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cillspropertea · 3 years ago

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Chapter 11 : Fedora

The reader is Aberama Gold’s eldest daughter, Esmeralda Gold in this fic.

Warnings: tense situations, possible kidnapping, manhandling

Gif by @twvstedsouls

This fic might have dark themes which may irritate or offend some readers. But if you’ve seen Peaky Blinders and are familiar with Thomas Shelby, you’ll be okay. The story, plot, character histories and back stories might not be relevant to the original “Peaky Blinders” . Warnings will change per chapter. This is my first fic. Hope you all like it. English is not my first language.

Author’s note: I apologize for the late posting of this chapter.😔 I wasn't feeling well and which is probably why my creative juices had dried out too. 😓 Will try and post the next one earlier than the promised timeline.😊😉💙💙

Do not hesitate to comment, reblog and engage. It works as fuel for my writing. 😉💙💙

Synopsis: Your father’s one mistake shall alter your life’s direction forever.

Word count: 3031

Thomas hadn’t been okay with sending Charlie away with the others to the country side hideout, but Polly had convinced him at the last minute to do so. Esmeralda was not okay with parting from him either, the little munchkin had grown on her like Fungus, but she too did not protest knowing that it was for the best after all.

Charles had fussed a lot in the beginning. But after a few difficult days he had stopped, so everyone had assumed he had compromised according to the situation.

“Charles is unwell.” Polly had rushed into Esmeralda’s room after softly knocking the door, quite early in the morning. “What do you mean?” Esmeralda got up. “I don’t know for certain but I think he is missing his Father.” You nodded. “Ada says he hasn’t been eating properly and has reduced his milk intake as well. Doesn’t cry a lot anymore, only at night. But he’s been having fever since yesterday which I find alarming. That poor child has been through so much. First his mother and now his father isn’t near him.” She shook her head sadly. “So Thomas has asked me to get him. Arthur is coming with me, he wants to see Linda. She’s been chewing his ear off for not being there at all as her delivery is due any day now. She’s pure trouble that one. God knows what Arthur was thinking when he married her!” Polly said pacing in the room, then she finally came to sit by Esmeralda. “But that’s not why I’m here. We’ll be staying there overnight Thomas has to go on a formal political event of some sorts, will be back quite late in the night. So I wanted to know if you’d be okay by yourself here.” ‘With Thomas alone’ she seemed to omit but say through her eyes. “You can come with us if you want...” “It’s fine Polly. I’m used to being alone by now. You should go. And don’t worry about me. Just bring that little monster back as soon as you can. I can’t wait to see him.” Polly smiled and touched her face adoringly. “I just need to go into the city for something. You think Thomas can lend me his car for today?” She asked batting her eyelashes.

-----

Esmeralda hadn’t lied. Technically she did have to go to the market to get something for Charlie but, after a small detour. The car stopped where the road ended near the woods. There were only two ways to get to where she was going, either by foot or on a horse. “Wait here…” she’d asked the driver and started her small but tough journey by foot into the woods.

Just a few miles into the Lee territory, she saw Esme waiting for her with two horses.

-----

“Does Polly know you are here?” Esme asked, looking ahead as her grey horse moved rhythmically. “She knows I am to go somewhere, but not the exact details.” Esmeralda replied, “And I’d like to keep it that way if you don’t mind.” She said looking at her plainly. Without a response Esme pushed her horse to increase speed. Esmeralda too encouraged her black stallion to move faster. She was quite familiar with horses, the only animals her Fa… Aberama allowed to be kept. She knew how to take care of them and rode pretty easily too. Esme seemed impressed by the her riding skills but did not comment.

After riding fast in the mountainous woods, they stopped near a black caravan on a small hill top. Both of the ladies got off and tied the horses to a tree nearby. Esme walked closer to the caravan, “Jal…. Jal” she called out loudly as she looked behind the caravan too. “ieși tu,puternic. avem nevoie de ajutorul tău!” ‘Come out you powerful one. We are in need of your help!”

Esmeralda quietly watched her, standing still. Suddenly, it grew darker, as if the clouds were trying to give him cover from the sun or could it be the other way around? Out came a man of a tall and lean build with worn out cloths which were in desperate need of cleaning. His long hair, which hadn’t been washed for weeks Esmeralda was sure, had little trinkets and beads in them. His ribs were literally protruding from his sides, edges of which were obvious from his worn out filthy white shirt. “Sunt aici, sunt aici, încetează să țipe și să-mi sperii prietenii. Ei dorm dimineata...” ‘I’m here, I’m here, stop screaming and freaking my friends out. They sleep in the morning you see…’ He was wiping his hands on a cloth much dirtier than his hands. He spotted Esmeralda and started walking towards her. “And how did a pretty thing like you end up on a doorstep of a sinner like me, eh?” He smiled. His yellow teeth, except a gold one on the left, made Esmeralda gag, but she controlled her expressions as best as she could. Esme stood beside her, “She needs your help…”

“I need you to put a curse on someone, some people actually.” Esmeralda spoke up straight-forwardly. Jal came even closer to her, looking into her eyes as if he was trying to read her. “What makes you think I can do that eh? Didn’t mama ever tell the little girl that the fairytales she reads at bed time aren’t true?” He cocked his head, “Except the monsters though… That part is very much real” he nodded with wide crazy eyes. “There’s no need to pretend friend, she knows about your talents. I told her.”

He turned to Esme, ”And hadn’t I warned you about telling people about my whereabouts child? Especially people who are not kin?” He was angry as he took step after step into her direction forcing her to step back each time, “It shall have consequences!” Esme looked like she was about to faint. “sunt rud��!” Esmeralda shouted. ‘I am Kin’ He turned and marched back towards her. Keeping a hand on her temple he closed his eyes and when he opened them a freaky smile graced his lips, “I see her, I see Sybill.” Esmeralda’s breath hitched after hearing her birth mother’s name on the strangers lips. His face had softened, as if in just a few moments he was able to see her mother’s history behind his closed eyelids. “And I see the fire inside of you. You want it gone. You want to feel like your old self again.” He rather stated than asked. “Let me remind you young one, it’s you who hones it and owns it. If used wisely, this pain, this sorrow, and everything else it is, can turn into a weapon no one can defeat. You’d be the queen, with the world at your feet” His voice was hypnotizing her. Or maybe it was his movements. He tended to move his limbs with quite a lot of femininity and flourish. As if he had some kind of a hold on everything around him. When Esmeralda simply stared at him with a gaping mouth and did not respond, He sighed loudly. As if he was deeply disappointed.

“Alright, I will help you, but you have to know girl, there is always a payment.” He said turning around and looking at the skies. “How much?” Esmeralda asked, mentally thinking of ways she could ask Polly to lend her some cash and then how to repay her. “Not cash child, never cash…” She did not understand him calling her a child. He did not look like someone who was that old, but when she looked at him again she chose not to point it out. “Anything… you name it.” Esmeralda spoke without losing a beat. “Careful now little one…” he pointed a digit at her. “You may regret it later. And remember these, payments can never be taken back.” He warned. “Just say it…” she gritted. He once again closed his eyes for a few moments. His expressions seemed as if he was concentrating on some mental argument. “Your motherhood.” He said opening his eyes and watching intently at Esmeralda��s reaction. Her eyes flashed.

Esmeralda wasn’t expecting this. She knew exactly what he was asking for. It meant she would never be able to become a mother. But the question was, was it worth it? She was about to speak when Esme stopped her. “Wait! I think you are not grasping exactly what he’s saying Esmeralda! You…”, “I do know exactly what he’s asking for. You don’t understand Esme…” Esmeralda cut her off, “And I’d appreciate if you stayed out of it!”. Esme rubbed her temple, “You think I don’t understand? Why do you think I’m helping you eh?” she rasped. “Those fucking Shelbys! They ruined my life too you know…” She sighed

Jal simply watched both the girls in amusement. “I’ll tell you what, let us decide the details of our… arrangement right now and you can have till tomorrow to decide, if you want to go through with it or not. What ya think?” He said with a tilt to his head.

Esmeralda contemplated for a few moments then nodded solemnly. He asked her to come into the caravan with him. When Esme tried to accompany them he shook his head and continued leading Esmeralda inside his dark caravan home.

-----

Esmeralda walked out of the shop with just the right thing for Charlie. She was absolutely sure that the little munchkin would love the toy horse she had bought for him. She was still thinking about Jal and everything that had transpired when suddenly she felt someone cover her head with a black cloth and muffle her mouth with a hand. She felt the person gradually drag her somewhere and then plop her on a chair. Heaving, she tried to calm herself as much as she could. In that moment she had a realization, she wasn’t scared. ‘What’s the worst that can happen?’ she’d thought. She did feel baffled as the person had attacked her quite unexpectedly but other than that she wasn’t freaking out. This revelation itself disturb her but brought a weird sort of calm in that terrorizing situation as well.

When the cloth was taken off of her face she squinted at her surroundings. It was a warehouse of sorts, filled with boxes and dust. It was dark as dimly lit bulbs glowed in some corners. Four armed men stood around her at a safe distance. She held her purse tightly in her hands as she heard footsteps gradually approaching her from her behind.

“Who are you and what is the meaning of this?” she asked, her voice steady but vary. “Make a guess signorina”, his voice sounded familiar or was it the accent. And that word ‘Antonio called me signorina!’ He chuckled at her glowering face. “I’m Luca Changretta.” Esmeralda’s heart sunk. This was the man the Shelbys were looking… no, hunting for everywhere. And he was in the city. ‘Fuck!’ He sunk in his seat a bit, resting one leg on the other. “And why have you kidnapped me?” Esmeralda still did not falter and that irritated Luca. “Oh signorina, you misunderstand! This isn’t a kidnapping. This is just a… meeting. I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. And I have to say, I am not disappointed” his eyes roamed her form making Esmeralda’s skin crawl but she simply stared into his dark eyes, not giving anything away. “Is this how you treat your allies? Picking them up whenever it pleases you?”

“So this is our latest recruit in our team against the Shelby’s…” a tall, slender man came and sat on a chair in front of her. His face was concealed under a black fedora which he wore quite abnormally low on his head. He tilted his head before taking of the hat. He had long defined features with a toothpick on the side of his mouth. “Dios Moi! No wonder he bet on you.” His eyes sparkled. Esmeralda looked at him straight in the eyes. In that moment, she was very much aware of the possibility that she might not get out of there alive. Yet she could not feel her heart race or palpitate.

“Look at her. Just look at her. How enticing is her temper right now eh?” he called his men standing around them as they all snickered and laughed. ‘Prick!’ Esmeralda had established that much but she still could not figure out what the purpose was of all this so she just decided to shut up and let the arsehole have his fun after all, she did work for him. “You don’t look like your father’s daughter at all. I bet even he doesn’t like what he sees in the mirror.” He waited for a reaction which never came. Sighing, he realized it was time to get to the point. “I needed to make sure we were on the same page regarding our agreement, against Thomas Shelby.” He got up and started pacing in front of her.

“Antonio told me about your request, and I’m afraid I’ll have to deny it.” She closed her eyes. “As the tradition of a black hand goes, I have to be the one to pull the trigger. And danm! I can’t wait to do it” he rubbed his hands in anticipation. Contemplating for a moment she said, “Then our deal is off.” She stood up, making the men around her point their weapons at her. Luca laughed. Looking around at the gang members ready to shoot at her. A small smile played on her lips as she gradually walked towards the main man himself. She stared right into his eyes as she abruptly took out and pointed her own gun from her purse to his temple, the one she was practicing with every day, “If you think for a single second that these guns intimidate me, that these guns can make me change my mind, you are absolutely mistaken”

Even though his men were truly tense, Luca raised his eyebrows, smirking. He was enjoying this, Enjoying riling her up. It’s not everyday someone, let alone a woman stood up to him this way. In a flash his fingers covered hers on the gun as he pressed it further into his own temple. It was his way of daring her to pull the trigger. “Do it…” he further enticed.

Esmeralda silently gulped. Her eyes unblinking. She knew what would happen when she did it. Luca would be dead, but the very second his body would hit the floor, hers would be next. His men would make sure of it. But she did not care, no one, absolutely no one would decide her actions or fate for her. If the last thing she ever did was wiping that filthy smirk off of this goon’s face then so be it. She’ll die proud and sated. Her finger stressed over the trigger as she loosed a breath. She saw fear in Luca Changretta’s widened eyes. That too because of her. The rush of satisfaction she’d felt in that moment could have been bottled and saved for later as well.

Just as the trigger was pulled, Luca had raised her arm towards the ceiling. A loud bang clanged throughout the big dark space. He pushed her away and got a hold of her gun. “Fucking hell woman!” he laughed like a luntic and paced forcing his men to laugh along with him giving them the impression he wasn’t effected at all. Esmeralda simply shook her head slightly, hiding her own triumphant smile as she had seen he was shaken up as he had underestimated her. And that he’d just seen a glimpse of what Esmeralda had become. She was fearless of consequences and fearless of death.

-----

Thomas Shelby

The dinner was a celebratory one, arranged by Mr. Churchill himself even though he wasn’t expected to be present himself. The purpose of it was to give these people to engage and make new connections which shall benefit everyone in the future. All the important political people were invited and so their presence was mandatory. Thomas did not believe in mingling and engaging in nonsensical long conversations, he had other ways to make connections which worked just fine for him. So he simply replied and nodded to questions directed directly towards him and otherwise simply stood as a brooding figure in a tux, in a corner near a bar, waiting for the appropriate time to leave without seeming rude. One particular man had caught his attention who went by the name of Oswald Mosley. His direct and indirect messages weren’t difficult for Thomas to decipher at all. But what exactly did he want from him had to be distinguished through a one on one meeting. He was certain of it.

On the way back his thoughts wandered. The truth was he had truly missed his wife by his side tonight. These sort of events were her kind of thing. She not only enjoyed them but simply flourished in them as well. He remembered how he would simply watch Grace in parties like this one. She would be in her element, in her zone. While taking a cigarette out his feet touched something soft in the car. It was a purse. “Robert whose is this?” He showed it to his driver. “Oh that must be Miss Esmeralda’s I think. She must have forgotten it after her trip today” He nodded. “Did you go with her?” he asked after a moment. “No sir, Oliver did.” He simply started looking outside when Robert continued, “He is new sir, and doesn’t know a lot of the routes yet. If Madame had told me earlier she was visiting the Lee territory I would have taken her myself…” Thomas looked up. ‘She went to the Lee’s? Why would she go to the Lee’s?’ As soon as the car stopped he asked Robert to call Oliver to his office at once. Something was bothering him, but he did not know what. And he had to find out.

#thomas shelby #peaky blinders #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders imagine #peakyxtommy #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinder fanfic #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby x y/n #peaky fookin blinders #luca changretta #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby #charlie shelby #aunt polly #polly gray

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thenyouburn · 3 years ago

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and when I sleep my soul you keep

pairing: Baz/Simon (aka Snowbaz)

word count: 2,035 words

rating: M

summary: Baz can't sleep, and escapes to the kitchen. Simon finds him. (All fluff)

a/n: am i consistent? no. am i late? yes. in my defense: i don't have internet currently. but in honour of bazzle dazzle's birthday yesterday, here's something i wrote back in october. and the launch of my kitchen series, which is a collection of oneshots in all fandoms that all involve kitchens. requests open of course! as always, i thrive off of sexy feedback <3

ao3 found here

Baz pushed his hair back out of his face with a soft sigh, letting his head fall forward until his forehead rested against the upper cabinet. He was awake, in the middle of the night, again. This was the third time that week, and Baz was starting to get to the end of his rope. He was pretty good at taking things in stride and surviving on nothing but the bare minimum, but it didn’t make it any less frustrating. Burning the candle at both ends was bound to burn him down to nothing eventually, nothing but a small puddle of metaphorical wax and a burnt piece of wick.

