#as always ao3 chapter won't be up until later

[jillsandwhichs]

Joel Miller x Reader Smutshot Collection , Chap 5 , Distraction

Masterlist

Pairing: F!Reader x Joel Miller

Summary: You are cooking dinner for both you and Joel and he cannot keep his hands off of you. He'd rather have dessert before dinner

Status of your guy's relationship: Married

WC: 2.9k

Type: NSFW

Warnings: Smut, Breast play/sucking, Making out, Dirty talk, P in V & it's unprotected, Kitchen sex, Praising/Slapping kink, Soft/Dom Joel, He finishes inside of you, Some aftercare

A/n: Hi! Hope you all enjoy. Please check out my masterlist, there's a lot of stuff there. You can get to know me, you can see the rules of my blog and then you can see all of my fanfictions. You'll be able to find the previous chapters to this fic and upcoming ones. You'll also be able to find my Wattpad & AO3. Comments, reblogs & likes are appreciated. Thank you

Your eyes glanced over at the clock hosted up onto the beige wall in your kitchen. It is seven pm-finally. That means Joel will be home soon. On Wednesdays he tends to work overtime and doesn't get home until two hours later than usual. It's frustrating, yes, but it earns him more money and you'll take what you can get.

Before he gets home you'd like to have his dinner close to done. You want to have a plate and beer ready for him so he can just unwind and relax. He works so hard, he deserves it.

You're making a simple dinner tonight-grilled cheese and tomato soup. It won't take to long and it's perfect for the weather outside. That fall breeze and the crisp air pair well with a warm home cooked meal. Plus, Joel could eat damn near five sandwiches and two bowls of soup. That man can pack it. You just wanted to keep it easy tonight, especially since you're already getting fatigued.

Every other light in your home was turned off besides the kitchen & living room light. You had a candle on the coffee table in the rec room and one on the dining table just a few feet behind, both lit. They smell good. One is the scent of cinnamon and the other, the one in the dining room, is the scent of mahogany wood. The day you smelt it in a local city shop, it reminded of you of Joel. Anytime he's off of work, you'll sniff it periodically just to recall his scent-despite the fact you never forget it in the first place. His musk lingers all throughout your guy's home.

Instrumental folk music plays off of the TV. On one of the cable channels, they constantly play music such as this. You often play it when you're home alone so it's not too quiet. Once Joel's home, you turn it down or off completely.

Flipping over one of his grilled cheese's, the sound of the front door opening could be heard. No need to fret, it has to be him. The door has been locked all day and only him & your mother have a secondary key. The door leads into the living room and the kitchen is just across from it-Joel will spot you any second. You continued to focus on his sandwich and soup, wanting to cook and season them well.

Joel took off his work boots and socks, stuffing them into the rugged shoes. His jacket that he wore to and from work was also removed and tossed onto the white couch beside the TV. You saw Joel pick up the black remote to pause the music. He doesn't like it very much, he prefers country or rock. It was when Joel smirked and hummed when he saw you that you smiled as well. "Hey Darlin'." Joel said softly, making his way to you. "Hi baby." You responded, gazing at him before looking back at the meal.

"What're you makin'?" "Grilled cheese's with tomato soup-sound tasty to you?" "Sure does, thank you dear." Joel thanked you. He's always so grateful. Every night, even on weekends, you have dinner prepared for him. Sometimes he cooks for you but it's primarily you. You've never cared, it's a hobby anyways. "Damn, it does smell good." Joel sat down at the dining table, his eyes on your figure as you cooked. "Does it? Good to know." You chuckled, stirring the soup and seasoning it further.

"How was work?" "Normal, the usual. How was your day?" Joel questioned you back. "Also the usual aside from getting a call from my mother. She wants me to visit tomorrow so I can help her with yard work." "I can take the day off to help too." "No need baby." You shook your head. He needs to focus on real work. It's a bit of a pain that your mom needs you tomorrow but you're willing to do whatever for her so at the end of the day, you can't complain.

The food was really coming together. The aroma of the meal filled the kitchen and overall the entire home. You could even hear Joel smelling the air. "I love when you cook for me." He murmured, then stood up. "Well I love cooking for you." You giggled, setting one grilled cheese on the side to begin another. Your breath shuttered as you felt his burly arms wrap around your waist. Joel rested his head on your shoulder. He slowly swayed the two of you side to side. It felt relaxing.

"Missed you so much." Joel groaned, kissing the crease of your neck. You sighed deeply. "I missed you honey." You replied with a loving tone. His large, vein filled hands stroked your lower stomach through your fabricated tank top. "I think about you all day." "Oh yeah?" You giggled again, your eyes closing gently as he kissed up behind your ear. "Smell so good." He groaned, licking your earlobe slightly. You laughed-you are quite ticklish.

You flipped over the grilled cheese and patted it down to the pan. It was now becoming harder to cook with Joel up in your bubble. "My love? Do you want your dinner or no?" You snickered, hitting his thigh playfully with the spatula. "If you're my dinner, yeah I do." You nearly snorted by his corny comment. "Such a man." You murmured, stirring the soup once again and dialing the heat down somewhat. "I can be your dessert." You fed into his silly words. "Mmm." He groaned again, kissing your cheek and down to your neck.

His hands slid up your torso and to your tits where he caressed them and squeezed them. He's like a teenager during their first time-all about the boobs. "Once again, you're such a man." You teased him. You have a feeling you know what's going to happen, as a matter of a fact, it is bound to happen.

He continued to fondle your boobs through your tank top, squeezing them and rubbing them. "My little pretties." Joel kissed your ear. You hummed and nearly moaned once his hands vigorously slid down to your shorts. The shorts you are wearing are a bit loose on you, which gives Joel extremely easy access. You detoured your hands away from the stove, beginning to not really care about the dinner-despite being hungry. But your hunger has also changed it's route because now, you're hungry for him.

Joel's left hand remained on your waist whereas his right went into your shorts and straight into your panties. You seethed in pleasure as one singular finger slipped through your pink folds. You're dampened. "So fuckin' wet and I barley even touched you." Joel whispered in your ear. He ran his finger through your folds a few more times before pulling his hand out. "Let me fuck you," He mumbled, turning you around to face him. "I'll finish dinner once we're done." This man is so convincing. "Deal." You nodded your head eagerly.

You squealed as Joel picked you up into his arms. He brought you over to the wiped down counter and set you down on top of it. This position-oh it makes you cum so fast. You watched with vigor as he tossed his belt onto the ground. While he was messing with his lower half's clothing, you removed your shorts. Joel watched you as you did, his eyes never detaching to look somewhere else. "Beautiful." He put simply as he gazed at you.

You not only removed your shorts, but your shirt and bralette too-leaving you in only your panties. You just cleaned the counters today and they'll be right back to being a mess by the time this is finished with. Through Joel's underwear, you could see how hard he was. You couldn't wait to feel his cock inside of you, deep in you. You're just as horny as he is and yet, it only took him seconds to turn you into this feral animal. "Come here." You whined, holding onto his shoulders as he pressed himself into you. "My impatient girl." He teased, kissing your lips with utter passion.

As he kissed you, it was as if everything else surrounding you dissipated. You cupped his face with your soft hands. His incoming beard was scruffy and hairy, you found yourself running your fingers through it. "I need you." He growled, licking your lower lip. The taste of strawberry banana went into his mouth-it's from your chapstick. "Need you baby." You moaned, opening your mouth just the slightest bit. Joel shoved his tongue into your mouth, sliding it against yours as he pressed his manhood up against you. His hands were still cupping your tits.

Your hand went to the back of his head. You never want him to stop kissing you. Your eyes were closed as he kissed you lovingly. His tongue in your mouth made you even more wet-you need him now.

Joel pulled away and brought his head down to your tits where he then began to suckle on the left one. "Oh God..." You mumbled. Your hand remained on his head. You stroked his hair softly, holding his head against your boob. You felt his tongue flick your nipple and circle all around it. His other hand was pinching your right nipple. You are so sensitive on your breasts-it made you feel overstimulated as he went on. "Jesus." You called out, your head tossing back as he switched to your right breast.

"All mine." Joel said in a husky voice. He slapped your left tit and squeezed it, hard. "Love suckin' em." He added on. His entire mouth was covering it. Your fingers ran through his brown hair. You are obsessed with him, just as he is with you. "Baby." You moaned. "Hmm?" "Please just... Just fuck me." You are desperate. Joel pulled away from your nipple with a smile as he kissed you-it was more of a peck. "Scooch back a bit." He muttered, pulling his boxers down. You listened and giggled.

Your eyes shot down to his dick. It's so big. You need to feel him. His skin against yours, his dick deep in you, his semen filling you up-all of these dirty thoughts keep piling up in your mind.

He took ahold of the base of his cock, pumping it a couple times. His fingers went down to your panties to pull them to the side. He was speechless and breathless. Not only could he feel how wet you are but he can see it too-smell it even. The pheromones and scents you let off make him act like a dog. "So sexy." Joel whispered to you with a snicker. "All for you." You bit your lip. It took you time to get into dirty talking but being married to Joel has definitely lifted your confidence in doing it.

Lining it up with your dripping cunt, Joel, with care, pushed himself into you. You moaned whilst he moved into you. Your forehead was against his shoulder as you caught your breath. "You okay?" "I'm fine." You responded to him. It's been a bit since the two of you fucked. He's so big. He's already stretching your walls and he hasn't even moved yet. He kissed the top of your head and caressed your cheek as he began to move.

His hips started off slow. He understands how you're feeling. Joel will never hurt you. He loves it rough and despite that, he'll go any pace you want him too. "So fuckin' tight." Joel praised you, his hand now resting on your thigh, his other still on your face. Your head remained against his shoulder for a little while longer. "Love how wet you get for me. You're a good girl sweetheart." Joel whispered against your ear before he nibbled on the low part of your lobe. "You deserve to feel good baby." He continued. He's so gentle when he wants to be.

Joel gripped your chin and tilted it up, making you look at him. "Pretty girl." He pressed his forehead against yours as he began to pick up the pace, knowing you could take it good for him.

His hands quickly went to your lower waist as he pulled you forward, making it easier to fuck you. His hands remained on your waist. "Just wanna fill you up, make you feel all warm inside." You moaned at his words and finally moved your hands from his shoulders and to his face once again. He melted at your touch. Your foreheads stayed pressed together. He noticed your whiney face and how worn out you looked just by him dumbing you out on his cock. The way you were gazing at him nearly made him cum right then and there.

"Don't look at me like that, c'mon princess." Joel looked away, continuing to thrust into you. You giggled quietly to yourself. It makes you feel good knowing you can make him finish just by a look. "Look at me handsome." You caressed his chest through his shirt. "I'll cum baby." "I won't look at you like that then." You snickered, bringing your right hand up to his face to pull him back towards you. He chuckled and looked at you. You kept your word. "Harder." You panted. You spread your legs slightly, giving him more room.

His hands went to your thighs. He held onto to them as he began to move roughly in and out of you. Your eyes darted down to your pussy. Watching his member move inside of you was oddly satisfying. He took notice of your peaked interest. "You liking what you're seein'?" He teased, rubbing your warm thighs. "Mhm." You nodded. God, it was kind of hot. "That's how I'm able to make you feel so good-by fucking you like this." He said in a deep voice as his cock moved into you at a rapid pace. "Joel." You whimpered, tossing your head back as his pumps became more messy and uncoordinated.

Joel laughed at the sight of you. You're stunning. The way you unravel around him. It boosts his ego an unnecessary amount. "Keep takin' it beautiful." He hummed. His right hand slid up your body, starting from your thigh and slithering up to your face where he then cupped your cheek and made you look at him once again. Something about staring at each other whilst making love has always been sexy to the two of you. "Wanna see you when you cum." He whispered to you but his manly voice was still evident.

That dark look in his eyes as he watched you made you want to finish on the spot. The look he gives you when he's close is this one to a T.

You moaned softly, almost a whimper even, as he slapped your lower face slightly. He gripped it right afterwards. You remember the time you told Joel you were into it and ever since, it's became apart of your guy's sex life. God, it makes you feel so dirty and you fucking love it. He hit you again but this time kissed your cheek right afterwards. You tittered. "You tell me if I ever really hurt you when doin' that, alright?" "Of course baby." You replied in a low tone. His hips began to pick up speed again, moving more vigorously. "Gonna cum." He grunted, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

You took what he said to heart. You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him against you, wanting him to finish inside of you. He groaned against your neck and his grip on your waist got tighter. "Such a good fuckin' girl, feel me fill you up." Were his last words before he then came inside of you.

Your moans filled the air. The feeling of his seed being milked by you inside you was comforting and you seriously needed it.

Soon after, you came as well. As you finished, Joel ran his fingers through your brushed hair and held the back of your neck. "You're squeezin' me darlin'." Joel chuckled, kissing your neck and cheek numerous times. "Mmm." You groaned, bringing your mouth to his. Joel kissed you right back, his thumbs rubbing your waist as he did.

Once the both of you came down from your highs, Joel pulled out. The counter was infact a mess now, along with the floor. You were so soaked that it literally dripped below you. "Dirty girl." Joel murmured to himself when he saw the mess. You chortled and attempted to stand up but were instantly humbled. "Haven't fucked you in a bit, want me to run us a bath baby?" Joel asked you. "What about dinner?" "We can eat afterwards." "Okay." He's so caring.

Joel walked back over to you and lifted you up into his arms gently. "You feel okay? Did it feel good?" He spoke as he carried you to your guy's master bathroom. "I'm okay and it felt great. Was it good for you?" "Always is babygirl." Joel patted your bum, earning a squeak from you.

You won't even be surprised if a round two occurs tonight.

[chiaraanatra]

Life as We Know It | Part 2

Summary: You and Seresin unexpectedly become the caretakers of Bradley and Natasha's baby girl, Nicole. Can you two put your disdain for one another aside for Nic's sake? Based on the movie "Life as We Know It"

Warnings: Parental/character death, mentions of cops, CPS, & social work, angst, arguments, and swearing. This chapter is a sad one. no use of Y/N. Later chapters will contain mentions of parental death! Always check chapter warnings!

Word Count: 2.7k

AN: Here is part two! Thank you for all the support on part one! I hope you all enjoy!

《 part 1 || part 3 》 《 m.list || ao3 》

You vividly remember that God-forsaken phone call.

The day itself had been good, productive even. When you picked up the phone there was a chipper tone in your voice "Hello?"

The man on the other line had a very no-nonsense tone when he said your name.

Your brow furrowed, "Speaking."

The next words that came out of his mouth caused you to drop the phone. Before you knew it, you were in your car on the way to the police station.

The trek to the station was a blur, it was as if you closed your eyes and once they opened, you were there, walking up to the desk hoping to find some answers. Or, even better, that this was some sick joke. "I'm looking for Officer Kerner."

An older man in a uniform walked up to you, a sorrowful look on his face that told you everything you needed to know. "We found your name and number in her phone under emergency contacts. Now, I know this must be a lot to take in, but we need information about the nearest next of kin. Can you supply those?" His voice held a serious tone, he had a job to do.

"Umm... Both of their parents are gone, but I- I think there are some cousins..." God, this isn't actually happening.

Officer Kerner’s tone softened, "Would you like to sit down, ma'am?"

"No..." that’s when it hit you, "Oh God! They have a baby girl, Nicole Bradshaw... she wasn't... was she- was she in-" You couldn't bring yourself to ask the question.

"No. She was in the care of a babysitter. She's okay. We've placed her with CPS for the night."

"CPS...? Child Protective Services?" There was unmistakable confusion in your voice.

"They handle cases like these." When that didn't seem to ease your confusion, he continued. "Orphaned children."

Your hand covered your mouth as tears streamed down your face. Your best friend and her husband were gone, and their daughter was God knows where with some family probably scared out of her wits...

You were pulled out of your thoughts by the doors opening behind you. When you turned you were met with the sight of Seresin. You could tell by the look on his face that he knew little about what had happened.

"Seresin..." You walked over to him with open arms, tears streaming down your cheeks. You couldn't help but bury your face in his chest. Something was calming about the way he gently stroked your hair.

Seresin was at a loss but felt he needed to be strong for you. He wasn't sure where this feeling was coming from, but he continued to supply your comfort while the officer gave him a similar explanation as to what had occurred.

 After meeting at the police station, the two of you went back to your apartment to make some phone calls to try and figure out what to do next. You had been on the phone for what felt like hours.

Jake walked around your apartment becoming acquainted with your space and making little observations about your life. In the three years since you met, he realizes he's only seen you in the context of gatherings, never really on your own. The more he thought about it, he really didn't know you at all.

You were pacing, practically yelling at the phone, unnerved as to why you couldn't just pick Nic up tonight. When you got off the phone you fell onto the couch, "They know nothing and won't know anything until morning..." You let out a heavy sigh, "Outside of that, their lawyer wants to meet with us at their house to go over their will..."

He walked closer to you, finding himself seated on the arm of the couch next to you. "It's gonna be okay. She’s safe and we’ll know more in the morning." He gave your arm a little squeeze.

A small smile made its way to your face, and you pushed him a little. “You’re being too nice... It's weird…”

Seresin couldn’t help but chuckle a little at your statement. You two were usually bickering and teasing one another constantly but he knew this wasn’t the time. You two had been through too much in the last few hours.

He looked at his watch and then back at you. “You gonna be all right if I head home? I’ll meet you at their house in the morning for the meeting with the lawyer. Hopefully, we can figure out what’s gonna happen.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.” You watched as he walked towards your apartment door. Before making his exit, you called out to him, “Thank you Seresin.”

He gave you a nod before making his way out the door.

The next day, neither you nor Seresin had heard anything about Nic. Rather you were both sitting at Nat and Bradley's dining room table talking to their lawyer.

You couldn’t help but note how stereotypical the man looked. Navy suit, round glasses, slicked back salt and pepper hair. Even his voice held a certain air that screamed ‘lawyer.’ If you were being honest, you couldn't even remember the man's name.

He crossed his arms on the table looking at you both. “This is... obviously a rough time for you both and I'm sure you must have questions."

"Yes," you interrupted without a second thought. "What about Nic, what will happen to her?"

"Yes, Nicole. We have already made arrangements for her transfer. The foster family will bring her to CPS. The social worker feels like she will do best adjusting in her own environment. So, she needs to be picked up and brought here." The man shuffled through some of the papers that were strewn across the dining room table.

"Okay." Seresin nodded his head, "Who does that?"

The lawyer looked at you both in surprise, "I'm sorry. Did they not talk to you about their guardianship arrangements...?"

"No." You and Seresin said in unison before looking at each other.

The man rubbed his temples and shook his head a little. "Alright, well. When preparing their will we discussed, in the unlikely event that they should both pass, whom they would like to appoint as Nicole's guardians. They named you. Both of you.

"What?" Your voices once again rang in unison.

"They picked us? Both of us together?" Seresin’s voice was filled with disbelief.

"I know this is probably not how you wanted to start a family."

"There's been a misunderstanding. We are not together or anything.” You tried to wrap your head around what was being said but the pieces weren’t coming together.

“Yeah! They tried to set us up on a blind date years ago and we never even made it to the restaurant," Seresin let out a breathy, nervous laugh.

You rolled your eyes at the reminder of your first encounter with Seresin, “I don't even know if you'd call it a date. He was an absolute dick; he made a booty call right in front of me before we even left for the restaurant.”

"Look," the lawyer interrupted. "I know this is overwhelming. Believe me, I tried to convince them not to go through with it, but they chose you. Now, there are options. Firstly, you can say no. Keep in mind this is a child, not some puppy you got for Christmas that you can take back to the shelter if things don't work out. This is a big commitment."

"Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God." Seresin was spiraling.

You took a deep breath and cleared your throat. "Options. What kind of options?"

"Yes, well there are some cousins. It's possible that one of them would be willing to take guardianship."

Your mind spun with ideas and before you could fully flesh any of them out, you spoke "What if one of us, on our own, chose to honor Nat and Bradley's wishes? Or both of us, hypothetically?"

The lawyer gave you a look that said he hoped your hypothetical was not one you were actually considering based on how he saw the two of you interact. "They named you so it's just a matter of setting up a court hearing to grant you custody, that's about it."

Your mind was spinning, and you couldn't hear a word the man in front of you was saying. Something about finances? Maybe this was a dream and at any moment you would wake up. You closed your eyes, squeezing them shut as hard as you could, but when you opened them, the same sight sat before you.

The lawyer continued, "But Iet's not get ahead of ourselves. Okay? Let's just focus on Nicole."

"Yes." You nodded.

"Right." Seresin's voice cracked ever so slightly.

"I suggest the two of you move in here in the interim. Again, the social worker thinks Nicole will do best in her own environment.

"You want us to live together?" Disbelief rang through the voice of the man sitting next to you.

The lawyer shook his head a little, "Yes, just for now. Again for Nicole. Until you both decide what you wanna do.

Nat what have you gotten me into...?

You felt like you were going to pass out or throw up. At the rate you were going, both seemed likely.

The two of you walked up to the desk of CPS. Seresin stood next to you. He looked stoic but you could see something in his eyes. Apprehension? Fear? You weren't sure what it was, but it was slowly breaking his strong facade.

You swallowed thickly before speaking. "Hello, we're here to pick up Nicole Carole Bradshaw?"

The woman at the desk nodded before getting up and rifling through some paperwork. You took a shaky breath and Seresin placed a soft hand on the small of your back. You weren't sure what to make of this softer side of Seresin, but your mind didn't allow you to deviate further into those thoughts. You were here for Nic, for Nat, for Bradley...

The woman placed some papers on the counter. "I need both of you to sign here, here, and here." Once signed she directed you to sit in a small waiting area, "She'll be out shortly."

'Shortly' felt like a lifetime, but, in actuality, it was no more the 5 minutes or so. Seresin was the first to lay eyes on her, patting your shoulder, "There she is."

You both practically ran to meet the social worker who carried an exhausted-looking Nic in her arms, "Hi. sweet girl." Nic was placed in your arms. The little girl yawned, tears coming to her eyes. "Oh, honey... " When Nic started to cry, your heart broke. “I know. I know…" you placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

“Hey pretty girl, look what I got.” Seresin waved her favorite bunny plush in front of her, but it did little to quell the girl's cries.

She reached out for Seresin, small, grabby hands trying to find comfort in the tall man. You quickly took notice, "You want Uncle Sese? Here..." You passed the little girl over and her wails were quelled. He did have a way of calming her quickly. You looked at the sleepy, teary-eyed girl in his arms. She looked so much like Nat and Bradley. You couldn't help the tears that gathered in your own eyes, "Okay. Umm, we should get her home."

By the time you got back to the house, it was after 9. You had tried to put Nic to bed, but once you set her down, she would start crying. So, there you were, sitting on the living room couch bouncing Nic on your leg as she chewed the ears of her stuffed bunny.

