim in the mossy lake to refresh himself. His doctor had suggested it once and Mother had been so upset she had almost thrown the poor man out of the door.

One day, Jooheon had asked her about it. He was sitting on the cold tiled floor of her bathroom, his fingers idly tracing the shape of one of the bath’s clawed brass feet, while his mother blew rose-perfumed bubbles at him. “Mother, why are you afraid of water?” His mother had let out a very unlady-like snort “Why do you ask that, pchelka? I’m taking a bath in water right now, am I not?” Little Jooheon had scoffed, knowing she didn’t intend on answering his question seriously. “I don’t mean that! I mean, why are you scared of the lake, or the streams and rivers? Why don’t you ever want to go swimming in the lake?”

This time, his mother had glanced at him through narrowed, impossibly blue eyes, so different from his own, and he had felt a sort of chill go through him. It felt like looking down a well full of icy cold water, knowing it could suck you in at any moment.

“I’m not scared of anything, pchelka. I just don’t like moving water too much. You never know what’s hiding beneath the surface. Something might grab your pretty little foot while you’re swimming and you’d never see the light of day again!” She had started tickling him then, his laughter bouncing through the tiled walls, and every thought about water and its mysterious depths was momentarily forgotten.

It all came back to him one day, a couple of years later.

At seven, Jooheon was still a small, pudgy boy with round dimpled cheeks and curly blonde hair. His mother and all the maids doted on him, they called him pchelka, solnyshko, angel. His father - those rare times he saw him, for he still spent the best part of his time in Moscow - wasn’t as affectionate, but he seemed satisfied with his progresses and always brought him presents from the city, such as intricate egg puzzles, imported sweets and books.

Mother received silver combs shaped like dragonflies, silk dresses that floated around her figure like gentle waves, and more diamond necklaces and earrings than she could possibly wear in that secluded house in the forest, where nobody could see them. Her only chance to show her off where the fancy parties Ambassador Lee attended in Moscow. On some occasions, he brought his family along, his wife (“my lovely Dar'ja” as he would introduce her) as radiant as ever, his little son adorably awkward, nervous from all the attention he would get as a mixed child born of an Asian man and a Russian woman.

Jooheon didn’t like those parties much, they felt so fake and stifling, and he was always immensely glad to be back to his quiet villa by the lake, with its creaky wooden floors and the fading paintwork on the walls.

There was something about the perpetual wetness of the wood - the way it creaked and gave way underfoot, as if the water in it had made it alive, shift, and grow with every slap of his chubby feet.

The city maids always shook their heads at the mess, stomping their heels in disgust at clumps of rich moss creeping up in damp corners and whispering about how it’s not good for the mistress nor the young master, for that matter, to be in these kinds of conditions. For all their hard efforts though, one rainy day later and the lake would be back to its original state: creaky, wet, rich, and alive.

As much as his mother guarded against lakes or any form of wild contact with water, Jooheon can see the unfiltered want behind the frenzied fear in her pale eyes. He understands the feeling - the same pull rising up within him every time his bare toes gripped dewed grass, every time the splatter of rain on his windows sent him into a panic, nerves driving him into a state of suspended alertness.

It’s these moments where he and his mother sought each other out, simultaneously as if on instinct. She would cradle his pulsing head to her chest, wrapping her own thinly clad, nightgowned body around his own, their hearts pounding to the same erratic rhythm. It’s the only thing that can calm him down enough to sleep: the fiery curtain of his mother’s loose, long hair soothing him safely back into the land of dreams.

"pet” / mafia au

GENERAL AESTHETICS: “it got her on her knees like religion” “every saturday night i get dressed up to get ready to ride for you baby” “movie stars and liquor stores and soft decay” “so imma care for you, you, you, you, yeah” “if i cannot move heaven, i will raise all of hell for you”

PET AU: jooheon’s a quiet pet but he watches everything his master does with wide, brown eyes. They say he’s too docile, too vapid, too silent, but well - he just wants to be good for the man he loves. https://ton.twitter.com/1.1/ton/data/dm/920057578448670730/920057561562451969/D8Lvlc_K.jpg:large

https://ton.twitter.com/i/ton/data/dm/920750240050933765/920750232492822536/3Wm36U-f.jpg:large

https://ton.twitter.com/i/ton/data/dm/920750283805904900/920750273085280261/xQ7RY3nU.jpg:large

https://ton.twitter.com/i/ton/data/dm/920750203677921285/920750186447753216/vTzzE4p6.jpg:large

https://ton.twitter.com/i/ton/data/dm/920750190239330316/920750166130520064/kFTbt0ay.jpg:large

Playlist: “le noir” by bap, “ribbon in the sky” by bap → only for action scenes maybe, “Galaxy” by Ladies Code, “All about You” by Taemin → beginning 1st part of video (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CEURku1dTfU), “move” by taemin, “in the night” by the weeknd, “Wires” by the neighborhood-Minhyuk?, “White Noise (Chinese Version)” by EXO - in Jooheon’s absence, MAYBE TAEMIN STUFF IN GENERAL (Press It album - song → sexuality→ Until Today (it's perfect!!!) → Ace → Experience), “Burning Desire” by Lana Del Rey, “Gangsta” by Kehlani, BANKS MUSIC,

Scenes:

Confrontation: “We only wanted to rough him up a little for show,” Minhyuk sighs, nudging a hard toe against the soft, pale flesh of Jooheon’s thigh. The pet whimpers, warbling and desperate, and tries to shuffle away on bound, bloody knees. The same shiny black dress shoe comes stomping down over bare skin a second later, dragging out a raw cry of pain from between Jooheon’s torn lips. Jackson digs stinging half-moon crescents into his palm with the bloody tips of his blunt nails. Still, he stays silent.