He wasn’t even sure what brought him to the kitchen, exactly. The flat was empty and still and silent without Simon’s presence to fill it up. He was still asleep in the bedroom - their bedroom - curled up half on his stomach with his wings fully stretched out, toned arm curled around Baz’s pillow the moment Baz had managed to slip from beneath him. The same way he always slept - though usually it was Baz curled up with him, rather than his pillow as a poor replacement. Though with how cold he was, he wasn’t sure how great of a bedmate he made. Still, he wouldn’t have wanted to wake Simon up even when he’d slipped out of his hold to escape to the quiet solitude of the kitchen, strange without the loud, rhythmic sound of Simon’s heavy breathing. (He was a mouth-breather, after all, and it usually meant he snored). Baz was a disaster at the moment, but that didn’t mean he had to drag Simon down with him.

He supposed the kitchen felt the most full of life, even in the darkness. The most comforting, even alone and in silence. The living room felt oppressively lonely in the still, dark silence, nothing but his worst thoughts to keep him company in there. He could feel the weight of where Simon should be when he sits on the couch, another nearly tangible reminder that he should not be awake. There was nowhere else, really, for him to go.

He wasn't entirely sure when the flat started being his as well as Simon’s, anyway. Sometime in the middle of one of the many nights he’d spent there, sometime between when Simon got him his own mug for the cupboard, when his drawer in the dresser became two and he had more clothes here than at Fiona’s. And then, finally, when he’d referred to the bedroom as Simon’s and Simon had given him this look, mouth half full of takeout, his jaw already set and steely, determined glint in his eye (Circe, Baz loved him), and corrected him saying nothing but “our bedroom”. And that had been that. He’d moved everything else he had over the next day (and they’d promptly properly consecrated the flat as both of theirs. Not that it was a new thing, but it was technically the first time since they’d both officially lived there).

But no matter where Baz was, it seemed he couldn’t escape his demons. His sleeping had always been this side of erratic, swinging between mostly alright and completely disrupted, with his sleep schedule flipped to the opposite of what it should be. There was a semester at Watford where he’d survived on post-football practice afternoon naps and been awake most of the night. Simon had been annoyed about it, but really, he was a heavy sleeper, it didn’t do much to him anyway. And since the coffin incident a few years back, Baz’s sleep had been doubly bad. Not always, but he didn’t like small spaces so much now, and if he felt too trapped (if Simon rolled on top of him in his sleep while he was already having bad dreams), he jolted awake and resigned himself to yet another sleepless night.

Tonight, though, just seemed to be pure bad luck. He startled a little at the feeling of arms sliding around his waist, Simon’s very warm body pressing all the way along his back. “‘Ello,” he mumbled against the back of Baz’s shoulder, pressing sleepy kisses up his shoulder before nuzzling his face into the side of his neck, puffing hot air against Baz’s chilly skin. He was always cold to the touch. No circulation sort of did that to a person. Simon was obsessed with warming him up, always pleased when he seemed to retain some of Simon’s shared body heat. And Baz, well Baz was never going to complain about extra affection - or at least never mean it if he did. “What’re you doin’ up? Can’t sleep?” He asked, words slurring together with sleep, muffled with his lips pressed against Baz’s neck.

It was the same side Baz had his vampire bite mark on. Not that it was noticeable to almost anyone unless they managed to move his hair and pay close, close attention. If that was one of the reasons he liked to keep his hair long, well…then that was his little secret. The bite mark was the only scar Baz had, and the only one he would ever have. (For the best, probably - he wouldn’t have fancied seeing what sort of scars the buckshot would have left from their time in America). Simon was the only person who had the privilege of seeing it, and Baz preferred to keep it that way. Simon usually made an effort to kiss over it as often as he could. Like now, when he brushed Baz’s hair away and over his other shoulder so he was free to keep his face in his neck without anything in the way.

“No,” Baz said, voice soft, breaking the silence for the first time. He could feel the silence wrapped around him like a blanket. Comforting, in a way, but heavy with the reminder that he should be wrapped in bed in his not-metaphorical blankets, comfortably tucked beneath Simon’s arm, and perhaps a wing, and not bearing witness to their flat bathed in shadow. Though, if he were half the melodramatic man he’d been at eighteen, he would have thought about how fitting it was - a verifiable creature of the night, perpetually cursed to haunt the night, the darkness, and the shadows by his own body. He was not that man, not anymore, so he didn’t let his thoughts linger on his physical state. He was coming to terms with his vampirism. Really, he was.

Simon nodded, messy curls only getting more mussed up with the action. He squeezed Baz once, twice, three times - I love you, it seemed to say - and pressed another sleepy kiss to the side of his neck before pulling back. He gently opened the cabinet next to Baz’s head and pulled out their mugs, moving to Baz’s other side to start the kettle. Baz pulled his head away from the cabinet - it ached, now, where he’d rested it, like he’d rested too much weight there - and gave Simon a slightly confused look.

Simon gave him a sleepy smile. “I’m not gonna let you stay up by yourself, love. We can have some tea and stay up until you want to try again.”

Baz looked at him for a moment. It was moments like this that caught him off guard more than anything. Yes, Simon was always one for grand gestures - like killing things for him in the name of love - but it was this that reminded Baz just how truly he was loved. Simon, willing to ignore their perfectly comfortable bed that he adored, and sit in the kitchen with Baz. Just so he wasn’t left alone. He felt his throat tighten a little and shoved down the urge to argue. He’d accept the gesture for what it was - Simon telling him he loved him just as plainly as if he’d said it out loud. This was him offering comfort the only way he knew how.

“Alright. Yes. That sounds good,” Baz said, not nearly as eloquently as he would have liked.

Simon stepped forward, hand moving to cupp Baz’s cheek. Baz tilted his head into it, meeting Simon’s gaze. It was intense, sometimes. Simon never did anything by half measures. His love was much the same. He loved with the intensity of a thousand burning suns, all engulfing and fiery. Baz liked to think of it as slipping into a hot, nearly scalding bath at the end of a long day, or burning candles in a home with long curtains. Warm and comforting and reliable - and dangerous if done improperly. He’d gotten over that hurdle, though. He’d once thought loving Simon Snow was like being near an open flame, being in proximity to the sun. That hadn’t changed, even now. It had tempered into something no less powerful, but familiar. He wasn’t scared of being burned anymore, wasn’t attempting to toss himself into the open flame at any moment in a wonton act of self destruction. He’d learned to take everything Simon gave, and give him just as much in return.

His heart didn’t beat, no, but in that empty void in his chest, in place of those things he’d thought he’d lost of himself, was Simon Snow. The human equivalent of everything he’d thought he wasn’t supposed to have. But that was just them, wasn’t it? It wasn’t a star crossed love story like those of old, but one that, by all intents and purposes, should have ended in fire and destruction long ago. Instead, Baz was stood in their kitchen, feeling his boyfriend drag his thumb across his cheekbone, looking at him with so much love in his eyes, it felt like staring into an open flame. Like looking into a fireplace back at his family’s home (that they had since abandoned) - though this time it felt loving and familiar.

Simon stepped closer, fully into Baz’s space, and carded his other hand through Baz’s hair, gently combing out the tangles from his tossing back and forth earlier in bed. His hair was longer now; he’d been growing it out properly. It was taken care of, of course, but it reached past his shoulders. Simon nearly always had a hand in it if they were at home. Simon had been keeping his hair shorn short on the sides, though he let the top grow a little longer (enough for Baz to keep playing with). He was keeping up with it, properly taking care of himself.

“Hey, Baz?” Simon said, voice soft.

“Yes?” Baz answered, just as soft. Whatever he was going to ask, to say, the answer would always be yes. He didn’t think he had it in him to ever say no to Simon Snow - to say no to Simon. His Simon.

“I love you.” He leaned up and kissed Baz, hand still on his cheek, gentle, like he was holding the most precious thing in the world. As carefully as he held his swords, though in this moment, he lacked the tight, possessive hold he used with them. Familiar. Gentle. The way Baz had asked him to touch him. And when Baz rested his hands on Simon’s waist, he squeezed once, twice, three times - I love you - firm and clear, the way Simon had asked him to.

And Simon didn’t pull back until nearly all the water had boiled away, until Baz was well and truly out of breath, until Baz was thinking less about his lack of sleep and more about the man in his arms.

It only took exactly one cup of tea before Baz allowed Simon to lead him back to bed - they’d gotten better at this part, too, with Baz allowing Simon to take care of him, and Simon offering comfort when he needed it, the way he needed him - and allowed him to pull him back into his arms. He rested a hand over Simon’s (shirtless, he never bothered with them at home) chest, right over his heart, feeling it beneath his fingertips. Once. Twice. Three times.

“I love you,” Simon said, leaning in to slot their lips together again. Baz just tapped his fingers against his chest three times in response.

I love you.

#baz pitch #simon snow #snowbaz #snowbaz fanfic #snowbaz fanfiction #carry on #carry on series #carry on fanfiction #snowbaz fic #the simon snow series #the simon snow trilogy #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #simon snow salisbury #snowbaz fluff #is that enough tags yet good lord

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honeypiehotchner · 4 years ago

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intelligence & issues (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- chapter eighteen

Helloooo I almost posted this yesterday as a thank you gift and then I totally got caught up in schoolwork. Gotta love finals season am I right

Anywho, thank y’all so much for 1.7k followers <3 Here’s a long ass chapter that’s a good ol’ mix of fluff and angst xx.

Chapter Warnings: waking-up-together kinda fluff, no sexytimes but there are some ~suggestive~ comments of course, ANGST at the end (i’m so sorry), the end of this case is very near on the horizon

Previous chapter || Fic Masterlist

Aaron wakes you when his first alarm goes off at 5a.m. It’s way too fucking early in your opinion, but you know he wants you to have time to go back to Emily and JJ’s room to get ready for the day.

Still, being woken by a kiss on your forehead is something you can see yourself getting used to. Not to mention using his chest as a pillow all night.

You tilt your head to capture his lips in a sweet kiss, not caring that the both of you probably have disgusting morning breath right now.

He pulls away first, nudging your nose with his before he rests his forehead on yours, looking deep into your eyes. “Good morning, sweet girl.”

You can’t help the smile that splits your lips. “Good morning.” You close your eyes in your flustered state, burying your face down into his chest. “I don’t want to leave.”

“I want you to stay,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “But we’ve got a job to do.”

“I know,” you sigh, opening your eyes to bring yourself back to reality. Then, you hook your arms around his neck, starting to grin. “Same thing tonight?”

He smirks, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Depends on how much of a good girl you are today.”

“Ooh, a challenge,” you tease. “I dunno…I’m feeling pretty bratty this morning.”

You feel his arm tighten around your shoulders, drawing you closer to him in warning.

“I’m just teasing,” you murmur, propping your chin on his chest, giving him your best eyes.

But he isn’t fazed. “I know. I’m keeping track.”

So, naturally, you pout. “Fine.”

“Strike two.”

“I have a feeling this isn’t like baseball. Three strikes and I’m out?”

“Are you trying to find out?”

“Mm, maybe?” You grin, but, as always, the FBI Agent part of your brain comes back to life. “If we didn’t have to be downstairs soon, I’d say yes. But I probably should go get dressed.”

“Understood,” Aaron replies, a small grin on his lips too. “I suppose even as your boss, I can’t keep you here.”

“As my boss, we’re technically not even supposed to be in the same bed together,” you remind him with a snort, but seriousness comes over him. “What?”

“We still need to talk,” he says quietly. “Really talk about this, but right now I just want you to know...I don’t regret this. I want this. No matter the consequences.”

“Me too,” you whisper, fingernails gently scratching the base of his skull, your weak attempt at comfort. “Do you think there’ll be consequences?”

He sighs, and you rise and fall with his chest. “I don’t know.” He pauses. “If Strauss finds out somehow, maybe. I don’t know if keeping it from her until she inevitably finds out is better than telling her ourselves, but…”

“We’ll figure it out,” you assure him with a small smile. “But you wanna do this?”

Instead of answering you verbally, he pulls you closer for a soothing kiss, coaxing all your worries away.

“I want to do this,” he says, knowing you need to hear the words from his voice.

“Okay,” you murmur, taking a deep breath. “What do we do about the team?”

His eyebrows furrow. “What about them?”

You give him a tired look. “Come on. They know.”

“What?” He blurts, sitting up a little, taking you with him. “Rossi knows.”

“And Emily and JJ and Garcia,” you chuckle. “I didn’t even tell them. Emily saw us at dinner one night. JJ figured it out from the phone call a few days ago. Garcia just...knows.”

“What about Morgan and Reid?”

“Are you kidding me? Morgan knows. Have you seen how he irritates the shit out of me every day?”

“Exactly,” Aaron says. “He does it every day.”

“Have you noticed how he’s been doing it especially when you’re around?” You raise an eyebrow. “Come on, you’re our supervisor! I thought you were a better profiler than that!”

“We have a rule not to profile each other,” he says sternly, obviously a little butthurt that he didn’t see that everyone else knew.

“A rule that none of us stick to, by the way,” you laugh. “We just don’t voice it. But we do. Trust me.”

“I didn’t think you’d figured that out yet,” he admits.

“Eh,” you shrug. “It wasn’t hard. I caught myself profiling everyone. I figured I couldn’t be the only one who does it by accident.”

Aaron only smiles. He’s amazed by you every single day. Sometimes he wonders if you even know how intelligent you are. If you even know the full scope of your mind. Maybe you don’t, maybe no one does.

“But anyway,” you swerve back on track. “I feel like it should be unspoken, but just...no PDA, you know? It’s fine that they know because honestly I think they knew before we knew, but let’s not make it a big deal.”

“Agreed,” he nods. “We still need to be professional.”

“Exactly,” you breathe, glad to be on the same page.

His second alarm goes off, the one for 5:30, and you groan, dropping your forehead to his chest.

“Why does it have to be so early?” You mutter, your lips brushing against his skin as you speak. It sends a hot wave through him, one that causes him to promptly shift your body off of him. “What are you doing?”

“You need to go get dressed,” he says. “And if you stay here wrapped around me any longer, I won’t be able to let you leave.”

You grin. “Point taken.”

You roll off the mattress, fully aware that he’s looking at your ass, and at your entire body, marveling at the way you look in his shirt.

“Oh,” you say, doing a dramatic turn, watching his eyes very quickly move back to your face. “Do you have any boxers? I probably shouldn’t walk down the hall in just a shirt.”

He’s scrambling for a pair of his boxer briefs, the thought of anyone else seeing you just like this making his blood boil frighteningly fast.

“Thanks,” you smirk when he hands them to you. And you put them on in front of him, partly for a show and partly because the look he was giving you demanded it. “I’ll see you in an hour or so?”

He nods. “Try not to spend too much time gossiping.”

“Oh, please,” you shake your head. “They’re getting all the details.”

You’re out the door before he can even catch you, and you just know you’re going to get it later.

+++

Emily and JJ are on you as soon as you open the door, both of them dressed and ready, arms folded over their chests like Moms whose daughter stayed out too late last night.

In a way, that’s completely accurate.

“And where have you been?” JJ asks, fully entering her Mom persona.

“Uhm, a friend’s house?” You play along, trying to inch your way to the bathroom.

But Emily knows your move, and stands in front of the bathroom door. “Is this friend named Aaron?”

“...maybe.”

And the façade falls, because they both cheer, pulling you into a hug.

“Finally!” Emily screams.

“Finally, what?” You laugh. “The night before I was also in his room.”

“Oh, we know,” JJ assures you.

“Finally, you admit it,” Emily clarifies. “So...details?”

“So...we have to be downstairs soon and I need to get dressed,” you walk past them to your bag. After grabbing your clothes, you turn back around to find them still staring at you. “What?”

“You’re in his shirt,” JJ says, still smiling.

“And boxers,” you laugh, pulling the hem of his t-shirt up a little. “Guys, don’t make this a big thing.” You pause, heading toward the bathroom. “He was a little upset that I knew everyone knew, and he didn’t.”

“How did he not?” Emily scoffs. “He can be so dense.”

You shake your head, shutting the bathroom door to get dressed.

When you emerge from the bathroom, now dressed and looking more presentable, Emily and JJ are finally getting ready, too. They still watch you like a pair of hawks stalking prey, though. You just hope they won’t make any comments later.

That’s wishful thinking and you know it. But hopefully the comments will be held in at least until you’re all on the jet, heading back to Virginia.