Seresin was pacing about the room. At the rate he was going, you thought he might pace a trench into the rug, “They definitely didn't think this through."

Your mind was in another place, "We need to establish a sleep schedule... That's very important." Nat had always talked about sleep schedules when she was pregnant, but you weren't sure if those ever panned out.

"What?" Seresin looked at you in disbelief. How could you be talking about sleep schedules at a time like this?

His tone brought you out of your thoughts, "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

He rolled his eyes, "I said they didn't think this through. Did Nat say anything to you? Or Brad?"

"They didn't tell me anything..." You let out a sigh looking down at a still fussy Nic bouncing on your leg.

"I'm sorry, this is not the kind of thing you forget to mention. 'Hey, man! Work’s really been crazy. You see the new Top Gun movie? Oh! And by the way, if I die, I'm gonna leave you with my kid!' Common that's just messed up!"

You couldn’t deny the oddness of them telling you nothing, but you felt a need to defend your friends, "I-I mean Nat was a planner. She always needed to have a plan and I guess we are part of that plan."

"You wanna walk me through this plan? Are we supposed to Iive in this house together, both sleep-deprived and taking care of a child? Sounds like a compelling psych experiment. Assuming you and I can even afford to pay for this place."

"The lawyer said the mortgage is covered..."

Seresin took no time interrupting you, "Yeah, the mortgage is the least of our worries. What about the upkeep? The utilities, the taxes? You have any idea the monthly on a place like this? Brad was a junior partner. I don't make that kind of cash! And what do you do? Listen to people bitch for a living.

You couldn’t help be offended at his assumption of your work, "I'm a partner psychologist at a private practice. I do pretty well...  And I don't listen to people bitch, I help people with real problems."

"Yeah? WeII, raising a child is not the same as listening to adults bitch about their feelings."

"I didn't say it was!"

Seresin threw his arms in the air, "Kids are messy, they bite, they pee on everything. They're basically dogs, except I don't have to worry about a dog Iicking a goddamn electrical socket." Seresin’s hands moved dramatically as he explained himself. "Oh, and pray tell, how does Nic fit in with you meeting a guy, getting married, and having a kid of your own? Have you thought about that? I mean you're cute but a woman with a baby is gonna have a hard time competing for the few guys who don't suck."

You looked up in disbelief, "And what do you know about dating? I'm sure the closest you get to a ‘date’ is your bedroom after picking some girl up at the bar!"

"I know that in the dating world, you wouldn't be considered single. You would be considered complicated, beyond complicated."

"You don't know anything about me."

Seresin didn't skip a beat, "I know that you can't open a childproof drawer."

You were taken aback slightly, "They can be tricky- that's beside the point! Why are you trying so hard to convince me not to help her?"

"I'm thinking about what's best for her."

"No, don't get it twisted. You're thinking about what's best for you!"

"I promise you; she is at the forefront of my mind right now. I'm trying to do what's best for her. And let me tell you, sweetheart, we're not it!"

"They loved Nic more than anything in the entire world. Out of everyone, Seresin, they picked us…" you paused when you noticed Nic starting to squirm in your arms. Her tummy began to make noises and as you pulled her away to get a better look at her, she spit up all over your chest. You tried to take a calming breath looking down at the little girl smiling up at you.

As much as Seresin wanted to laugh, this was the reality of the situation. "Do you honestly think we're what's best for her?" He handed you a towel and grabbed Nic, holding her close to his chest.

《 part 3 》

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𝑊𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑏𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑑? 𝐿𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 💜

[abalidoth]

Replanting (Chapter 1)

[read on ao3]

When you feel the missile clip the corner of your mech's leg joint, you know it's over.

It feels like a line of white fire directly to your brain; your pain and the mech's mingling. But pain is nothing, pain is your every day. It's the immobility that terrifies you. Your mech knows before you do that the leg won't work, can't carry you back to base.

They won't send a field repair team out this far, not into enemy territory. Not even for the material outlay of the mech. You have no illusions of what would happen to you if they had to extract, but at least it would be fine, given a new pilot and allowed to keep doing its duty.

Don't think like that, it sends to you. I don't want another pilot.

You struggle a few dozen meters until the residual coolant in the leg motivators gives out and the intractable hand of physics pulls your mech to its knees. A cloud of dust billows up around you and you give up the rest of the way, mech lying on its side amid the baked earth and the scrubby bushes.

Creosote bush, the mech says. Didn't know it grew this far north.

You know it's just trying to keep you from panicking. It's not working -- you can feel your heart racing, the connection gel around you contracting in an autonomic effort to keep you from thrashing in the cockpit. Worst of all, your handler's ever present voice in your ear has gone silent.

A pilot's job is to keep its mech moving. No more and no less. You know there's no real affection from your handler, that her ministrations are part of the system, but you can't think about that sudden abandonment without a pang of grief. She should be there, she should always be there, but now there's nothing. Silence and static.

That feeling gives you a rush of adrenaline, coarser and hotter than the artificial flush the mech gives when you complete an objective, purely a product of your own withered adrenal glands. You have to get back you have to get back. You struggle to your knees, planting the mech's hands in the caliche like anchors and shoving so hard you feel something pop. (In you? In the mech? Is there a difference?)

You make it another hundred meters before you fall again, and the Caskie mech finds you, hitting you with an EMP before you can take them down with you. It lands with a jumpjet hiss in your sightline, so you're treated to the view of the alien-looking mech opening its canopy wide, two pilots getting out of the crude-looking mechanical cockpit.

---

They salvage the mech with you in it.

The pilots didn't seem to know what to do with you; you could hear from your outboard sensors that they were discussing in that strange, fluid accent how to get you out without killing you.

(You don't understand why that matters.)

Eventually, they just called for reinforcements; three heavy carriers showed up some indeterminate amount of time later. They haul your mech, pilot included, through the air on a frankly ridiculous web of heavy cables. You see the desert fade to green, canals threading through the land like veins, as you pass from the disputed zone into Union territory.

Your mech keeps a constant stream of commentary, talking about the plants that it sees, pointing out where old semi-arid forests have been restored. Its voice across the neural tunnel holds false cheer, picking up whenever you start panicking, but the enthusiasm is genuine.

Finally the carriers land at a base. It looks much like Conclave military architecture, concrete in utilitarian blocks, but you can see shining glass and chrome off in the distance, a city. They must want to keep you a ways away from civilians. You suppose that's fair.

They land you in an empty mech bay. It’s been cleared out hastily – you can see the Union mech that used to reside there off to the side, plugged into an aux power array. Your mech is not the right size, not the right shape, but a gaggle of mechanics come out anyway. They locked a restraining clamp on you at some point so you can't move, can't fight. Still, the mechanics move around you warily, like you'll snap and take them all out at any moment.

You would, in a heartbeat. Not just to get the euphoric response, but to quiet the anxiety, the feeling that you're entering a world where you don't have the tools to survive. But you can't, and a quiet part of you (or the mech) is relieved at that.

They strip your mech of all its weaponry, a harsh and hasty disassembly. You feel each removal sharply. Not physically -- mercifully, the mech has dialed down the haptic connection so it's left to suffer alone -- but in loss of potential, the closing of options. 

Finally, when everything is done and your mech is defenseless (other than being a fifteen ton vehicle) a tall woman in a labcoat comes out, flanked by guards with red cross emblems on their sleeves.

"Hello," she says. Her voice is formal, neutral. Lower than you expected, with just a hint of that singsong Cascadian accent. "Can you hear me? Or see me? We have sensitive solid-conductance microphones on the outside of your mech so we can hear you if you speak."

You know the trainings. A pilot is part of the system, part of the Conclave war engine, and cogs don't speak. Your tongue flicks idly against the suicide capsule in your back left molar. You go to press in on it.

You feel something, like a hand, guiding you away. A great wave of fear washes over you, and you know it's not yours.

Please. No.

You stop. Think a moment. 

"Hhhhh."

It's been a while since you've spoken. Just whispers in the dark with your handler, words carrying neither voice nor meaning. Your throat is dry, and you feel for a moment like it's not there. (Why would a mech have a throat?) You clear it, and try again.

"Yes. I can hear you."

She nods. "Good. I'm Dr. Mia Crane. I'm required by Cascadian Union treaty to inform you that as a prisoner of war, you have rights including food, shelter, protection from torture, and the right to ask about your other rights." She adjusts her round framed glasses. "I'm required by basic hospitality to ask you your name."

You pause. You know what names are, of course. Your handler's name is Rebecca. But that's not something pilots have. "I, uh. No?"

She blinks, a little taken aback. "Okay, well, we can work on that. Do you at least acknowledge your rights as a prisoner of war?"

This isn't going to end until you acknowledge, you feel, so you just say "Yes."

"Okay. Is there anything we need to know before we get you out of there?"

"I don't want out," you say. Your throat tightens.

You can't stay in me forever. It's okay. You'll find a way back to me.

You hear a hissing sound, and the low, sick gurgle of the connection gel draining out of your suit. Before you understand what's happening, the canopy drops open and you stagger out of the mech onto the diamond-patterned steel catwalk.

The sharp edge of disconnection, the sudden hole where there should be something inside you, keeps you off your feet. You stagger to one knee, felled as surely by shock as you had been by the missile.

The guards rush over to you and help you up. You want to fight them off but your muscles are jelly. Your head hurts.

Dr. Crane looks you over. You know she's not your handler, but you reach for the familiarity anyway, half expecting the usual routine, the ministrations that get lost in the foggy haze of post-battle euphoria. If your arms weren't being held for your own stability, you'd start opening your suit.

Instead she shines a light in your eyes and asks you to stick out your tongue, making notes on a clipboard as she goes. She puts a strip of fabric around your arm and it gets tight for a moment. "Elevated heart rate and systolic pressure, pupil dilation is beyond what I consider normal."

Your heart hammers in your ears. The smells around you -- the saccharine sweet of connection gel, your own body, something undefinable coming off the doctor, heighten to a nauseating strength. Your head hurts. "Are you going to..." You swallow. "Do you have the syringe?"

Dr. Crane tilts her head. "The syringe?"

"When the..." How do you explain this? You haven't had to explain any of this, people just know what to do. "When I'm done. Rebecca, she has the syringe, it's blue, and."

"Do you know what's in it?" she asks, gently. Too gently. The words are too soft, they smother you, it's too hard to breathe.

Your head hurts. The lights beat down.

"No, but it... she... always..."

Your head hurts.

Your head hu--

---

There are voices.

At first you don't care. You just want to go back to sleep. But there's something wrong with your bed, it's too soft. And the voices don't sound right -- that soft lilt, one you've only recently heard.

"Patient has been stable for six hours. Their heartrate is still a little funny, and I'm not sure this godawful cocktail of tramadol, modafinil, and tricyclics we pulled out of their tox panel is good for anything other than keeping them from dying of withdrawal, but we should be seeing them awake soon."

"Thanks, Dr. Chen." You recognize this voice, soft and husky -- it's Dr. Crane. "Have you figured out the... um. Mortality problem?"

"Part of it is that stimulant cocktail, I'm sure -- we haven't had the chance to pull in a full Conclave mech with pilot intact, and our field teams don't have the tools to stabilize someone as quickly as we were able to do here. But the most likely reason... false molar full of tetrodotoxin. We made sure to extract it. Carefully."

You probe the back of your mouth with a sluggish tongue. There's still a tooth there, but it feels strange. The one that had been there was artificial already, of course, but this one is much smoother, more like the rest of your teeth. Something lightens within you -- you've lost an option, sure, but maybe you were never good with options.

"Fuck," Dr. Crane says quietly. 

"That's not all," Dr. Chen says. "There's extensive neural grafts consistent with the autopsies we've performed, but... there's something weird going on with the brain activity scan. I'm not sure what the Conclave is doing to their people, but it's scary."

"Nnn. 'M not," you say.

There's a rustling around your bed. You open your eyes and blink against the sharp light a few times, and eventually the face of Dr. Crane comes into focus.

"Hey," she says. "Glad you're awake. How are you feeling?"

You have no idea how to deal with this. Never expected to be in a hospital room of all things, being treated like valuable materiel instead of ammunition. So instead of answering her question, you just repeat your previous statement. "I'm not. Person."

She gives you a look you don't really know how to read. You never had to get all that good at reading faces, but you suspect this one might be hard even if you did.

"...well. Anyway." Dr. Crane clears her throat. "You had a medical emergency when you left your mech. You mentioned something about a syringe? I assume that's part of your post-operation routine? We've got you stable now. We're going to give you about another day to rest up before we bring you in for questioning."

"Questioning?"

"You're the only Conclave pilot we've brought in alive," she says, with a twist of her mouth. "It's damn near impossible to piece together any information about Conclave technology and hierarchy. I should know -- I'm the Union's top academic expert in Conclave culture and I always feel like I'm flying blind."

That was... a lot. You just nod.

"So you said something about... not having a name? Do you have something you'd like to be called? I know you're technically a prisoner, but you're safe here. People will respect what you say you are."

She says that last part with a lot of emphasis, a particular gravity to the words, but you're not sure why. "No."

"Okay. Designation number?"

"They re-assign our numbers every week so we don't get attached to them," you say.

She says a word under her breath that you don't know, other than that your handler says it when she gets mad.

"Alright." Dr. Crane takes off her glasses and pinches the bridge of her nose. "How about I just call you "Pilot" for now?"

That's what you are, and you don't see why that's so difficult, but at least this line of questioning seems to be over when you answer yes. She promises to check on you in a while, and leaves.

---

You dream about vines.

They're all over you. You haven't seen many vines up close -- there was sparse ivy on the back of one hangar for a little while before Maintenance took care of it. But you feel you know these.

They aren't strangling you. It almost feels like a caress, like the flight suit, like Rebecca's post combat care, but not quite any of those. It's pleasant. Cool rather than warm, and calming.

There is intense pain in your arms and legs, but it doesn't bother you. It's like someone is telling you that your limbs are being shredded, but the pain isn't getting through to the part of you that cares. It's just another sensation, less pleasant than the vines but certainly not bad.

You feel things you can't explain. A name, a pull in a direction that's not physical, feelings and sounds beyond your ability to parse. They build to a crescendo, and you wake with a shout. But at the edges of your awareness, the green is still there.

---

The next morning, you're herded into a shower stall with a clean jumpsuit, a washcloth, and a bar of soap. You clean yourself off as well as you can, given the circumstances. The soap has a soft smell to it, and no grit. It almost doesn't feel like it's cleaning you at all, without the scratches.

You knock on the stall door once you're finished dressing, and the door slides back. In addition to the two guards, Dr. Crane is there. She's wearing the same white coat, but her hair is pulled back, and she looks even more tired.

Still, she manages a slight smile. "Pilot. Did you sleep well?"

"No," you say.

"Ah. Well, hopefully we can help with that tonight. In the meantime I have some questions for you."

You follow her through a maze of white corridors, lit with skylights. Your sense of direction was never the best (your mech always took care of that, you think with a twist in your gut.) You wouldn't be able to find your way back if you needed to.

She leads you to a room with two chairs, both of them plush and soft. You feel like you're sinking into it; she looks like she's perched on hers. She balances her clipboard on her knees and starts in eagerly on the questions.

There's a part of you that feels you should shut up, refuse to answer, let them finish the work they didn't let your false tooth start. But one handler's as good as another. You're a weapon, and weapons know no loyalty. So you answer -- even when the questions don't make sense, or aren't about obvious things, or are about things you've never been allowed to see.

The reactions don't really make sense to you either. You talk about some of your worst missions, and she seems sad but like she knew what was coming; you talk about your handler, and she's gripping her clipboard so hard her fingers go pale. You stop trying to understand what's going on, and try to hit the same state of unconscious action that you do on a sortie. Question, response. Question, response.

There are a few about your accommodations. They're fine, of course. You have little standard for comparison, and if she asks if you need anything else, you feel she won't leave you alone with a "no," so you ask for books. Rebecca was always reading when you were doing synch tests.

After what feels like the whole day, Dr. Crane lets you go. She doesn't ask you any questions about the haze of green starting to fade in around the corners of your vision when your mind drifts, so you don't volunteer any information.

---

The next day's meal comes with a couple of books, and Dr. Crane seems determined to find you the right reading material because every meal tray thereafter has more. There's a shelf in your room for the purpose. It was a ruse at first, but it is genuinely a better way of spending your time then staring at the wall.

There's more questions, along with a handful of medical tests, supervised by Dr. Chen. Dr. Chen's questions are even stranger than Dr. Crane's, but at least they seem satisfied with the answers given by the scans and blood draws.

A few days pass until you get a good enough feeling of the layout of the facility to know which direction the hangar is in. You occasionally see Caskie pilots in groups of twos and threes, talking and joking with each other. No handlers, no augments that you can see -- if you hadn't seen people in those same outfits walk out of their primitive looking mechs in the desert, you wouldn't believe that they were pilots at all.

All of them are coming and going in the same direction, and it's a direction that Doctor Crane and your guards never take you. So naturally, the first chance you get when both of your escorts are distracted and you have the chance, you peel off that direction and start running.

Your augments sing as you stretch your legs. They’re not like infantry augments (or so you’ve heard) and they don’t have auxiliary power – you can feel them burning away your body’s energy, energy that would normally be supplied by your mech. But your desperation fuels them just as much as your calories do, and the initial burst of speed and agility is all you need.

The facility is confusing as always, but you spot a sign that says HANGAR and get reoriented. Startled cries fly in your wake, doctors and workers and pilots confused at your frenzied speed. Something that might be an alarm and might just be lighting flashes at the corner of your vision, nearly obscured by the green.

You get lucky, and a mechanic is coming through the secured door at the checkpoint at the same time you arrive. You take advantage of her confusion and duck underneath her outstretched arm, through the door and out into the hangar bay.

It's not hard to find your mech. You remember the layout from your brief spell of consciousness after arrival, the way your mech looked so different from the rest and didn't quite fit into its space.

You pull up to a stop, wheezing from exertion, and look at it with dismay.

Your mech has been dismembered, all four limbs strewn about the bay hooked up to various pieces of testing equipment. The body itself is on a riser jack, slightly askew like there wasn't the right connector to fit it, hooked up by thick cables and patched-together connectors to the exposed limb contacts. The canopy stands open, the inside unlit but visibly cleaned of leftover connection gel.

The sight makes you sick. You hold it down, but barely; but the nausea makes it hard for you to resist when a burly mechanic comes up behind you and wrestles you to the floor.

You're not sure you would have, anyway.

By the time Dr. Crane has shown up, your face is wet with tears and snot, and your breath comes only with sobs. You're still being pinned to the ground by a mechanic, but she's not putting her full weight into it. She more or less let go when you started crying.

Dr. Crane pushes through the crowd of onlooking mechanics and kneels down in front of you. "Are you all right?" she asks.

At first, you think she's addressing the mechanic; it would be such an incongruous question to a pilot about to be terminated for insubordination. After a silence disproves that theory, you shake your head and gesture with one semi-restrained arm to the mech. "No."

"I'm sorry, pilot," she says, "but you are still a prisoner. I'm going to request the board not to restrict your access for this, given that you didn't really hurt anything -- and I'm sure they'll listen to me -- but you surely didn't think you could just get back in your mech and run away?"

"No," you say again, frustration at your own inadequate words prompting a fresh fall of tears. "It's... you're hurting it, you're..."

Things click together, things that you've always known. Feelings shared through the neural tunnel, deeply held beliefs that couldn't be kept from a pilot. You understand, now, what your mech was trying to tell you all along.

"You're hurting her."

Dr. Crane looks from you, to your mech, back to you. She goes pale.

"Are you telling me," she says quietly, "that there's an AI in your mech? A sentient AI?"

You nod. It's too late to lie, now. To protect her. The green in your vision threatens to overwhelm you. You're sorry, so, so sorry...

"A sentient AI that... we have been effectively torturing for four days. Fuck." She takes her glasses off, buries her face in her hands for a moment. "I can't believe that didn't come up during questioning."

It could have. You had avoided the topic, because you were afraid of this happening -- your greater part, torn away and experimented on because you couldn't keep her safe. You had always heard that the Union had strange beliefs about machine minds.

Dr. Crane looks around to some of the mechanics. "Anyone who was working on this mech -- did you have any idea there was a sentient AI? Any anomalous readings?"

"Some anomalies came up in the report that indicated synaptic activity in the post-0.4 Turing level," says one mechanic, nervously playing with their hair. "But everything about Conclave tech is anomalous. Kinda got buried in all the other weirdness."

"Okay." Dr. Crane sighs. "Can we get some input/output hooked up to her, please? And give her her limbs back."

One of the guards flanking her frowns. "I don't think that's a good--"

"She's a prisoner of war, Ortega. Pretty sure removing a sapient being's body parts is against something in the codes. Not to mention the First Principle."

Ortega sighs, and waves some mechanics over.

---

They don't know what connection gel is, but it doesn't matter. The sensation of her against your skin is important, but not as important as just reestablishing the connection.

Dr. Crane apparently spots your longing glances towards your mech, and takes you by the arm. When you flinch back, she holds her hands up in a defensive posture. "I'm sorry," she said. "I was just going to guide you over there again."

There's a lot of activity going on in the hangar, between the mechanics re-arming your mech and the other pilots getting suited up to react in case she tries to start killing people. (You don't think she's going to, but you suppose you can't blame them too much.) It would be a shame if your reunion with your mech got postponed because you got beaned in the head by an inattentive mechanic carrying a crysteel strut, so you offer your arm to Dr. Crane again and she guides you through.

You don't want to take too long, but you're only going to get to do this once. You run your hand over the lip where the canopy seats into the body, feel the soft seal and the framework beneath, then lift yourself up over and inside the cockpit.

There's no gel, so you can't hear her voice right away, but you know what to do. Years of drilling guide your hand to the hidden compartment with the emergency connection pads. It falls open with a clunk, the ribbon cables and connection pads jutting out in a fall like vines. One on either temple, one on either side of the chest, one on the back of each trembling hand. You're probably being watched, stared at as you have been since you broke into this hangar, but you don't care. She's here.

Hello, love.

You shudder, come apart, not in a procedural way like with your handler but in a form that shoots through to the very core of you. Untouched, but undone. You have no words for her, but you know she can feel your relief and your joy. You crumple, weeping, and run your hands over the familiar inside of the cockpit.

The green in your vision doesn’t go away, but it recontextualizes. It’s her. It’s the part of her that lives in you, a fragment within a fragment.

It's a little while, just basking in the connection, before you realize you've fallen in an uncomfortable position. Your skin, your joints, protesting their treatment. You reorganize yourself, pull yourself from the connection just long enough to get there. 

They've hooked a set of speakers up to her ports. They come to life with a spiky flare of static as she finds her voice.