“But, well-” the slender man kneels down on one leg, all coiled grace and deadly power as he takes Jooheon’s stained cheek in hand with feigned tenderness. “He made it a little too hard for us in the process,” a thumb digs into the exact spot where Jackson knows a dimple would sit during a deep smile, and Minhyuk smiles benevolently, “didn’t you pet?”

Minhyuk + jooheon interactions:

The bargain: Jackson reaches for the man, the leader’s outstretched hand, making sure to keep his fingers strong. Judging from the other’s pointed grimace, it’s a little too much. He bares his teeth in a smile anyway.

“Welcome, Wang Jia Er.” He keeps his expression open. “Please, call me Jackson.” Whispers arise immediately, like the chirping of crickets on a late summer’s night, and a laugh bubbles in the back of his throat. Jackson finally relaxes his grip, smile poised even as Howon’s hand comes to wipe casually against his fitted trousers. It’s bargain day, he reminds himself.

Howon nods, the cutting edge of his jawline turning to jerk towards the second room, bordered by the casual exoticness of an imperial era styled door, intricate lace-like designs carved out of fine mahogany and painted a fading red. Red for luck, his mother’s voice twines like threads of yarn knit with slender fingers through his hair. Red for marriage, his father’s crumbling visage breathes from behind his shoulder, the choking smoke of cigarettes winding a loose remnant around Jackson’s throat.

Red for power, he tells himself, a quiet echo within the blank space of his own mind.

He’s led into the intricately designed room, two rows of men flanking him loosely from both sides in a uniformed wall of black lapels and sharp white button-downs as they go. Inside, his nose is invaded by the curling scent of smoke, sweeping him into a momentary lapse of forgetfulness as images of decadent 19th century opium dens rip off from his wrinkled textbook pages and balloon inside his mind. Jackson huffs out a heavy breath at the decaying pictures, tasting the filmy sensation of marijuana clinging like a summer’s cup of sugary lemonade against his tongue.

The sunken-eyed, emaciated stare of poppy-drugged prostitutes have been replaced by the straight backs of bare-legged pets, kneeled so obediently in front of their masters Jackson’s arrival barely turns any of their steady gazes. He can’t say the same for his own impulsive curiosity.

Howon strides forward with calculated, casual steps, weaving past stained upholstery and scattered silk cushions until Jackson finds himself presented before a simple rectangular table, bare, save for a spotless china ashtray, surrounded by wood-backed recliners that all boast the same exotic design carved into the doorway border. They’re grouped into seats for two at the short sides of the table, then a seat for four lined up against the top edge, and finally a single chair placed directly on the opposite side to finish up the quadruplet seating. The hard tip of Howon’s shiny dress shoes stop right at the edge of the rigid circle, the rest of his men flocking behind him like a pack of well-dressed deadly penguins.

Jackson carefully seats himself in the single chair, spreading his legs and leaning forward with his elbows against his knees, shoulders relaxed and open. The wood of the chair shakes and creaks loudly on its spindly legs.

A pause. Howon’s dress shoes click in deliberate movement.

Howon’s penguin men begin shuffling in, taking up their invisible spots around the table with waddling gaits as their boss stalks among them, a panther among their midst. They all settle into the same position, legs bared, smiles plastered, all leaned in towards Jackson as Howon places himself directly opposite of him, hooking his legs together with a quiet shift of slightly too-tight fabric. Jackson notes the way the other man’s slacks pull and wrinkle like a fan’s folded edges around his crotch. He twitches testily within his own seat, looking up to catch Howon’s glowering expression with his cheery own.

Finally, the fine china of the untouched ashtray seems to come into use as the other man lights a simmering cigarette, roiling smoke unfurling from the slit of his mouth as he takes in a choppy inhale, releasing it in the same brisk manner. Smoking was always absolutely prohibited when training with weapons, but Jackson admits he quite likes how hazy it makes Howon appear in the seedy lighting of the underground den. Now, on his father’s harsh breath, that’s a completely different story. He keeps his smile pleasant, eyebrows rising just a fraction in surprise when a waft of cancerous fog brushes his way. He waits, and the cigarette is stubbed out against white china with a sizzling hiss, the red of its embers fading into black tar that spreads itself out along the pristine bottom of the previously untouched tray like a malignant tumor.

“So,” Howon puffs out one last trace of wispy smoke, “What’s your deal?”

Jackson can’t stop his smile from twitching, widening just a fraction across his face. He leans forward even more, back curved, fingers interlaced loosely at the knuckles as he rattles off every detail from the tip of his tongue: “167 shipments of illegal firearms to your district the minute our supply arrives from overseas on the first of each month - that’s roughly around 2000 per year entirely for your group alone. Free access through our subway tunnels for anything you need, and of course - solidarity for any-” Jackson flicks a hand at some invisible dust mite in the air, “-power struggles.”