+++

When you walk out of the elevator with Emily and JJ, you find Hotch standing with Rossi, the former looking much more grave than you left him. And he’s on the phone.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, picking up the pace. You glance at Hotch, silently asking, and he nods. “There’s another body,” you fill in Emily and JJ, ignoring the strange look that Rossi gives you.

Once Hotch hangs up, he looks immediately at you. “There’s two bodies. Male and female.”

“What?” Emily blurts. “In the same location?”

He nods. “Same house.”

About this time, Morgan and Reid step out of the elevator, jogging over when they see the team’s faces.

“What’s going on?” Morgan asks.

“Two bodies this time, same house, male and female,” you explain briefly.

Hotch jumps in. “JJ: you, Reid, and Y/N head over to the precinct and get Garcia on the phone. Get her to find everything she can on these new victims.”

You nod, glad he’s not sending you to see anymore bloodied bodies. Just the thought has a chill running down your spine.

You don’t want to admit it, but it’s hard not to picture Trevor’s face. It’s hard not to feel the thrill of the possibility of revenge. But you know that’s only the irrational part of your brain. You know you wouldn’t really act on those thoughts.

But they’re still there.

+++

Back at the precinct, you’re dialing Garcia and stirring a cup of shitty coffee. When she picks up, she sounds about as frizzed as you feel.

“Good morning, my angel sent from Heaven,” she sings, sounding far too bright for seven in the morning. “What can I do you for?”

“Good morning,” you chuckle. “We’ve got two new victims.”

“Mm, I know,” she groans, and you begin to hear typing. “Morgan texted me their names, I was waiting for your call.”

“Yep, we just need you to work your magic, that’s all.”

“That I can do,” she replies, no doubt through a smile. “Speaking of magic…”

You already know where this is heading. “Seriously? Who told you?”

“JJ and Emily texted me,” Garcia admits. “But you know I was going to weasel it out of you eventually, anyway!”

“Yes, I know,” you roll your eyes, tossing the coffee stirrer and empty cream and sugar packets in the trash. “Listen, how about this: Once this case is over, we’ll all have a girl’s night at my place with a bunch of junk food and wine, and I’ll give all the details -- whatever they might be at that point.”

You can’t let yourself believe that you’ll still be together because who knows what could happen. Anything could happen. The universe has a bad habit of getting in the way of your love life.

“You know the way to my heart,” Garcia sighs dreamily. “It’s a date. Speaking of dates, it looks like our two victims were married.”

“Married?” You nearly yell. Talk about a plot twist. “And the guy brought our unsub home for a one-night stand?”

“Looks that way so far,” Garcia says with a grimace. “Caroline Merritt, 35, was the CEO of her own company and traveled a lot. It looks like she changed flights yesterday and landed around eleven p.m. She checked her car out of the airport parking lot at eleven forty-five.”

“Great, so she might’ve walked in on our unsub.” You rub your forehead from the stress. “What about the other victim?”

“Jasper Rhodes was 34 and a part-time worker at the local Walmart,” Garcia lists off. “They had been married for three years, but Caroline never changed her last name.”

“Don’t exactly blame her,” you remark. “Alright, which one had allegations?”

“I’m about to burst your bubble, babycakes. Neither of them.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Garcia echoes, just as solemn. “Caroline has a squeaky clean record, aside from one speeding ticket when she was seventeen for going forty-five in a school zone. Jasper also has a clean slate for a record, but he does have one DUI from when he was twenty-two. Nothing else since.”

“It’s been twelve years, so for all we know, he could be sober for a decade now,” you mutter. “Okay. Do they have any connection at all to our other victims? Please say yes.”

“Cross referencing as we speak,” Garcia says, typing furiously. “Almost done… Negative,” she sighs. “I’m sorry, babe.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you shake your head. “Thank you for being such a wizard, as always.”

“It’s my specialty,” she quips. “So...do I get some details about you and Hotch now?”

“Goodbye Garcia…” You chuckle, ending the call before she can ask anything else.

You walk back into the conference room, shaking your head sadly at JJ who looks up with hopeful eyes.

“Garcia found virtually nothing. Caroline got a speeding ticket at seventeen, and Jasper a DUI at twenty-two. Nothing since. And no connection to any of our other victims,” you relay the information, ending it with a sip of your coffee.

“This unsub is good,” JJ says, exasperated. “How is she always three steps ahead of us?”

“She’s not, really,” Reid says, and you can feel something else coming on. “It’s like she knows we’re closing in on her, so she’s going after those who have no reported allegations. She’s not as far ahead as we think, but maybe that’s what she wants us to think.”

“Reid, dude, you’re sounding like a fortune cookie right now,” you laugh. “I get where you’re going with this. But unless they find some DNA at the crime scene, we’re back to square one again.”

“Maybe…” He trails away, getting up to look at the map.

Something is going on in his head, but you’re not sure what. He’ll tell you when he’s finished with it, you’re sure.

In your pocket, your phone starts buzzing. Thinking it’s Garcia, you pull it out and answer without looking, but Garcia’s voice isn’t what you hear on the other end.

“I’m heading back to the precinct,” Hotch says.

“O...kay,” you furrow your eyebrows, mouthing, ‘Hotch’ to JJ. “Why just you?”

“I need to show you something,” he says slowly, like he’s struggling to get the words out. “The unsub left a note.”

“What does it say?” You ask, wondering why it’s like pulling teeth to get him to speak.

“It’s addressed to you,” he finally says, and all the blood drains from your body. “It’s in an envelope and sealed. Your… Your name is on the front.”

You’re not sure what to make of that at all.

“Okay,” you say, your brain unable to really process it. “Okay, we’ll look at it when you get here.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Aaron,” you whisper, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Don’t say that to me. You’re scaring me.” You pause. “What are you sorry for?”

“For this note,” he replies, voice quiet. “For this unsub targeting you, and now for scaring you.”

“What does the note say?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I didn’t open it.”

“Okay. Just...hurry, I guess.”

“I’m turning into the parking lot now.”

“Okay, see you in a sec,” you murmur, ending the call.

You look up from the phone to find both JJ and Reid staring at you, concern swimming deeply in their eyes. You don’t even have the energy to offer them a reassuring smile. Nothing about this is comfortable for you.

Why would the unsub leave a note addressed to you?

Hotch walks through the precinct doors a few moments later, a man on a mission as he walks directly to the conference room. You’re explaining to JJ and Reid about the note when he walks in, and you fall silent upon seeing him.

He hates that he even called you to warn you, but he had to do something. His mind was racing on the drive. He had to hear your voice, and he knew you were bound to ask why he was coming back on his own, what’s so urgent, so he knew he’d have to tell you.

But the fear in your eyes right now is something he never wants to see again. Ever.

“Where is it?” You say, your voice wavering.

Slowly, Hotch pulls the envelope out of his jacket pocket. It’s in a plastic bag, which is standard protocol for evidence, and you begin searching for a pair of gloves.

You find a pair and start to slip them on, grimacing at the way your hands shake, and using your peripheral vision to see that Aaron is watching you closely.

Once you’re gloved up, he hands you the plastic bag. It feels much heavier than it should.

Carefully, you pull out the envelope, swallowing down the nausea you’re feeling. As Hotch said, your name -- Agent Y/N L/N -- is scrawled on the front in messy handwriting. Fortunately, Reid can examine that, and this letter if it’s handwritten.

You break the seal on the envelope, flinching slightly, and ignoring that you did. But Aaron saw it.

You pull out the note and half of you cries in relief because it is handwritten, and the other half of you feels sheer terror because your business card is taped to the top left hand corner.

“Shit,” you cuss, closing your eyes.

“What?” Aaron asks, taking a step closer, lowering his head to meet your eye level.

“My business card,” you say, opening your eyes again, hating the way things look blurry for a moment. JJ and Reid are just fuzzy figures at the table when you look around the room. “It could’ve been anyone at the meetings. I handed my card to as many that would take it. There’s no way I’ll remember everyone, or even half of them, I mean, I ran out of cards, I had to go stand by Morgan because--”

“Okay, okay, slow down,” Aaron stops you, putting both hands on your arms. “Look at me, please.”

Slowly, the world comes back into focus and you meet his brown eyes, finding your peace there like you have so many other times before. You focus on the weight of his hands on your arms, grounding you, bringing you back.

“I know it’s difficult,” he says. “But you need to breathe.”

You nod, sucking in a deep breath a little too abruptly, not even realizing you had been taking shallow breaths in the first place.

“Good girl,” he whispers, so low that he’s almost mouthing it, careful not to let JJ or Reid hear. And it’s not sexual or sensual this time. It’s comforting. “Can you read the rest of it?”

You nod. “I can help you end your suffering. I can help you avenge. I can help you heal. It doesn’t have to be this way.” You pause, looking up from the note, looking between Hotch, JJ, and Reid. “What does that even mean?”

“Did you talk about your experience during the meetings?” Reid asks.

“A little bit, but I barely scratched the surface of it,” you admit. “And I didn’t mention any names. I might hate him, but...I’d never send a serial killer after him.”

“I know,” Hotch says. “We’re not accusing you of that,” he adds gently. “It’s clear our unsub feels a connection to you now. Something you said must’ve resonated deeply with her.”

“But all I said was that he was my fiancé and that I didn’t report him, so that still gets us nowhere. She’s still a ghost.”

“She’s not a ghost,” he says sternly. “We will find her. You’ve already seen her once.”

“Yeah, but I don’t remember seeing her, Hotch.”

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is she’s reaching out. Which means we’re close.”

“Not close enough,” you protest, tossing the letter back on the plastic bag on the table. “I need to take a walk.” You move toward the door, and he’s following you, so you add quietly, “Alone, please.”

Hotch nods, and watches you go, more worried than he’s ever been in his life.

+++

When Rossi, Emily, and Morgan return to the police precinct, they spot you sitting alone on a bench outside the front doors.

“I got this,” Morgan says, hopping out of the car and heading to you, gesturing for Rossi and Emily to head inside. They share a look and nod, disappearing into the precinct to leave Morgan alone with you.

You don’t even look up from your hands when you see Morgan coming over from your peripheral vision.

“What’s up, kiddo?” He asks, standing in front of you.

“I’m really not in the mood right now, Derek.”

“Too bad,” he shrugs, sitting next to you on the bench, stretching his arm out behind you. “What’s going on? You know I’m just gonna keep buggin’ you until you tell me.”

You snort. “I know.”

“So…” He pauses. “Tell me. It’ll save us both a whole lotta time. And it’ll save you a whole lotta stress, sittin’ there with all that in your head.”

You know he’s right. And you know he’s the only one who really gets it.

So, you tell him what’s wrong.

“The unsub left that note just for me. My card was taped to it, Morgan.”

“And?”

“What do you mean and? It means I laid eyes on her, maybe talked to her, handed her my fucking card, and I still didn’t know it was her.”

“We’re not superhuman, Y/N. We only see what they show us. She probably put on a mask while talking to you.”

“Well now she’s still out there--”

“Listen to me. I ran out of cards too, remember? We started using yours. I easily could’ve given her your card. Hell, I was there with you, I probably looked at her a dozen times, too. Are you gonna yell at me for not recognizing her?”

“No--”

“Then stop doing it to yourself, you hear me?”

“I just… She feels a connection to me. What does that say about me?”

“That you’re a relatable person,” Derek offers, causing you to glare at him. “Hey,” he raises a hand in surrender. “I’m just being logical. It doesn’t say anything about you. Because a serial killer’s view of you is not who you are. You are who you are.”

“Thanks for the fortune cookie.”

“Don’t get that tone with me, kid,” he replies tiredly. “You know you’re not really mad at me, so don’t take it out on me, okay?”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you rub your forehead. “I’m just…”

“It’s not your fault, Y/N.”

“I know that.”

“I know you know that, but you still need to hear it,” he says. “And I’ll always be here to tell you, got that?”

You look over at him with a small smile. “Got it.”

He smiles too, glad to see you’re feeling better. He shoves your shoulder lightly, playfully. “Come on. Let’s get back in there.”

“Yeah,” you nod, standing up.

He walks ahead, but you stay still, wondering if you should even ask what you’re about to ask. But Derek notices your hesitation and turns back around, studying you.

“Spit it out,” he says, knowing there’s something.

“The unsub is trying to talk to me,” you say, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly. “So...what if we set up a trap.”

“What?” Morgan deadpans, raising his eyebrows, turning his body to completely face you.

“What if we--”

“Use you as bait?” Morgan finishes, incredulity coating his words.

You nod. “I wasn’t going to word it like that, but--”

He scoffs, looking more and more pissed off as the seconds go on. “Hell no. Are you outta your damn mind?”

“No, I’m not. I’m--”

“No,” he stops you, holding up his hand, pointing at you. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. Don’t go there. We will find this unsub, and we will do it without you sacrificing yourself.”

“I wouldn’t be sacrificing myself!” You protest. “You guys would be there. You’d have my back.”

“We can’t predict everything this unsub will do, Y/N, you know that,” Morgan fires back. “And I’ll be damned if I let you throw yourself into danger like this. It’s not happening. You hear me?”

SIghing, you nod. “I hear you.”

“Have you even told Hotch about this?”

“No.”

“Good. Don’t,” Morgan replies. “You’ll just get a lecture and you and I both know you don’t need that right now.”

“I know.”

He pauses, shaking his head. He steps forward, wrapping you in a hug, eyes closing when he feels you burying your face in his neck. “I love you, kid,” he whispers. “And I know it’s hard, but you got this, we got this. And it’s gonna be okay. Okay?”

“Okay,” you nod into his neck, taking a deep breath. “Yeah.”

Next chapter

815 notes · View notes

brokenbackmolars · 2 years ago

Text

No One Knows Me (Kas! Steddie) chapter 2, part 2

When Steve returned to the room from getting his mother, he decided it wasn't safe enough to have Eddie here. He knew Eddie would hate his decision, but it was probably the best one.

"Absolutely not. There are plenty of better places for me to hide than the back room of Family Video." Eddie scoffed. Steve gave a small smile.

"Oh c'mon, it's the only good place for you to hide that I have easy access to." Steve insists. Eddie rolls his eyes.

"Safe as it is, Robin is there. And unless you are 100% positive this won't freak her out, then I'm not going." Eddie states, crossing his arms. Steve sighs, sitting down next to him.

"I promise you that Robin will be cool with this. She'll probably be a little shocked at first, but I trust Robin, and I think you should as well." Steve smiles. Eddie sighs, and chuckles.

"You are one convincing idiot, Steve Harrington."

☆☆☆

They went to Family Video the next day. Steve's job started at 8, and thankfully Eddie was up and ready. He was in the same clothes as yesterday, but his hair was now down, per usual.

"C'mon, Robin typically gets here a little late, now that I don't drive her anymore and she has to bike." He explained to Eddie in whispers. He was crouched down, leading Eddie to the back.

"Well thankfully my mother was willing to drive me today." Robin said, poking out from one of the rows. She went wide-eyed at Eddie.

"You're alive?" She asked, her voice high with shock.

Eddie shrugged. "I'm 99% sure the closest I am to counting as being alive is basically being a vampire, but yeah. I'm technically alive." He smiled. Steve chuckled nervously.

"We realized my house isn't the best place to keep Eddie, so I chose to bring him here. He's willing to count stock in the back for free, so that's a bonus." Steve shrugged, standing up. Eddie shot up as well.

"I mean, if you guys need me to, I'd be willing to. I'm still apparently a wanted criminal, as Steve told me. but I doubt the cops will come looking here."

Robin cocked her head. "Did Steve also mention how the cops mostly believe you killed yourself as the final sacrifice to the Devil, and that you sacrificing yourself causing the earthquake, temporarily connecting Hawkins with Hell itself?" She asked cautiously. Eddie looked concerned by her comment.

"Steve seemed to have forgotten." He shrugged.

☆☆☆

Robin came in to the back at around 11 to help Eddie. Robin was nice, Eddie decided, if a little odd. But she was kind, and helpful. But it was something Steve had made an offhand comment about during his explanation of Hawkins post Eddie's death that made Ed think about Robin not too differently, but still different.

The comment was a joke about how Steve was planning Robin and Vickie's wedding.Wedding. Two girls. Robin was a lesbian.