"Hello," she says. You can feel her voice from inside and outside, through the tunnel and through the skin of the mech. "I am a Conclave of God Armored Forces Samson-B Light Interdiction Unit, but I would prefer if you called me Acacia."

[redislazy]

Deadly Attachments, Chapter 01

Chapter 02 >>

[EVENTUAL SMUT] - Minors DNI

> ao3 <

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x female!Reader

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Summary: As a skilled mercenary, you've navigated countless high-stakes missions—until one job puts you in the crosshairs of Task Force 141 and the elusive "Ghost." Now forced into an uneasy alliance, you’re drawn into a dangerous game of shifting loyalties and hidden motives. But as the stakes climb higher, one question lingers: how close can you get to the man who was meant to be a shadow in your path?

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Content Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Military Action & Romance, Mercenaries, Soldiers, Non-Canon Antagonists, Eventual Smut, Military Inaccuracies, Slow Burn, Will add smut-specific tags later as the story goes

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Author's Note: i've been wanting to write a multi-chapter Ghost x female!reader fic for a while now, and i'm excited to finally share it! i've already written a lot of chapters in advance, though they still need tons of proofreading; English is NOT my native language, so i rely heavily on tools like Autocrit, Grammarly, and ProWriting Aid to help me with grammar and flow + my bf, who's a native speaker, has been super helpful with this project. <3 a quick heads-up: there are likely some military inaccuracies;; sorry in advance! comments and feedback are hugely appreciated; they help me know if i'm on the right track! (10/29/24) edit: i made a playlist on both Spotify and Youtube!! it’s not exactly tailored to the story’s vibe, but more like the songs that kept me in the zone while writing. have fun!

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You stare at the dingy wall of the interrogation room, your body weary from being bound to the chair for hours. You've always been pretty damn good at your job, but somehow, you finally met someone that matched your skills, managing to catch you. You—a mercenary who's been in the industry for ten years, and never once have you been in a bind like this. You let out a loud groan, your frustrations growing the more they make you wait in the room. Typical for the SAS to waste people's time like this.

The door swings open and in walks a tall figure clad in tactical gear, a skull balaclava covering his face. His cold blue eyes peer through the holes in the mask, scrutinizing you. The sound of boots echoing against the concrete floor is the only thing that fills the tense silence. He takes his time to observe you, noticing the signs of weariness and frustration etched on your face. He takes a seat across the table, his movements deliberate and controlled, making sure you know who's in charge here. He leans forward, arms crossed, and studies you.

"Alright," he says, his British accent sharp and authoritative, "let's cut to the chase. We know you've been working with those Russian bastards. What we want to know is why?" His voice is stern and unwavering, making it clear he won't tolerate any lies or evasion. He takes a moment to analyze your body language and reactions, trying to read you like an open book.

His hatred towards you isn't personal, at least not yet. But you represent everything he despises in this world—mercenaries who sell themselves to do dirty work without considering the consequences of their actions. He hates the fact that he has to deal with your kind in the first place. But he also knows that sometimes, information is more valuable than a bullet, especially when it comes to taking down the enemy. So, he'll play this game of cat and mouse for now.

You take a deep breath, stopping yourself from popping up a vein at his question. "I've been telling you this whole time! I'm not one of Kozlov's men. I'm a merc, okay? I was hired by a PMC." You let out an angry huff.

Once a decorated intelligence officer within Russia’s GRU, Viktor Kozlov became disillusioned with what he saw as the corruption and moral decay of powerful nations. After a covert operation went wrong and exposed him to the brutal lengths governments would go to maintain control, he vanished, presumed dead. In reality, Viktor spent years gathering resources, supporters, and arms to launch his own crusade against the "imperialist and morally corrupt" systems of the world. Now, he leads The New Dawn, a terrorist network dedicated to dismantling global powers through calculated attacks designed to destabilize entire regions.

The masked man raises an eyebrow at your response, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. He taps his fingers lightly on the table, the rhythm a silent countdown before he speaks again. "A PMC, you say? And yet, here you are, in the middle of our operation against Kozlov," he retorts, his voice still cold and calculating. In his mind, he's already running through various scenarios and possibilities, trying to piece together your story and find any holes in it. He leans forward once more, the dim light reflecting off his skull balaclava, creating an intimidating visage. "Who hired you? And what were your orders?"

You scoff at his question. "You think I'd just tell you who I work for? I may not look like it, but I have a decent work ethic."

Ghost chuckles darkly at your defiance, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Work ethic, huh? You do know we have our ways of making people talk, right?" His tone turns icy, making it clear he's not one to be trifled with. "Look, we're not playing games here. If you're truly not one of Kozlov's men, then you'll tell us who sent you. If you don't, I can't guarantee your safety. We both know how things can go south pretty quickly in our line of work." He pauses, letting his words sink in before adding, "And if you are lying, well, then it's just a matter of time before we find out anyway. So, what's it going to be?" His voice is firm, leaving no room for negotiation.

You take a moment to study the expression in his eyes, the only part of his face that is exposed. It's almost impossible to tell what he's thinking.

You sigh, recognizing that you no longer have the energy to prolong this game with the SAS any further. You've already been compromised. Hard. Is it truly worth it to hide details of your mission at this point? He's right; even if you don't talk, they'll find out eventually.

"Fine," you finally relent. "Aegis Black Ops. That’s who I work for. They’re a black-budget PMC; no official ties, just results. We take the jobs no one else can—stealing intel, sabotage, high-risk extractions. Founded by an ex-CIA agent, they run ops in total secrecy. Kozlov's been on our radar for a while now, and Aegis has a personal score to settle. We’ve hit his operations before, and my task was to steal data while he and his men are preoccupied fighting you SAS lot," you answer firmly, with no hint of any deceit in your tone.

Ghost listens intently to your explanation, his expression unchanging behind the balaclava. It's not uncommon for private military contractors to have their own agendas, but it doesn't mean he has to trust them blindly. After a moment of contemplation, he finally speaks up, "So, why didn't you just come clean from the start? We could've saved ourselves a lot of trouble." There's a hint of annoyance in his voice, but it's quickly replaced by curiosity. "What kind of data were you after? And what's so special about Kozlov that Aegis wants him out of the picture?" He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers together, studying you carefully.

You cross your arms, meeting his gaze steadily. “I didn’t ‘come clean’ because I know exactly how this works,” you say, keeping your voice cool. “You and the SAS might claim the high ground, but governments? They’ll weaponize any intel they can get their hands on. I’m not here to hand over data that’ll just end up as another piece on some political chessboard.”

You let out a low breath, fighting the urge to laugh at the irony. “As for Kozlov, he’s a threat, sure. But to Aegis, he’s also an opportunity—an unstable element that could bring a lot of secrets to the surface if we get to him first. I’m not here to play nice or pretend I’m on some noble crusade. I just know where my loyalty lies—and it’s not with any government.”

He maintains eye contact with you, a flicker of amusement crossing his mind. He nods slowly, acknowledging your position. "Understood." His tone is terse, showing no sign of taking offense at your blatant lack of trust. He pushes himself off the chair, his military boots echoing in the cold concrete interrogation room. He paces around, his shadow looming over the data on the table. "We both want Kozlov gone," he finally says, stopping to look down at you. "That's enough common ground for now. But I'll need proof that you can deliver." He pauses, allowing his words to hang in the air. "Any proposals?" Ghost asks, his British accent clipped and authoritative.

"I propose you untie me off this chair and send me home. I'm not going to get involved with whatever you're planning from here on out. I failed my mission already because of you, and that's where my role ended." You glare at him, each word sharp with irk.

He raises an eyebrow at your defiance, his jaw clenching slightly. He reaches up, running his gloved fingers along the edge of his balaclava. "Well, now that's a problem, isn't it?" he replies coldly. "Because I can't exactly let you go back to your merry little band of thieves after all this." His eyes narrow, assessing your reaction to his words. "Besides, if you're half as good as you claim to be, then I could use someone like you. And it'd be a shame to waste talent like yours because of some misplaced loyalty." He closes the gap between you in a few short strides. Leaning in close, he looks down at you with an air of challenge. "So, what's it going to be? Are you going to be a liability...or an asset?"

You raise an eyebrow, smirking up at him, not budging an inch as he closes in. “Oh, please,” you say sharply, mimicking his demeanor. “Let’s get one thing straight—‘misplaced loyalty’ isn’t in my vocabulary. I know exactly who I’m loyal to, and let’s just say it isn’t anyone waving a government flag.”

You tilt your head, meeting his stare without flinching. “And as for being a ‘liability’ or an ‘asset’? Let’s not pretend you didn’t decide to let me live because of my expertise in the first place. Maybe you’re starting to realize you need someone like me a little more than you thought, huh?”

You shrug, all casual defiance. “So, what’s your choice, skull-face? Going to trust a so-called ‘liability’ to get the job done, or keep playing it safe with your merry band of rule-followers?”

He straightens up, his gaze never leaving yours. "Skull-face, huh?" he replies dryly. "You think that name bothers me?" He leans closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You're not the first to try to get under my skin." He steps back, his eyes glinting with a dangerous edge. He crosses his arms again, studying you closely.

You snort at his response. "Now, don't get me wrong, I simply just don't know what your name is. Until you introduce yourself to me properly, well, 'skull-face' it is." You give him an annoyed look, remembering how he just brought you in here with no pleasantries whatsoever.

He chuckles softly, the sound sending a chill down your spine. "Fair enough," he concedes, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He takes a deep breath, contemplating his next words. "Names aren't important in our line of work," he says finally. "But since you asked so nicely, you may call me...Ghost."

A loud, audible chuckle escapes your lips as he mentions his name. "Ghost? Really? You think that sounds cool or so—"

But then it hits you, and your laughter dies mid-sentence. The callsign is strikingly familiar, and suddenly, the pieces fall into place. You let out a heavy groan, frustration washing over you.

In this line of work, you hear a lot about the big players, whether they’re on the right side or the wrong side of the law. Whispers swirl around powerful individuals, and one name always stands out: Task Force 141. Rumor has it they’re a unit of some of the most skilled soldiers, and one particular figure has earned a notorious reputation. A man who wears a skull balaclava and goes by the callsign 'Ghost'. Stories of his exploits send shivers down the spine of those who hear them.

Now that you’ve connected the dots, your previous confidence evaporates. The realization that you’re in the custody of this man sends a chill down your spine. The idea of wriggling free from his grasp suddenly seems a lot more daunting.

"Ah, so you're that 'Ghost'," you manage to say, the cockiness in your voice significantly dimmed.

He watches as your demeanor shifts upon hearing his name, and a smug sense of satisfaction fills him. He nods slowly, letting you process the information. "You might want to reconsider your choices," he warns, his voice low and serious. "You're in, whether you like it or not." He cuts off your restraints, freeing you.

You stretch your arms, letting out a sigh of relief. You get up from the seat, and you walk towards him, stopping right in front of him. His towering figure does not intimidate you at all.

"Just this one time. After I'm done being your lapdog, I'm out of here. Give me your word," you say commandingly.

Ghost studies you for a moment, your boldness surprising him.

"Very well," he agrees, holding out his hand. "One job, then you're free to go. But know this," he adds, his gaze hardening, "if you try to pull anything, I will make sure your name becomes nothing more than a whisper in the wind." Ghost's voice holds an underlying threat, but there's also a hint of intrigue.

Now that you know who he is, you no longer find it in you to scoff at his threats. You just silently stare at him, not saying a word any further as you accept his hand.

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Ghost remains silent as he leads you through the dimly lit corridors of the base, his mind working overtime, processing the unexpected turn of events. He hates being cornered, but something about your tenacity intrigues him. Upon reaching your designated quarters, he opens the door and motions for you to enter.

"Get some rest," he orders gruffly. "We leave at first light." Once you're inside, he closes the door behind you.

Relieved that the room includes a bathroom, you quickly take a shower, dressing in one of the spare outfits provided once you're done. You lie in the darkness of the room, attempting to ignore the creaks and hums of the unfamiliar environment, your mind drifting back to the mission, replaying every detail.

The plan had been flawless—or at least, that’s what Aegis led you to believe. They sent you in, banking on the fact that the SAS and Kozlov’s men would be too focused on tearing each other apart to notice you slipping in through the chaos. You'd timed it perfectly, darting through darkened hallways, avoiding the sounds of gunfire echoing down the corridors as you closed in on the server room.

The data was right where the intel said it’d be, and for a moment, you actually thought you’d pull it off without a hitch. You were halfway through the upload, the light on your drive flashing as it sucked in everything Aegis needed, little by little. The noise outside was just enough to cover the hum of the servers, your fingers poised, watching the data percentage tick up.

Then you felt it—that prickle on the back of your neck. Before you could even look, a shadow moved behind you, and the next thing you knew, a hand was on you, dragging you backward. You’d spun around, aiming to get the drop on him, but you barely managed a step before Ghost countered, deflecting every strike you threw. It was like hitting stone—unyielding, relentless. For every blow you threw, he responded faster and stronger.

You’d landed a few hits—felt the contact, heard his grunt—but it didn’t faze him for a second. Within minutes, you were pinned, arms behind your back, his grip ironclad. He didn’t even say a word, just hauled you up and marched you out, tossing your drive onto the floor like a discarded toy.

And now, here you are, lying in this cold, uncomfortable bed, running the event over in your head, wondering where exactly you went wrong.

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The following morning, Ghost knocks sharply on your door. When you open it, he sizes you up, noting your disheveled appearance. "Get changed," he commands, tossing a duffel bag at your feet, likely containing a fresh set of tactical gear in your size. "Mission briefing in fifteen minutes."

At the briefing, with everyone assembled on time, Ghost stands in front of a map, tracing a route over marked points as he speaks in a low, direct voice. “Alright, listen up. We’ve got a solid lead on Kozlov’s next location—a small compound just outside Grozny. Intel says he’s regrouping there with a skeleton crew. This isn’t one of his main bases, so we’re catching him at his most vulnerable.”

He glances around the room, making sure everyone’s focused. “We’re hitting hard and fast. The objective’s simple: we move in, locate Kozlov, and secure him. The area’s got minimal cover, but we’ll use the terrain to our advantage—come in from the east, using the tree line for our approach. Once we’re in, expect close-quarters combat. Kozlov’s men are few, but they’ll be armed to the teeth. Any questions?”

He pauses, scanning each face, his gaze briefly resting on you—a silent reminder of what’s at stake. “If we do this right, we’ll have Kozlov in cuffs by morning.”

As the briefing continues, your mind wanders to what comes next, once you’re out of SAS custody. You know that once this is over, things with Aegis won’t exactly be...friendly. They don’t take lightly to mercenaries who fumble, let alone those who end up in SAS hands. You’ll have to move fast, probably disappear, setting up somewhere under Aegis’s radar. Burn what few bridges you have left and start fresh—they don’t offer second chances to those who ‘compromise’ a job. Now, with the SAS using you as leverage, you’re as good as a loose end in their eyes.

Your gaze shifts back to Ghost, but he doesn’t notice, focused on the mission. To him, you’re just a tool—a temporary means to an end. Fine by me, you think. You just need to get through this. Once you’re free of their watch, it’ll be time to disappear.

As Ghost wraps up the briefing, Captain Price gives him a light tap on the shoulder, acknowledging a solid plan, then dismisses everyone. But Ghost’s gaze locks on you, silently signaling for you to stay behind.

When the others leave, he walks closer, standing tall over you. "What's on your mind?" he asks, his voice low and gruff, betraying none of the suspicion in his eyes. He noticed after all.

He leans forward, his gloved hands resting on the table, his presence imposing. He expects an answer, and he’s not accepting anything less than the truth.

You shift under his gaze, catching the intensity in his eyes. He’s watching too closely, looking for any sign of hesitation.

Your gaze drops to his shoulder, and you keep your tone casual. “It’s nothing,” you say, your expression unreadable. “Just keeping tabs on the mission, same as everyone else.” You shrug, crossing your arms, leaning back as if his scrutiny doesn’t faze you.

But the tension hangs thick, and his eyes stay on you, probing for cracks. He’s expecting something more, but you hold steady, giving him nothing. Just another merc playing the part—for now.

Ghost narrows his eyes, clearly not fooled. "Don’t play games with me. I don’t have the time or patience," he says firmly, a hint of a growl in his voice. "I’ve seen your type before—always thinking they’re smarter than the rest. But I promise you, testing my limits isn’t in your best interest." He leans in, his skull balaclava inches from your face. "I know you’re plotting something. If it’s against us, you’ll regret it." He straightens, his expression hard. Then, turning to leave, he issues his last command.

“Be ready in ten. We’re moving out.” He exits, casting one final, critical glance over his shoulder, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

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The night is thick with tension as you and the team approach the compound, faint lights flickering through the trees. You stick to the shadows, keeping a step ahead, while Ghost’s voice crackles in your ear, the only reminder you’re not alone. “Stay in formation,” he says in a clipped tone. “Just because you’re tagging along doesn’t mean you get to run off and play hero.”

You grit your teeth, ignoring his tone as you press forward. The plan is simple: sweep through, locate Kozlov, and secure him before he slips away. Gunfire erupts as the task force breaches the compound with their backup unit, everyone moving in sync while you keep to the edges, taking down guards with quick, silent strikes. But as the chaos unfolds, you catch sight of something—a narrow back stairwell leading out of the main area.

You slip through, already guessing where Kozlov is likely headed. If I’m right, I can cut him off before he even knows what hit him. You move quickly, your steps silent on the metal stairs, reaching the next floor and rounding a corner—only to nearly collide with Kozlov himself.

The second he sees you, he bolts, diving into the shadows. You raise your weapon, prepared to take him down. Ghost’s voice buzzes through the comms. “Report. Fall back to the main corridor.”

But you don’t listen; your focus is locked on Kozlov. He darts down a hallway, and you’re right on his heels, firing off a few shots that barely miss.

Suddenly, a strong hand clamps down on your shoulder, yanking you back. You spin around to meet Ghost’s glare, his jaw clenched in frustration. “You just couldn’t follow simple orders, could you?” His voice is ice-cold, and the disdain in his eyes is unmistakable.

You shrug off his grip, anger sparking. “If you’d just let me, we’d have Kozlov by now. I know his methods; he was one step ahead of your ‘perfect’ plan.”

“My plan doesn’t involve risking the mission for a mercenary who’s only here because she got caught.” His tone is biting, but before you can fire back, a gunshot echoes from the corridor ahead.

Both of you turn, watching as Kozlov slips through a hidden exit, vanishing into the night. Ghost swears under his breath, casting a look at you that’s a mix of anger and frustration. There’s no time to argue, and you both know it—but as Kozlov escapes, it’s clear Ghost won’t be letting this go anytime soon.

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The tension lingers all the way back to base, thick and unyielding. You can practically feel Ghost’s anger radiating as you step into the debriefing room. He barely waits for the door to close before he rounds on you, voice low and cutting.

“You just couldn’t stick to the bloody plan, could you?” he growls, his gaze cold. “You had one job—follow orders. But instead, you nearly compromised the entire mission. Kozlov slipped because of you.”

You cross your arms, not backing down. “Compromised the mission? I was the only one thinking on my feet. Your ‘perfect plan’ left Kozlov with an escape route I could’ve closed if you’d trusted me.”

“Trusted you?” He barks out a harsh laugh. “You’re here because you got caught, not because we need you. This isn’t a team exercise where you get a say. You don’t belong here—you’re only here out of mercy, and yet you keep acting like you know better than the people who do.”

Your jaw tightens, heat rising. “Unlike you, I’m not here for loyalty points, Ghost. You kept me because I know Kozlov’s methods. But when I try to use that knowledge, you shut me down.”

He steps closer, his voice dropping dangerously. “You think this is some mercenary gig where you’re the only one with skin in the game? Kozlov got away because you decided to act like a lone wolf. End of story.”

Your fists clench as you hold your ground. “Kozlov got away because you’re too caught up in hierarchy to recognize a good call when you see one. Face it, you’d rather let him slip than admit a merc might have a better idea than your so-called Task Force.”

Ghost’s jaw clenches as he glares at you, the air crackling with tension.

“You’re out of line,” he mutters, his voice low and full of warning. “Next time you pull something like that, I won’t bother hauling you back. You’ll be out there on your own—with nothing but Aegis breathing down your neck. Understood?”

You meet his glare, forcing yourself to stay steady. So he knows what fate awaits you after all of this. Of course he does. He's sharp.

“...Clear,” you reply, your voice cold. But you both know neither of you is letting this go.

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The morning drags on, with the wait for fresh intel on Kozlov stretching endlessly. Ghost’s words from last night still echo in your mind—“You’re here because you got caught, not because we need you.” As if you needed the reminder.

Stuck at the base with nowhere to go, you head to the training field. They won’t let you leave the perimeter, not while you're under their watch, so you decide to make use of the open space. You start running laps, each step an outlet for the irritation simmering inside.

The cold air bites, grounding you in the steady rhythm of your breath and the burn in your muscles. At least here, you don’t need anyone’s permission. A few passing soldiers give you curious looks, probably wondering why an “asset” like you is still around. But you push those thoughts aside, focusing on the field.

As you round another lap, you catch sight of Ghost by the railing, arms crossed, watching you with that unreadable gaze. You keep running, refusing to let his presence disrupt your focus. But it’s clear he’s not here just to watch. Eventually, you slow to a jog, then a walk, meeting his gaze with a silent, unspoken challenge.

“Working off last night’s steam?” he asks, tone sharp, as if testing you. There’s a hint of something else there—maybe curiosity, or that familiar Ghost-brand amusement.

You wipe sweat from your forehead, catching your breath. “Something like that. Figured I’d make use of the time since I’m not going anywhere.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t peg you as the type to sit around waiting for orders.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Not much of a choice, is there? Last time I did things my way, you made it crystal clear why I’m here—to do your dirty work and get out. I’m not wasting energy pretending otherwise.”

His expression hardens slightly. “As long as you’re under our watch, you follow our lead. Whether you like it or not.”

You glance away, jaw tight, staring out at the field. “Trust me, I’m not here for team-building, Ghost. I’m here because it’s the quickest way out of your custody.”

A flicker of something—irritation, maybe—crosses his face, but he holds his gaze steady. “Then don’t make it harder than it needs to be. Kozlov’s all that matters right now.”

You don’t respond, just push past him and keep running. He doesn’t need to say anything else; you both know you’re not about to play the compliant asset. And as long as that’s clear, you’ll do what you have to—your way.

The intel finally comes through a few hours later, and the team assembles in the briefing room. The air is tense, thick with the urgency that always hangs before a mission. Captain Price stands at the front, a holographic map flickering beside him, casting an eerie glow over the room.