Howon sits there, eyes grey, legs poised in his too-tight pants as he works down the last bit of smoke in his system. Despite everything, Jackson can see the purring glimmer of satisfaction in the other’s stone-cold gaze. “

And?” The other man prompts, shifting forward, hands clasped in front of his thin lips as he finally faces Jackson. “What do you want from me?”

Jackson’s words rattle off his tongue, smooth and rehearsed: “Complete and free movement through your district, all the way past the Gyeonggi-do station.” Howon’s single arched eyebrow reads something akin to that’s it? and Jackson’s mouth immediately gets the better of him as he finds himself blurting out, “Maybe one your pretty little pets as well,” motioning towards the boys and girls, lounging, supple and silent, outside of their tense bargaining ring.

Howon’s straight mouth finally twists, the man unable to keep the amusement off his face at the younger man’s brazen request. “Why not?” he chuckles dryly, bending deep at the waist before pushing himself upright on strong thighs. “A symbol of our union: your guns in exchange for a warm body to keep you company on cold, lonely nights.” He smiles openly for the first time since their meeting, teeth straight and canines sharp. Jackson has the distinct feeling he’s being made fun, but well, Howon isn’t exactly wrong.

This time, it’s Howon stepping out first through the ring of carved chairs, all his men rising to follow, leaving Jackson to exit last. He’s led through another rigid set of dusted hallways, only made worse by the rotting tapestries draped over the walls with fading beauties clad in kimonos, hanfus, and the like. Jackson has to admit, the other man’s sense of appropriation is quite elegant, even though it lacks something to be desired in the cleaning department. He keeps his pace even, lagging towards the bottom end of the group as he watches Howon pull a man forward, conversing with him in hushed tones and subtle motions. There’s nothing left for Jackson to be worried about, but he finds himself anticipatory for the first time in the long months since his assumption.

The room they come to must be the heart of the den, Jackson considers, stepping inside, practically pushed towards the middle of the circle by an imperceptible pressure. It’s covered entirely in silk drapery, tapestries and knotted curtains slipping down the walls onto the floors, floors that are a pool of various cushions and round beds, barely a hint of grey cement able to peek through the garish colors of the silk. Jackson wrinkles his nose for the barest of seconds; the musk of sweat and perfume permeates like a fog throughout the room.

“Namjoon,” Howon’s voice echoes throughout the room, nodding slightly at the man Jackson watched him converse with before. “Bring them in.”

The other man-Namjoon, bends almost imperceptibly at the waist before striding out the room, slipping out through an easy chink in the circle’s armor. Jackson blinks once in vague surprise, and the circle is formed once again, no weaknesses to be found. Howon turns toward him with a patient grin, and Jackson shoots back his own tight smile.

The mind-numbing incense of the pressure in the room grows, and he shoves his hands into his pockets, steadying his fingers against sweaty palms. He waits.

The familiar tap of dress shoes sound, muffled over the scattered layer of cushions on the cement floor. Jackson looks up, hands tensed within his pockets to see the penguin ring rearranging itself into lumped bunches as Namjoon re-enters the room, the hard pound of his boots followed by an unfamiliar string of soft brushing footsteps, the imprint of their sound pressed like dandelion dust into silk by light, bare feet.

Bare feet, long legs, all pale flesh on show as Jackson watches, breath caught, as a line of collared boys and girls kneel onto the floor of cushions, turning to him the open edge of their cheek with wide eyes and ramrod straight backs. The last one files in, presenting himself in the same fashion, but, huh - the entire curve of his porcelain collarbones to his arched throat is noticeably bare of any thick bands of leather. He lingers, just for a moment, on the pet’s bowed head and turns back to face Namjoon with a relaxed smile plastered over his face again. It’s time to negotiate.

“This is it?” he prompts, leaning back a little, rolling his shoulders ever so slightly in the tight confines of his suit jacket. The other man responds to his jibe with a quick flash of short canines, light dimples dipping into an angled jaw as he casually pushes the starched sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows. Tattoos, Jackson notes, with a jaunty raise of an eyebrow. The Virgin Mary winds her way up the man’s veined forearm in a picturesque coloring of black and grey, save for the sickly green tears rolling down her 2D cheeks. Religious? No can’t be it, Jackson decides, dampening a snort as he notes the two stark lines that form the upside down cross adorning the knuckle of Namjoon’s middle finger.

“I’ll have you know,” Namjoon comments, calm and frank, stepping beside the first pet and lightly running the crook of his finger over her cheek, “our pets are trained thoroughly in all aspects of behavior.” A response comes almost immediately as she dips her head back against his touch, the perfect picture of pretty obedience. Jackson’s stomach jumps at her unreadable glance. Satisfied, the other man lifts away his tattooed hand, straightening himself with a smug, dimpled smile.

“Of course, that’s not to say they don’t have any personality - isn’t that right Youngjae?” He moves onto the next pet, a boy with pink, perked lips who shoots Jackson a puffy, dark glare as Namjoon’s inked fingers come to rest under his sharp chin. Instead of following the tilt of the man’s hand, the kneeled pet bites, jerking a tan digit into his glossy pout, catching it in a hard flash of white teeth. Still, Namjoon only chuckles, wrenching back his thumb and wiping it casually up Youngjae’s flushed cheek in a long, possessive motion. There’s barely a hint of the bite against the skin of the other man’s finger, and Jackson watches the pet settle back down against the cushion, lidded gaze once again fixed upon the silk in front of him without a sound of protest. What a show, he considers carefully as Namjoon moves on to the next kneeled pet.