It didn't shock Eddie, but what did shock Eddie was how okay Steve was with it. Steve, at least when he still went to school with Eddie, was notoriously homophobic. He had probably changed, or maybe he saw it differently with Robin being a lesbian versus a if Robin was a gay man. That was the only convincing option.

☆☆☆

"Okay so um, here's a blanket, pillow, comforter. It isn't much, sorry." Steve smiled. It was about 8 pm, and Steve and Robin were leaving for the day. Eddie was staying, and was going to sleep in the dark, windowless backroom.

Eddie smiled, taking the items and beginning to set up a makeshift bed. Steve gave him a bit more instructions, and then some food. "So, uh, I'll come back tomorrow, probably." Steve smiled.

That's when they heard the door to Family Video open.

#steddie #steve x eddie #fanfic #kas the bloody handed #vampire eddie munson #stranger things #NOKM fanfic

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ur-favorite-queer-queen · 4 years ago

Text

Magic

For Maribat March day 16 theme magic

Master List

“50 bucks says she is,” Dick walked in on Jason saying, “there is no way she’s with Demon Spawn otherwise.”

“I agree with Jason, there’s no way she isn’t.” Tim agreed.

“So how much are you betting Tim?” Babs questioned, getting ready to write it down.

“20 bucks.”

“What are you guys betting about?” Dick interrupted.

“If Marinette is magic or not.” Steph responded.

“Why?” Dick asked.

“Cause there is no way that she’s not magic if she is able to not only hang around Damian but date him!” Jason accused.

“We really shouldn’t be betting on this sort of thing.” Dick tried, and failed, to reason.

“Too late,” Duke spoke up, “30 bucks says she isn’t magic.”

Dick sighed, “What has everyone else betted?”

“I’m keeping track so I’m not betting.” Babs clarified, “Steph betted 20 bucks that she isn’t magic, Duke just betted 30 bucks that she also isn’t, Tim betted 20 bucks she is, Jason betted 50 bucks she is, and Cass and you haven’t betted yet.”

Cass then signed, “I bet 20 bucks that she is magic, just not in the way we think.” Leave it to Cass to be that cryptid.

“I’ll bet 10 bucks she isn’t, why not.” Dick finally gave up his internal struggle, yeah it wasn’t nice betting on his little brother’s girlfriend, but hey there was no way she was magic.

“I still can’t believe you’re magic.” Damian admitted.

“Well technically I’m not magic. I just wield magical jewels that house tiny gods.” Marinette corrected.

“Is there really a difference?” He asked, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer to him.

“Yes, yes there is.” She replied, cuddling closer and leaning into him.

“Are you sure you parents are gone?” He questioned, Jagged and Penny claimed that they had business they needed to do but he wouldn’t put it past them to lie and spy on them.

“Yes they trust me because I’m responsible. Plus it’s not like we’re doing anything wrong, just cuddling.”

“YOU BETTER NOT BE DOING ANYTHING OTHER THAN CUDDLING!” Stompp shouted from the other room. If they had to guess, the other kwamis were stopping him from barging into the room they were currently in.

“WE’RE NOT STOMPP! YOU CAN STOP BEING SO PROTECTIVE!” Marinette yelled back.

“More like paranoid.” Damian muttered.

“Like you can say that.” Marinette laughed.

Damian tried to scowl but couldn’t help the smile that spread on his face. While she may not have believed it, she truly was magic. To him at least.

“So does your family know yet?” She asked once she stopped laughing.

“No, they have no clue.”

“Really, we’ve been together for a year. Shouldn’t they know by now?”

“They started a bet on whether you’re magic or not. If that counts.”

“They did not!” She broke into another giggle fit.

“They did.” He smiled at her as she grinned up at him.

“Oh the chaos that will come from this.”

“Don’t let Plagg let hear you say that.”

“You’re scared of what might happen if we ever teamed up.”

“I am very scared.”

“As you should be.” She looked like she was having a very serious internal battle as she tried not to laugh.

“So are you still coming over this Saturday?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it.”

Marinette enjoyed these dinners at Wayne manor. Dinner with her bio parents usually consisted of silence and conversations about the bakery or school. Dinner with her adopted parents consisted of Jagged doing or claiming he did something that Penny wouldn’t approve of then him getting scolded. Sometimes she would add in her own disappointed face. But dinners at Wayne manor were different.

Because there were so many people there was so much going on at once. Different conversations somehow managed to flow smoothly and they managed to jump from topic to topic like lightning. Yet when something interesting was brought up they all managed to stop and listen before continuing their other conversations.

They were all so different but they managed to get along so well (most of the time). In a way they reminded her of the kwami. While it was a weird comparison it made sense in her head. All the kwami were different, different personalities, opinions, and views of the world. But at the end of the day they were still a family.

“Hey Pixie!” Jason called from across the table.

She quickly swallowed her food and replied, “Yeah!”

“Where’d your nose ring go? I haven’t seen you wear it in a while.”

“Oh I stopped wearing it. The side effects were so annoying and I just didn’t see the point anymore.”

“Wait what side effects?” Dick asked, “You weren’t allergic to the material or anything were you?”

“No, but the magic part of it was tiring to try to keep under control.” Marinette was met with silence. She was very much aware of the chaos she was unleashing and she couldn’t wait.

It was Cass that ended up breaking the silence, a small grin on her face, “Pay up.”

“Wait, I betted that she was magic too!” Jason shouted.

“Yeah, but Cass said she was magic not in the way we think. So technically she wins the bet.” Babs observed.

“We really should stop betting.” Duke mused, pulling 30 bucks from his wallet and handing it to Cass.

“Marinette, what do you mean that the magic became too tiring to keep under control?” Tim questioned.

“And Damian did you know?” Steph butted in.

“Yes I did know.” Damian answered.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Dick asked, placing a hand to his heart to show how betrayed he felt.

“Because Stompp gave him the shovel talk once he found out.” Marinette giggled.

“Stompp?” Duke repeated.

“Yeah my kwami at the time. His miraculous is the nose ring I used to wear.”

“Kwami? Miraculous?” Bruce finally decided to add into the conversation.

“Oh yeah. This is gonna be a long explanation.” Marinette chuckled to herself, Damian let a small smile onto his face before replacing it with a scowl.

“Wait, I wanna know about the shovel talk Damian got?” Jason interrupted.

“Why is this Stompp called a kwami and why is your nose ring a miraculous and why is Stompp connected to it?” Tim voiced.

“Okay how about I start at the beginning.” Marinette reasoned to the agreement of the family.

“Which beginning?” Damian smirked, much to the confusion of his family.

“I’ll start at the very beginning.” Marinette smirked back at him before launching into her story. Needless to say it was a long night.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Oh my god I’m so sorry I was late. If you didn’t see my post from yesterday I was supposed to post this yesterday but life kinda hit me with a train. Then burned down the hospital I was in and sent me to hell. Life hasn’t been to great. But here I am with the final part to this mini series. It’s no masterpiece but its something and I promised I would post today. Thank you for all of the support I’ve been getting! All of those who like, comment, and reblog, I’m thanking all of you. Honestly seeing that so many people like what I’m doing is one of the only motivation factors I’ve got going, so again thank you! Tagging all the people that commented on part 2 which you can find in my Master List. It will be Maribat March day 6 and 12. If you want me to link parts 1 and 2 ask me. I didn’t want to at first because I’m lazy but if you want me too I can.

@maribatmarch-2k21 @lunarwolfspn @myazael @birdiesthings @northernbluetongue @thecaptainthunder

#maribatmarch2021 #maribat #maribat march #magic #daminette #final part #final part to ox miraculous marinette #hope u enjoyed #part 1 was day 6 miraculous side effects #part 2 was day 12 second chance #find those in my master list #sorry for posting late!#ill do better

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junko-and-riri-domain · 4 years ago

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❦ comfort & cuddles | psh

↬ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: park sunghoon x reader

↬ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: boyfriend!sunghoon | angst bc of reader’s feelings | fluff bc hoonie comforts reader

↬ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: exhaustion | not eating enough food | implies past self-harm | (if there are any other warnings that I missed please let me know just to be safe)

↬ ɴᴏᴛᴇ:

i procrastinated on my own essay by writing this so not my best writing

I have a very strong dislike for school rn & just want hoonie cuddles :(

if you’re a reader of the tatts & cupcakes series there’ll (hopefully) be a new chapter posted sometime later this week/next week but idk for sure yet

Your mind started to enter a sort of haze as the effects of staring at a screen all day started to set in. Exhaustion was the only way to describe what you were feeling due to approaching deadlines and assignments that were starting to pile. Your tendency to procrastinate only worsened things and now you were stuck dealing with the consequences. Your eyes met the numbers on the upper right corner of your laptop, 2:12 am which meant that you’ve been working on the essay all day. Technically, all day yesterday and 2 hours into today since it was now a new day. So many hours spent with music playing in the background, the tips of your fingers constantly tapping the letter of the keyboard, constantly racking your brain for what to write. Yet…

There. Was. No. Progress. Whatsoever.

All you had since you started working on the damn assignment was your name, date, and title. Whatever your mind seemed to think of and the words that formed as a result of it just didn’t feel good enough. But if you were being honest, nothing really felt good enough anymore.

Constantly waking up, attending the same classes, receiving more and more work, just when did life get to this point? One minute you were a kid carefree and worried about what toppings to get on your fro-yo when the next minute you were grown up with a crap ton of responsibilities on you and a complete lack in time management. Hell, you even started skipping lunch hour because of all the things you needed to do. It reached a point where you skipped one lunch and came to the realization that eating just wasn’t actually all that important because you could get by on the little you did eat for breakfast. As for dinner, well, you were too exhausted to get up and make something so you either ordered in or just headed straight to bed. You didn’t exactly know what came over you as your fist met your desk, your head leaning back into your chair and eyes meeting the ceiling of your room. You had a tendency to want to hit things when stressed and while hitting something wasn’t the best way to deal with anything it was better than what you used to do. As you brought up your hand to put it over your forehead, your eyes glanced at the marks that served as a constant reminder of who you used to be.

Hitting your desk once in a while was definitely better than what you used to do.

Maybe it was the frustration of your mind not being capable enough to answer the damn essay prompt.

Maybe it was because you were hungry but getting up felt too exhausting.

Maybe it was because caffeine just didn’t feel like it was doing its job lately.

With clammy hands and nails digging into your skin, breathing that you started losing control of, you cried. You didn’t know how long you sat there, tears streaming down your face and breathing that you eventually lost control of. It wasn’t until a pair of arms were wrapped around you, enveloping you in a warmth trademarked by your boyfriend, Park Sunghoon that you were brought back to reality. Your tears were wiped away with the soft material of his sleeve and your face slightly grimaced as the taste of a sour candy filled your mouth but it helped you calm down since your senses were now focused on the flavor instead of being overwhelmed about everything going on.

“Y/n,” Sunghoon said softly, almost as if he raised his voice he was scared that he’d break you. Your hands clutched onto his shoulders and your eyes met his to see nothing but pure concern and worry for you.

“W-when’d you, when’d you get here?” you asked, tone wavering and voice shaky.

“I called but you weren’t answering so I got worried,” he answered as his hand smoothened out the top of your hair.

“Crap, Hoonie, I’m sorry. I had my phone on Do Not Disturb,” you muttered. “You should leave, the managers are gonna get mad at you for sneaking out of the dorm.”

“If you think I’m leaving you like this, you’re delusional. Now, c’mon.”

“Where?”

“To bed.” Your eyes widened slightly,

“You’re spending the night here?”

“Only if you want me to.” Did you really want him to spend the night with you?

“What are you gonna be doing?” Pressing a light kiss to the top of your head,

“Comfort and cuddles.”

“I need to finish my essay, Hoonie. It’s due later, I don’t know what the hell I’m gonna do.” He rubbed soothing circles on your back,

“Hey, hey, it’s gonna be ok. If anything we can call up Heeseung or Jungwon to help you, ok? One letter on an essay isn’t worth what’s happening to you right now.” You looked up at him,

“I’m so tired,” you whispered.

“Let me take you to bed?” he asked as more of a question than a statement. You nodded and felt him lifting you up, your back then met the soft impact of the mattress. The blanket was draped over you, then you felt Hoonie’s arms wrap around your waist. Burying your face in the crook of his neck, the man most of his days on the ice but he was warmer than anyone else you ever knew.

“Comfort and cuddles,” you whispered before closing your eyes and allowing yourself to settle in Hoonie’s embrace and warmth.

❦ written by riri | blog master list

ǫᴜɪᴄᴋ ᴄʟɪᴄᴋs ᴛᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ sᴜɴɢʜᴏᴏɴ ғɪᴄs

boys & girls try to pretend | the only thing you’re falling for on my watch is me

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honeymoonjin · 4 years ago

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 14.1k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

<- prev || masterlist || next ->

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: filmed sex/voyeurism/exhibitionism as usual, semi-public sex, foodplay, a lot of sloppy making out, creampie is not the only type of dessert involved, very soft dom!jin, sub!reader, unprotected sex but who’s surprised, dom!hoseok, waxplay, painplay, very explicit discussion about consent since waxplay is technically edgeplay, restraints, cuffs, flogging, hobi in his element is a kink in and of itself, degradation, discipline, subspace, scratching, rough sex, hoseok going the extra mile honestly, still unprotected sex, cumshot

dedicated to my sfhs girls, everyone in the villa discord, and sponsored by the red room

FAN FAVOURITE

On the sixth Day of every Week in the game, the Audience Fan Favourite vote is released for 48 hours following the post of the fic. Please note, this is NOT the elimination vote, which is taken on the seventh Day of each Week.

The vote is at the end of this chapter.

DAY TWENTY

Though it’s the weekend (as if that has any real significance when you aren’t really working) you wake up tragically early, before the sun’s even risen.

Unsure of what woke you, you rub your eyes and duck your head out into the hallway. To your surprise, there’s the distinct yellowish glow from a light on downstairs. It’s hard to walk down the stairs when your head is full of cotton, your eyes still bleary and your mouth constantly stretched in a yawn, but finally you stumble down into the main space.

Frozen, with a metal spoon hanging out of his mouth and his eyes wide and red, is the oldest man of the house. He leans dejectedly against the kitchen counter, haunting a tub of ice cream that’s definitely not intended for one person. You quickly realise what may have woken you is the obnoxious whir of the microwave, something in a covered glass jar twirling round and round inside.

“What-” you swallow and clear your throat when the word comes out croaky, “what are you doing here so early? Are you okay?”

Still startled by your presence, he blinks a few times and removes the spoon from his mouth, letting it clatter to the table. “I’ve been better.”

Your face drops in sympathy, ignoring the freezing tile on your feet as you approach him. Without waiting for permission, you wrap your arms around his waist and pull him close to you in a tight hug. “What’s up, Jinnie? You can be honest with me. If you let me have some of your ice cream, of course.”

That manages to pull a weak laugh from him as he hands you the spoon and ruffles your hair. “I am, as it turns out,” he explains, “incredibly stupid.”

“Ah.” You dig into the tub of ice cream one handed, dislodging a chunk of what looks like brownie. “First of all, I disagree, but more importantly, why do you think that?”

“Do you have an hour?” Jin sighs at the poor attempt at lightening his own mood. “To tell you the truth, and this may come as a shock to you, but-”

“Is this about Yoongi and you fucking?”

Jin pulls back, staring you down with a bewildered expression.

You swallow a cold mouthful, furrowing your brows apologetically. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted. Go on.”

“I- How did you- Who knows?”

You hum for a minute, tapping the end of the spoon against your lips. “Oh, I’d imagine everyone,” you summarise. “Subtlety isn’t your strong suit.” You wince as you recall a few particular evenings. “Nor is volume control.”

“Right.” Jin has the good grace to look sheepish at that, but gently tugs the spoon back. The microwave beeps noisily behind you, and he curses, rushing over to pull the jar out. “Anyways, yes, Yoongi and I have been casual for a short time now, but things are messy. And I suppose I sort of thought they were good messy, but last night I realised how very not-good messy they were. I haven’t been fair to Yoongi. Or you.”

You tilt your head, watching him uncover a lightly steaming jar full of what looks and smells like caramel. “Me? What does this have to do with me?”