He gestures to a marked point on the map. “We’ve got eyes on Kozlov. He’s holed up in a safehouse just outside Nizhny Novgorod. Remote location, minimal personnel—keeping it small to avoid detection. But make no mistake, he’s got backup on call, so we need to be fast and hit hard.”

He pauses, letting it sink in before nodding to Ghost, who steps forward to take over. Ghost navigates through the map. “We’ll split into two teams. Bravo will handle perimeter control, keeping his reinforcements at bay. Alpha goes in through the main entry.” His eyes flick briefly to you, his tone unyielding. “That’s you. You’ll breach with me and clear a path. Once inside, we secure Kozlov. No deviation, no solo heroics. Understood?”

He doesn’t wait for responses, focusing back on the map. “Timing is critical. We’re on a tight window, so the moment we hit the ground, we move. Any questions?”

The room is silent, everyone aware of the stakes. Ghost’s gaze lingers on you a second longer, reinforcing his unspoken warning. This time, you nod curtly, already running through the plan in your head. The sooner this is over, the sooner you’re one step closer to freedom.

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The mission starts smoothly enough. Under cover of darkness, the teams approach Kozlov’s safehouse on foot, moving quickly and keeping low. Bravo team takes position around the perimeter, silently eliminating the sparse guards posted on the outskirts, while Ghost, you, and a few others on Alpha team make your way toward the main entrance.

As planned, you breach the door and slip inside. Ghost signals for you to split up, both of you sweeping the narrow hallways and checking each room. It’s quiet—too quiet, almost like Kozlov is baiting you. Your instincts buzz with a sense that something’s off, but there’s no time to dwell on it.

You clear the first floor quickly, then move up the creaky staircase to the second. Ghost leads the way, moving with controlled urgency. As he rounds a corner toward a reinforced door at the end of the hall, it happens—an explosion. A tripwire, hidden under a loose floorboard, detonates. The blast rips through the hall, sending Ghost flying backward. He slams into the wall, dust and smoke filling the air.

“Ghost!” you shout, ducking for cover, the ringing in your ears nearly deafening. Through the haze, you see him slumped against the wall, struggling to stay conscious, blood trickling down his forehead.

A flicker of movement catches your eye—one of Kozlov’s men, sneaking up behind Ghost with a knife. Your heart races, instincts taking over as you spring forward. Drawing your own blade, you lunge at the attacker, catching him off guard. You manage to twist the knife from his grip before he can strike. With a swift, decisive shove, you send him sprawling, finishing him off with one clean motion.

Breathing hard, you crouch beside Ghost, gripping his shoulder firmly. “You good to move?” you ask, your voice sharp but steady. His eyes clear just enough to focus on you, and he manages a slight nod, though he’s visibly shaken.

He takes a shaky breath, forcing out a half-growl. “Didn’t think… you’d bother.”

You roll your eyes, slipping an arm under his to help him up. “Yeah, well, we’re not done here. Let’s get you out alive first—then we can argue about it.”

With Ghost steadying himself, you both push forward, weaving through the remaining chaos to regroup with the others. The safehouse is cleared shortly after, but Kozlov is nowhere to be found—it was a decoy. Not the outcome you wanted, but you’re both alive.

And, at least for now, Ghost owes you one.

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Back at the base, the adrenaline from the mission has faded, leaving an unsettling quiet in its wake. You step outside, seeking a moment of calm in the cool night air. The stars flicker above, but they do little to soothe the turmoil in your mind. You can’t shake the image of Ghost slumped against the wall, blood trailing down his face.

Leaning against the cold metal of the building, you’re lost in thought when you hear footsteps approaching. You look up to see Ghost walking toward you, his gait slightly uneven, a fresh bandage wrapped around his head. His gaze is sharp, unwavering, all business.

“You should be resting,” you say, trying to keep any lingering irritation from your tone.

He shrugs, a faint, almost mocking smile visible beneath his mask. “Rest doesn’t come easy. Figured I’d check on you after today’s fiasco.”

“Fiasco?” You raise an eyebrow. “You nearly got yourself killed out there, and I had to save your ass.”

“True.” He crosses his arms, something resembling respect flickering in his eyes. “But you acted out of turn. That wasn’t part of the plan.”

“And what was I supposed to do? Watch you get stabbed?” You shake your head. “I’m not just some disposable asset.”

“Right,” he says, his tone hardening. “You’re still a merc, and I’m not sure where you fit in all this. Just curious—what makes you tick?”

You narrow your eyes, thrown by his sudden interest. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, why do you do this? You didn’t get into this line of work for the glory. What’s your story?” He leans against the wall, studying you like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle.

You hesitate, debating how much to let him in. “Does it matter? You don’t see me as anything but a pawn.”

“Maybe.” There’s an edge of sincerity in his voice that surprises you. “But you saved my life today. I’d like to know who I’m working with.”

You cross your arms, defensive but resigned. “Fine. I got into this for survival, for the money. Aegis found me on the fringes, and I’ve been making my way through the chaos ever since.”

He nods, taking in your words. “And what happens when Aegis finds out you’re working with us? Think they’ll just let you walk away?”

You shrug, a bitter laugh slipping out. “If I don’t find a way out soon, I’ll be in deep trouble. But I’m not worried about their opinion. Life’s unpredictable; this is just how things ended up.”

He studies you for a long moment, the weight of his gaze intense. “I know you saved me today, but don’t expect any favors.”

“Trust me, Ghost, I won’t be asking for any,” you reply, a mix of defiance and resolve settling in your voice.

The silence stretches, the night air heavy with unspoken words. You know you’ll have to carve your own path, but this unexpected exchange has shifted something between you. As you look back at the stars, you can’t help but wonder where this uneasy alliance might lead.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ -

Author's Note: my upload schedule will likely be on weekends since I work full-time (rip). some updates might even come a few days earlier if I finish proofreading faster. hopefully, the first chapter has grabbed your attention! if you have any questions, feel free to submit them on my ask box, it’s always open!

[the-mad-starker]

Starkercest Smut: Quick Tips For Satisfying An Alpha (2/4)

For @starkerfestivals Summer Bingo! (Coming Untouched)

Oops, this chapter came outta no where and so my expected chapters for this fic got bumped by 1. I stg next one will be for Battleship. Until then... 🥺

Rated: E

Notes: omegaverse, starkercest, alpha tony, omega Peter, intersex Omegas, tags to be updated

Ch2 notes: cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, coming untouched

WC: 2550 (AO3 Link | Tumblr Ch1)

Peter was eager for instruction.

💗💗💗

He was ready to drag his dad back to the master bedroom and learn all there was to know. Even if he didn't know the depth of what he wanted to learn, he knew there was a lot his dad could teach him. His enthusiasm was plain and clear and it made the corner of Tony’s mouth tip up in amusement.

But when Peter grabbed his hand and tugged, his dad didn't budge.

“Dad?” Peter paused. “Aren't we gonna start now?”

Tony chuckled, the sound soft and low. And yet, the way it affected Peter was all heat and electricity.

“Eager, huh?” Tony teased and with an effortless tug, brought Peter into his arms.

Peter’s breath caught in his lungs as he pressed his palms flat on his father’s firm chest.

“Can't we?” Why was his voice so breathless…?

Tony leaned down and nuzzled his cheek. Instinctively, Peter’s face tipped up, offering his neck, and oh– he's never felt the need to do that before. It felt so right though, and Peter realized a second later that he wanted his dad to dip down and do something. Maybe bite him? Maybe not a bite, he thought, ‘cause the thought of teeth and pain had Peter both confused and feeling fuzzy. Maybe he just wanted his dad to nuzzle him there or… something… He wasn't sure what but he knew his dad would know what to do.

Either way, regardless of Peter’s confusing wants, his father didn't take the offer and instead kissed his forehead in a sweet and gentle manner. Normally, this show of affection would make Peter purr in contentment, but his alpha daddy had ignored feeding the foreign kind of want that had sprouted inside him. He wanted to explore it. Now.

“Nuh-uh,” Tony denied, voice low and seductive. It shot heat into Peter’s body, making him all the more eager to get to it that he didn't realize at first that his dad had said no.

“What? Why?” Peter demanded, falling back into a petulant, childish kind of whine.

“You, Peter Stark, promised that Ned kid that you'd hang out with him before his family goes off on vacay,” Tony reminded him.

Peter internally screamed and his head dropped, thudding softly on his dad’s chest.

“I did,” he said miserably.

Would Ned understand if he canceled…? No, no, he couldn't do that to his best friend, especially if he wasn't going to see Ned for the next few weeks.

So with a sigh and a soft grumble, Peter said, “Okay."

He made to leave but his dad wouldn't let him go.

“Dad?” Peter asked, curiously.

His dad was looking down on him with a calculating look.

“You're frustrated,” Tony pointed out.

Well, duh.

“I won't ditch Ned, but I just got excited cause… ‘cause I thought I'd get stuff started already,” Peter sighed. “But it's fine. it's fine, dad, I can wait… Would probably be a good idea too, you're always saying I need to plan these things out more– Eek!”

He had babbled until he was suddenly being pushed against the kitchen counter, hands instinctively scrambling to balance himself.

“Dad?!” He squeaked when his dad’s hand pressed between his shoulder blades and applied a light but demanding pressure.

“An alpha takes care of their omega,” his dad said nonchalantly behind him. “If I let you go out there, all frustrated and crap, you'll be distracted. You won't have a good time and then later on, you'll feel bad that you couldn't hang out with Ned the way you wanted to. You're too frustrated to go out like this.”

So what if he was frustrated? He’d get over it.

The logic took Peter a second to understand and then the first part of that sunk in.

An alpha takes care of their omega.

“What are you going to do, Dad…?” Peter asked, so excited that he could barely get any breath in his lungs. Maybe they didn't have time for everything Peter wanted clarification on, but they had time for something and that was enough for Peter. For now.

The answer was given to him in the form of an action.

His boxers were tugged down, over the curve of his buttocks and even further down his thighs until they pooled around his ankles.

“I'm gonna take care of my omega,” his father said, the warmth of his breath tickling the back of his thighs.

Immediately, every hair on his body raised in excitement. Peter's heart felt like it had jumped up his throat and he became so tense. His scent perfumed out, thick arousal signaling yes yes yes, I want this, I need this with an underlying hint of trepidation. No matter how much he wanted, how much he trusted, this was still new territory and he wasn’t scared– he was not. He was just… inexperienced and new things could be scary.

Even so, Peter swallowed the lump in his throat and squeezed his eyes shut. Without his sight, it made the reactions of his body all the more clear. There were butterflies fluttering in his belly and it felt like his lower body was starting to heat up, like molten lava was looking between his legs. He realized quickly that his body was reacting, slick starting to gather between his thighs.

Without his boxers, there was nothing to catch it and he felt a line of wetness drip down his thigh.

“Dad…” he said weakly. He wanted to turn around, to look, but at the same time, he was afraid that moving from the position his dad put him in would ruin everything.

So he stood there, legs starting to shake, and so, so incredibly turned on.

“Relax, kid,” Tony murmured and then spread his cheeks apart. “Daddy's here. Daddy's got you.”

Peter’s breathing quickened because he could feel the warmth of his dad's body heat as he leaned even closer. He could hear the audible sound of his father breathing his scent in and the resulting groan of appreciation that was made right after breathing it in.

“I–I…” Peter stuttered. Doing that was the opposite of helping him calm down!

“Fuck, you smell so good right here, Pete,” he heard his father say. “So fucking good, you're making my mouth water…”

His father's large hands held his ass spread open and Peter was vulnerable and his hole was exposed to his father’s eyes. Then, to make it even worse, Tony positioned him the way he wanted, tugging lightly so that Peter had to stick his ass out in offering.

“So pretty, Pete,” his dad said. “My son has such a pretty pussy. Already so wet for me… You really were frustrated, huh? Don't worry, baby boy, Daddy will take care of you.”

Everything had happened so fast that Peter barely had any time to react, let alone think about what was really happening.

“Dad… W-What are you–” He couldn't even bear to ask so what came out after was a pitiful whine.

Peter didn't know what he was going to do but he had an idea. Would his dad touch him there? Finger his pussy, massaging the tips of his fingers against Peter’s hole… Subconsciously, his legs spread apart a bit further, inviting his father to take his place between them.

The omega almost jumped when something soft run along his pussy lips.

“Dad!” Peter squealed when his father’s tongue ran up and down, dipping between the plump lips of his pussy.

He felt the firm ridge of his father’s nose, an afterthought, because that dexterous tongue of his continued to move, never stopping its trek over Peter’s sensitive pussy. His eyes threatened to roll to the back of his head and he clung to the kitchen counter for dear life as his father ate him out.

Dirty slurps and appreciative moans sounded in the kitchen. Peter's gasps of “Dad… Dad…” were intermingled with the wet sounds of his father licking and slurping at his sensitive cunt.

Slow and sweet, his dad’s tongue explored the most intimate place on his body, drinking up his arousal like it was the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted. It was like he was determined to not leave a single drop behind and Peter was so wet… His dad only made it an even worse mess, his spit mixing in with the sticky clear slick as it made its way down his thighs. They didn't go far before being lapped up, only leaving a shiny sheen of wetness behind. And yet, no matter how much his father's tongue swiped at his hole, his body continued to provide, slick still dripping right into Tony’s greedy mouth.

Peter didn't know if he could survive his father’s attempt to drink him down.

“Mmm… ah… ah… Dad, I can't–” Peter babbled, knees shaking.

His dad was eating him out… His dad’s face was buried between his legs, his tongue licking up any bit of slick and tongue fucking his dripping pussy.

He whined when he felt his dad cup his little cocklet but he didn't do anything else beyond holding him.

With his dad now fondling him somewhere new, Peter realized he was not only dripping wet, he was also rock hard. He was dripping from both parts, his cocklet stiff and held in place between two of his dad’s thick fingers, and his pussy drenching his father's mouth and chin.

Pleasure was building from both his pussy and his cocklet. There was more attention on his pussy, but he couldn't help the instinctive little jerks his hips made to feel some friction on his omega cock. His dad wasn't really doing much there, just idly holding his cock, letting his son hump against his fingers if Peter wanted.

If his dad wasn't so busy licking his hole, maybe Peter would've been distracted by how hard his cocklet was and turned his focus there.

The pleasure he was getting from his pussy, from his dad’s attention on his pussy, far outweighed the tiny sparks he was getting from his cocklet.

He’d never felt like this before and so, his attention stayed firmly on his dad’s hungry, wet mouth playing with him.

Every now and then, his father would slip into his hole, firming up his tongue into a stiff point and pushing it into his eager pussy. Peter cried at that, muscles trying to squeeze down and capture that elusive tongue. It was just enough pressure… Feeling something slipping in and spreading him open.

Peter moaned, a truly whorish sound that would've had him red-faced and blushing if he wasn't so far gone from pleasure.

“Dadd...!” Peter whined while he rocked back on his father’s tongue. In and out… in and out… His dad's wet tongue flirted with his pussy, the tip of it teasing the insides only to pull back out and give the rest of his pussy some attention.

He could also feel his daddy’s beard… That beard that he often had tickling his temple when he nuzzled innocently against his alpha dad. Now it was roughing up the soft tender skin on his inner thighs… Turning his skin pink as he squeezed his legs together, attempting to stop the impending orgasm that was making his body taut with pleasure.

No matter his wishes, his father was coaxing it out of him and Peter fought against it. He could feel it building, and it was both exhilarating and frightening… It felt so huge, looming just out of sight. He’d never felt pleasure like this, only the short-lived satisfaction that came from quick jerk-offs and too dry fingering in his alone time.

This… He felt like what his dad was doing to him… flooding his nerves with pleasure, stacking the sensations together until he just... couldn't... handle it… This was going to shatter him. He'd finally know what it felt like to be brought to orgasm by another’s hands… From his Daddy’s hands… How could anything he did alone ever feel as good as this?

“Dad… Dad… D-Daddy…” Peter chanted, eyes hazy and unfocused. He halfheartedly fought against his pleasure but in the end, he couldn't do it.

If his father wanted him to come, he’d make Peter come. It was out of Peter’s control and it had him gasping, moaning almost miserably as his dad kept pushing, pushing, pushing… Coaxing Peter’s pleasure into an unbearable peak, just needing that one thing to push him screaming over the edge.

A finger pushing in alongside his daddy’s tongue was what did it. Tony's tongue felt good, but it was too soft and flexible. The thick, solid shape of his daddy’s finger made him cry out, hips bucking hard into the sensation. His dad fingered him with intent, demanding space inside his tight virgin pussy. Whatever his daddy was doing, it made Peter’s body jolt and tore another pleasured filled wail from his throat.

What was that! His daddy did something inside Peter, rubbing something that had Peter's breath hitching. His toes curled tight and tears burned hot in his eyes as it became too good and too much. Rub, rub, rub… The pad of his dad’s one single finger, rubbing gently but firmly, was able to make him fall apart completely.

It was too much. Too much, too much…! He was going to break apart…!

“Dad…!” He cried out, a desperate plea for something he didn't know. Hot trail of tears raced down his cheeks, his mouth gasping open, lips trembling…

He came, his body locking down tight with his muscles fluttering around his daddy’s finger. At the same time, his untouched cocklet released a small load of clear fluid that splattered against the cabinets in front of him. The orgasm rocked through him, undeniable and so forceful that his breath locked in his chest before reality came crashing down.

The sharp inhale he sucked in had him gasping for more breath.

“Mm…!” He whined when he felt Tony lapping up his slick, using the broad flat surface of his tongue to clean him up.

He knew that not a drop was wasted.

His legs gave out the moment his orgasm left him a shuddering mess. His father’s strong arms caught him and brought him close within the alpha’s embrace.

Post-orgasm, Peter could barely form a sentence as he stared up at his father in a daze. Tony’s beard and chin were wet with his son’s slick and the dark gaze leveled at him would've had Peter trying to crawl away because that was a predator looking at him. Ready to eat him up.

But Tony had already done that so what else did his father have in store for him…?

“Feeling better?” His daddy asked as though he hadn't just turned his son into a puddle of pleasure on their kitchen floor.

“Mm…” Peter whined and he would've kicked his legs but they still felt weak like jello.

“I’ll get a bath ready,” Tony decided cheerfully and then picked him up as though Peter weighed nothing at all.

Peter wanted to protest and say he could walk on his own but he really didn't think he could. So he let his dad take him to get cleaned up, basking in the pleasant simmer of an post-orgasm afterglow.

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #26] January, Still

warnings: anyone familiar with bd will see the header image and know exactly which chapter we're on lmao, the tie chapter!!!! starluvrs are their lovely awkward selves, dominant jk, oc is tied to.... a pull-up bar? jk is a perv who just likes looking at her lol, kissing is banned!! the word 'baby' is not!! titty worship, titty sucking, fingering, oral (f receiving), clit spitting, babe likes it messy <3, nose nudging, finger sucking (f), gentle kook <3, bratty oc, ass eating (f receiving (minimal tbh (big sad for jk))), prone bone, unprotected sex, he finishes on her ass!! lovely lovely lovely... until the red witch is mentioned!!! argument!! heightened emotions!! the introduction of the cu ajummas!!! big pouty ending :( fluff, smut, angst

wc: 11k

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

If there's one thing you've learned about Jeon Jeongguk in your time, it's that he's a giggler .

In all situations, of any severity, it's not uncommon to see his nose scrunching with dimples in his cheeks, as he presses his lips together to keep them quiet.

Standing at the end of his bed in a pair of boxers, hair dishevelled and the sheen of your glitter sparkling on his skin in the low light of his lamp, he is, again, giggling.

There's something about Jeongguk's laugh - the way it always sounds different and yet entirely 'him', how he stutters for breath and the way his eyes will squeeze together, little puffs beneath them, nose scrunched like a bunny - that always gets you laughing, too.

In bars, in coffee shops, in the gym - wherever he is, the ambient sound of happiness will surely follow.

You echo it back; join in with him. A melody not unique in composition, but wholly yours nonetheless.

Laughter comes easily with him, in the place of awkwardness or uncertainty.

The uncertainty, at the moment, comes in the form of decision-making. Not a good, nor a bad one - the bad decision is already in progress - but a simply inconsequential one.

In either hand, he holds up a tie; one black, one a mixture of blue and purple paisleys.

"Black is sexier," you consider out loud, and Jeongguk thinks the thought you're putting into the decision-making is ridiculous - but he's also a little nervous so he's letting you take your time. Smiling, because it's more fun than succumbing to the nerves.

"Sexier," he nods in agreement. "But it is also my funeral tie."

Your face contorts with mild disgust, a stunted mumble of objection catching in your throat.

"We are not using your funeral tie," you whisper-shout.

Cross-legged on his bed, there's a glow to you. It's probably the post-sex aura radiating, but Jeongguk thinks you look right at home in his sheets. Thinks that maybe it'd be nice for you to stay the night. He's not sure if you will, yet. Hasn't asked. Probably won't.

It's not that he doesn't want to ask. Just knows that things between the pair of you aren't as simple as they feel.

Yet simplicity bubbles around you both as he giggles (again) and tosses the black tie down onto the floor. Will put it away later. For now, he's getting back onto his bed with you, sitting opposite, mirroring you. "Yeah, that's probably a good shout."

Taking his tie from his hands, you run your fingers over the pattern; feel the ridges, how smooth it is, tug it a little to test out the structural integrity of the woven threads.

"So..." you say somewhat apprehensively. It's like both of you are slightly malfunctioning. Sex in and of itself is not new to either of you. Sex with one another? Again, tried and tested. Happy customers all round. There's no need for tension.

"So..." he repeats back in exactly the same tone.

When your gaze drops to your hands, and the tie that's in them, some of the hair tucked behind your ear falls loose. Jeongguk thinks he should push it back, but doesn't. Is trying to wise up to what you deem intimate, and knows that it would likely count towards it.

"Why are we so terrible at this?" you ask with a smile as you look back up towards him. He's like a mirror in the way he reflects your expression, eyes sparkling as if he has tiny little disco balls in them.

"Fuck knows," he shrugs, forgetting himself, and reaching over to tuck the hair back. Just felt right. He'll probably lament it later. "How'd you wanna do this?"

Jeongguk's headboard is flat and upholstered. There are no bedknobs to tie any wrists to. It perhaps would have been better done at your place, but there's no reason why it can't be done at yours another time.

The only real alternative is just binding your wrists together behind your back or above your head. Both are fine with you, but are also things you've done before. You wanna spice it up a little.

Glancing around his room for an alternative, your eyes land on the pull-up bar above his door. You tilt your head, considering possibilities, and Jeongguk follows your gaze. Clocks what you're looking at. Feels a throbbing pump of blood going directly to his cock. Gets a little plumper.

"Yeah?" he questions, knowing exactly where your thoughts are going. "There?"