Of course, he’s thoroughly interested, perhaps even fascinated by these pets, almost inhuman creatures that bare themselves so transparently before an entire room of black-eyed men, before his own stare without a moment of hesitation in their absolute submission. Even for the ones like Youngjae, feigning at spitefulness, the automatic reaction of their bodies when Namjoon approaches, quickly gives them away in their convincing play. Still, to give credit where credit’s due, Jackson can’t help but wonder, just exactly how the other man has got all these wispy, pretty things turning towards him like he could somehow hand them the moon on the string with just a simple brush of a blasphemous finger at their jaws, under their throats, through fluffed hair, and against pouted cheeks. He can’t say his own pocketed hands haven’t begin to itch, urged, just slightly to touch, with the careless affection Namjoon gives and inexorably receives with every passing pet.

It’s been too long on his own, too cold without at least the casual embrace of another human body. Jackson had thought himself stronger without it, but, scanning over the blatant display of soft, bared flesh before him, he considers the possibility of self-sabotage.

The end of the chain of murmured introductions finally reaches the last kneeled pet, and Jackson looks down, a short spark of remembrance tripping in his mind. He was the only one without a collar, Jackson notes, eyes traveling over the open skin along a pale neck all the way down to exposed collarbones. The pet wears the same half-unbuttoned dress shirt, spread across wide shoulders to show off an expanse of unmarked flesh, paired with black silk shorts, barely a hint of its hem peeking out beneath draped linen, and the rest of it practically swallowed by the thick muscle of bared thighs. He looks up at Jackson now, gaze a hazy mix of brewed coffee, hazelnuts, and a clear night’s sky, and Jackson swallows around the sudden lump in his mouth. He does his best to stare back, steady but not demanding, and all he receives is a dreamy blink from sleepy fox eyes.

There it is again - the twitch in his fingers, the hot irritation against his palms. Peach round cheeks call for the lightest of pinches, the glossy curve of a sharp cupid’s bow tempt an errant finger. Jackson has never met a cherub with such inky black hair, swirling in wisps of silk across gently fluttering eyelashes. The pet tilts his head, baring the translucent vein of his collarless neck in the dusty yellow lighting of the drug den, and Jackson is compelled to cover the spotless skin there with his own calloused, scarred palms.

What is something so vulnerable, so soft doing here, trapped, in a place like this?

The compulsion grows stronger, to do more than watch - rather to touch, to cover, to protect, and Jackson realizes it’s too late when Namjoon’s gone silent, when the whole room has fallen into a smoky hush because somehow, suddenly, there’s a warm cheek pillowing itself into the curve his palms, black silk nuzzling over his jumping pulse, and the innocent brown light of two upturned orbs drawing him in like a silent siren’s song. He can’t breath for an eternity of uncountable seconds.

“I see Jooheon has already introduced himself to you.” Namjoon’s deep baritone rings through Jackson’s jumbled thoughts, and his hand inadvertently flinches against the lenient curve of the pet’s - Jooheon’s - proffered flesh. A soft chirrup echoes over his palm, and his attention is drawn down to a pair of full lips, pulled into an expression Jackson would call a strangely petulant pout.

“Feeling forward today, hmm?” the other man hums, so sweet it’s like a mother cooing to her baby, and Jackson watches the same tattooed hand that had caressed so many others, thread itself into gleaming locks, pressing and kneading until Jooheon’s porcelain neck is arching backwards in plain submission. His own hand falls empty to the side, only a heated imprint left along its flattened palm.

Jackson forces himself to speak, to keep up an unfazed pretense, even as Namjoon’s ink-stained finger begins winding its way down the stretch of Jooheon’s bared neck, the upside down cross of his middle knuckle pressing against the hollow indent at the base of the pet’s collarbones. “So,” he prompts, voice raw and rough, “why no collar?”

It’s like he hasn’t been heard at all as Namjoon’s reverent touches continue for a few moments, arched gaze completely focused on the slight part of the pet’s supple mouth. He’s about to dislodge the awkward cough in back of his throat, when finally, the other man straightens with an age-old sigh, hand slipping, reluctant, from Jooheon’s unmarred throat. He slips the same hand into his pocket, shoulders flat, a perfect mirror of Jackson’s posture as his voice hardens into the same deep register from before.

“Simply put, he doesn’t talk.” He glances back down, meeting Jooheon’s diaphanous gaze, eyes softening for the barest of moments before looking up again. “We know he can understand us, but ever since we found him three years ago, he hasn’t uttered a single word. The clients are, to say the least, a little put off by his muteness.” Namjoon sighs again, body depressing with the strong exhale as if from some sense of personal disappointment, and Jackson’s heart picks up pace again as he picks through the hidden implications behind the other man’s statement.

Broken, not good enough, a simple piece of decoration, abandoned, pushed off to the side - and perhaps his for the taking.

“I want this one.”