Jin opens his mouth, grimaces, and closes it again. After a few moments of silence where he stirs the sauce and tastes a bit of it, he finally faces you to speak. “After the fight, you didn’t really...say anything about what you found out. My feelings for you, I mean. Not that you were at all obligated to, of course, but I wanted to give you space. And… I wanted to have space too, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so when Yoongi expressed interest in me, I thought him and I could help each other out.”

He pours some of the sauce directly into the tub of icecream, but then puts it down and rests his forearms on the countertop, really leans his whole body weight onto them like it’s hard to stay standing. “Yoongi has feelings for me,” he explains. “I don’t know if you know that too, but- yeah. He said- even as recently as yesterday, he said he was fine, but I should know better. It’s irresponsible of me to take his words as gospel when I can so clearly see, as his friend and as a trained therapist, that he isn’t okay.”

You want to wait until he’s said his piece, but your chest feels hot, like your ribs are smouldering coals. You can’t stop your tongue. “I don’t need space.”

Jin blinks, caught off-guard. “Huh?”

“I don’t need space,” you repeat in a warm voice, “I don’t want you to be distant. Fuck Yoongi if you want, but don’t do it just because you’re avoiding me. You’re right; that isn’t fair to either of us.”

“I know,” he concedes, shoveling another spoonful of melted ice cream and sauce into his mouth to buy him some thinking time. “It’s getting out of hand, too. Just yesterday Jungkook asked to join and- God, this is such a mess. I should end it, shouldn’t I?”

Your tongue tingles with the urge to press about Jungkook. Feeling like that isn’t really Jin’s priority right now, you change tact. “Do you want to end it?”

Jin furrows his brows, deep in thought. Clad in blue and white striped pyjamas, his face seems far too serious for his attire, but it’s clear this is really eating away at him if he’s up so early thinking about it. Had he even gone to bed at all? “I don’t want to,” he admits, “being with Yoongi is so easy. And not like- not logistically, I’m not saying Yoongi is easy, but… God, I don’t know how to say this without it being soppy. It feels right. But at what point do I stop doing what I want and start thinking about others? I need to do what’s best for Yoongi.”

It’s hard conveying any semblance of intelligent thought when you probably have not even half of the whole story, but you do your best for him. “Is that a decision you should be making on his behalf, though? I feel like you should be having this conversation with him.”

Jin sighs, placing the spoon down so it doesn’t clatter. “Here’s the thing. I’ve been going over and over it in my head. My reasons for sleeping with him aren’t all noble or genuine or even fair. And I know he has feelings for me. I think if I let this continue I’ll be hurting him. So surely ending it is the right thing to do?”

You mull it over a moment. “It seems like you already know the answer, Jin,” you offer up softly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” Jin bites his lip, eyes distant. “If I text him, if I tell him that we need to talk, or that we shouldn’t do it anymore, then… You said you didn’t need space. So can we talk? About us?”

“Of course,” you reply immediately, though your heart rate quickens at the thought, “that’s probably for the best, too.”

“Alright.” Jin wipes his hands on his shirt pants, whether it’s to get off the stickiness of the dessert or sweat you don’t know, but soon enough he’s slipping his phone out and hunkering down on the kitchen tile floor.

You join him, scooching up so that your shoulders bump. With your back against the cabinets and your lower half on those icy tiles, normally you’d be shivering. But Jin’s body is like a radiator, and he leans into you as he unlocks his phone and pulls up Yoongi’s contact.

For his privacy, you try not to look, but you can’t help but notice the name for Yoongi is Min City, and that their recent texts are calls for late-night rendezvous. Jin takes a deep breath, his thumbs hovering over the keypad. “What do I even say?” he muses out loud. “I’m a therapist; why can’t I even work out a good ‘we should talk’ text?”

You hook your hand under his arm, tucking it to your side. “Start off by apologising for texting him at ass o’clock in the morning,” you jibe.

Jin pauses. “I’ll probably rephrase,” he admits, “but that’s solid.”

hey yoongichi, sorry about texting you so early. |

“Okay, what next?” Jin says in a shortened breath.

You let out a light laugh. “This is your message,” you remind him, “but fine. How about this? Tell him that you’ve been thinking a lot, which you have, and that you just can’t keep sleeping with him in good conscience because you don’t feel like it’s wise. And maybe, like, tell him to come find you when he reads it so you can have a proper chat. It shouldn’t just be done over text, you know?”

“That’s true… Okay, here goes.” Jin swallows hard as he types away, and were it not for the fact that these were your friends who were involved, you’d laugh at the cheesiness of the moment. Like something off a trashy k-drama, though your life felt more and more like one every day anyway.

hey yoongichi, sorry about texting you so early. i’ve been doing a lot of thinking after our talk, and i just really don’t think us doing this is a good idea anymore. please let me know when you get this. we can talk it over a bit. |

“Is that all I need?”

You shrug. “I guess so. Unless you wanna add an ‘xoxo’ to the end of it.”

Jin bites his lip. “That may send mixed messages.”

“It was a joke, Jinnie,” you protest, shoving him playfully. “Anyway, are you gonna send i-”

A loud ding cuts you off, echoing slightly in the otherwise silent house. Above the box of text Jin had been crafting, a new strip of grey appears.

The both of you freeze, staring in disbelief at the screen. “Did he just..?” Before you can even finish that sentence, a second chime rings out again, and the screen shifts to display more grey, slightly smaller than the first.

“Looks like,” Jin murmurs, scrolling up to view the new message. “Holy shit.”

I’m sure you’re still asleep jin-hyung, so just text me when you get this but yesterday i was lying when i said i was fine, because i’m really not and jungkook has really helped to give me a little perspective so i’m sorry if you still need someone to distract you but i’m not gonna be that someone anymore

No hard feelings btw, i still feel the same way about you but i don’t think we should have sex for a while, i just need some distance. I like to think that you’d want me to put myself first and i’m doing that now. I hope you can understand

“That… I guess that’s that sorted,” Jin says slowly, tapping the screen to delete his message. “Should I reply now?” He thinks for a moment, then shakes his head as he locks the phone. “No, I’ll wait until later. He won’t be expecting a reply now, anyway. Hopefully he can get some sleep.” His eyes turn sad. “Do you think he was up all night stressing about that?”

“Hey,” you warn lowly, “don’t guilt yourself. The two of you can straighten things out later, and sleep better tonight. Yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah.” He releases a slow breath, his body heavy with unshed tension. For a moment, the two of you stay silent, you giving him time to process. When he speaks, he shuffles his whole body around to face you. “I know why you’ve been so hesitant,” he announces suddenly.

You frown. “Wait, what? Hesitant?”

“Yes,” he insists, “you haven’t really talked at all about if you return my feelings. I used to feel really confused and hurt by it, but I get it now.”

Your stomach rolls strangely, a feeling like being caught red-handed. “What do you mean?”

“Last night,” he explains, “I came up to tell everyone that dinner wasn’t far away. You weren’t in your room, and Taehyung wasn’t in his…” He trails off meaningfully, and realisation settles in your bones, not shock, but resignation.

“Oh.” You swallow, sitting up so you’re no longer leaning towards him. “You saw us? In Jimin’s room?”

“I won’t tell,” he begins automatically, “and it’s okay. I see that you’ve been answered for already. I’ll respect that.”

“It isn’t like that,” you say reflexively, “we - god, we weren’t supposed to let anyone know, I can’t believe we didn’t lock the door - but we aren’t together together. It would be too messy, and it was putting a strain on our relationships with everyone else, you know?”

Jin frowns, like he’s trying to work it all out. “So it isn’t a romantic relationship?”

You smile thinking of Taehyung’s loving brown eyes and Jimin’s gentle embrace. “It’s a promise,” you explain softly, wrapping your arms around your torso. “We aren’t making any commitments or ties now, and we obviously can’t be exclusive, so it’s a promise that once we’re out of here, we’ll try and explore our feelings. Do it right.”

The therapist takes in a deep breath, nodding. “Then where do I fit into all of this? Does that mean I have a chance?”

“I-” You bite your lip, avoiding his imploring gaze. “It would feel wrong getting into a relationship when I’d decided that I wouldn’t do it with them. If that makes sense?”

“It makes perfect sense,” he assures, “but that’s not what I mean. I don’t need to be in a relationship with you to treat you right, Y/n. I just want to know if there’s a chance in hell that you return my feelings.”

You lift your eyes at this, staring at the way his soften in response. Your heart thuds in your chest and there’s a liquid relief pumping through your veins that he’s willing to stay by you. If you didn’t already know it before, those sensations certainly make it clear. “I like you, Jin. A lot.”

He smiles in relief, a small and sweet one that makes his eyes crinkle. Rather than responding verbally, he slips one large palm around the nape of your neck and pulls you in for a kiss.

Eyes slipping shut the moment he comes close, you reach out blindly for him and fist your hand in the thin fabric of his pyjamas to steady yourself. His lips are so plush, and moving so slowly, that it feels like they could slow down time itself. There’s no urgency in the sensual way he kisses you, but you can nonetheless taste his elation sweeter than the remnants of caramel on his tongue.

In that same way, you have no idea how much time passes with your mouths locked together, slowly warming the kitchen floor with your body heat until your skin feels on fire. Even the slightest details, like his fingertips on the back of your neck and your inner wrist make you dizzy.

You break apart for air, still clinging to him like you’d drown without his touch. Panting, you try to slow your racing heart. Your lips still tingle, and reach up to brush your fingers against them in wonder. “Oh, wow,” you whisper dumbly.

Jin smiles, then, a brilliant one that warms his whole face. “Wow,” he repeats. “I’ve been waiting to kiss you like that for a long time, Y/n.”

Barely able to think, you find your eyes slipping down to his lips, how swollen they are, dusky pink. “You can do it again, if you want.”

Jin goes to lean forward, but halts, looking up to the countertop. “One sec,” he hedges, “I’m determined to continue my opportunist streak.”

“Your what?” You chuckle at first, but as he reaches up and drags the jar of caramel sauce down, your eyes quickly widen in realisation.

Jin catches your look, sending you a wink. “Open up,” he instructs, and you drop your jaw without hesitation, anticipation heightening your senses.

When he tips the lip of the container forward, and you feel that warm sweetness burst on your tongue, you moan, tilting your head back so it pools in your mouth. But instead of stopping, he continues to pour, until you feel it threaten to spill out. “Too much,” you try to say, but you can’t move your tongue or lips enough to enunciate it.

Jin only pulls the jar away when it begins to drip down your chin, and like a man starved, he leans in and licks into your mouth without abandon.

You moan as you feel his tongue cut through the molten sugar, running over yours, over your teeth and lips and even ducking down to messily swipe up the stickiness on your face. No matter how much he ravishes you, the moment you begin to kiss back, your tongue lifts and a thick wave of hot caramel slips between your mouths, no doubt getting on your pyjama shirt.

Jin doesn’t seem to care; on the contrary, he moans and clasps your face in both hands, nipping at your lips and deepening the kiss more than you even thought possible. Slowly, the sweetness of caramel gives way to his own taste, and you’re left licking each other filthily, entwined together on the kitchen floor.

Once your chest is aching with a lack of oxygen, you pull away with a gasp, wincing at the weird feeling of caramel on your chest. “So messy,” you groan, “sorry, I didn’t think you’d pour so much.”

Jin’s eyes just light up with mirth. “Messy is the point, baby. We probably have, what-” he pauses to consult the time on the microwave, “two hours before the early risers are up? Why don’t we make an even bigger mess? I’ve decided I’d like to have my dessert first.”

You press your lips together to prevent a moan, nodding frantically. “Fuck, please. I want you.”

The therapist’s chest hitches, but he reaches out to squeeze your thigh. “Lie back, then, baby. Can you take your shirt off for me?”

You’re in such a hurry to obey him, shivering violently at the cold tile against your bare back, that when you suddenly feel a cold burst on your chest you jump, getting a fright.

There’s not enough time to feel that burst of ice, however, as a hot tongue quickly laps it up, collecting every last drop. Jin even sucks the skin there, just above the swell of your breast, to make sure he’s cleaned you up.

You writhe on the floor, your panties uncomfortably soaked, but Jin just throws a leg and an arm over you, straddling you and caging you against the floor. His weight against you makes you moan, that delicious sensation of being trapped exactly where you most want to be.

This time, when he digs his spoon into the slightly-melted ice cream, he pops it into his mouth instead of on your skin. You almost assume he’s just taking some for himself, but then he’s dipping his head and wrapping those sinful lips around one of your nipples, making you cry out.

The cold is immediately overwhelming, tightening and stiffening your peak, and the dizzying mix of his hot tongue with that cold dessert has you clinging to his back, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. “F-fuck, Jin,” you gasp, “so cold.”

“Is it?” Jin quips, his hand reaching to his side. “Oh, I’m sorry, baby.”

Without giving you a moment’s respite, he’s drizzling trails of caramel over your breasts, and lapping it up with ravenous enthusiasm. Though the caramel has gone mostly room-temperature, the contrast against your cooled nipple just makes it feel that much more electric, and you arch your back harshly until Jin finally reaches it and soothes it with his mouth.

You moan, wishing you had something to rut against, some type of friction where you needed it most, but Jin’s more focused on licking, nipping and sucking the sugar off of your body, leaving you trembling. “More,” you plead needily.

“More sauce? More ice cream?” he asks, panting as his own arousal presses stiffly against your lower stomach.

“More you,” you beg, arching up into him, making him curse lowly.

Like desperate virgins, you both quickly discard the last of your clothing, Jin just about popping the buttons of his shirt clean off, and it feels simultaneously like a second and a century before you feel his familiar girth pressing into you, stretching your dripping walls.

You groan, the back of your head knocking against the tile as you go slack, letting yourself focus fully on the sensation of him filling you up. “Fuck, Jin,” you gasp out, legs wrapping around his torso as he goes deeper and deeper.

When he bottoms out, however, Jin doesn’t begin fucking you straight away. Instead, he reaches for the jar. “Tongue out, baby,” he instructs.

Swallowing the drool that gathers in your mouth from the pleasure, you stick out your tongue until you feel it on your chin, awaiting the stream. Clearly wanting to be as messy as possible, Jin intentionally lifts his hand higher so that instead of a mouthful, you get whippings of sugar all over your neck, chin, and cheeks. Hardly any actually makes it in your mouth, but the therapist just chuckles and puts the jar beside him, bending down to run his tongue in a broad swipe up your cheek.

You squeal, turning your head to the side, but the surprise quickly bubbles into arousal as he laps up every last drop, sucking hickies into your neck all the way. The longer he goes, the more you need him, wetter and wetter around his cock. Rocking your hips just to get some friction, you whine into the silence of the kitchen. “Jin, fuck me already,” you plead.

Jin’s first thrust punches all the air out of you. He snaps his hips hard enough to push your body forward from the tile, then grabs your waist with a low growl, pinning you against the floor.

Though the tiles are still cold, your body heat is quickly taking the edge off, and being fucked against such a hard surface is a new feeling to you entirely. There’s no give, no bounce. When Jin begins fucking you at a greedy pace, you feel every inch of him stretching you open.

Your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth drops open, trying not to moan loud enough that the sound would travel upstairs, but barely able to even contain them at all. “Fucking me so go-mmf!” Your mouth is filled with a cold intruder, and you suck hard, swirling your tongue around the two fingers covered with ice cream. Jin curses lowly at the feeling, and suddenly he’s picking up the pace even more.

You cry out around his fingers, hands flailing to find something to latch onto and anchor yourself, but your knuckles whack into something solid. The ache in your fingers is quickly drowned out by the sudden rush of thick wetness on your stomach, and your eyes fly open, choking on Jin’s digits.

His thrusts slow down and he pulls his hand away and before you can say a single thing, the room is filled with the contagious sound of his laughter. Cock still buried deep inside you, and one hand dripping with caramel, holding onto the near-empty jar, Jin howls, shoulders shaking with the force of it.

“Hey!” you whine, pouting when the caramel disperses over you, soon dripping down onto your back and the floor. “Don’t laugh at me! You wouldn’t like it if your chest was drenched in caramel!”

Jin discards the jar beside him with a sticky clink, and composes himself, though that glint still remains alight in his eyes. “Oh, wouldn’t I?” Without a moment’s hesitation, he’s bending down until your chests are pressed together, separated only by that slippery layer of sauce.