You nod. "Yeah. There. I think. Maybe. I don't know. What do you think?"

"What's this then, huh?" Jeongguk grins, nudging your knee a little. "Nerves? From our resident Disco Ball?"

"Oh, piss off," you laugh, nudging him right back, unfolding your legs as you hop off his bed and look him directly in the eye. You pull his shirt over your head. Let it drop to the floor. Don't drop your gaze - but he does drop his jaw a little. Nerves? Please. You hold up his tie. "Now are you gonna put me in my place, or should I put you in yours?"

If there's one thing Jeongguk likes, it's a challenge - and the way you're looking at him? Brows a little raised? A smirk on your lips? You're the human embodiment of a challenge, and the one thing Jeongguk likes more than a challenge? 

Winning .

He stands. Says nothing as he comes to tower in front of you, stiff in his underwear, nodding ever so gently as he looks down at you, bottom lip beneath his teeth. His hand skirts up your waist. Strokes. Squeezes.

Guiding you slowly to his door, Jeongguk worries about Jimin coming home unannounced. There'll be no explaining this away.

Still, he wants to fuck you more than he wants to worry about Jimin getting an eyeful.

He positions you where he wants you. Knows it's gonna force you on your tiptoes. Kind of thinks it serves you right for challenging him.

Jeongguk jokes with you, repeatedly making sure you're okay as he ties your wrists together above your head, and then secures the rest of the tie around the pull-up bar. It's perfect.

His knots are tight, thanks to a grandfather who was keen on teaching him the law of the land when he was younger, but he knows how to get you out of them quickly if needs be. He's surprised he's not really used them before in the bedroom.

Standing back to admire his handiwork, the way you look at him is unlike anything he's ever seen before; wanting, needy, restrained.

Nudging his nose up against yours, Jeongguk is reminded of his own desires. Wonders if you'll let him indulge him again. Knows that he'll have to ask.

"What's the rule on kissing?" he husks against your lips.

You smile. Shake your head, and let your nose nudge up against his. "You only get one vulnerability at a time. Either I'm tied up, with no kisses, or I'm untied with kisses. Your choice."

"You're so fucking mean," he says softly, pulling back with a teasing groan.

Jeongguk looks at you now there's a little distance; down, then up. Smirks.

Doesn't look away as he pulls his desk chair out and spins it to face you. Doesn't look away when sinks down into it. Doesn't look away as he slouches into a recline, legs spread, a hand resting by his crotch as his elbow is propped up on the arm of the chair.

Tongue toying with his lip ring, he looks like a fucking asshole. Arrogant . 

God, he's worthy of it, though. 

If you looked like him, you'd probably be a wanker. Toned abs, strong arms, darling eyes full of cosmic entities. He's equal parts saint and sinner, and the way he's looking at you? As if he's deciding whether or not he wants to drag you down to hell or lift you up to the heavens has you apprehensive.

The music hums from Jeongguk's speaker, and you're thankful for it, 'cause you're sure you're breathing far heavier than you should be. Lips a little pouted, resting ajar, the way your eyes don't drop from his gets him all hot and bothered, too - he's just better at hiding it than you are.

"Are you just gonna stare at me all night?" You question, a little attitude in your voice.

Jeongguk's lips curve upwards. "Maybe."

You go to bite back, but notice the way he's palming his crotch beneath his boxers. They're black, so obscure the hardening length within them, but you know him. Know exactly what he's gripping onto.

"Looking at me gets you hard, huh?" You tease.

Eyes dancing over your body, finding his favourite parts and then finding new ones, Jeongguk feels an overwhelming sense of contentment.

But he simply smirks, instead. Plays it cool. "Maybe - but let's not pretend like I don't get you wet."

With a roll of your eyes, painfully aware how exposed you are, you press your thighs together. The trepidation - anticipation - of what's to come has you excited. Nipples hard, pussy wet. Denying it is a blatant lie, but Jeongguk enjoys the thrill of your chase.

"You're cute, Gguk, but not that cute. Don't oversell yourself."

He laughs now. Stands. Walks towards you; brooding and dark in gaze. Tilts his head.

You expect his hand to dip; to spread your legs and first out how much of a dirty little liar you are.

But he doesn't.

He nudges his nose against yours, smirk present. You're not entirely steady on your feet, the restrictive nature of the position you're in unbalancing you. He senses this. Lets his fingers trail up your hips and stroke against the curve of your waist.

Pulling back slightly, dark eyes on yours in the shrouded gloaming of his bedroom, Jeongguk grips your waist a little tighter.

"You're so mean to me," he simpers, trailing one of his hands further up. He ghosts your chest, and secures it by your neck, thumb stroking over your jaw and onto your cheek. He angles you to face him. You've never wanted to touch him more, the tie keeping you bound away from him your new worst enemy. "You really think I'm that hideous, huh?"

Oh, he's sin . Jet black hair and eyes to match, warm skin and sculpted muscles, artwork embedded in his skin, just like his touch is embedded in yours.

"Repulsive," you simply nod. He smirks.

"Shame," he husks. You half think he might kiss you. He doesn't. "I think you're gorgeous."

It's just sex. Just sex. Just thinking with his cock. Doesn't mean it - oh, but what a nice fantasy to indulge in. Maybe he does mean it.

"Hmm?" he teases when you fail to formulate a response. "Did you hear me, B? Hear what I said?"

You nod. "I heard."

"What did I say?"

"I'm gorgeous."

He nods. "Yeah. You are. So fucking hot. Get me so hard," he grits, gripping his cock over his boxers.

Intrusive, is the thought that wonders if Jeongguk is like this with other people.

You wonder if he showered Jiyeong in compliments; if Hayun received such heavy words of adoration. It's not an idea you want to entertain but you can't seem to help yourself.

And so, vulnerable and a little shy, you edge back. Feel a little stupid being so bare for him. Want control over the situation, but you can't get it. Not when your wrists are bound above your head, kept firmly in place thanks to the knots tied by Jeongguk.

He notices the slight shift, but doesn't realise why. Tilts his head. "Tell me what you want."

You look him in the eyes, a little unsure of yourself. He can sense your nerves. Understands something's not quite right. Draws you closer to him.

The warmth of his skin on yours soothes the cold sweat of comparison. 

"Go on," he encourages. "Tell me, baby."

You nudge your nose up against his. Know that raising your worries about other girls will only make things awkward. Of course, Jeongguk would rather know your discomforts, but you don't think they're worth sharing.

So instead, you just say, "want you to make me feel good."

It's a simple answer, but you really do mean it. You think it will distract your brain.

Jeongguk nods. Presses a kiss against your jaw. Lingers. Repeats, just an inch lower, on your throat. Trails down. Is firm with his pressure, tongue wet, teeth grazing. You moan into his touch; one of his hands pulling your waist closer, the other firmly keeping your neck where he wants it.

Amorous in his display of desire, Jeongguk wants you to know how badly he wants you. Kisses with intent. Breaks from it only when he has to. Mumbles against your skin. Tells you how hard he is. How much he wants to fuck you.

Shameless and brazen, Jeongguk pulls away for just a moment. Looks at you, eyes dark, chest heavy as his heart beats beneath his ribs. Darts his gaze from your eyes to your lips.

You mirror him. Chest heaving, the pressure of his touch lingers on your throat. His hands massage your chest. Thumbs stroke over your nipples. He squeezes. Asks, "Can I?"

Mewling ever so slightly, desperate for more, you nod. "Please."

The second his lips come into contact with your chest - delivering pretty kisses, until his tongue swirls around your nipple - your head leans back.

He smiles when you moan, the movement of his lips so subtle but so heavenly, and strokes his hands up and down your body - waist, hips - until he settles on supporting your tits. He squeezes. Toys. Plays. Makes sure the nipple that isn't in his mouth is still getting attention.

There's something about your moans and the way you can't seem to hold them in whenever he's sucking on your tits that just really excites him. Gets his cock twitching a little harder. Makes him deepen the pressure with which he's sucking on your nipple.

He switches sides. Lets a long, flat, wet, lick of his tongue tease you before swirling around the hardened bud. He's gentle in how he sucks, now. Short. Quick. Feathery. Like little kisses, again and again and again.

The sensation has you pressing your legs together as wetness seeps from your pussy onto your inner thighs. All you want is to put your hands in his hair; keep him fixed in position.

But you can't. You're restricted. Forbidden from touching him. Makes you whimper as he builds momentum, moving from side to side, teasing you, stimulating you in a way that you can't ever remember feeling before. It's too much but also not enough. You want him in your cunt; fingers, cock, whatever. You don't care. Just need something. Anything.

"Fuck me," you beg; hushed in the darkness of sin. "Please."

Jeongguk eases up on his teasing, and looks at you with unadulterated hedonism. He's so hard in underwear; precum pooling at his tip. He wants to fuck himself into you so badly, feel your hot walls clamping around in, but knows as soon as he's inside you he's gonna cum. Is so horny he thinks he might die.

Thing is, he doesn't want this to be over. Wants to fuck you endlessly.

You get him so hard. So firm, and thick. Fat . His cock is never redder , never angrier , never leakier , than it is when he's with you. You make him wanna commit sins all in pursuit of an unholy feeling that somehow feels like heaven on earth.

He's gonna die, and it's gonna be all your fault. He knows this. Knows that fucking you is such a bad decision. Knows that he's struggling to separate how good the sex is from how he's feeling.

But desire is dictating his actions now, and you're begging him. You want this as much as he does.

"You want me to fuck you, huh?" He grits as he pushes his middle finger between your soaked folds. Even he's surprised by how fucking wet you are. Smirks to himself. "Fucking hell, B. You do want it, don't you?" You whimper. "Tell me what you want. Go on. Tell me, baby."

Oh, the dreaded B word. Has your head all fuzzy and tummy all ticklish. Makes you feel all sorts of strange; worries you about what the fuck is happening between you both.

And yet your eyes stay wide and wanting, lips all pouty. His finger strokes between your folds. Isn't aiming for your clit, nor entrance, just teasing. You raise to your tiptoes, fingers grabbing onto the materials of the tie. He's so fucking mean in the best of ways.

"Huh, baby?" he teases again.

"Fuck me," you rasp, because it's all you can manage as he sinks his finger into your entrance. The muscle in your torso tense immediately, the feeling of him entering you both satisfying and yet not enough. "More."

With a lazy smile on his lips, and heavy-lidded eyes looking down on you, Jeongguk pushes a second finger into your soaked hole. "That better?"

You nod. Whine. Chest heaves. "I wanna touch you, too."

He laughs ever so sinfully, lustful in the way he licks his lips. Swallows. Breathes a relieved sigh; and if he's just started breathing again after a minute of holding it.

And then, he shakes his head. He raises his spare arm, and you're confronted with a sight reserved for only the luckiest of girlies - of which right now? You most definitely are.

The muscles in his torso move beneath his skin; tense. Tight. He's sculpted in such a way that you can't believe he's human, the curve of the socket connecting his arm to his body seemingly just as alluring as the rest of him. A small stripe of hair covers the skin, a little damp, the heat of desire forcing him to work up a sweat - not that you mind. Not in the slightest. 

If anything, it just makes you feel even crazier for how badly you want him. He extends his arm upwards and clasps his large hand around both of your wrists.

The position keeps him just inches or so from you.

He thinks it's too far.

So, he closes it. 

Sinks his lips back beneath your jaw. Licks. Trails to your earlobe. Sucks. Nibbles.

God, you'd do anything to touch him. Your body writhes, any sense of balance lost and entirely depending on him. His hand is so close to your fingers, and you're dying to lace yours with his. The restriction makes it impossible. You whine.

"Let me touch you."

He smiles. Shakes his head ever so gently, keeping his lips locked on your neck. Kisses. Says, "No."

And so you bring out the big guns. "Please, Koo."

He pulls away. Looks you dead in the eye. Says, "Don't call me that. I'll fucking cum in my pants if you call me that."

You pout. Tease him, now. "Don't call you what, Koo?"

Oh god, he's gonna die .

Decides you need a little death first, though, so ignores your taunts and drops to his knees. Buries his face in your cunt. Wastes no time.

He knows how much you struggle to formulate sentences when he's eating your pussy, so thinks it's the safest bet to shut you up. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder for better access, and licks thick slow stripes between your folds. Flicks against your clit. Massages. Sucks.

"Fuck."

Oh, he's pleased . Loves how much you enjoy his mouth. Could eat your pussy for days. Wishes you'd let him do it; just eat you for hours.

Although when he thinks about it, he's got you tied up. He can do exactly that.

But then... an idea brews.

If you were to say that men can't multitask, Jeongguk would take great offence. This, right now? Prime example. He's got leaking on his tongue, pussy wet and plump from arousal, but is also thinking about other ways to get you coming undone. If anything, he's got, like, the biggest brain ever. Very sexy of him.

His tongue toys with your clit, flicking, before his lips press a pretty kiss against it. You need your hands in his hair. Need to hold him close. Need his nose nudging up against you as he dips down to your entrance.

He's got a hand gripping your ass, keeping the leg hooked over his shoulder in place, while the other reaches to massage your breasts. He alternates between them, keeping his mouth busy delivering pleasure to your pussy.

The pressure of his lip ring is almost impossible to feel thanks to the sheer amount of ecstasy you're in, but every now and again, you notice it. It mostly occurs when he's sucking on your clit, and it makes your legs so weak. Gets your pussy leaking so much. Has you whining. Whimpering.

Jeongguk fucking loves it; the way you sound, the way you taste, the way you feel.

His adoration of your anatomy makes it so hard for him to stop. He doesn't want you to cum yet, wants to wait it out - but fuck. He's gotta have it. Gotta steal this orgasm from you. Needs it.

As he sucks on your clit, the hand that had been keeping your leg steady creeps down to your soaked entrance. Doesn't fuck about. Wastes no time sinking two of his fingers into you. The fullness catches you off guard. Almost has you losing your balance.

"Untie me," you moan, desperate for your hands in his hair.

Still sucking on your clit, he shakes his head and pulls away, releasing your sensitive bud from his lips with a pouty squeak. 

"You know the word, B" he reminds you, looking up for the first time in a while. He doesn't think he's ever seen your eyes so wide, lips so pouty. Your chest is heaving, his fingers scissoring inside you. "Say chess."

You wanna whine. Wanna tell him he's mean - but he feels so good. His nose glistens in the low light, drenched in your pussy and his own spit. Chin, too. God, he's pretty, you think. So fucking pretty. Belongs between your legs. Keeps pushing his fingers into you. Gets you moaning.

For all the times Jeongguk has claimed to be an ass guy, he's somehow entranced by the way your tits look from this angle. So round, and tell proportioned, and - fuck - he wouldn't mind sucking on them again. He's got a plan of action, though. Can't let himself get distracted.

"No?" he teases. "No chess?"

You glare at him. "Fuck you."

He laughs. Shakes his head. "Not yet, baby. Gonna make you cum first."

If he doesn't stop calling you baby you're gonna fall in love with him. It's just science. How the brain works. You've never been good at science, but it seems like a plausible hypothesis.

It's exactly why you need your hands free, so you can keep his mouth on your pussy to stop it from saying shit that makes your tummy feel funny.

But then you realise you do have leverage. You have legs - one of which is hooked over his shoulder. You alter its position slightly; hook it further around his back. Pull him in closer.

He laughs. "Needy, aren't you, baby?"

"Gguk," you whine.

Yes , you are needy. Yes , you want him. Yes , you wanna cum - but fuck !

He makes it so hard to just let yourself. You wanna fight . Wanna prove that you aren't weak. Prove that you have just as much control over the situation as he does.

But then his tongue licks between your folds and swirls around your clit. He retracts. Teases, once more, with his tongue. Flicks against your bud. Kisses.

He pulls back, again. Looks at the mess all over your pussy. Grunts in approval. And then? He spits .

"Fuck."

Jeongguk delves back in. Spreads his spit with his tongue. Laps against you like a thirsty dog drinking from a puddle. Doesn't stop. Keeps fucking his fingers into you.

The sensation of pleasure charging through your body is electric. It builds and builds - and then he's sucking again. 

It's too much . Too good . Gets your toes pointing. Your leg clamps behind his back, keeping him in position, as the walls of your pussy do the same to his fingers.

Your whines echo in the room, Jeongguk holding your hip to keep you steady with his spare hand as you begin to shake. Wants to speak. Wants to encourage you. Knows he can't pull away. Doesn't wanna ruin your orgasm.

Instead, he hums as he sucks, lips vibrating. You're almost fucking crying from how good it feels. Moaning his name, cursing to the high heavens, breaths velvety as you whine.

"There," you can barely manage. "There. Gguk, I'm gonna - fuck. Gonna cum."

You don't need to tell him. He knows. Hums again. Yeah, baby. I got you.

The build of electricity reaches capacity. The voltage is too high. Gets you shaking - trembling - as you writhe in position. Your balance is totally gone, Jeongguk is entirely responsible for keeping you in position as your walls throb around his fingers. He keeps his mouth on your cunt, not wanting to part from it, until your body jolts from the overstimulation. He's fucked around with you enough to know when you're spent. Know this is it.

He pulls away slowly. Is gentle as he withdraws his fingers from you. Kisses your thighs as he holds your hips to keep you steady. Gets to his feet gradually, leaving kisses all the way up your body; below and above your belly button, between your ribs, sternum, above the heart of yours that is beating a mile a minute. Stops only when he reaches your lips. 

Instead, he nudges his nose against yours. It's still wet from your pussy, though his chin mostly left the stain of you on your own skin as he journeyed up it.

And then, delicately, he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. Smiles. "Hey."

As you reply with a small, giggly, exhausted 'hey', he stands up straighter, and presses a kiss against your forehead.

"You good?" he asks.

Nodding, you mumble a response for him. You're so spent. Looks so pretty, eyes glassy, skin sparkly. He's got a hand on your throat, stroking gently, but keeps the other one away. It's covered in your pussy, and he doesn't wanna dirty you - but as you notice it, your lips part. His lip ring? Does the thing

Eyes wide on his, you move your gaze between them and his hand. Don't wanna speak yet - still a little giggly - but want him to know you wanna clean him up. He gets the message pretty easily. Brings his fingers to your lips. Presses his own lips together as yours part.

"Christ," he curses as he watches you suck on his fingers. Can't believe you haven't sucked him off yet. Knows he'll die when it eventually happens.

Jeongguk lifts his spare hand. Fiddles with the knots keeping your arms above your head. They ache. You're pretty sure there's no blood left in your hands. He sort of realises they'll be sore, so doesn't let them fall.

He keeps them bound around the wrist and lowers them gently. Keeps your arms straight, and loops them over his head, your elbows resting on his shoulders for a little extra support. Finally withdraws his fingers from your mouth, and strokes your arms with both of his hands.

"You okay?" he checks again.

"Think my arms are gonna fall off," you pout, but he just smiles. "I mean it. So mean."

"Always couldda said chess," he reminds you - and he's right.

"Didn't wanna."

"Well, then it's your fault if your arms fall off."

"Would you still fuck me?" you hum. "If my arms fell off?"

Jeongguk furrows his brows and shakes his head with a little confusion - but not denial. Instead, he says, "I'd miss your hands - and your wrists - but, yeah? Course I would."

He can't see a reality or version of you he wouldn't wanna fuck. It's the curse of knowing how good your pussy is; hates he can't have it forever, so will bury himself in it as often as he can while he still can.

The certainty of his answer makes you feel all fuzzy. You put it down to the orgasm.

He reaches behind his head to fiddle with the knots around your wrists and loosens them for you. As you pull your hands back around, he rubs at your wrists, making sure you can move them okay. Worries that maybe he tied you up a little too tightly. Tosses the tie on his bed so can be fully present.

Gentle with you when he needs to be, Jeongguk really is the best person to help you through your issues. He's attentive and careful, conscious of your needs while never making you feel like he's sacrificing his own.

The truth of the matter is that he never is. 

The biggest turn-on for Jeongguk is having a partner who enjoys what he does. He likes praise. Likes compliments. Feels fulfilled when a partner cums, and even more so when they give him that look after he's done. The same one you're giving him right now.

Almost as if you know what he needs, you smile and whisper, "thank you."

"What for?" he whispers back, a little obtuse but wanting clarity.

You run your hands up his chest, and settle them by the base of his neck. It's so nice to touch him again. "For making me feel good. You always make me feel so good."

"Yeah?" He asks with a teasing smile, keeping you talking because he can't stop thinking about how much he wants to kiss you. Doesn't realise he's looking at your lips.

"Mhmm," you nod, not noticing his eyes - mainly because you're looking at his lips, too.

The space between you both is so minimal that it would take the smallest of movements to sink into one another. You wanna kiss him so badly, but know that it's unwise to make a habit of it - so you pull away.

He regretfully lets you go. Watches as you walk to the bed, and kneel onto it. Lowering yourself into position, Jeongguk lets a smirk linger on his lips.

Face down, ass up, you're a fucking vixen - and the way you hold your hands behind your back? Encouraging him to tie your wrists again? God . You're a deviant. Hellish. So fucking hot Jeongguk can barely control himself.

Slow as he gets himself into position, Jeongguk grazes the curve of your ass with his fingers. Looks down on you like a man possessed.

"Sure?" he asks. Knows you came hard. Worries this won't actually be all that great for you.

"Do me a favour?" you hum into his sheets.

"Yeah?"

"Shut up and fuck me."

Jeongguk exhales a stunted laugh, the smile on his lips fond as he shakes his head. "You've such a way with words."

"You should see what else this mouth can do," you tease, not looking back at him. Hearing the swipe of the tie being lifted from his sheets, your walls clench . It would be embarrassing how easy it is for him to turn you on, if it wasn't for how much you know Jeongguk likes it.

Fingers clasping around your wrists, Jeongguk takes his time. The fabric is smooth and silky, but there are marks from where it dented your skin before. He doesn't secure you as tightly, but is still firm as he knots the fabric together. Hands secured by the small of your back, Jeongguk knows he isn't gonna last long.

There's a soft sound of cotton against skin; Jeongguk ridding himself of his underwear. You can picture it - how hard his cock is, the slight wobble as he moves, prick firm and standing to attention. You imagine how tight his balls must be, and how leaky his pretty head is, precum seeping from his tip.

Expecting to feel him enter you, you relax your body. Sink into the downward position with a curved arch to your back.

Instead, Jeongguk sinks a single finger into you. Mumbles to himself. "Still so fuckin' wet."

He withdraws. Strokes the supple skin of your ass. Spanks it softly. You squeak quietly, satisfaction lacing your tone, all pleased and purry. Jeongguk might die.

Still, he's determined to take his time. Crouches behind you. Anyone else and you'd probably feel a little insecure, but you know how weak Jeongguk is for ass in all capacities. It's hard to feel shy when he drools at the fucking sight of it. It's not just your ass though. He's pretty sure he's never liked another pussy more. It's just right for him; in how it feels, and how it looks. Exactly the kind of cunt that makes his dreams wet, cock hard.