Jackson is brazen, unflinching as he steps forward, the remnant of heat on his clenched hand drawn, magnetized, to Jooheon’s tilted stare, and he boldly declares his newfound intent with his gaze directly on Namjoon’s and his grip at the side of the pet’s sluggish pulse. A vibration sounds against his palm, and he finds himself stroking his thumb absentmindedly over the edge of a rounded jaw, soothing away what suspiciously sounds like whines under the rough pad of his finger.

Namjoon’s sharp gaze shifts minutely towards his boss, who’s lit up another acrid cigarette between his stern lips, some kind of invisible assent passing between the smoke curling through the room before he’s turning back to Jackson, eyes narrowed with an unpleasant twist to his mouth. “Don’t be brash. I mean, I’ve just told you what’s wrong with him - are you absolutely sure?”

An ugly twitch convulses through Jooheon’s previously smooth pulse, and Jackson tightens his grip around the back of the pet’s neck until the minute shaking finally subsides into his touch. “Of course.” He smiles, baring his teeth in what Kihyun calls his absolutely shit-eating grin.

Namjoon frowns, a dark shadow flitting over the hard edges of his expression, and Jackson tenses in preparation for another growled protest, but then Howon’s cold-steel voice is ringing through the thick air between them, dispelling the argument with the sharp incense of his smoking cigarette.

“Let him have what he wants. After all-” he takes another drag of the burning cancer stick, its flaring embers illuminated in his dead gaze, “what more could you want than a pet that would never talk back to its master? Perhaps,” he blows out another trail of gray smoke, pinched eyes turning on Jooheon for a second, “maybe even more should learn from his example.”

Jackson smiles, the lines of his face tight, and he nods his silent thanks. Howon returns it with a minute twitch of his own lips, and motions with a careless sweep of his hand for everyone to file out of the room. His men blend into an amorphous grouping of plain back as they sweep out the door, and the pets rise to their bare feet, following after them in a line of pure white. Jackson strains his neck, catching Jooheon’s hazy coffee and stardust eyes with an attempt at a genuine grin. He receives a slight perk of lips, complete with a hint of dimples, before Jooheon (pet, his mind whispers) is gone, the curled crown of his jet black head melting back into a sea of black and white.

Namjoon stares as he stalks past Jackson, the last one out of the room save for Jackson himself and Howon. His stringent gaze is unreadable, and the young boss watches the hunched lines of his back disappear out through the carved doorway before deciding to wipe away the worry in his mind for other much more pressing thoughts. Namely, thoughts about his newly acquired pet with the face of a cherub, the stare of an oracle, and the voice of a trapped songbird. Jackson is determined to hear him sing somehow.

Howon flicks the cigarette to the floor, grinding it into ash with the heel of his shoe as he regards Jackson with something akin to acceptance as he finally strides towards the empty doorway. “He’ll be sent your way shortly. Please feel free to wait outside.”

He gestures with an upturned palm towards Jackson’s direction, and they shake hands again, meeting each other’s gazes with unfiltered intentions. Howon smiles, broad lines indenting themselves into each cheek, the top row of his teeth glinting like a full moon on a dark night.

“It was good doing business with you.”

Sleep with me: (it’s after the first afternoon of the bargain)

Jackson's brought Jooheon home, got him all soft and settled in his room with a big fancy upholstered bed as he sits behind his desk to finish up some work, quietly observing the pet occasionally the entire time. Jooheon is technically allowed to roam free, but he only sits at the foot of Jackson's bed dozing with his head and arms propped against a corner, looking up ever so often out through the open windows and over at Jackson. Jackson gets up every 30 minutes or so, just to squat down next to the pet, looking him in the eyes only to receive a sleepy blink and he can't help but run his hands through fluffed locks as Jooheon coos contentedly into his hand. He always wonders if Jooheon needs anything, if he ever wants to get up, but it doesn't ever seem like it so the come and go kinda cycle continues until it's dark and Jackson's stripping messily out of his jacket and pants to go to bed - all nightly rituals forgone for today due to the big deal. And there's Jooheon, still propped against the bed, watching him out of the corner of sleek eyes, pale thighs a creamy contrast against the dark wood of his floor and jackson's plodding over on bare feet, squatting again for a last time, patting lightly at chubby cheeks as Jooheon props his head up to smile at him and Jackson's like "...I'll be going to bed now"