A muffled squeak leaves your lips when he captures them again, his fingers scratching lines up your sides, making you shiver. You try to protest his attempt at tickling you while you were vulnerable, but then he’s rocking his hips, shallow strokes that grind into you so deep.

You moan, wrapping your arms around his back. Every time you feel his nails cutting through the syrup, you scratch his back. Instead of deterring him, however, he just groans into your mouth and doubles his efforts at fucking you.

Slowly, his hands move around from your sides to your back, and you cling to him tighter as he lifts you off the kitchen floor. Still delving his tongue deep into your mouth, he pulls you up until your torso is arched against him and your head tips back slightly, a perfect halfway point between horizontal and vertical, and uses the extra momentum to thrust up into you harder. The angle hits your g-spot roughly with every snap of his hips, and your clit grinds against his cock.

You cry out and lose contact with his mouth, but he just latches it onto your neck instead, dragging his teeth over your shoulder to let the cooled caramel pool in his mouth.

“Jinnie, I’m close,” you confess in a rush, your orgasm quickly building with a pressure between your legs. Something in the way your toes curl and stomach tenses warns you that this will be a powerful one, and your cries increase in pitch and volume, every breath a moan. “Jinnie! Fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna-”

“Make another mess for me, baby,” Jin groans, and with those words alone your vision goes white.

Jin curses when you lock up around him - legs and arms and pussy alike - but continues to rut against you as you ride the churning wave of your high. Burying your head into the crook of his neck so that you don’t wake the others with your keening scream, you feel a sudden burst inside you that leaves you trembling uncontrollably beneath him.

You feel Jin’s chin pressing into your hair as he glances down, grunting with exertion, and suddenly he’s freezing, holding you tightly to him as he cums inside of you.

The warmth of him filling you is the perfect soother as you come down from that intense climax, and you sigh as he leans forward, lying you back down on the kitchen tile. The two of you fight to catch your breath, the only sounds in the room your joint gasps.

Above you, Jin’s chest heaves, dripping with caramel just like yours must be. He doesn’t take any bother though, wiping away the sweat on his brow with a clean patch of his forearm. “Man,” he exclaims with a cheery chuckle, “you really did make a mess, huh?”

“What?” you ask blearily, weakly propping yourself up on your elbows to glance down. Thinner and clearer than the caramel, a liquid drips over yours and Jin’s stomachs, running down to the tile. You’d squirted. With a weak groan, you let yourself collapse back onto the sticky floor. “It’s too early for this,” you whine. “Oh, god. We have to clean this up.”

Jin’s smile is wiped clear off his face. “Oh, fuck. I didn’t even think about that, my notes didn’t mention it…”

“Your notes?” you ask curiously, grimacing when Jin slowly pulls himself out of you, a stream of cum following and joining the mess of liquids on the floor. “What notes?”

The therapist lets out a nervous laugh as he gets up off the floor, grabbing a clean dish cloth from the bottom drawer. “I did some research, that’s all. Like, no spicy stuff near any mucous membranes because of the sting, no sugar in the vulva otherwise you might get a yeast infection-”

“Eugh,” you cut in, “I’m glad you did the research, but that just makes me want a shower even more now.”

“Go shower, then,” Jin allows with a sympathetic smile, wetting the cloth and beginning to wipe off the stickiness on his chest. “I can clean this up for you.”

“Absolutely not,” you insist, “I’ll quickly wash this off, but I’m coming back down to help you. The sun’s about to rise, so if we work together, maybe there won’t still be cummy sauce all over the floor when the others come down for breakfast.”

“It is probably a safety hazard,” Jin admits. “Okay, then, we’ll clean it together. I’ll have a quick shower once you get back.”

You beam up at him but, before you grab your clothes and rush up the stairs, you rise onto your tiptoes and press a kiss to his sugared lips. “Don’t miss me too much.”

Jin returns your warm smile, ducking down to steal another kiss, and another, and another until you’re giggling and ducking away. “I’ll do my best.”

“You aren’t being particularly subtle.”

Hoseok shrugs at Yoongi. “I’m not trying to be subtle.”

The doctor’s eyes narrow. “Then tell us what’s in the box.”

Hoseok hesitates. “I’m trying to be a little bit subtle.”

Taehyung groans, reaching out for the heavy cardboard box and glaring reproachfully at Hoseok when he smacks his hand away. “Could we have a clue?”

Hoseok smiles sweetly. “No.”

“Then why is it on the table?” the masseuse whines miserably. “You’re just teasing us!”

“I don’t know why you’re so bothered,” Yoongi notes, “it’s not even for you.”

Perhaps you’d be more bemused by the antics of the boys at the table were it not for your own rampant curiosity. As usual, your days were measured by communal mealtimes (courtesy of the fact that six of you were too lazy to cook for yourselves, and the remaining too were perfectly happy to make enough for you all) but this time, as you enjoyed a pan-seared fish of some sort, the flow of the table was interrupted by the package that Hoseok had so dramatically dropped down in front of him. “What is it on the table for?” you ask in what you hope is a casual, unbothered tone.

Hoseok sighs patiently like he’s been through this before. “It’s to create an atmosphere of anticipation,” he explains importantly. “This is reality TV gold, guys, this is exactly what the editors would put a close-up of right before the ad break.”

Jin furrows his brows. “I don’t think there are ad breaks, Hobi.”

“You get what I mean,” he huffs petulantly before clearing his throat, “anyway, let’s change the topic. Any gossip? Love declarations, plot twists; what have I missed?”

Jungkook opens his mouth, beside him Yoongi quickly places a hand on his thigh, and the younger boy sinks back into his chair. “Just the usual for me.” If you weren’t already looking at him, you might have missed the slip of a smile that he presses his lips together to suppress. “Except for the extra dicks I’ve been sucking.”

“Jungkook!” Yoongi shrieks, before sitting up straight. “Wait. Dicks, plural?”

“Well, yeah, Taehyung can’t fuck Y/n anymore, so…” Jungkook deflects. Across the table, Taehyung wordlessly throws his hands in the air in a ‘what can you do?’ type gesture. “It’s like an emergency relief fund but sex,” the youngest explains, “I’m very generous like that.”

Taehyung’s mouth drops open, his breezy demeanour fading. “Hey! You only sucked my dick because you said my technique was off!”

Jungkook smiles glacially at the rest of you. “I’m a giver,” he continues, “much like Yoongi, I teach on the side.” He pouts at Taehyung. “And your technique was off!”

“It was better than your sloppy toppy!” Taehyung defends. “I wanted a blowjob, not a shower.”

“Listen,” Jin says sharply as Jungkook lets out an offended cry, “the only way you’ll ever know for sure is if you have an objective party to compare the two directly.”

Jungkook harrumps, crossing his arms. “What; are you offering?”

Jin pauses. “To have...my dick sucked twice by two very attractive and enthusiastic people? Yes, yes I am.”

Taehyung narrows his eyes at Jungkook. “You’re so on,” he threatens, “when I win, you have to let me join your stream.”

Jungkook’s already leaving the table, dragging Jin up by a handful of his hoodie. “Such a shame you’re not going to, then,” he taunts, “when you lose, you have to give me a full-body massage and no skimping on the back.”

The rest of you watch in speechless bemusement as Taehyung huffs and throws his chair back, hurrying after them. “Maybe if you didn’t slump in your chair so much, you wouldn’t have a sore back in the first place! Wait, Jungkook, not so fast, I just ate…”

Once the three have left, Yoongi clears his throat. “The gossips have left,” he states carefully, eyes serious as they watch Hoseok, “so what’s in the box?”

Hoseok giggles and claps his hands together, clearly delighted with the attention this box has given me. “You know, the more you ask, the less likely I am to show you.”

Yoongi immediately makes his expression sour, turning up his nose. “I don’t even want to see what’s inside the box,” he insists, “I don’t care at all.”

“Sure thing, hyung.”

The academic is next to have a go. With gentle eyes and shy fingers, Namjoon props his hands on the very edge of the table and looks over to Hoseok. “What if you just showed us one?” he bargains. “It just seems like such a shame to get them delivered all the way over here and not get to show more people.”

Hoseok purses his lips, still unconvinced. At the head of the table, Jimin lets out a scoff and stands up, picking his plate and cup off the table to go discard them in the dishwasher. “It’s going to be something boring,” he drawls, bending over slowly to put away the dishes, letting the table get an eyeful of the tight black jeans he’s wearing. “He’ll wrap Y/n up in rope like tinsel on a Christmas tree and call it BDSM.”

An indignant cry comes from the table as Hoseok watches Jimin reach into the fridge, pulling out a single raspberry from the fruit drawer in there, and grin rakishly at the older man. “That’s not true at all,” Hoseok defends insistently, “I’m just easing her into it. Besides; let me show you something from the box and then we’ll see what you think.”

“How- wha-?” Yoongi’s mouth drops open as Hoseok reaches for the box and uses a knife from the lunch to cut the tape down the middle. “He doesn’t even like you! Why was he the one to convince you?”

Hoseok barely takes note, shielding the opening from your eyes as he digs around inside. It’s near impossible to restrain your curiosity, but you curl your ankles around the chair legs and force yourself to stay seated as he shoves his hand in.

You hear clinks, thuds, and scrapes, before Hoseok lets out a triumphant gasp and pulls his arm up, retrieving a braided leather handle, which he lifts out of the box to reveal a whip of sorts, complete with a neat pile of clean-cut leather strips. Your eyes widen as Hoseok sets it on the table with a weighty thunk, closing the box back up.

“Too boring for you?” Hoseok asks of Jimin with a challenging stare. One finger lazily trails along one of the tails of leather, neatly folded in a gathered loop on the table, making you swallow harshly at the thought of what one of those might feel like lashing across your skin.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Jimin returns to the table, inspecting it slowly. “And what are you going to do with that, big boy? Such a big flogger; I must admit, it seems like you’re overcompensating.”

Hoseok scoffs, a smirk playing at his lips. “I’ve caught you staring enough times, Peaches,” he taunts, “you and I both know that’s not true.”

This time, Jimin seems almost expectant of the nickname, and just rolls his eyes. “I’m surprised you noticed, seeing as your eyes are always locked onto my ass. Bet you wish you had a handful, huh?”

Hoseok frowns, pushing himself away from the table. “Did I eat too much or did the thought of dirtying my hands with you make me physically sick?” he questions rhetorically, making Jimin huff. “Anyways, I’ve got a scene to set up. Best for last, and all that.”

With a flourish, Hoseok picks up the whip - or, as Jimin had said, flogger - handle between two fingers and throws the tail of leather strips over his shoulder, lifting the box into his arms with a light grunt of exertion. Suddenly, he turns his gaze to you, warm but firm. “The downstairs bathroom; be there in half an hour wearing your underwear and only your underwear.”

You suck in a breath when he suddenly leans in close, hoisting the box on his hip as he uses the opposite hand to reach out and fiddle with your bra strap, snapping it against your shoulder with a teasing smile. “If you want to make Master happy,” he says in a voice like crushed velvet, “pick something pretty.”

Hoseok disappears down the hallway with all the drama of a Disney villain, sans a cape to billow behind him, and Yoongi lets out a slow sigh, getting up from his chair. “Well, I’m going to go outside and try and forget about all the debauchery in here. Anyone else?”

Namjoon straightens up immediately, hips bumping against the table. “Sounds good to me,” he rushes out, still looking a little pale from seeing that sneak peek of Hoseok’s box of toys.

Jimin, on the other hand, glances up towards the ceiling with a thoughtful expression. “You two go ahead,” he states, “I think the little ones upstairs could use another judge.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows lift, almost looking like he’s about to reconsider his choice to leave, but Namjoon is already suggesting they could bring out some board games or a pack of cards, and as usual Yoongi is softer than he likes to think he is.

Once everyone has left you alone in the living room, you slump back onto the table, letting out a breath. Your skin is already tingling relentlessly wondering what those strips of leather would feel like raining down on your skin. And that tool must have only been taking up a small portion of that box. It was heavy, full with other surprises that you couldn’t even begin to imagine.

Taking a look at the time, you curse and scamper upstairs to track down something pretty for Hoseok.

It’s impossible to stop your mind from conjuring up countless images of what could be waiting for you. Big posts of metal or wood to tie a sub to, chains and latex and the Hollywood taboo of kink that comes to mind. But in the end, it seems trying to picture anything at all was a useless venture, as when you make it downstairs and knock on the door exactly thirty minutes after Hoseok let you, what’s inside is not anything you would have ever expected.

The bathroom itself is decently large, with flat tile all over, a row of showerheads without the luxury of cubicles, a large bath set into one corner, and a bench with a mirror.

But in the middle of the room, closer to the bench than the showers, sits Hoseok.

There’s nothing around him bar a single empty chair that he inclines his head towards, silently instructing you to sit. You glance around in suspicion, but the cardboard box is folded up just beside him and there’s nothing else to see.

Hoseok himself quite easily takes his spot as the centre of attention, though. As you sit gingerly on the wooden chair, grimacing at the scraping sound of the legs on the floor, you look him over. As usual, he makes his statement in black. Hoseok dons boots that lace up to just below his knees, tight leather pants, and a collared shirt that shimmers slightly in the light, like expensive silk. Around his middle is a belt that tightly cinches his waist, accentuating his chest and shoulders. With his hair parted and slightly curling to one side, you don’t miss the way his eyebrow quirks up. “Are you quite done?”

Your cheeks heat, and you lean back until you can feel the chair digging in. “Sorry.”

“Sorry, who?”

“Sorry, Sir,” you stutter out as quickly as you can, lowering your gaze.

“Dear me, I hope you haven’t forgotten your manners already,” he croons with a faux look of disappointment, crossing a leg over his knee. “Lucky for you, our scene hasn’t started yet. I want to have a little conversation with you first.”

You swallow, eyes darting down to that cardboard box, curiosity eating you up from the inside. “What do you want to talk about, sir?”

Hoseok’s eyes soften slightly and he laces his fingers over the top of his knee. “You and I are going to have a talk together as two adults, princess. I know we have the consent forms and safewords, but this one requires a little more direct communication. Normally in a scene, you’d be kneeling or I’d be standing right now, but I want you to be fully aware that we are having this discussion as equals. Understood? You can ask questions, raise concerns, anything you need.”

Though your heart hasn’t stopped racing, you feel yourself beginning to calm, relieved for a chance to properly prepare yourself and see what’s going to happen. “Yes, understood. Sir.”

Hoseok’s eyes fleck with mirth as he tilts his head. “First of all; are you allergic to soy or paraffin? I know we have the allergy sheets, but I’d feel safer double-checking.”

You frown, brows knitting in confusion. “Soy? Like soy sauce? And no, I’m not allergic to either of them.”

When Hoseok smiles to reveal his teeth, you catch a glimpse of his dom side, even as he maintains a friendly disposition. “Soy candles, princess.”

A flicker of alarm rushes through you, and you clasp your hands together, fiddling your digits to keep calm. “Is this like, pouring hot wax? I don’t know, Hoseok…”

“It wasn’t a hard limit you listed,” Hoseok reminds gently, “has that changed?”

You swallow. “I- no, it hasn’t but it’s still a soft limit, and I don’t know if-”

“That’s why I wanted to sit down and have a talk with you about it,” he explains without missing a beat, “and if, at the end, you want to keep it as a limit, we’ll do something else. I don’t mind forfeiting the challenge and taking a week in the bunks; they’re perfectly comfortable.” You still don’t answer, feeling scarily vulnerable in a bra and lace panties, nothing but a loose satin robe over top to keep you a little warm and covered. Hoseok’s warm expression keeps you anchored. “Wax play isn’t explicitly pain play, it can be sensation play just like running an ice cube over your skin. And I’ve been doing it for years, princess, if you know what you’re doing, it’s perfectly safe. Do you want to hear me out? There are no obligations.”

You suck in a deep breath, taking a second to think. “I want to at least hear you first,” you decide, “but I really don’t know.”

“I understand entirely,” Hoseok says, and a strange change overtakes his face as he bends down to slip open the folds keeping the box closed. It’s a slight lifting of his brows, pursing of his lips while still being relaxed. The almost stern look of a teacher as he pulls out a weighty red candle, rolling it over in his palm. He glances back at you, presenting it. The two of you are seated close enough together that you only have to lean forward to take it from him.