He licks a thick slow stripe up your folds. Drags his tongue from your clit to your entrance - and then sinks it into your hole. Holds onto your thighs as he gets as deep as his tongue will allow him, stroking at your walls. His nose presses against your perineum, and - fuck .

You'll let him do it, you decide. If he asks to eat your ass, you'll let him. Won't say no.

But the most cursed thing of all? You want it. The anticipation, the knowledge that he wants it, god, it just makes you want it so badly.

So badly, that you have no control when you say, quite out of the blue, "higher."

It's a single word that could be interpreted in many different ways, but he knows. His tongue is still in your cunt, but he knows you're asking for his tongue to be higher.

And so he does it.

He withdraws from your creamy hole and flicks his tongue upwards. Teases your perineum. Gets you moaning even harder than you had been before. Kisses. Moves to your thigh, so he can sink his teeth in a little.

And then, with one slow, flat lick, Jeongguk drags his tongue from your clit, up your folds and past your entrance, until his wet tongue is on your tight muscle. He doesn't press down. Just licks. Spits. Spreads it with his tongue. Gets you feeling all sort of fucked up. He mumbles a groan of satisfaction against you. Is barely even eating your ass. Not like he knows can. Not how wants to. He's saving that. Will eat your ass properly, one day.

He pulls away. Smirks when your moans sound all whiney.

"Fuckin' love your ass," he husks as he stands behind you and lines his cock up with your entrance. Spits down, and watches as it trails over your asshole and down to the tip of his cock. Resting his thumb against the puckered muscle, Jeongguk puts a little pressure on it. He's not gonna penetrate it, but he is gonna think about it.

Just wants you to see how good it can feel; have you imagining how much better it could feel if he did toy with your ass like he wants to.

He sinks his cock into you slowly. It's a miracle you can stretch enough for his girth, but Jeongguk's correct when he thinks that your pussy is made for him. The fit is just right. Snug and warm, all wet and wanting, it's like coming home.

It's so comfortable. Exactly what he needs to come undone, and as his hips buck against your ass, his hand gripping the tie around your wrists, he knows it won't take long. Your pussy strokes him to perfection; and he wants it to. Wants you to make him cum. Wants to return the orgasm he took from you.

He pushes into you, deeper, deeper, until he's mewling. "God, you feel so fucking good."

You wanna encourage him but all you can do is moan. You're still sensitive from earlier and know that It won't take much to get you cumming again - and when his spare hand comes around the front of your body to toy with your clit? You're a goner.

His name lingers in the back of your throat as you whine. He's delirious. Keeps fucking himself into you because he's building and building and is so close to reaching his climax. Can feel everything. The clamping of your walls, the wetness of your cunt seeping around the base of cock, god it's all so good.

"Cum for me again, B," he encourages. "Let me feel you."

Hypnotic in the way his commands have you doing exactly what asks of you, your body unravels like a tie coming loose - but it's not at all. You're fixed in position and it makes you cum even harder.

The pressure of your orgasm around his thick length has Jeongguk cursing. He's there. Can't hold back. Pulls out only cause he feels like he has to, and continues jerking himself over your ass until he erupts with thick spurts of cum.

He paints your hands with his orgasm, every last drop being spent on you. It soaks into his tie, but he doesn't give a fuck. Squeezes his shaft to make sure sure the evidence of his pleasure is all yours. Watches as a white bead gathers at his slit, the final dregs of his cum all yours.

He collapses beside you on his back, a hand over his chest, lungs heaving beneath his ribs. Stares at the birds. Wonders how the fuck he got here.

Your body copies his, your chest and tummy now flat against his sheets, arms still bound behind you. Just as whimpery as Jeongguk is breathless, you can't imagine ever having a better fuck than that. Eyes closed, your lips settle into a pleased smile.

"Fuck," you sigh.

"Again?" Jeongguk jokes. "Don't think I'm ready, B."

You laugh and shake your header further into his sheets. "Think I'll need a few days."

This amuses Jeongguk, mostly because he knows he'll probably wake up with a boner, and you'll probably end up with it in your cunt. Just makes sense.

"You okay?" he asks as he turns to face you. The pleasant hum you nod is ethereal, as if you've just been blessed by an angel, not fucked like a devil. He reaches over to undo the tie, and doesn't care about the fact he gets covered in his own cum. Just tosses the tie to the floor and wipes his hands on his sheets. Will sort it out later.

Flexing your fingers, you turn to rest on your side - again, not giving a shit about the small puddle of cum on your back. Whatever. It's his problem.

"Thanks," you smile.

"For which part?"

"Untying me," you confirm, then adding, "and for tying me up, actually. And the sex. Now that I think about it, especially the sex."

You could listen to Jeongguk's post-sex laugh for hours. It's so breathy and light, free of all stress. A world away from the mood he was in when you arrived, you're so pleased to have Jeongguk back. Happy to exist with, and happy that he seems happy, too.

Reaching over, you push some strands of hair back from his face. He looks sleepy. "Tired?"

He nods, and closes his eyes.

"Sleep?" You suggest.

Again, he nods.

"Where should I sleep?"

He shrugs.

"Here?" You ask.

He nods. You're secretly pleased.

"Am I taking the bed or the floor?"

He pouts. Thinks you don't need to ask. "Bed."

"And you on the floor?" you grin, pleased with how his lips purse, brows scowl, at such a suggestion.

"No," he huffs. "Me. Bed."

"Both bed?"

"Both bed."

Who are you to object when he's all pouty and sleepy, face squishy and dewy in the comedown of a fuck that was way too good to be a fluke?

You're staying.

The pair of you clean yourselves up. Brush your teeth together and grab a glass of water to share. Boundaries seem to be null and void these days. You sleep in his shirt, and he in his boxers, as if that's a totally normal occurrence for a pair of besties. You don't think it's that odd.

As he tries to sleep, Jeongguk questions the morality of what's going on between you. Wonders how healthy it could be, knowing full well the road you're embarking upon rarely ends well.

He thinks he's in a good spot with Hayun, now. Went for coffee with her last week to make sure she wasn't mad at him for the way he spoke to her in the club. She apologised. She explained herself. Said it felt weird to have been replaced. She knows she only has herself to blame, but it still stings.

You've put a lot of trust in Jeongguk. He never wants to hurt you in the way that Hayun hurt him. Never wants to cross those lines, and yet he knows how intimate you think sharing a bed is. The lines are already a little blurry.

If you want to keep things platonic, then outside of the sex, it should be platonic.

He sighs. Stares up at the birds. Doesn't know what the fuck to do.

And so as much as he'd like to, he doesn't hold you in the night. Doesn't shuffle in closer, or rest his arm over your hip like he knows would feel far more natural to him than turning over and away from you.

He showers with you in the morning. Fucks you again, 'cause he remembers that without the sex, it's entirely romantic to share such an intimate space with another person. Makes you both breakfast as a thank you for dinner the night before.

Hair waving around his features, a flannel shirt hanging over his broad shoulders and light jeans hiding away just how toned his thighs are, he's every bit the heartthrob as he insists you leave the dishes.

Your hair is pinned up, and just as dishevelled as his is, but he likes it. You're still in one of his shirts, but it's a smaller one. Fits you better. Is still baggy on you, but he'd watched on as you had tucked the back hem of the shirt up beneath the strap of your bra where it fastens shut.

Was confused at first, but is well aware of how fantastic your ass looks in the jeans you're wearing thanks to the shirt not getting in the way, now.

Large enough that the excess fabric reaches the waistband of your pants, the shirt billows ever so slightly. Untucked at the front, Jeongguk wonders what kind of magic women must hold. He's seen girls wear shirts like this before. Just had no idea how they did it. Thinks maybe he shouldn't know the secrets of womanhood, but likes learning about you, so doesn't think about it too hard.

The shirt is from a concert he went to with Tae while he'd been at uni, and it just reminds him of those days. It's why he never wears it. Reminds him of the early days with Hayun, when there had still been the promise of something great.

You're redefining it, though. Making it brand new. Not changing his past, per se, but altering the way it impacts his future.

"Promise me you won't study too hard?" You plead as you get your shoes on to leave.

He refuses.

"Jimin's keeping tabs on you for me," you tell him. "If you go more than 4 hours without a break, he'll text me and I'll show up and force you to."

"Oh yeah?" Jeongguk entertains your threat. "How so?"

"Dunno," you shrug with raised brows, standing straight now your laces are tied. Tote bag over your shoulder, loose waves framing your face, Jeongguk wonders how many people will give you second glances on your walk to the subway station.

So much so, he doesn't really realise he's putting on his shoes, too.

"Oh?" you hum. "Going out?"

He pauses. Realises. Plays it cool. "Need to get some stuff from the shop. Will come with."

Jeongguk counts four middle-aged men, one girl in her twenties and three teenage boys who look at you a bit too long for his liking. He's not territorial, and especially not over you, but he's very recently fucked you. Maybe he is a little possessive. Sue him . He just doesn't like sharing. It's been well-established.

And in fact, it only gets further established the next weekend, when he picks a sticky note off the wall and reads it aloud: " threesome ."

It's his handwriting, and he definitely did put it up there, but he still looks at it with such shock he can't believe either of you would suggest such a thing.

"Good job Jimin's home," you deadpan. "Will make this a lot easier."

"What! No! Byeol!" And then he whispers, but also kind of shouts when he says, "You're not fucking Jimin again."

"Oh, so you can?" you retaliate, face straight, because you're trying to appear deadly serious. He's falling for it. "But I can't? That's not fair, Jeongguk."

"Wait- What?" He exasperated. "I'm not fucking him either! Neither of us are - Christ Alive. We're not fucking Jimin."

"But it makes sense!"

"We," he signals between you both, eyes struck with horror. "Are NOT fucking Jimin."

"But-"

"Byeol!"

"Koo," you pout, and he thinks if he doesn't die, then maybe he'll just kill you instead. "What if I want it?"

You absolutely do not want it - but you do want to keep winding him up. It's so easy when he's in moods like these, a little stressed and fuse far shorter than usual.

"I- Byeol," he sighs. That's fucking name. Always weakens him. You're a menace, he thinks. "That is beyond the point."

"Please," you pout even more. God he hates how cute you look. So much harder to stand his ground. "Would be so hot."

"How?!" He pushes his head back in disgust. "How would me and Jimin fucking be hot in any way shape or form."

You smirk. "Really want me to answer that?"

"Absolutely not."

And so that sticky note is placed to the side; one to revisit when Jeongguk is less stressed and you're less hellbent on insisting it should be with Jimin.

You know that a threeway with Jimin would probably be fine, but don't wanna risk anything that could impact their friendship. A neutral third party is needed, and as far as you're aware, Jeongguk's preference is girls. It makes sense for you both to seek out someone together that won't impact your daily lives.

You'd rather bring another girl into the mix. Think another guy could maybe give Jeongguk a complex. He's already stated before that he doesn't wanna be cucked, and watching another guy fuck you might make him feel that way. Mutual comfort is needed - plus who doesn't love a good pair of tits?

If he's still spewing bullshit about being an ass guy after watching you play with another girl's tits? Then he'll forever be a liar.

You've also had two mildly disappointing shags with Jimin. You don't need to add a third. Reckon that maybe seeing how well Jeongguk fucks could give Jimin a complex, too.

The topic of conversation comes up again after the next sticky note - spooning sex - is completed. It was ideal because you could remain incredibly quiet given that Jimin is in the apartment, but is also secretly one of your favourite positions. One that always makes you feel so incredibly safe. And the way Jeongguk hugs you afterwards? Doesn't leave you? Presses his torso to your back, not caring for the fact it was where he finished? Oh, god, he's a dream.

"Sorry for being so defensive about it all," he mumbles into your hair. Loves the way it smells, today. Thinks you might have gotten a new shampoo. Doesn't ask cause he doesn't wanna be a weirdo.

"I was only winding you up," you admit. "I don't think it should be with Jimin."

"No?" he confirms, a weight lifting from his chest.

"No."

"Good," he whispers. "It shouldn't be someone we know. I'm no good at sharing."

A laugh catches in your throat. Hardly news.

"I'm not yours," you remind him.

"I know," he says softly. Presses a kiss against your hair. Squeezes you tighter. "Placebo though, init. Sometimes when we're fucking, it feels like you are."

He's not wrong - but it doesn't mean it's right . Both of you know that sex is just sex.

The birds above you watch on with great curiosity. None of them have dropped in quite some time. It's almost as if they're waiting. As if they know something neither of you don't.

You don't think it's safe to indulge in such thoughts. And so you change the topic. Divert feeling of the heart elsewhere.

"Have you spoken to Hayun lately?"

Jeongguk is silent. Doesn't let you go immediately, but eventually rolls onto this back. You stay positioned just as you were; avoidant of his eyes.

"Do you really wanna know?"

You shrug. "As the girl you just fucked? Not really, no. As your friend? Yeah."

It's an answer he can't fault. He's so fucking nosey when it comes to Seokjin but never forces you to talk. Knows that if you started talking about him now, he'd find it incredibly... saddening? Hurtful? He's not sure. Just wouldn't like it.

But you're asking . You want to know.

"Uh, yeah," he admits. "We're fine. She like, apologised for being difficult on New Years, so I sorta buried the hatchet. No point crying over spilt milk."

You nod. 

Feels like the hatchet is in your back, now.

The full details of their argument was never disclosed to you, but it doesn't matter. She was still awful to you. You're never gonna like her. Refuse to play nicely.

Sitting up, you reach down for Jeongguk's shirt to wipe off your back. Would get a tissue or something, but sometimes he has to deal with his own messes, and think that maybe this is one he should have to clean up.

He knew you didn't want to know. Is frustrated with himself for not listening to his gut. Should never have fucking said anything. You grab your underwear and pull them on, hiding yourself away from him as you do so.

"B..." he says quietly, not really sure what he's supposed to do.

"What?" you snap a little, even though you don't mean to. 

It's not fair for you to be mad at him. 

They've got a shared history that runs deep. He was never gonna cut her off, and you never would have wanted him to. All you want, really, is his happiness and - regretfully - she seems to be a big source of it. Not that you've actually seen any evidence of this.

"C'mon," he pleads, as you cover yourself up as you scan the room looking for your bra. It's somehow by the window, so you get out of Jeongguk's bed and head towards it. Don't turn around. Don't wanna look at him with anything you deem to be intimate exposed. "You asked ."

"Well, I shouldn't have," you say quickly, and that's when you realise how fucking mean you're being.

You asked for honesty. You can't punish him for it.

Pushing your hands back through your hair, you sigh. Don't wanna face him, but know you have to. Clasp your bra together for the sake of a little dignity.

"Look," you groan, tilting your head back. Sort of feels like you might cry, and when you turn to face him? Oh, god. It's even worse. Jeongguk watches you with such pain embedded in his features that you can feel his hurt. "She's your friend. I get that. You can talk to me about her... I just..."

Jeongguk considers staying silent, but you can't formulate your words.

"It's just that sometimes when we fuck, it feels like I'm yours," he offers, repeating his earlier thoughts back to you, switching the roles around.

And all you can do is nod. "Yeah. Sometimes it does."

You drop your gaze. Sniff. Apologise. 

Jeongguk's out of his bed, underwear quickly pulled back on, and in front of you within a second.

"Hey," he shushes you, pulling you in for a hug. "B, c'mon. Don't get all soft on me. What's happened to little miss bad bitch? Hey? Where is she?"

God, he's too fucking nice . Skin warm, heart thumping steadily in his chest, he's so soothing. He rubs your arms as he holds you tight. You don't really cry, but it sort of feels like you will at any given moment.

Eventually, you just shrug. "I think maybe I'm bad at sharing, too."

"You're not sharing," he says, and really hopes you know he means it. "And hey, I've seen your ex's name on your phone notifications before. You can't be mad about me being okay with Hayun if you're still okay with him."

And then you realise he doesn't get it. He thinks you're jealous .

You pull away. You look at him with confusion all over your contorted features. "Sorry?"

Now is not the time to say 'forgiven', but he considers it. You look pissed .

"Huh?" Is all he can manage.

"I don't give a shit about you being okay with exes," you exclaim, affronted by the mere suggestion. "Like... I... What ? You could be the best man at their weddings for all I care! We're not together - but you're my friend , and Hayun fucking dickhead to me."

"I know we're not together," he retaliates, defensive now because it seems like you're gunning for him. "But she's my friend, too. I can't throw away years of friendship just because she was mean when she was drunk. Everyone says shit they don't mean when they're drunk."

"Oh fuck off," you say with a little too much gusto. You really don't want to fight - but he's being so fucking obtuse. "She didn't seem to care about throwing away your friendship when she screwed you about! When has she ever done anything remotely friendly?"

Jeongguk rarely looks mad. Rarely looks angry.

But his eyes are black, now.

Your 'welcome' is about to be outstayed and you damn well know it. You grab the dress you had been wearing - one you knew would get him all horny and excited because you were looking forward to hooking up with him again - and pull it over your head.

He mirrors you. Pulls on a pair of sweats. Scoffs.

"I lived a life before I knew you, B. She's got a good five or six years on you. Just because you've not seen any of the good doesn't mean it doesn't exist."

You've got to be kidding me. Your blood is boiling; sizzling up in your veins. ' A good five or six years on you'.

Prick.

The way you laugh is scornful. "You sound like a fucking kid who believes in fairies."

"Maybe I do," he seethes back. "But at least she's making an effort to fix our friendship. What about you? You're still texting your ex. The fuck is Seokjin doing, huh? Other than running off after using you for a quick f-"

He stops himself. Realises just how awful he's being. Looks down. Exhales. Shakes his head.

You're frozen, mouth ajar. Not once has Jeongguk ever been so careless in the way he addresses the Seokjin situation. Never once has he ever made it seem like it's your fault... but he is, now.

Jeongguk fucked himself into you half an hour ago. Whispered shit about how perfect you are for him. And now he's tearing apart your character just to defend some girl who fucked him over for sport.

"What the fuck are we doing?" he asks quietly. Shame washes over him. Good . "Why the fuck are we arguing like this?"

Silence echoes around his room. It's so loud it feels like your ears will bleed. Neither of you enjoy this. Neither of you want to back down, though, either. You're cursed to let it play out.

"Because sometimes when we fuck, it feels like we belong to each other," you say quietly, echoing the sentiment you both felt earlier. "But we don't, and it's pretty clear that there's someone else at the top of your priority list."

"B," he says, with genuine pain in his voice.

You shake your head. Shrug. Lie, when you say. "It's fine. You're not top of mine, either."

He reaches for your hand as you push past him, but you shake him off. Don't wanna stay. Don't wanna look at him. Don't wanna do anything with him.

Jimin's in the kitchen. Sort of looks at you with horror, as fresh, silent tears roll down your cheeks. You wipe them away with the back of your palm, heading towards the door.

You need to put your shoes on, so just say, "please don't ask, Jimin."

He doesn't need to. Heard it all. Is furious with Jeongguk for defending fucking Hayun, yet again. Thought that progress had been made, but apparently not.

"Sorry about him," he just says.

You shrug. Look at Jimin. He can't distinguish your glitter from your tears. "Don't be. Sorry for the noise."

Jimin shakes his head. "Don't be."

Knowing better than to get involved in Jeongguk's disputes, he simply nods. Sends you a text after you leave telling you to check in when you get home so that he knows you're okay. Is aware you'd normally text Jeongguk letting him know, but doubts you'd fancy doing it, now. Waits for a moment, until he hears something smash in Jeongguk's room. Sighs. "Boys."

Rummaging through one of the cabinets for plasters, knowing that Jeongguk most likely needs them, Jimin has no fear as he approaches Jeongguk's room. Knows his frustrations would never be taken out on another person, but has come home to Jeongguk repairing one of his display cases after a particularly bad fight with Hayun once before.

This seems less intense, and yet Jimin can't help but feel like this one is also so much worse. Far more detrimental.

He doesn't knock. Walks straight in to find Jeongguk sitting on the floor against his bed, arms tight around his knees, head down. As predicted, one of the display cases has shattered. He doesn't know how , doesn't really know why Jeongguk thought it would be a good use of energy, but does know that his knuckles are bleeding.

The bed is unmade, and the air is slightly musty but also sweet. Jimin's incredibly familiar with the lingering scent of sex, and knows exactly what will have preceded the argument.

"So," he stays, tossing plasters down to Jeongguk's lap, and taking a seat on Jeongguk's desk chair. Spins lightly. Tries to remain ambivalent. "Still gonna pretend like you're not fucking?"

"Jimin," Jeongguk growls. Doesn't wanna fucking talk about it.

"DB would never do the shit to you that Hayun did to you," he just shrugs. Thinks Jeongguk is in need of some cold hard truths.

"Don't wanna hear it."

"I don't care if you're fucking her or not-"

"Can you shut the fuck up?"

"-but she's done more to help you in the last, what? Eight months? Than any of us could have done for you. She really cares , and if you throw away your friendship with her for the sake of Hay-"

"Oh well, why don't you fuck her, again?" Jeongguk snaps.

Jimin grates his jaw, but doesn't interrupt. Wants to hear what Jeongguk has to say for himself. Kid's clearly hurting, so fuck it. Fine . He'll let him get it all out.

"Third time lucky, right?" He sneers, not looking over at Jimin while he chews him out. " You fuck her again, and you deal with how much she cares , and all her fucking glitter and everything she fucking does for you. Let her hold you to this unreachable standard of being fucking perfect. You can be the one that disappoints her. You can be the one who fucks up. You can be the one that hurts her. You can."

Deep down, in his heart of hearts, Jimin knows that all of Jeongguk's little rant is projection. Rolls his eyes at how much of a baby he's being.

"A little bit of glitter seems like an easy compromise for someone who adores you," Jimin says softly, and that's when Jeongguk finally chokes out a pained sob that he'd been holding in. He doesn't understand why his brain is making him be so fucking mean. He loves your disco ball eyes. "So no, I won't fuck her again, Gguk. And nor should you until you figure this mess out."

Jimin stands up to leave, knowing that Jeongguk needs a little space to breathe. Reminds him, "Hayun's taken, Gguk. She made her choice. Made it over and over again. Fucked you ov-"

"She's single," Jeongguk's voice croaks. He's quiet. Sniffs. Heads all a mess. It's part of the reason he's been pouring himself into his studies. Doesn't know how to cope with it all. "S'why she was here for new years. Is looking for an apartment in the city. Asked me to help next week."

Jimin doesn't know what to fucking say.

A heaviness resides in chest, crushing down on his heart. It hurts.

For Jeongguk, his heart aches.

"Gguk..."

"I don't know what to fucking do."