And Jooheon's plain smile only continues, nodding a little as Jackson begins slipping under his covers, and of course Jackson can only sit there, warm and suffocating in bed as he watches Jooheon's dark head lay back down against the corner of the mattress, legs still coiled against the cold hardwood floors - and it its him, he hasn't given permission yet. So then he's throwing back the covers, and scooching to the edge of the bed and cradling his palm under Jooheon's cotton soft cheek again, lifting the pet to look up at him and there's little red wrinkles of sheet imprints against Jooheon's round cheeks and jackson's heart twinges w such a sore ache he doesn't know how to reach out without immediately forcing himself onto the pet and scaring him off. Jooheon just blinks at him, brown eyes liquid and hazy with sleep, almost pouting indignantly. and Jackson, just reaches the same hand through his hair, smoothing back rumpled bangs, over and over again, scratching lightly at the pet's scalp as Jooheon's neck arches in his grasp and he's wiping a thumb over the red marks on Jooheon's face as he whispers "Sleep with me?" patting lightly at the silk clad body of his bed. Jooheon's cocking his head for a few seconds, staring at Jackson with soft open eyes and the older man is almost scared he wasn't understand - but then there's a sleeved hand pulling around his arm and he's automatically hauling up jooheon by his waist, the light weight of arms looping around his neck as the sweet scent of warmth and strangely dried flowers blooms through his nose. Jooheon's cradled in his lap, smooth legs curled up over his tanned own and jackson looks wonderingly down at his hands, practically melting into the curve of Jooheon's waist (Ref: https://ton.twitter.com/i/ton/data/dm/920418165968003077/920418148964212736/eph4Vr04.jpg:large ) All curled in Jackson's lap, wisps of hair brushing against the other's cheek Jackson is casually just holding Jooheon, feeling the way a warm soft body is shifting against his and of course Jooheon is still clad in the "uniform" of the other pets a plain loose white dress shirt and a pair of fine silk shorts. He's roughly fingering the edge of said shorts, looking over when a breathy whine comes past his cheek and he hikes the pet up higher in his lap, securing both hands around his waist and asks slowly, calmly "what kind of clothes do you like Jooheon?" He's receiving that same tilted stare again, eyes slit in an unreadable moment of consideration and jackson finds himself stroking casually at the pet's flank, some kind of strange reassurance he supposes. (like even getting a pet in the first place was only a power play, but now that he has one that's so soft...he's not sure how to handle him) Then there's a rounded finger poking, tracing down his bare chest and he has to stop himself from reacting at the sudden thrill that runs through him, following the pet's lidded gaze towards his own bare chest and he can't help but sigh, even as he tightens his grip around the other's supple waist like "You really don't talk, do you?" but the finger keeps poking, insistent, and there's a high whine reverberating at the edge of his cheek as Jooheon adamantly pushes up against Jackson's bare chest and Jackson really doesn't understand, no clothes? His chest? Naked? But then frustrated, a little huff of breath tickles along the column of his neck and the finger turns to point at the scattered pile of loose t shirts on the back of a dressing chair at the other corner of his room and Jackson tentatively tries "...My clothes?" and suddenly there's a happy coo of approval, sliding like silk over his collarbones and Jooheon's dark head of hair is bobbing eagerly as he re-situates himself back into the cradle between Jackson's legs. The next morning Jackson is pulling a droopy Jooheon by a limp wrist over to his closet and opening the entire thing as he gently pushes Jooheon in front of him and he's stating calmly into Jooheon's ear, lips brushing past wayward curls, pressing the center of his palm into the small of the other's back like “Choose whatever you want" and then there's a small sound of wonderment in the back of Jooheon's throat and he's carefully approaching the vast closet. Pushing and pulling things aside so slowly if Jackson closed his eyes he wouldn't be able to hear a thing, but he waits, patient, watching as he carelessly rifles through his own suits and pulling a pair on. But when there's finally a soft pair of footsteps behind him, he looks over to see Jooheon clad in one of his old, ratty oversized winter sweaters, collarbones entirely on show, still bared neck too vulnerable in the warm morning light. The hem of the sweater is most definitely too long, falling midway to bare thighs that all jackson can see is leg and more leg, he gets the cocked head look for the third time since the bargain, and all he can focus on is the long stretch of skin at Jooheon's neck. The only thing he can do to distract himself from Jooheon's suddenly more scandalous choice of fashion, is to draw the pet close, wrapping the callused skin of his palm over the other's dimpled cheeks as he mutters "We've got to get you a collar soon." in which he receives a purring sound of approval sleeved fingers come up to clutch gently at his wrist, keeping his hand there as Jooheon presses himself happily into Jackson's grip.

Outside perspective: Word spreads fast that the boss is entirely enamored, even obsessed, with his new pet. Kihyun notes the daily gossip with a blank face and open ears. He can’t refute it; Jackson practically brings Jooheon with him wherever he goes - regardless of societal propriety.

You like sweets?:

He needs glasses: probably kihyun again?

A pet for a pet: kitty

“You really don’t talk, do you?”: probably the whole “jackson” “master” thing

What else would it be used for?: kihyun being mean

“I need to be careful tonight - for you”: the party

--- cowritten with and conceived with the brilliant @deardystopia

Blind/mute magic au

in one of those fantasy universes where everyone happily coexists and the humans live well in the world w/ other magical creatures

and jooheon's just your typical neighborhood witch

but what if he was cursed somehow when he was younger and so he's blind

but he still manages to get around well enough and every week there’s a delivery boy to help get him materials and to send off the charms he makes

its like a quiet and domestic life but what if his usual delivery boy gets switched for someone else

because they're doing their new spring reshuffling thing so older employees get a new route and the new ones get to learn the old ones

and so changkyun is one of the new delivery boys and its one of the few jobs he feels safe enough doing w/ his disability - he's deaf

and so the old delivery boy knew about Jooheon's disability and knew how to work with that, knowing which wards on the door he should purposefully set off to let the witch know he was there

RIGHT LIKE IM JUST IMAGINING jars with dried flowers and crystal sunlight filtering through open windows as jooheon makes some tea for ck

ok so like usually jooheon's used to the right wards going off and so the delivery boy will just leave the package and then take the already pre-wrapped and pre-set charms to ship off

but like this time it feels completely different and so he gets up to go an d check

so like ck standing there awkwardly cause he doesn't see a doorbell and decides to knock on the door but then it swings open on its own to reveal the owner of the house

i kinda think jooheon would wear like soft browns and whites, like a white turtleneck probs

and changkyun probably layers w/ a ton of jackets and plaid and jeans?