He lets you look over it as he speaks, his voice soothing and practiced. “This is a pillar candle,” he explains, “see how it’s quite girthy? When you light a candle like that, the molten wax pools in the middle. So when you go to tip it, you can control how much wax you want to pour and when. Some people will have at least two candles burning so that they can alternate. These ones are soy, but I brought paraffin too in case you had an allergy.”

Out of curiosity, you dig your nail into the top, by the fresh wick, and watch thick red wax build up under the nail. “Doesn’t it burn you?” you question. “Like it got melted because of actual fire, surely it would burn.”

Hoseok shrugs. “Not with the right wax.” He takes it back from you, flipping it up to show off the base where a small white sticker displays some information about the candle in tiny print. “Soy and paraffin both tend to melt at roughly the same temperature, and it’s low enough that it won’t burn you. The further away you drop it from affects the temperature when it gets to your skin, too. But candles like beeswax melt at a very high temperature. Those can be dangerous, and you’d never catch me or anyone at Red using them. Now-!” Slipping the short, fat candle back into the box with a soft thud, he pulls out a second one. This one is black, and thin with a pointed end at the top. “This one is a taper candle. There’s no room for the wax to build up, so when you light it, it’ll drop the melted wax one drop at a time. The advantage is that it’s handy for constant use, and very easy to maneuver. One of my friends at Red actually uses it in suspension bondage. She’ll tie up her sub and slip a lit taper into the rope somewhere so that it drips on, say, the sub’s back or stomach. You can imagine if you where tied up and blindfolded, feeling a single drop of heat at a time would be a pretty intense experience.”

The dom breaks off with a laugh at the look on your face, and promptly slips it back in the box. “For our purposes, I’m going to use the pillar. It means that I can easily stop at any time and let the wax just sit in that little divot at the top without it getting everywhere. Still with me?”

You nod quickly, shifting on the chair. Perhaps it’s the hypnotic, soothing lilt of his voice as he walks you through it, or perhaps you’re just realising that it’s not as scary as it seems, but that soft limit is getting softer and softer. “You can go on,” you state in a small voice.

Hoseok’s beam is addicting, brightening the room as he lets out a pleased hum and stands up. Instead of approaching you, however, he walks right past to the bench, fiddling with something in the sink there before he’s filling it up. “An important safety measure,” he explains, “is to have a water source nearby. In case it’s too hot, or the candle catches on anything. I’m doing it in here so that there’s not really anything flammable like carpet or curtains, but there’s no such thing as being too safe.”

You watch him shake the water off his hand with a fond smile. He returns to sit across from you, nudging the open box with his foot. “We have some other surprises in here, but nothing too wild apart from the flogger. How are you feeling about it?”

Your heart skips a beat when you recall it, the satisfying whip of air as he threw it over his shoulder earlier. “I’m nervous, but I really want to try it.”

“Excellent,” he says warmly. “And the wax? We can take it slow, try it out a bit and then I’ll check back in, yeah? Just because we’ll be in the scene doesn’t mean this communication is cut off.”

You suck in a slow breath, biting your lip. Hoseok gives you time to think, waiting patiently and without expectation, but you know that you want to at least try chasing that thrill deep inside you. “I wanna give it a go too.”

Hoseok’s look of pride makes your decision feel all the more right. “That’s my girl,” he chimes, “so brave for me.” Without further notice, his eyes darken, and his smile turns less sweet and more sly. “You know Master will make it good for you, right?”

You shiver beneath the thin layer of satin and lace. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” he coos, “I want you to make a choice now, princess. I’ll let you choose what you wish to have first? Candles or the flogger?”

You feel slightly paralysed by the sudden decision making, brain already beginning to slow down. “Flogger please, sir.”

“So polite,” he praises, “alright, then. I want you to stand up and take that robe of yours off.”

You do so with a quickening pulse, but Hoseok doesn’t even spare a second glance at you, instead shifting the box over to the bench, pulling out… something that definitely isn’t the flogger.

Hoseok turns to you with a grin, dangling a chain on a single finger. At either end, leather cuffs twirl and bump each other, familiar to ones you’d used on the show before. Unlike the other pair, which were pretty simple and basic, this pair look beautiful enough to be a regular fashion accessory. The leather is thick but not stiff, and they’re done up with silver buckles, adjustable for size. What really catches your attention, however, is the gorgeous red trim of the softest velvet, a deep colour that makes it look unbelievably expensive. As he approaches, you notice that the insides of the cuffs are embossed with the symbol you recognised from the box. Two Rs facing away from each other, with delicately curled strokes.

“Pretty, aren’t they?” Hoseok asks rhetorically. “They’re from the dungeon, if you hadn’t already guessed. Show me your wrists.” You rush to obey, sighing when you feel cool velvet encase around your left wrist, Hoseok deftly fastening the cuff as he continues to talk. “We have a colour code for everyone that comes in our doors. All spectators wear a simple black wristband. If you’re there to play, doms get armbands and subs get cuffs. Green means free use, anyone inside those walls wearing a cuff or a armband can play with you-” he doesn’t miss the way you shudder at the concept of being totally at the mercy of a roomful of strangers, arms pulling closer to your sides defensively, “-blue means looking. You’re open to negotiation, but there needs to be a kink negotiation and mutual agreement before you begin to play.” Hoseok moves to your other wrist, making sure the cuff is snug, but not cutting off circulation. “Can you guess what red means, princess?”

You can’t bear to look away from the gorgeous cuffs that adorn your wrists. You can feel the weight of the chain that connects them as it swings below. “Taken,” you offer in an uncertain voice.

“That’s right.” Even though you aren’t looking directly at him, you can sense Hoseok’s grin. He gracefully hooks the chain on his finger, lifting it up and tugging it to watch your wrists jerk towards him. “And can you guess why I picked red for you?”

You think you know the answer. But you become overcome with the desire to hear him say it. You lift your gaze to his, shaking your head slowly. “I don’t know.”

Hoseok sees right through you, tilting his head. “I think you do,” he counters, “but I’ll happily tell you.” He yanks again, making you stumble forward into his chest. With an arm bracing you against him, Hoseok bends down to murmur in your ear. “Because you’re mine.” With the teasing slowness of a cat playing with its food, he brushes your hair back, fingertips light against the bare skin of your neck and shoulders. “Do you want to know something funny? The entire time you’ve been in there, you haven’t thought to look up.”

It happens quickly. Just as you lift your chin to seek out what he’s referring to, you feel a pull on your wrists. Hoseok’s grip on you loosens but the tug on your wrists continues until they’re stretching right up above you. The moment you set your eyes on the hook dangling from the ceiling - what looks like thick, industrial grade steel - you see the chain loop onto it and suddenly you can’t drop your arms anymore.

You tug them, a natural instinct to escape the hold, and the unforgiving way your body is stretched out makes your chest pound a little with alarm,heels only just resting on the floor. Hoseok’s hands are on you, palms hot as they smooth up and down your sides and back, soothing you. Your racing pulse starts to slow, even as your arms tremble.

“That’s better,” he remarks, tongue flicking out to lick his lips. “Would you believe that hook was there when we came?”

Your lips twitch. “Honestly? No, sir.”

He flicks you a wink, patting your ass fondly. “You would be surprised. Used to be a fixture for a chandelier. Who the fuck needs a chandelier in a bathroom?” You suppress a laugh, knowing that your nervous giggles will get the best of you if you give them a chance, but Hoseok sees that he’s managed to calm you down quite a bit, and slips back into the velvety depths of his dominant persona once again. His hand hasn’t moved from your ass, and you suck in a sharp breath through your nose as his fingers slip beneath the lace, gripping the flesh there, unable to move away from it.

“I’ve been waiting for this, you know,” he starts with a casual air, massaging your ass openly even as his eyes stay fixed on yours, monitoring your every expression, “been waiting to turn that pretty ass of yours red. Let’s take these pretty panties of yours off first.”

You relax your thighs to let the strip of fabric sneak past, and when he bares your bottom half, tucking the cream-coloured lace into his back pocket, you shiver for a different reason entirely. You feel the wetness between your thighs begin to run down now that it’s unhindered by your panties, and your nipples are stiff, begging to be touched.

Hoseok isn’t so merciful, however, and when he glances down and sees them, he flicks lightly at one with an amused chuckle. “Desperate little one, aren’t you? Now, princess, I’m going to go over to the bench and get my flogger. Are you okay here alone? I’m not leaving you; I’ll only be out of your sight for a moment.”

The tile feels so cold and unforgiving under your toes as you shift, the chain preventing you from going far. “Yes, sir,” you say, but Hoseok clearly senses your hesitance.

Eyes imploring, warm yet serious, he tips up your chin with his knuckles gently. “Do you trust me? I’ll be no more than ten seconds. How about this? In your head, chant ‘Master is a good kisser’ three times, and I’ll be back.”

Your eyes round, wetting your lips. “How would I kn-umph!” Your question is cut off prematurely as Hoseok ducks down and demonstrates; a firm, bruising kiss that’s only heightened by the bondage restricting your movements. You can’t touch him, or move closer. You just have to sit and take it, and your mind feels heady as his lips press roughly against yours, teeth tugging on your lower lip enough to sting. By the time he pulls away, you feel breathless, the tension of the cuffs the only thing keeping you on your feet.

Hoseok gently buffs you on the cheek with another wink. “Don’t forget the magic words, princess,” he chimes, “I’ll be right back.”

And, though only two weeks ago the feeling of having him out of sight and out of reach had freaked you out to the point of safewording, the tingle in your lips and that admittedly accurate mantra - Master is a good kisser - keep your mind occupied enough that before you reach the end of the third recitation, Hoseok has stepped back into your line of vision, giving you an expectant look. “Still with me?”

“Yes, sir.” You nod with it, though you can’t bring yourself to look at him, so captivated by the flogger in his hand. He holds it like a seasoned expert, which you don’t doubt he is. The handle is black braided leather, with two thicker balls on either end like a dumbbell, no doubt for ease of grip. His hand wraps around the narrower middle section, but loose enough that his fingers look relaxed around it. Though he holds the handle upright slightly, the strips of leather fall straight down in a single cascade, neatly kept together.

Observing your trained eye, Hoseok laughs and steps closer, sliding the leather over his palm to display it for you. “Shall we have a quick lesson? This here is a perfect beginner’s flogger. Perfectly balanced with a weighted handle and clean-cut leather. These strips here, they’re called falls. The less you have or the thinner they are, the more it stings like a whip would. This one has probably around 30, 35 falls. Proper garment leather. Expensive, but well-crafted.” His hand shifts, clasping around the ends, which he spreads apart with a thumb. “You see how the ends are rounded? Some falls have forked tips, pointed tips, or straight-cut ones. The pointier it is, the sharper the sensation. Rounded tips are best for a newbie like you.”

Suddenly, he drops the ends, letting them revert back to their single stream of leather spouting from the handle. The quick movement makes your eyes automatically jump up to his face, and you suck in a breath at how intense his gaze is on you. “You need to be very clear where your limits are, princess. Tell me if I’m going too hard. This is painplay, but it should still be pleasurable. Understood?”

You swallow. Now, with your body almost entirely naked, your body restrained and a very practiced dom standing in front of you with a flogger, the concept of pain is a little more concrete. But still, you trust him, and his ability to make it feel good for you. “Understood, sir.”

“Good.” Hoseok steps back, giving himself some distance as he eyes you up. With a smooth motion, his wrist begins to flick, and you instinctually recoil when the falls of the flogger start flying through the air in a graceful arc. They’re uniform in both width and length, probably just about as long as Hoseok’s arm, which stays perfectly still as he isolates the movement in his joint. Even if you weren’t in the metaphorical hot seat, this show of excellence and practiced skill would nevertheless add to the coil of arousal between your legs. He looks good like this, fully in his element. “Now,” he states, smirking at your telling reaction, “normally the best spots are the back of the shoulders, and the ass. But something tells me you’d rather see what I’m doing before letting me loose behind you. Would I be right in thinking that?”

You picture him going behind you and beginning to whip you with no context or warning. You nod your head quickly. “Yes please, sir.”

Hoseok smiles, slowing his wrist, before he begins flicking it the opposite way, the ends of the flogger curving downwards towards you instead of upwards. “Now, this flogger is a little thuddier than what I’d usually use on breasts, but since I’m only going to be very light, it’ll be just fine.”

You try to inch backwards, but the chain rattles and gives you away. “My breasts?”

Hoseok’s hand stills, his head cocking to one side as his brows come together. “Is there a problem, princess?”

His disapproval is clear, and you get the feeling that you’re treading on thin ice. But he said that communication wouldn’t stop here, so you forge ahead. “I’m not protesting, I’m just curious, sir. Why not somewhere easier like the stomach?”

Distaste wracks his features. “This isn’t going anywhere near your stomach,” he says firmly, “the organs there are unprotected. Anything vulnerable - joints, spine, the stomach and lower back, of course the head - they’re all off-limits. Do you understand that?” When he receives a nod, the line of tension in Hoseok’s shoulders relaxes. “Now, I need you to move your head back so that it’s between or behind your arms. Can you do that for me?”

Pushing your head through the gap in your upper arms, you shift until your whole face is between them, chin tilted slightly up. “May I ask why, sir?” you request in a small voice. Why did this whole thing feel so technical? And why were you still so wet from it?

“You may,” Hoseok replies bemusedly, “it just distances your face from the swings. Don’t worry-” he interjects quickly when your eyes widen in alarm, “the falls will be nowhere near your face. It’s just for our peace of mind. Do you still trust me?”

You manage to nod with your face bracketed by your arms, and with a rush of anticipation, watch Hoseok start up those quick circles, the leather whipping through the air in one bunch. Instead of stretching his arm forward, he steps in slowly, moving the falls getting closer and closer until the smooth stroke of impact flicks across your right breast.

You gasp, out of shock more than anything, but those strokes deliver a regular pattern, and it’s already lacing across your skin again, and again, an odd feeling that certainly isn’t unpleasant. There’s a distinct feeling of impact, without any real weight behind it, and the slightest hint of a sting that just serves to gradually warm the skin. Your chest is heaving, but Hoseok lands each blow with perfect accuracy, even stepping side-on between arcs and switching breasts.

The constant snap of contact helps you get used to it and calm down, and you can’t deny that it feels kind of...nice? There’s something satisfying and freeing about feeling those split second granules of pain and tolerating them, overcoming them. It doesn’t take long before you unconsciously arch your spine, seeking out something more than just light swats from the very tips of the falls.

Hoseok notices the moment you move and, frustratingly, he stops with a chuckle. “Did that turn you on, princess? Do you want more?”

You whine, tipping your head back further so he disappears out of your sight. Against the skin of your inner arms, your cheeks are raging hot. “Yes,” you admit in a defeated voice when he refuses to move on.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir?” you quip with a hopeful tone.

“Nice try,” Hoseok replies flatly, “I want you to say it, princess. Yes, what?”

You bite your lip, squeezing your eyes shut. There’s only silence. The heat has already left your breasts, and they feel strange without that lick of leather on them. “I want more, please, sir.”

“Good girl,” Hoseok coos, and in reward you feel the now-welcome flick of the falls on your breasts. This time, however, he stands directly across from you and twists his wrist over, casting figure eights, alternating left and right. You tremble at the feeling, squirming under it. Though it’s still light, every strike feels even more intense on your nipples, shooting sensation right between your legs.

“Sir,” you gasp out, “I w-want some more, sir.”

Hoseok answers without faltering, and his voice easily carries over the sound of the flogger. “Oh, do you? I can’t go any harder on these pretty little tits of yours, princess.” He pulls away, ceasing the motion. “If you want to continue, I’m going to have to go behind you. Are you okay with that?”

You push your reddened chest forward to no avail. “Fuck! Hoseok, yes, I’m okay with it,” you whine, unable to resolve any of the need in your core, needing more. Hoseok clicks his tongue in disapproval, and you curse internally at the slip. “Sir! Sorry, I’m okay with it, sir.”