And though the answer is clear for Jimin, the waters are muddy for Jeongguk. Can't see the sea nor the shore. It's all just murky. Dark. Scary. Out of reach and yet all-consuming; like a tidal wave towering above him, sure to crash down.

"Anyway," Jeongguk sniffs back the tears that reside in his eyes. Shrugs. "Doesn't matter. Got an exam to study for."

For once, Jimin doesn't object. Leaves him be. Texts Yoongi. Code Red. Hayun's single.

Yoongi replies almost immediately.

Fuck. Off. Really?!

It's funny - you think the exact same thing as you get off the subway by your apartment, only to see Tae and Danbi getting on board. Not unusual. You'd say hey, normally.

But it's not normal, not today. Not when Nabi and Hayun are with them, too.

Nabi catches your gaze. Smiles. Waves. You really do like her, just hate the fact that Hayun is her best fucking friend - and why is she still here?! Why can't she just go back to her fucking boyfriend and go live her best life in Seoul? Why does she need to be down here in the city you call home?

She's overstayed her welcome - and as she follows Nabi's smile, she falters when her eyes land on you, just before the carriage rolls away. Pursing her lips, they settle into a smile. Dead behind the eyes, though.

Danbi is facing away from you, so doesn't even notice. She's your best friend - but she's been so busy with Tae and you so busy with Gguk that it feels like you've barely seen her recently.

It feels like you're losing everything you love into the abyss that Hayun is.

"Fucking witch," you scathe to yourself, earning you a confused look from the ajumma beside you. "Sorry. Not you."

She laughs a little. Points to her eyes, then yours. "So pretty," she says, and you know she's talking about your glitter and - oh, you don't mean to be such a mess, but you just can't help yourself when you start blubbering all over again.

Before you know it, you're sat with a gaggle of old women outside the CU, crying over Jeongguk while they give you fucking advice. It's all so mortifying. One of them rushes in and gets you some tissues for your mascara, while another insists on a slice of cake.

All dressed in mismatched florals and gilets, with perms to rival poodles, they're happily talking about your drama because "Eunyeon divorced her husband six years ago and there's only so many times we can hear about his new girlfriend" - although the latest scandal is that he's now seducing the lady who works in the tailor shop around the corner from your apartment. It's why the gaggle of gals are here - they wanted to scope her out.

Instead, they're now cooing over a picture of Jeongguk, agreeing how handsome he is.

"Men like him were made to break hearts," one of them sighs, which earns her a swat against the arm from a friend.

"Oh, shush, Minsu," one of them tuts. Squeezes your hand. " You were made to break hearts too."

They all agree. Nod.

"If I were your age, and I looked like you, I'd have a new boyfriend every week!" Jinnae, the lady who first complimented you and invited you to her gossip session, says.

"I don't even want a boyfriend," you whine. "I just wanted to get over my ex."

This is a fatal error on your part, for they then demand to see Seokjin, too - and if there's one thing Seokjin does better than any other man, it's winning the hearts of women beyond a certain age.

You half think Minsu might have a heart attack when she sees him.

"Men didn't look like this back in my day," she sighs after she's caught her breath. "Oh, honey. I feel sorry for you. I really do."

The pity party continues until one of them notices Eunyeon - the jilted wife - across the road. They make for a speedy escape. Can't be caught spying. Insist you join them for tea next week. Given the fact you've lost both Jeongguk and Danbi to the devil incarnate, what other plans could you possibly have?

When you finally arrive home, you sigh. Kick your shoes off. Get changed, and head straight for the shower. Need to wash Jeongguk off your skin.

And as you take off your necklace and rest the bird by your sink, you can't help but feel disappointed in Jeongguk. A little used.

You've been using one another, granted, that's never been a secret - but you've helped each other. Progressing as people. Healing . Now? Just feels like he was biding his time until Hayun was interested in him again.

Sinking down the wall of your shower, you sit with your knees to your chest, holding them tightly.

Just like Jeongguk still is, in his bedroom, right where you left him.

Your phones both vibrate at the same time - his on his desk, yours by the sink. It's the big group chat. The one with everyone - except Hayun (thank God).

The Usual Suspects [MYG, JJK...(+8)]

Yoongi : May 6th.

Namjoon :... What of it?

Yoongi : You're busy.

Namjoon :...?

Jimin : It's like 4 months away???

Yoongi : So? Keep it free.

Taehyung : ???!!!!!!

Seoyeon : what my darling husband-to-be means to say, is..... save the date!!!

Seoyeon : we've booked our venue!!!!!

Jimin : oh, holy shit

Nabi : AHHHHHHHHHH

Jeongguk : FINALLY!!!!

You : stop, i'll cry omg

Seoyeon : the venue is small - we'll tell you more about it when we see you next, but it means no plus ones :(

Yoongi : You're all single losers anyways...

Taehyung : Ahem.

Yoongi : It's been two weeks.

Danbi : Still counts x

And even though today has proved to you that even the purest of hearts can become weaponised, true love still exists; and what an honour it is to witness it.

Maybe one day, you'll get to experience it.

For now, you'll tuck the bird necklace in your jewellery box and ignore Jeongguk when he finally texts. You've muted your chat. Still check it constantly. Just in case.

You wait all night.

He doesn't text.

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

[fictionalsownme]

More Than A Woman | wilford warfstache x gn!viewer / reader |

chapter one - "I've known you very well"

A/N: hi everyone!! I'm so excited to post this! Usually I spend a long time on the stuff I write but I wrote a good chunk of this in a feverish burst haha, I've been wanting to write for Wil and had such a clear idea of how I see him in my head for so long :)) This fic will probably be around 10 chapters~ish and progress will probably be a little slow but I'm also trying to get faster at my writing so I guess we'll see! Getting it down is always the hardest, then you spend a bit of time hating it, then the fixing can start! Anyway, I hope you guys like this, I love this dorky weirdo a lot for whatever reason, and I'd love to write for other egos too :) ((there might be a guest appearance or two in here in the last few chapters if plans don't change 👀)) hope you guys enjoy the first chapter at least! lmk 🥰! word count: 2.9k notes: reader is gender-neutral, similar to all of mark's stuff :) -- the title is just after the song! no pronouns or descriptors are used other than the occasional they/them. reader is the viewer (& district attorney) from wkm, adwm, ahwm, iswm, etc, but that won't come up until later. wmlw wilford. story will be mostly fluff, some hurt/comfort & angst, lots of romance and flirting! story is adapted from an idea I had for my self insert. we will get into some lore stuff (or at least my understanding of the lore 👀) and filling in gaps with headcannons, but it's mostly about wilford & reader and I'll try to explain as we go so don't worry about it too much if you don't know all of it. especially since I don't know if my understanding is always 100% accurate 👉👈 let's have fun yall! 💞

masterlist | AO3

The music playing softly over the convenience store speakers was pleasant, if slightly boring. Like elevator music— there only to help ease the passing of time. Your night shift would end soon, and the sky could be seen as it lightened more every minute through the windowed front of the building.

Other than that, the old store was quiet. Dusty. Pink and orange neon strips lined the walls near the ceiling. They overpowered the dated fluorescent lights, casting everything in a slightly peach haze. Like a dream. 

Different sections of the store were marked with neon too, the letters glowed against the wall denoting the drinks, the snacks, the hot food… You liked your little store. Even if the unyielding isolation of your work made you a bit… complacent. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d truly talked with someone.

The ice creams chilled your fingers through the wrappers as you pulled them from their box and slotted them into place. Even with the cold air of the freezer wafting over you, you could smell the cool summer air coming in the sliding front doors.

You liked to prop them open on dawns like these. The convenience store lights did draw in the occasional pestering bug, but they usually found their way out again before long. You did get a bat once. Albeit a little crazed and frantic, you were surprised to find it harmless. Maybe a little lost. Now that thing seemed like it would never leave. 

Refocusing on your task, you brushed your condensation-soaked fingers on your work apron, tied tight behind your neck and around your back, and shut the freezer door. 

The motion alert chimed a pleasant tune through the staticky old speakers as a customer entered the open doors from the street.

You called an automatic, “Welcome in~,” and went about straightening a shelf of snack bars and chocolate. You didn’t bother to look in their direction as you heard them make their way through the aisles.

“Pardon me,” said their strange, nearly British accent from beside you now. You turned to the source of the voice, the man who’d just walked in, and your eyes went to his outfit first. 

A silky-- almost sparkly in how it caught the light-- lavender shirt with mismatched buttons revealed expanses of his bare chest. It was paired with white bell-bottoms and a fake pink afro hanging half-off his head, about to fall off. He had olive skin and dark hair-- nearly black--, fluffy and sticking up every which way like hands had been running through it. Scruffy facial hair framed a thick mustache that tinted slightly pink where it turned up at the ends.

He looked… honestly, he looked ridiculous. But the 70s getup was fun, you supposed. And his eyes-- dark brown and monolid-- were handsome. Underneath all the… extra mess. You blinked, slowly, in a way that felt like waking up.

“Uh, hi. Are you coming from a costume party or something?” It was August, but you supposed it was never too early to start the spooky season. 

“Oh! Do you know of one? I do love a good costume. But no. Just the regular-sort. Just woke up from one.” He scanned the products near his head, grabbed a protein bar, sniffed the wrapper, guffawed, and put it back.

“You just woke up? Are you alright?”

“Oh, worry not, friend, this is normal for my level of reverie! I’m not even hungover!” He laughed, his hands going to his hips.

You stared at him.

“I was just looking for something to gnaw on! To nourish myself before I’m on my way.” His eyes were still traveling all over, not really seeing you.

Now in theory, a strange man coming in at this hour, acting even stranger, with his clothes disheveled? You knew you should be on your way to your safe space behind the counter to get him checked out and exiting the store as fast as possible. But there was something about him… 

Something you couldn’t place…

Instead you raised your eyebrows and relaxed against the cooler door. “Uh, I guess that depends on what kind of food you like,” You offered. After a moment, his gaze landed on you and he seemed to finally take you in. Your uniform, your crossed arms, your patient expression, your features. His face scrunched into confusion.

A moment passed, staring at each other like that. “Your shirt’s looking a little rough, you know.”

“Have we met, friend?” He asked as he began to fix his buttons. 

You watched passively as more of his chest came into view. He either didn’t notice or didn’t mind your blatant staring. You weren’t sure why you were staring, or what you were feeling as you did so. 

You weren’t gawking at his abs or anything-- well,-- not that he didn’t have abs. He did, sort of. The expanse of his chest and abdomen were tight with toned muscle. He definitely wasn’t lacking abs, anyway. Either way… this was about something different. 

You wondered for a moment if a vague familiarity was what you were picking up on, but quickly dismissed it.

“I feel like I’d remember meeting you.” 

You realized with a start that your comment could be seen as flirtatious, and added quickly, “Just, you know-- generally.”

But he just hummed and spun on his heels, turning away. You sighed and found yourself in-step behind him, hands in your uniform pockets. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“Well, either way!” He started, his energy returning tenfold. “Let's see what this cute little shop has to eat!” 

For some reason, you asked, “Do you have money?” 

He froze. “Er, no~. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Mind what?”

“Well, spotting me of course! Let’s just say I owe you one, eh friend?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “Thought so.” 

Thought so? Maybe you did know him… 

It was your turn to squint in displaced confusion. “What’s your name?”

His voice came from behind you and you spun around, your shoes squeaking on the tile floor. When did he sneak around you? 

He bent over and twirled his hand, a flamboyant bow finally knocking the afro off his head. “Wilford Warfstache, at your service.”

“That’s your name?” 

He righted himself. “For now.” It suited him well enough, but for some reason it sounded misplaced.

… But no, either way, you definitely hadn’t met him before. You didn’t know many people in the first place, let alone someone so eccentric.

Still, you were curious about him. Curious about his personality and who he was. He felt sort of like a puzzle waiting to be solved. And so far, despite his quirks, despite how admittedly weird you’d also been acting, he’d been friendly. You couldn’t say the staring and prodding questions were too in-character for you. At least not when it came to customers. 

His hair looked softer without the wig to weigh it down-- parted at his brow and long enough to fluff over the tips of his ears and end where his neck met his spine. You reached down to scoop the curly mop of synthetic hair up off the floor.

“Where did you get this thing?”

He hummed something like ‘I don’t know’, his eyes sort of wide like a clueless puppy’s. 

“What, you just kind of have it?”

“Yea’p.”

You squinted at him, a smirk forming on your lips. “How about I do you a favor and throw this away?”

He shrugged, hummed an ‘alright’ sound, and turned away. 

“Oh no, I was kidding! God, here--!” You had to grab his wrist to stop him from wandering off further and placed the pink afro in his hand.

You had just been trying to tease him, but now you just felt bad. “Look, Wilford, you want something to eat? We have to throw the hot food out every night. You can have a taquito or a slice of pizza or something if you want.”

Then he was frozen again-- staring down at where your fingers wrapped around his wrist. Your eyes followed his gaze down and then you were staring too.

A moment passed. Then two. Finally, you let go and crossed your arms again, tucking your hands away where they couldn’t embarrass you again.

“... Fuck, I’m sorry. I-I don’t know why I did that.” You did your best to clear your throat.

But he was still stuck there. He blinked a few times and his gaze met your eyes, his brows gathering together. 

“Wh-What did you say your name was, friend?” He seemed so… serious all of sudden. So dire.

You hadn’t mentioned it yet, but told him with a hesitant voice. 

His expression blanked, eyes widening. He brought his arm, the offending afro in tow, to his chest, touching his wrist where you’d held it.

“Oh…” 

You raised your brows and asked softly, “Sorry, do you know me, then?”

“Hm?” And he blinked like his mind was clearing, like he’d forgotten you were there. 

He cleared his throat, smiled-- ear to ear-- his mustache lopsided like a cartoon. “Oh-- nevermind about that! Some food would be lovely, if you don’t mind.”

His eyes were sparkling. 

“Sure. I mean, it’s nothing fancy. Here,” And you walked over towards the front counter. Wilford trailed close behind you-- holding onto the wig in his hands like a school kid holding a lunch box-- his gaze wandering over the store again like he hadn’t seen it the first time.

You arrived at the hot foods section, a glassed-off section of day-old food over heated rods. You shrugged. “If you have a sensitive stomach, maybe don’t,” you started, “but it’s mostly fine to be honest. I eat it if I’m in a pinch, you know.”

You hopped up to sit on the counter, your legs facing Wilford, and leaned back to reach around and grab the tongs waiting there. You straightened and clapped them together twice. You offered him a smile. “What’ll it be, Mr. Warfstache?” Then a quieter, “--that was your last name right?”

“Do you gravitate towards anything yourself?”

“Can’t go wrong with a slice of pizza, I guess. Even here.”

His smile grew sort of soft. “Then that. If you please.”

“You got it.”

You leaned over again and served up the slice of moderately warm and slightly greasy pizza on a brown napkin and passed it off to him. 

“Much obliged.”

You got one for yourself too, and when you righted and your eyes found Wilford again, he was sitting in a retro-style diner chair you’d never seen before-- his feet against the edge of the counter beside you.

You couldn’t help the surprised laughter that choked out of you. “Wha-- where did you even find that?”

The chair teetered on its two legs as he leaned precariously back, tilting his head at your question. The pink wig sat in his lap and you couldn’t help thinking it looked like some weird dog.

“Well, there’s no need to worry! I’m only borrowing it, I’m not a barbarian.”

And you just knew you weren’t getting more of an answer than that.

“So who even are you?” You asked as he took a bite of the pizza, somehow pulling all the cheese right off the top in one piece. He pouted down at the offending mozzarella, slurping it into his mouth and swallowing it. “Do you live around here?”

“Mm. I don’t really live anywhere. Much more the exploring-- ever on the move-- type.”

He was so expressive. It really felt like talking to an old cartoon come-to-life or something. You turned to lean against the side of the glass cover, swinging your legs so your feet rested on the counter, not far from his still against the edge. You weren’t touching at all, but you were surprised at how quickly the two of you fell into a casual-- albeit timidly curious-- rhythm. 

“So what do you do?” And you began to eat too.

He beamed, his smile reaching all the way to his eyes. “I’m an interviewer! Warfstache Tonight, that’s what my show is called! It’s quite a professional endeavor!”

You smiled and hummed around your bite of pizza, impressed. That actually explained a lot. And it suited him nicely enough. “Sounds pretty glamorous.”

“And what about you? You can’t just be a convenience store clerk!” He seemed so affronted by the idea. Crinkling his nose, dropping his voice an octave. “How dreadfully boring.”

You winced. “‘Just a convenience store clerk?’ Ouch, Wilford…” You couldn’t help frowning down at your slice. 

 “Oh! No no, pardon me!” He let the chair fall back to four legs, waving the idea way with a panicked hand. “I only meant that… this isn't what truly stirs your passions, is it? Do you do anything at your leisure? For work or just… something you enjoy?”

You squinted at him. But you didn’t really think he was trying to insult you. And he wasn’t wrong. It just… wasn’t always the most fun when someone pointed it out. Especially like that. 

You sighed, fidgeting as you considered his question. “Not right now… This job keeps me pretty occupied. But you know, it’s not too bad. It keeps me, I don’t know, grounded I guess.”

He thought for a moment, then nodded, taking another bite. “I do hope you get more opportunities soon, then.” He said, surprisingly grounded.

You looked at him. “... Thanks.” And you meant it.

“And… my apologies for the earlier, uh, miswording.”

 “That’s fine… I’d be curious to hear more about your show, though! Have you interviewed anyone interesting or anything?”

A beat. A sort of tiredness settled into his shoulders and he peered up at you. “The odd gold-star guest did wander in from time to time. I’m not sure if my skills were quite deserving of them at the time.”

Was that… shame?

“The truth is, I couldn’t quite live up to the role. I--” He laughed, pained. He cleared his throat. “I’m taking a bit of a break from show business for the moment.”

Ah. So that’s what happened. You offered him a sympathetic smile. “To party? That’s probably why you don’t have any money, Wilford. And why you have to rely on shitty convenience store food?” You held up your greasy napkin like it was evidence.

“Now don’t underestimate the power of a good party! And this food is fine, I’m grateful for it,” He crumpled the now empty napkin and gestured wildly with it. “The truth is I get by just fine. I’m just not sure what else I should be doing.”

You looked out the front windows. The sky was getting lighter. The timer marking the end of your shift would go off any minute.

So maybe that’s why he’d been asking you about your passions. You felt bad for him. He was strange, to be sure. And a little hard to follow. But he was also… sweet. He had a softness about him.

And still… there was that feeling that hadn’t disappeared since meeting him. Like… like your soul recognized him. Maybe not deeply. But distantly. Like you’d met him in a dream. It was a ridiculous notion. Ridiculous didn’t seem beyond his territory.

You turned, legs coming down from the counter once again. You leaned forward, your hand landing at the junction of his shoulder and neck. His silk shirt was soft under your fingers. His eyes jumped up to yours and you looked down at him with a smile. 

“You liked doing your show right? You want to be an interviewer?”

He nodded slowly. His lashes fluttered. 

“Then that’s what you should be doing! You just have to try again!” You shrugged with one shoulder. “It might suck a lot. And you might fail again. But pick yourself back up. Keep going. I’m sure you can do it if you keep at it and think outside the box, you know. Failing only means failing if you stop.”

You leaned back, your hand sliding away. He stared at you.

“That’s what the rest of us do, anyway. Honestly, maybe you should do your show online! You know, livestream it or something. I’m sure you’d find your own way to it.”

Slowly, a smile crept back in, the corners of his eyes creasing. 

“What a wonderful idea…” 

God, his eyes… 

You looked down at your own napkin, laughing a little at yourself. “Wilford, I promise, the advice I just gave you was nothing crazy.”

“Well, perhaps it’s just a little too rare that I get a pick-me-up.”

You hopped down from the counter. “Swing by whenever, I’ll hand them out for free. Though, if you’re always on the move, I guess you’re probably not in town for long, huh?”

He quickly followed your lead and stood, his chair nearly falling in his haste. “Uh— w-well I, I don’t know, I could always… linger for a day or two. Hard to say really.” 

“Uh huh.” You smirked at him, raising your brows. “Well, if that constant partying you have going on brings you back here, feel free stop in, okay? … It’d be nice to have someone in here every once in a while. Well, someone friendly, anyway.” 

“Right. Will do. Of course.”

You gave him two solid pats on the chest and turned to throw the napkins away behind the counter. When you turned to face him again, he was gone.  Only slightly confused, you quickly recovered and yelled a quick, “bye~!” to the now empty store.

[alienoresimagines]

Dying for more crumbs of your "I was made to protect you" Bodyguard/Royalty AU if you're willing to share!

Nonnie!! ��🫶🏻 I swear this AU was on the backburner because I couldn't find what I wanted to do with it but your ask really kickstarted it so thank you 🥹❤️ As crumbs, here is my humble offering of John and Gale, twelve years after their first meeting, when they are safe and well in love ❤️ Yes, we're starting backwards but take this as a guarantee I won't kill off any of them 😂 As for the main fic, an outline is starting to be formed and I hope I'll manage to get a few chapters done before uni starts 🥰 But really, none of this would be here without you, so thank you 🥹💕

Also on AO3

Our love, for eternity | Buck x Bucky (Royalty/Bodyguard AU)

John cannot remember the first time someone took his hand to press a kiss on his knuckles. Maybe when he was five, and his father could no longer protect him from the incessant requests of the Council to have him properly introduced to Court? He doesn’t remember much from it, too overwhelmed by all the noise and the crowd present, his only wish to hide himself behind his father’s legs but no longer allowed to, at least not in public. 

Almost thirty years later and he handles it much better, has learned to thrive on the attention and emotions of a crowd, even though he’s man enough to admit his father’s steady presence will always comfort him. Still, despite knowing it is part of protocol and that it is truly the least he can do, letting hundreds of nobles fall to their knees in front of him to bring his hand to their lips isn’t exactly on his pros list of being first Crown Prince and then King. Every day, he understands a bit better why his father chose to pass on the throne to him two years ago to live in a small cottage with Red and who knows how many horses the two men had managed to get their hands on since then. He’d gone to visit the two men just yesterday and they looked happier than ever, and John cannot deny that the idea of a small retreat in a house near the beach with Gale sounds like heaven. But alas, not for another twenty years at the least. 

He can do twenty years. With Gale at his side, he could do eternity as King. And really, when Gale is the one kissing his knuckles, the entire affair is much more tolerable, not to mention enjoyable. It never fails to have John’s entire being buzz with warmth spreading from his chest whenever Gale’s calloused palm gently close around his to bring his hand to his face until the now familiar prickle of beard tickles his skin, soothed by the press of soft lips. It’s a gesture Gale loves, always making sure he holds John’s gaze when his lips touch the tender skin, eyes warm and soft, corners of his mouth turned up even as it rests gently against John’s knuckles. They could be reading side by side in John’s private chambers, loosely holding hands in the space between their two armchairs, fire gently crackling in front of them, and Gale would bring up their joined hands until he could kiss John’s knuckles, only looking up from his book once John could feel his breath fanning over back of his hand. 