that’s what i was thinking

like this kinda look w/o the kiddy stuff for jh and ck's hairstyle for that too

ck would totally wear a ton of hoodies and loose jackets

this hairstyle w/ the middle part for jh

soft flower witch jooheon

omg yesss

yeah the middle part is what i was thinking

and like a simple silver necklace or smth w/ a little bee charm

or a flower i honestly can't decide

i think it'd just be really cute to have a scene where jooheon gently feels around changkyuns face to get an image of him and he doens't realize he's kinda looking directly into ck's eyes and is a little too close

i totally want them to go for a walk together on a rainy day

and jooheon puts a charm on their umbrella so nobody gets wet

its cute and ck taps against his wrist to guide him away from big puddles

and whispers lowly because he totally wants to describe how pretty it is outside to jooheon even though he doesn't usually like to speak cause he doesn't know what he sounds like

delivery boy outfit totally needs a snapback

dude but like what if ck always wears a ton of layers and pulls his hat down low cause he always feels so unsure of himself w/ his disability and tries to shield himself w clothing

but after meeting jooheon

and seeing how open and happily he lives w/ his disability, always smiling and never hiding his eyes even though he can't see

he kind of starts gaining his own confidence

like one day he comes and like jooheon always physically greets him to makes ure its the right person and he's like "oh, no hoodies today?" cause the fabric under his hand is usually thick, but today its just bare skin

and changkyun just smiles shyly and taps out "yep" against jooheons wrist

THIS IS THE TEA JOOHEON MAKES FOR CK IN THE OTHER AU WITH CRUSHED PETALS OR SMTH, And Changkyun s like asks you're blind and yet everything you do is so beautiful

Jk wait that's too early

Like "the tea and the cup match so well" and jooheon just laughs tapping blindly at Changkyun s head and just says "witch senses", the words flowering beautifully across Changkyun’s charmed board as jooheon settles down with his own cup, AND FLOWERS TOTALLY RESPOND WELL TO HIS TOUCH AND IT WORDS SO NATURALLY HE JUST STICKS TO THAT AREA

Like turning up their faces just subtly everytime he walks by, Responding naturally to him and it's very easy for him to use flowers, more so than any other material

Ck would totally be able to see all this sitting at a table and he's just so lovestruck watching the flowers crowd adoringly for Jooheon's attention, Omg what if he usually makes packages of homemade tea with some simple spells integrated to help w sleep or relaxation, Yeeeesssssss but they work really well so he has a good customer base

And also KIHYUN helps design an online page and process Orders

And takes a ton of sample photos to put up on the page

Also in the like about section there's a cute pic of jooheon doing a peace sign w muddy fingers next to some flowers and that's like the only pic of him ever, And there’s definitely an online group dedicated to his tea, like freaking out when a new sample comes out

And also like screaming about how there's only one pic of him but definitely a confirmed cutie bc there handwritten notes that are shaky and messy but super sweet in every package

Ok but like what if minhyuk was blessed w the gift of visual arts so of course he draws

But he also loves running his aesthetic blog and he posts artsy pics of his drawings and cafes and shit

And like one day there's a pic of him and at the corner is boy with softly curled hair and a pink sweater, facemask pulled below his chin as he cups both hands around his cup of coffee, sipping it through a straw as he looks blankly to the side, And his fans are like ???!?!?! And someone is LIKE OH FUCK THAT’S JOOHEON YO

And then minhyuk’s secretly laughing about how adorable jooheon looks and didn't know he took a pic

When his phone suddenly is just like blowing up w alerts, And jooheon sighs "hyung please check your alerts"

And minhyuk is like wtf is going on

And he's getting DM s like

OMFG THATS JOOHEON

YOU KNOW JOOHEON?

PLEASE POST MORE WITH JOOHEON

And then minhyuk Fits the phone against Jooheon's palm, And jooheon can feel the phone continuously vibrating like not stopping at all and he's like "hyung what's going on"

And minhyuk just chuckles at the lost look on his face and says "my followers love you"

And it's the 2nd time he's only ever seen jooheon this red

Followed only by the first time minhyuk had teased him about that new delivery boy and his oh so deep voice, And so jooheon face bursts into flames as he squeaks out "what!!?" before snatching his hand away and desperately sucking at his coffee adamantly ignoring minhyuks guffaws

jh would have this phone case

When Jooheon gets knees deep in fresh spring earth he of course has to change into more suitable clothes. He doesn’t actually know the material or (ha) color of those nice sweaters Minhyuk always forces him to buy, but they’re beautifully soft against his skin. He wants to keep them that way, and as much as he loves the press of wet dirt under his fingers, his sweaters probably wouldn’t appreciate it to the same degree.

So one day Changkyun comes on his usual delivery route, and there’s a note left in Jooheon’s blocky script, I’m out back! with a round creature resembling a bee drawn at the bottom. He finds the witch completely kneeled on the ground on all fours, dressed in tight leggings and a black hoodie, as he digs at an already significantly deep hole. He taps lightly on the ground with his foot, alerting Jooheon of his presence.