“You better not forget your manners,” Hoseok warns, taking one step at a time, boots thudding on the tile as he circles you. “I’m flogging you for pleasure, because I like to treat and train you, but if you do that again, I can easily turn this into a punishment.”

The thought makes you moan, and your wrist jerks as you fruitlessly try to cover your mouth. Actually relieved he’s behind you for once, you let your head duck forward, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Hoseok chuckles. “It seems like you’re more of a painslut than you realise, princess,” he teases, and you’re given no warning before you feel a strike against your ass, making you jump with a yelp. Though it’s the same light figure eights as just before, these ones whip up from the bottom, so that every hit lands on the meat of your ass, avoiding your lower back. If the ones before were easy, these feel like child’s play. Whether you’ve gotten more used to the sensation, or the skin on your ass just isn’t as sensitive, you find yourself immediately wanting more, trying to lean back into it.

The dom isn’t pleased. “Did I say you could move?”

You don’t answer, hands reaching up to grip the chains that bind them as you bite down harshly on your tongue. “I can take more, sir,” you begin, but Hoseok cuts you off with a gruff noise of disapproval.

“Did I say you could move?” he repeats sharply.

You whine low in your throat. “No, sir,” you admit, “but I can-” You yelp and flinch when a single swat hits below the swell of your ass, across your thighs. It feels different there, stingier and less hazily pleasant. “I’m sorry-”

“That’s right, I didn’t,” Hoseok’s voice comes from behind you, cold and unforgiving. “In fact, I hung you up here to keep you still for me, so that I could play with you as I wished. If you insist on defying that, I’ll quite happily fetch a spreader bar so that you can’t move an inch.”

You furrow your brows, hating the feeling of making him mad. Hating even more that the sharpness in his tone and the filthy word he says just make you even needier, tightening your thighs together. “I’m sorry, sir, I’ll behave,” you mumble shamefully.

You jump slightly when you feel something on your ass again, but it’s just his hand, cupping the flesh. “I’m doing this to warm you up. For your own safety. I’ve been doing this for years, princess, don’t forget that Master knows best.”

“Master knows best,” you repeat mindlessly, feeling yourself begin to slip. It’s a comforting thought just as much as it is an arousing one; Master knows what he’s doing, and all you need to do is take it.

“Exactly.” Hoseok sounds pleased, and just as your heart lifts in relief, the hits resume.

Eyes slipping closed, you let yourself tune everything else out. When you focus, when you really actively feel it, you can recognise every shift in his posture, or change in angle by how it feels on your skin. The strips of leather lash up, gradually causing the skin to heat up as the thuddy feeling stays longer and longer after each strike.

Before he ups the intensity, he simply speeds up his strokes, and you let out a pleased whine as the constant ebb and flow of pleasure-softened pain lull you deeper. The more you take, the less it hurts at all, even as the skin on your ass feels like it’s radiating heat.

The warmth floods to the rest of your body until even your toes aren’t cold against the tile. You feel like you could stand here forever, strung up and lost in the sensations he’s giving you. In fact, those dull edges of pain are so soothing that it feels almost therapeutic, worries and aches melting away, irrelevant in this space.

Hoseok finally deems your skin is sufficiently warmed up, and you whimper when the hits shift. Instead of friendly, playful flicks of leather, every strike echoes in the room, the thud of impact delivering a bolder note of pain.

Not that it’s bad, though. On the contrary, if the earlier flogging was lulling you into a sleepy bliss, these ones wake you up like a burst of energy with every swing. Without even realising, a dopey grin stretches your cheeks, and you find yourself no longer trying to muffle the pleased sighs that stutter out with every flick of Hoseok’s wrist.

“Fuck, look at you,” the dom croons, “a painslut indeed. You’re dripping onto the tiles, naughty girl.”

You moan openly, knuckles aching with how tightly you’re gripping the chains that hook your cuffs to the steel loop above. Your pussy aches with the need to be touched, but to do that Hoseok would have to stop whipping you, and your mind hisses at the thought. All you want is more, you can take more, you want to show him, to show yourself you can take more. Every burst of pain on your flesh is another victory, and it feels euphoric.

You stay in this headspace for a while as Hoseok maintains the same, regular hits. Eventually, the scream for more overwhelms you, and you seek out something more intense the quickest way you know how - disobedience. “Hoseokie,” you whine, “hit me harder.”

You could sob when his hand freezes, the next strike coming down without any bite, just a loose draping of the leather falls. As they linger on the skin, you realise just how sensitive and raw it’s gotten, feeling every edge of leather in sharper clarity. Hoseok holds it there for a moment, then drops, the silence in the room palpable. “Are you giving me orders? And without the proper title, no less.”

Pain bursts across your skin like a line of fire, the sharpest and strongest hit yet. Like the one across your thighs, this comes at an angle instead of the upstrokes of his circles or figure eights. You can imagine him holding it back, and whipping it down with a single, swift flick. The residue heat on your ass just makes you want another.

Instead of another hit, however, you cry out when you feel nails digging into the flesh, not scraping, just groping the globes of your ass in each hand. You can even feel the stiff leather of the handle pressing into your flesh on one side, and you whine at the sensation.

“I know what you want, princess,” Hoseok growls, his voice startlingly close as his breath wafts hot on the back of your neck. “And if painplay was the purpose of the scene, perhaps I’d whip you until you cried like you deserve.”

You sob. “Master, please-”

“It’s too late for that,” he cuts off sharply. “The time for begging is over. You’ve disappointed me. I was going to lift up your legs and fuck you right here, but you’ve showed me that you don’t deserve that yet.”

Unprecedented, your eyes brim with tears. Hoseok slips back into your line of sight, face stern as he tucks the handle of the flogger in his belt at the back, and reaches up to unhook you. Your legs are weak, but he carries your weight with ease, letting the chain dangle around the back of his neck as he walks you over to the bench.

Instead of propping you up on it, or sitting you on a chair, he helps you lie down on the cool tile, an immediate balm for the deep-set heat radiating from your ass. Even as his face is stiff with disapproval, he handles you so gently, ensuring you don’t knock your head on the way down.

“Just stay here a moment,” he murmurs, brushing your hair out of your eyes, “calm down a little bit. I have some candles to light.”

You feel strangely floaty, your emotions all over the place, but Master had asked you to calm down, so you try your best to settle them. It’s not a bad sensation once you relax a bit. Need burns fiercely between your thighs, but the last thing you want to do is upset him by breaking the rules, so you simply let your eyes slip closed and your thighs clench together. You’ll wait until Hoseok comes back to you, and then you’ll make things right by being extra good. The thought of pleasing him makes you smile, and when Hoseok’s voice wraps around you, checking that you’re still with him, it’s only too easy to chirp a contented, “yes, sir.”

When he returns, he’s slipping one hand under your head and the other behind your back, lifting you ever-so-slowly so that your head doesn’t spin. Once you’re up, you lean forward and cling to him, wanting nothing more than to be close. Hoseok lazily cards his fingers through your hair. “You’ve misbehaved,” he states slowly, “you haven’t earned an orgasm, princess, but I’m soft on you. I’ll give you the chance to win one, how about that?”

You blink dazedly, feeling clarity begin to seep back in. “Win?”

Pulling back, Hoseok smirks down at you. “We’re going to play a little game, you and I. Come; I want you on your hands and knees.”

Hoseok guides you over, though you’ve mostly gotten your strength back. On the floor, near the box, are two lit pillar candles. The flames dance cheerily, leaving behind wells of molten wax. One is the red candle you’d inspected earlier, and the other is a pure white, the wax melting clear. You prop yourself up on your hands and knees beside it, but the dom quickly corrects you, leading you to instead assume the position over the box, which almost reaches your stomach.

Upon receiving your questioning look, Hoseok rubs one hand over your reddened ass cheeks, soothing the flesh. “I don’t want you losing your balance and creating a large angle,” he explains shortly, “the wax could drip forward into your hair or, worse, drip back where I’m sure you don’t want it.”

You shudder at the thought, your pulse steadily quickening as the reality of what he’s about to do sets in. This feels even more unfamiliar and alien than the flogging did at the beginning, but you feel safe beneath his touch.

Hoseok gets on his knees behind you, and you could cry in relief when you hear a belt buckle clink, and then a zip lower. It takes no time at all for you to feel the blunt head of Hoseok’s cock pressing against your entrance until it begins to sink in.

You moan, arching your back enough that you fee the texture of cardboard on your stomach. After only receiving external stimulation - pain, nonetheless - until now, suddenly being speared on his tongue has you speechless, tongue heavy in your mouth and drool pooling in your cheeks.

“Feel good, princess?” Hoseok questions, giving your raw ass a playful swat when you cry out the affirmative. “I bet it does.” But when he bottoms out, leaving you deliciously full, he remains perfectly still. “Sadly, that’s all you’ll get for now. Do you want to hear the rules of the game?”

You sob lowly in your throat, elbows almost buckling as your walls clench around the unmoving intrusion. “Please, sir.”

“I’m going to write a word on you, princess. A special word. But it just so happens that I don’t have a pen on me, so I’ll use this wax instead.” The glimpses of red and white blink out of your peripheral as Hoseok drags them closer to himself. “You can guess each letter, and if you manage to get the word right once I’m finished, then I’ll let you cum. Does that sound fair?” Your reply is garbled, incoherent, but Hoseok doesn’t seem bothered. “Then let’s begin. Pay close attention, now.”

Your body naturally tenses up, eyes squeezed shut as you wait for a burst of pain, of searing heat. When something touches your skin, you automatically cry out, but quickly realise that it doesn’t hurt at all, instead, it’s like viscous warm water that slowly stiffens on your skin as it cools. The tightness in your chest loosens.

“That was a test patch, princess,” Hoseok says in a calm voice, devoid from his usual dom smugness. “Too hot? Not hot enough?”

You swallow. “It wasn’t hot,” you admit, “it’s not bad.”

“Understood,” he confirms, squeezing your hip in reassurance as you clench again around him, but the safety monitor Hoseok quickly takes a backseat to the Master persona. “First letter, princess. I’ll only do each one once.”

This time, when lines of warmth bloom on your back, concentrated in the top corner by your shoulder blade, you focus your mind on picturing the shapes they create. Something straight, then a small loop. The wax isn’t painful; on the contrary, it doesn’t feel hot when it first makes contact. As it sits, the skin heats up, but before it gets too warm, the wax has already cooled to mostly solid. Your fears melt away fully, and you tune back into the game. “D?” you guess.

“Close,” he allows.

You rack your mind. “P?”

You moan when Hoseok’s cock suddenly moves inside you, pulling out slowly and giving you a single, snapped thrust. “Correct,” he confirms, “next letter.”

This one feels similar, starting with the same straight line, slightly to the right of where the first patch fell. A straight line, something wobbly again with a line to end it. Your breath catches. “R? Is the word ‘princess?’”

“Guessing so soon,” Hoseok chimes, humour lacing his voice, “but wrong on both counts. It’s a vowel.”

You go down the list, comparing them against the already-fading memory of thick warmth on your skin. “E- no, A?”

“A is correct. This one’s easy.” After fucking into you once another time, he does a single stroke that you easily identify as an I, and then you hear the thud as he puts down one candle and picks up the other. “Let’s see how you look in red, princess. Next letter.”

It gets harder and harder to correctly name the letters as you go on. With every right answer, you’re rewarded with a second of pleasure before it ceases, and that paired with the arousing feeling of warm wax drizzling over your skin just has you feeling hazy. It takes you whole minutes to guess N, but lucky it’s followed by simple strokes of S, L, and U.

By the time he’s switched wax a couple times and is readying you for the last letter, you already know the word. But Hoseok drops the wax from a little lower every time, and you relish the heat more and more with each letter, and you’ll take whatever else you can get.

At this point, the only space left on you is low on your back, just in from your waist. You squeeze your eyes shut, already knowing that he’s going to paint two strokes: one horizontal and one vertical. So instead, you allow yourself to just feel it for what it is.

He tips the pillar candle - red or white, you’ve long since lost track - and you moan openly as you feel fluidity, then heat, which crests and settles into a seal of solid wax. Hoseok wastes no time before completing the letter, one longer line going down in a thick trail that threatens to drip down your side.

“‘s T,” you slur out before he can even ask, tightening your walls around him as he snaps his hips a single time so that you can feel every inch of him. Even the sound of the one movement is obscene; you’re so wet that it runs down your thighs and soaks his cock, but Hoseok’s not complaining.

Instead, you whine as you feel his nails on your shoulder, dislodging the fully hardened wax from the beginning. It’s a strange sensation, there’s a minute suction to breaking that seal, but it lifts off so smoothly when he’s careful like that. “And can you tell me the word, princess? I picked it out just for you.”

Sighing out, you nod shakily. “Painslut,” you gasp.

“That’s right,” Hoseok replies warmly, even as his nails curl and drag down rough enough to crumble the wax in his path, leaving stinging lines over your skin. “You’re my little painslut, aren’t you? Say it, and I’ll give you your reward.”

“I’m your little painslut,” you moan out, back arching under the relentless way he dislodges slivers of dried wax, exposing the sensitive skin beneath.

Without further preface, Hoseok bends over to quickly blow out the two candles, shift them further away, and then straightens up to grip your hips with hands slightly slippery from the soy.

When he begins fucking into you properly, with the full force of his powerful hips, you’re pushed forward onto the cardboard box, a cry punched from your throat. He doesn’t wait this time, just as steady and unforgiving as the circles his flogger made earlier.

You feel the weight of his balls slapping against you, his hip bones pressing into your sensitive ass, and his nails dig in sharply to give you that delicious pain that had become just as potent as pleasure. You feel him inside you, too; mercilessly parting your walls and stretching you around him until it feels like you can’t breathe.

Your mouth spills a constant stream of garbled moans and pleas, doing your best to fuck yourself back on him to feel him deeper. “Fuck, Master, I’m so close,” you manage to make out, “can I cum, sir?”

Hoseok growls deep in his throat, and you squeal helplessly as his pace picks up until you can’t even stop yourself from drooling onto the tile, jerked about within his grip. “Cum for me, princess,” he commands, “cum on my cock now.”

In your body’s final effort to please your Master, your orgasm follows only a few thrusts later, and you go limp and shivery against the support of the cardboard box, clinging to it as Hoseok chases his own high.

Having cum from g-spot stimulation alone, the orgasm seems to reach as deep as your bones, and you ride the wave longer. By the time you’re finally beginning to come down, pleasure slowly turning to oversensitivity, Hoseok’s thrusts are stuttering, and he’s suddenly pulling out of you, grunting as a different kind of heat spurts over your back.

You’re panting, hugging the box you’re curled over as you feel Hoseok’s cum run down the divot of your spine, slowly cooling. You can still feel the dry flakes of wax that cling to you, and even as Hoseok gently helps you off the solid tile floor, you see shavings and slivers of red and white falling to the ground.

Hoseok’s dropped the Master persona entirely by now, and you hum happily as he checks you over, fingertips running across the skin of your back and ass. “No pain still persisting?”

“Well, my ass still kinda stings,” you admit, “but nothing seriously painful, no.”

He furrows his brows in concern as he straightens up in front of you. “And the wax was okay?”

You smile shyly and a little dopily, still coasting on the endorphins the pain and temperature play had released. “I’m probably going to go to Sejin and get him to change it to a definite interest, actually. It was great, Hoseok. You were great. Thank you.”

Hoseok’s eyes warm as he fondly buffs you on the underside of your chin. “Well; I say we have a nice shower and clean you up, and then we can go into the kitchen for some ice cream. Get your sugar levels back up, how about that?”

You could laugh, but you feel too blissed out to even exert that much energy. “I’m not sure there’s any ice cream left, actually.”

FAN FAVOURITE

Please vote for your favourite member in the house according to Week Three only. Vote here. You need to sign in to prevent spamming, but I delete the survey after the 48 hours is up. All I take note of is the pie chart at the end. I’m very excited to see what the results will be !

And so we meet our fourth guest... Confused? Check bonus content four, five and six for the other three teasers ;)

#cypherwritersnet #bts smut #jin smut #hoseok smut #bts x reader #hoseok x reader #jin x reader #yoongi x reader #namjoon x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #ot7 x reader #ot7 smut #taehyung smut #jimin smut #namjoon smut #yoongi smut

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