“Changkyun?” Jooheon immediately looks up, eyes blindly flickering towards his general direction. The delivery boy hums lowly and taps again in affirmation, and Jooheon’s smile widens even more, eyes crinkling shut into thin slits, the indents of dimples forming like two shadowed ponds on his cheeks.

Once he’s sure of the right person, the witch turns back to the task at hand, fumbling for the shovel as he starts digging again. The pit’s deep enough Jooheon has to sink his upper body forward, raising his lower half in the air in a meager attempt to keep balance. Changkyun’s eyes are inevitably drawn to his pert bottom, tightly clad in leggings he’s never seen before.

He shuffles over and sits down next to Jooheon, clearing his throat as he prepares to speak. “I’ve never seen you wear this before,” he comments casually as Jooheon pauses to pay attention to his words. “That’s right,” the witch ponders, and the shape of his mouth corresponding with the letters scrawling across Changkyun’s charmed board. “I don’t usually wear this kind of….” he grimaces, searching for the right word, “tight clothing?”

He sighs, ruffling dirt crusted fingers in his hair and Changkyun watches, scrutinizing as the wet earth sticks adamantly to shining locks. Their disabilities make them sensitive towards certain forms of contact, and brushing the other’s cheeks clean of dried earth would definitely be a violation of Jooheon’s comfort zone. He keeps his fingers clenched and still against his lap.

“My friends alway watch out for me, bringing me clothing and such. This one,” he gestures at the lycra stretching over his legs, “was from a friend who modeled for an exercise brand. I guess he thought he would send me some to try…” He plucks at the fabric, letting it snap back against his skin, laughing nervously. “It’s not really my kind of thing, well as much as possible to figure out what “my thing” is, but at least it's good for dirty labor?”

Changkyun laughs at his vaguely apologetic expression, the sentence ending itself on his board with a question mark, and he nods sagely in response, tapping once to show his agreement. “You look, you look good.” he forces out, his voice catching tightly in the middle. He doesn’t need to look at his board to understand Jooheon’s reply, all of it completely apparent in the pink in his cheeks and the “o” of his mouth before fumbling quickly into a “thank you.”

Like "you look amazing in pink" and jooheon sighs "I don't know what it even looks like" and minhyuk just flounders to describe it "it's just light, and soft, and....pink??" He ends up stubbornly pushing a pile.of sweaters into Jooheon's hands anyway

Maybe like cursed when he was still in the womb or smth

Cause eventually I want like a scene where he and Changkyun are hanging and he just realizes how happy and comfortable he is w the other and he blinks

And the next moment piercing rays are flooding his eyes and it hurts so much he hides his face in his hands as tears leak out uncontrollably

I need a good reason for why he got that kind of curse put on him tho

Then he gets to match a voice to a face when Changkyun urgently asks, "are you okay"?" leaning over to grasp his wrists

Pink lips pressed into a worried line and almond eyes gazing directly into his own tear stained ones, jooheon can't help but cry even harder

Changkyun flails in panic, wrapping an arm around his back, trying to soothe him as he asks again "what's wrong?"

His board stays empty for a few moments more before they fill with 3 words that leave him perfectly stunned

“I can see.”

Changkyun immediately goes to draw away, some part of him panicking at Jooheon's newfound sight

But the witch turns and immediately lunges to embrace him, both of them landing harshly against the ground as the other hides his face in changkyuns neck

I want to like do something where ck gets to hear like they're made for each other and them being together breaks it but hmmmmm. Changkyun stays still, relaxing his body as Jooheon shakes against him. His neck is wet with tears and its soaking through to his jacket, but he only pulls the other man closer to himself, wrapping both of his arms around the other's middle. Suddenly, something is filtering into his brain, the ever static silence interrupted by pin pricks of hiccuped cries. It can't be, he panics, hands leaving Jooheon's middle to cup around his ears. He can hear the echo of sound against his palms, and curls up, completely overwhelmed. Jooheon sits up confused at the sudden shift of the body below him, and sees with his newfound sight, Changkyun's face scrunched in pain as he turns away from him. Jooheon hurriedly wipes away the gathered moisture, before leaning over to shadow over Changkyun's prone form. “Changkyun, Changkyun-ah! What happened?” He whispers urgently, completely forgetting the other’s charmed board. Neither of them realize it for a moment, when Changkyun looks up at him, comprehension immediate in his eyes.

“I...I can hear,” he stutters, hands dropping incredulously as a world of sounds flood through his ears; the chirp of birds, the whistle of the wind, but most importantly Jooheon’s shocked gasp as he sits up, toppling back onto the ground.

The witch presses a hand over his mouth, muffling any other sounds that could unwillingly escape his throat. It’s silent between them, but for Changkyun it’s more than he’s ever heard all his life.

Jooheon waits hesitantly, before asking as quietly as possible, “Is...is this real?” His voice, light and almost whiny, fits perfectly with the curved script that had written itself across Changkyun’s board many times.

“It,” he chokes at the low rumble of his own voice, “it is.” The shock sets in for the both of them, Jooheon still squinting furiously at all the colors and shapes passing rapidly through his retinas, and the echo of sobs still bouncing in Changkyun’s ears. They lock gazes, newfound senses tingling with every movement, and it’s not definite who moves first, but they simultaneously meet in the middle, bodies crashing in a locked embrace.

#happycakewrites

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