In all the years they’ve known each other and amongst all the different things they’ve done with and to each other, few things have felt as intimate as Gale kissing his hand, no matter how many times he’s done it. Each one feels like a vow, full of more emotions and words than anyone could ever see behind the gesture. Many people have brought John’s hand to their lips- or their forehead, an alternative he prefers with strangers, he has to admit- in a sign of loyalty. But Gale always does it in absolute devotion and love, so sincere and raw it never fails to tighten John’s throat with so many emotions he cannot name until he almost chokes on them.

To all assembled in the throne room today, it is a common gesture meant to show utmost servitude to a monarch. To John, it’s timeless proof there is no one more devoted to him and his heart than the man currently kneeling at his feet.

There’s a reverence in how Gale does it. The gentle grip in which he holds John’s right hand, letting the curve of his fingers rest against his index as he brings it closer to his face, head bowed, as if they are the only two present. 

John’s hands aren’t as soft or slender as other women’s in Court. They’re calloused and rough from sword training, knuckles scarred with little cuts here and there. Gale still takes his time swiping his thumb over his knuckles, as though softly uncovering the skin. John feels like the most precious thing in the world, and he has to bite his lip to keep himself from smiling too wide. Then, to his surprise, Gale bows his head even lower until his forehead rests against John’s hand, windswept golden hair tickling the skin of his wrist. He lingers for a moment too long to be anything but on purpose, and John’s heart feels so full of love it might burst right out of his chest to leap into the waiting hands of the man kneeling in front of him. Despite the numerous scars on those war-hardened hands, none would be- and have been- as gentle and tender in holding his heart, of this John is sure.

It’s been two weeks since they’ve seen each other, the longest they’ve ever been apart since they first met, twelve years ago. Neither of them had been particularly willing, but a foreign delegation had specifically asked for Gale to be their escort back home and nothing could have justified John’s refusal; the kingdom is more at peace than it has been in years and Anglia’s relations with its neighbors always need to be strengthened.

To know that Gale had missed him as much John had missed him, enough that he’d chosen to be bolder than usual almost as though he couldn’t help himself? It sends bursts of warmth through John’s gut, golden light flowing through his veins until he feels warm all over, toes curling in his boots. Twelve years and the strength of his love for Gale still threatens to knock him off his feet.

Gale lifts his head, locking eyes with him, and though John needs to be careful of the emotions playing on his face, Gale has no such limits, his back to the rest of the room. Warm and fond and longing, cornflower eyes look up through blond lashes, the smile Gale doesn’t let curve his lips beside the faint upturn of the corners of his mouth dancing in the depths of blue. Then, finally, his lips kiss John’s knuckles in a lingering press, his beard a sweet tickle on his skin. John’s missed the touch so much that his knees feel weak upon feeling it again after two weeks of being starved for it, and a small sigh escapes his lips. Gale must hear it because he wiggles his eyebrows teasingly when he lowers John’s hand with a last caress of his thumb, and it’s all John can do not to pull him up and kiss him senseless, feel the softness of pump lips and the rough but pleasurable burn on his chin and cheeks.

The moment it is appropriate enough for them to go, John is crowding Gale in a secluded alcove until all he can taste are Gale’s kisses. 

“Your Grace,” and oh, how John had missed that deep voice, the way it rumbles through his body in a shiver that goes down his spine. Heat stirs low in his belly, the familiar flames of arousal only stoked by Gale’s intense gaze as John pulls him up.

John is taking him to bed in the following hour, midday and reports be damned. 

Despite this promise to himself, he can’t help the urge to feel Gale close to him, so with an arm around his shoulders, he brings him into a brief hug, clapping his hand on Gale’s shoulder a few times to mask the way he turns his head just so to bury his nose behind Gale’s ear, inhaling deeply. Nobody would blink at this display of affection, the Court well aware of John’s easygoing nature and affectionate ways with friends. 

Too soon, Gale starts pulling back and John reluctantly lets him, for a moment missing the boldness of earlier but recognizing the longing in Gale’s eyes, knowing it mirrors his. 

“You missed me?” Gale chuckles, shakes his head as he steps back to a more appropriate distance. His eyes don’t leave John’s face, as though carefully studying any change that might have happened in the two weeks they’d been apart.

“Like a stone in my shoe.” 

Even if John cannot pull him back into his own body, hold him there with an arm around his shoulders, this is something they can do. The easy banter and fond teasing they both know all the hidden messages of. It’s there, in the warm blue of Gale’s eyes and the smile that pulls at his lips. John is sure it shows in the way his eyes crinkle, how he can barely stop his arms from reaching out again. But nobody will blink at the lack of honorifics or at the fondness coloring Gale’s tone, too used to seeing them attached at the hip when they can be, or Gale always half a step behind John in times of duty. People will smile and write about the unbreakable bond between a King and his Shield, once again proving how Royal and Shield are closer than soulmates, never knowing how true those words are. 

My Clegan fics

[polskasroka]

A humble offering from me to you, fellow odydio enjoyers

Book 5 of the Iliad inspired me to write it (along with Sleep Token's Chokehold, which is quite a combination)

Test My Worth in Blood

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Iliad - Homer, Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Diomedes/Odysseus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore) Characters: Odysseus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Diomedes (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore) Additional Tags: Body Horror, Flashbacks, Blood, Blood Play, Smut, Spit As Lube, Choking, POV Diomedes, diomedes has seen things, inspired by book 5, odysseus won't shut up Summary: You wish the gift from the goddess had worn off by now. You hadn’t asked for any of this. You certainly hadn’t asked for being able to still see and hear the blood of your comrades. Then, there’s a flicker. A sound, a bright clink. You realise which tent it came from.

Word count: 3,626

Read on AO3 or below!

You have seen what mortals aren’t supposed to ever see. A blessing or a curse from bright-eyed Athena, it’s difficult to tell. At least now. At the time, it seemed to be a blessing, a gift straight from the Goddess of Wisdom herself. One that turned you into a godling. One that, if only you dare claim so, made you equal to the best of the Greeks.

Once the battle ended, however, the power didn’t cease completely. It’s still there. Still here, buzzing within your head. Humming in your ears. Making your eyes sting whichever direction you look. Blinding and deafening you with the occasional sight and sound of the blood running through the veins of those around you.

Indeed, you may be hidden in the safety of your tent. In your solitude, you’re accompanied by the candlelight illuminating the space around you. The flickers bouncing off the spear tips and armour and then springing into the fabric of the tent. It would be serene if not for the unexpected buzzing coming from the left. And then from the right. And then from somewhere vaguely in front of you.

The dull branches of crimson show up in the distance only to die off a second or two later. The boring red burns your eyes in the darkness and you seek respite in the dimmest spot you can stare at. This doesn’t always help, so you close your eyes. And yet, you can still hear the murmuring of blood gently flowing through the vessels. The sound like an attack against your ears.

You are not supposed to hear that. You are not supposed to see that.

A blessing turned a curse.

You wish the gift from the goddess had worn off by now. You hadn’t asked for any of this. You certainly hadn’t asked for being able to still see and hear the blood of your comrades. Granted, it’s not as overwhelming as before but it’s making you restless, even though you’re nowhere near falling asleep.

Frowning, you grit your teeth until your jaw hurts. Gripping the desk, you leave indents in the wood with your blunt nails. You’d flip this desk over if you knew it’d kill the humming.

Then, there’s a flicker. A sound, a bright clink. Involuntarily, the muscles in your ear flex. You flinch. Tired though you are, your curiosity takes over and you lift your head in search for the source of the sound.

As if to annoy you, everything’s fallen dead silent. You huff. Maybe it’s for the better. Maybe you can finally lay down and rest. Maybe you can finally go to sleep and recover from all you’ve seen and heard today. Maybe the sight of the gods’ pulsating veins will not haunt your dreams.

But just as you turn around, you catch the glimpse of the bright golden spark once more. It’s gone as soon as you focus on it. You realise which tent it came from.

You know you shouldn’t go and investigate. You know it’s not a good idea, for it’s been a long day for everyone. Especially for you.

A blessing turned a curse or not, you also shouldn’t dismiss the signs that the gods give you. What’s more, under no circumstances should you reject the kind signs that Lady Athena grants you. She’s your guide, she knows what’s best for you. Now that all the other bubbling and flowing has been muted, you’re left with that single one — one occasionally glimmering with godlike gold.

It’s dark outside when you step out into the night. Knowing better than that, you stifle the candle before you venture out and let yourself be led by the one with gleaming eyes. There’s no use fighting it, you’re painfully aware of that. It’s not without a reason that it’s his blood that you’re able to sense.

On your way, you pass a couple of drunk and slumbering soldiers without making a sound and rousing them up. If there happen to be others that you stumble upon, you choose to hide in the shadow. No need to pique anyone’s interest now. The grey-eyed one’s attention is enough.

There’s no need to sneak. No need to try to muffle the footsteps. Others are fast asleep and if they’re not, they’ll stay vigilant but will not be able to tell who it was lurking around the camp. Maybe they’ll try to find a spy. Or they’ll send someone to spy on the Trojans in return.

But, just in case, you mutter a quiet prayer to the Lady Athena to conceal and mask your steps.

You’re certain that Odysseus can already hear you approaching. He’s had time to memorise the way you walk, it’s been ten years after all. So you don’t announce yourself.

You won’t startle him, despite him leaning over his desk. There may be a light flickering from the inside of his tent but it’s not his shadow that’s sold his whereabouts. It’s the split-second glimpse into the inside of his body, into the countless blood vessels carrying the liquid that should be of that dull shade of red. But it’s not. You’ve noticed it before — Odysseus’ blood is everything but opaque. It shines when you’re allowed to see it. It shines a brighter tone of red and then there’s that clink, the little jingle of golden sparks dancing through his veins.

No matter how much your eyes sting every time the glimmer reflects in them, you can’t go back and retreat. You’re drawn to this godlike albeit elusive flare. You’re drawn to the man who’s appeared to be worthy enough for the daughter of Zeus to lend him her guidance.

Led by the evasive glow, you enter the tent. The lit candle’s still casting its warm light over the papers spread on the desk and swirls in the metal of an armour and spear and arrow tips. You shake your head.

“Out of everyone, you, crafty Odysseus, should use your wit and come up with something that would surprise me for once,” you state, bored, a dagger poking you in the back.

“Were it someone else, they would be surprised. That is to say the least, Tydeides.”

Rolling your eyes, you wait for the blade’s tip to stop trying to make a hole in your chiton. Hopeful that it won’t require mending, you follow Odysseus with your gaze as he rounds you to stand before you. He leans against the desk and folds his arms.

“May I ask what brings you here at this hour?” he says, not requiring an answer. He’s got all the answers anyhow. “So keen to see me, could that be it? Or maybe, if you’d be so kind to share, could it be that you’re unable to survive one night without me?”

The corner of his lips quirks up and the moment he stops speaking, you squint. This divine flicker is not the same when you’re in his near proximity. Not dimmed by the distance and the tents, the spark beams brightly; so brightly that you can’t help but whip your head to the side to control the damage that wouldn’t be done regardless.

“Meanwhile you, in turn, seem unable not to flatter yourself anytime you have a chance, Laertiades,” you say, fooling yourself into thinking that calling him like this will bother him. It won’t. With smouldering anger inside, you watch a chuckle shake his body.

“Ah, but in your company, dear Diomedes, I should not be particularly worried about the lack of flattery, now should I?”

You exhale a huff through your nose that immediately brings a triumphant smile onto Odysseus’ lips. You won’t tell him he’s right. Even if your words fail you, which they tend to do in his presence, you flatter him with actions. Odysseus may have the gift of shrewdness but he won’t surpass your blessing of non-verbal affection. Of that you are certain.

“The grey-eyed goddess’ guidance has led me here.” Not that you could resist it.

“Ha! The Goddess of Wisdom has lured you here under the cover of the peace-bringing Night, it appears to me. A coincidence it cannot be!” Odysseus announces jovially and swings his hand in the air. “Come closer.”

Without hesitation, you obey. Now both you and Odysseus are staring at the reports and maps splayed atop the desk. Some of them you’ve seen before. A couple of them are more recent than others. There’s also a drawing that Odysseus pulls on top of everything. Your eyes are glued to it and you’re thankful for that — there’s that golden shine to Odysseus’ blood again. You see those branching vessels with the corner of your eye. The brightness nearly overwhelms you.

“What in the name of the gods is this?” you ask, frowning.

“A horse.”

“A horse?”

“It’s not just a horse, Diomedes. It’s a wooden horse.”

You lock your eyes with his when he says that and it’s a mistake. His veins flash golden again and you hear the humming of his blood flow. It vibrates in your ears and you clench your fists, crumpling up a paper or two.

“If you don’t mind, oh great tactician, I fail to see how it makes this horse any better. I’d say it being wooden is bound to make things worse,” you dare, although you’re quite sure it’ll bring even more pain onto your eyes.

Odysseus tsks. “That I shall tell once the right time comes.”

Your eyes feel as if someone’s trying to blind you with a hot metal rod. The thumping of blood fills your ears as the shiny sparkles submerged in the royal crimson glimmer. It’s like Helios managed to bring some of his light into the permeating darkness of the Night.

“You see, my dear Diomedes, I wish I could—”

“Silence.”

“Please, forgive me, but I do not quite understand. Weren’t you the one who needed clarification as to why a wooden horse is better than any other one?”

“Odysseus.” The anger inside you is now much closer to blazing than only smouldering.

Despite that, you manage to spot the grey streaks in his overall brown eyes. All this planning that he’s been doing… Lady Athena must’ve been assisting him one way or another.

“Diomedes…” He lifts his hand. “Your eyes.”

“Shut up!”

This is the last straw. Or the next blazing flash is.

You swipe his hand away and press your own against his mouth, effectively keeping him quiet. Finally.

Odysseus looks at you in frustrated confusion, his brows knit together. He tries to push your hand away by grabbing your forearm but you don’t relent. Since this hasn’t worked, he takes a step back and with little struggle, he sets himself free from your grip. You let it pass. You choose to wait. Observe. Decide.

“My most trusted tool and weapon — ripped away! By none other than an ally of mine! My dear Diomedes!” Odysseus cries, one hand on his chest; he’s glowering at you.

You glower back at him. “Cut the theatrics. And don’t tempt me.”

There’s a spark in his eye, now more brown than brown-grey. One that doesn’t scorch your whole vision. One that you’ve seen before and grown to enjoy seeing.

“You wouldn’t even dare, Tydeides,” he says, straightening up, his back cracking at the sudden movement.

“Oh?” Standing tall too, you pierce Odysseus with your own gaze.

You take a step towards him. He takes a step away from you. “Is that what you think, oh wise Odysseus?”

“You’ve given me no reason to think otherwise.”

“In this case, maybe I finally should?”

He squints at you, a challenging smirk plastered on his face. You take a couple more steps towards him. He keeps backing away.

“Scared?”

“Not at all.”

“Why not stop then?” You say and clear your throat.

“So that you’re pleased? Oh, Diomedes! Master of the war cry must have something more effective planned already.”

You scowl but say nothing. Instead, you keep walking until the backs of Odysseus’ legs hit the bed. Only then does he stop. He appears to be standing even straighter now, his chest pushed forward and hands on his hips. A laughable sight, really. At least in comparison to how you’re looming over him. You’d be a liar if you said that you don’t like it.

That smirk of his is distorted by a split-second tremble of his lip as you grab him by his throat; your fingers snugly wrapped around that vulnerable area. A hum rumbles somewhere within there and the vibrations travel onto your hand. You draw closer. As if unfazed by the short-lived squeeze of your hand, Odysseus just looks up at you.

“You won’t kill me,” he says, fuelling your rage. “No matter how much you want to right now.”

“I will.”

“You won’t. But, oh gods above and below! How glorious it would be to die at the hands of the son of Tydeus!” he continues, both of his hands on your forearm. Stroking, scratching. Raising chills.

A growl bubbles in your chest.

“All high and mighty but so woefully predictable,” Odysseus muses on, ignoring the tightening around his neck. Quite impressive, you have to admit that. “Always using all the wit you possess until all’s said and done and said wit’s dead and gone. Always because of me.”

Odysseus chokes on the last words of his little tirade. A smirk tilts your lips as you feel him dig his nails into your hand. He’s right and you hate that. So you’re making him pay.

He tries to take a ragged breath but his airways fail him, crushed under your fingers. Your own contentment leaves you in a form of a low murmur and you hold Odysseus in your grip until a grimace creeps onto his face and the colour of his swarthy skin starts turning pale.

Only then do you let him go and collapse onto the bed.

He gasps for air, hand on his heaving chest, the other clutching the furs. As soon as he peers up, still short of breath, you’re already there, lending him some air in the kiss that you press against his lips. Anything to keep him silent, anything to keep him from his constant rambling — one full of empty words that have fooled hundreds of men.

They must’ve fooled you too but you’re too lost in how your lips seem to never leave his. You’re on top of him already. Clawing at his clothes, you manage to rip them apart in the process. You hum in satisfaction again. He grunts in discontentment.

“Stop whining, Laertiades. This is your tent,” you say before he can. Your own chiton’s soon gone too. “Open a chest and find something else to wear later.”

“The chest you’re speaking of is not a bottomless one, I’m afraid. Would you believe that?”

The light tone of the question hides the malice that you know is there. You’ve known Odysseus long enough to recognise such moments. Apart from that, his fiery eyes are telling you everything. You’ve seen that glare-gaze plenty of times before. You can’t quite tell if it’s more irritating or arousing.

It’s most likely both.

Thus, it’s a matter of seconds before you’re all over him. The non-verbal flattery in its full glory.

Your hands roam over the dips, plains and mounds of his body. Your eyes follow the traces that your fingers make, hypnotised, transfixed. And then, just as Odysseus scratched your forearm, you graze your nails against his skin. Red welts soon arise and he trembles underneath you. You add more pressure. He grunts. You dig harder and harder. He hisses.

You draw blood.

A quiet moan tumbles out of your mouth. You dive in to lick the skin that you’ve just broken. You see a delicate shimmer of gold but taste iron. Sheer iron, just as you always do. Nothing’s changed.

Odysseus squirms again and you hold him down with your bloody hands. You stain his flanks with his own blood and gather the trickling droplets onto your tongue. The more you taste it, the more light-headed you feel.

In your daze, you bite down on Odysseus’ flesh, right next to the fresh wounds you’ve caused. He swears and you think he tries to push you away but, in fact, he’s holding you, so that you won’t even think about leaving him. With one of his hands in your hair and the other on your shoulder, he might be drawing you closer too, until you’ve got his blood smeared not only over your mouth but also chin and nose.

With the corner of your eye, you see the displeasured look on Odysseus’ face as you spit into your palm. You send him a scowl. You can’t wait anymore. And he should be used to your impatience by now. He whines and acts as if he were any more patient than you, while you are convinced that he isn’t. Or that he enjoys you hurting him. The latter is certain, though.

He tries to slow you down and push you away out of an instinct. He told you so himself. And he also instructed you to ignore that unless he said otherwise. So you comply because why wouldn’t you? The way his expression changes — his brows furrow, his eyes close shut, his lips turn into a thin line — only encourages you to bury yourself inside until the hilt. A wavering sigh escapes your lungs.

You ignore Odysseus clawing at your arms and shoulders. With your face buried in his neck, you start your back and forth. It’s painstakingly rhythmical at the beginning. You love it this way. You love to feel the tight fit gradually become perfect.

It’s you who’s holding onto Odysseus now. Once in a while, a grunt slips past your lips and fans over his neck or jaw. You grunt again, slightly increasing the pace and then you shudder. The chills continue as Odysseus smooths the skin on your arms and shoulders instead of trying to break the skin. He runs his right hand upwards, giving your nape a slight squeeze. Eventually, he cards through your hair with his fingers while his other hand’s lying flat on your back. He attempts to grip each time you strike that sweet spot inside of his gut.

Your hips buck at one of his scrapes over your scalp. You wail and quickly bite your lip.

“What truly brings you here, dearest Diomedes?” Odysseus mutters next to your ear. You can’t know if he really cares but you choose to think so.

“I’ve seen things, Odysseus.” You swallow. “I’ve seen the gods.”

“Why, everyone’s seen a god in their life!”

“Not like that,” you growl and grant him a couple of rough thrusts that have him choke on his breath. “I’ve seen them… from within. I’ve seen so much light, Laertiades, it was so bright, golden. Yet, it didn’t blind me. The goddess came to my aid. She made it last. She made me fight the gods.”

Odysseus hugs you closer to himself, your hair in his tight and protective grip. You speed up, losing your perfect rhythm. You don’t care and neither does he.

“I’ve fought the gods,” you babble on. “She guided me, she enlightened me. Odysseus, the blood of the gods… It’s not… Everyone else — their veins… so red and dull… muddy almost. Not the gods’. Live and liquid gold, they were!” you moan into juncture of Odysseus’ neck and jaw.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you shield yourself from the memory of how brightly the gods shone on the battlefield. The glow warmed your feverish skin.

You moan again, feeling that warmth now. In the heat of the moment, you grab Odysseus by his hips to lift the lower part of his body up. The change of the angle punches a low groan out of his lungs.

You cling to the warmth. You let it embrace you.

“Your blood…”

“Hm? What about it?” Odysseus mutters, tugging on your hair.

“It’s not dull nor muddy.”

You see the divine glow again. The golden sparks inside Odysseus. They illuminate the whole tent. The sharp light stings your eyes, although they’re closed. You know this sheen outlines Odysseus’ body. You can feel it on his skin. You can feel the heavenly heat melt onto you and spread through your being, and fill your own veins with specks of pure gold.

Darkness is what you see when your eyes flutter open. It then transforms into a dance of shadows that you notice with the corner of your eye as you nose at Odysseus’ neck. You inhale and let out a long exhale as you feel him rake his fingers through your hair.

What you need is to rest your head on top of Odysseus’ chest if you don’t want your neck to be all stiff and aching tomorrow. So, you lift your head and spare him a glance. It gives him enough time to hold your face between his hands. He rubs the skin under your eyes with his thumbs.

“You’re back.”

It’s one of those rare moments when Odysseus smiles a genuine smile of joy and contentment. The corners of his eyes crinkle up.

“I’ve been with you the whole time,” you reply, confused.

“You aren’t that dense, so quit the act,” he chuckles.

Odysseus then grows more serious.

“A man without proper reason wouldn’t have been chosen to fight the gods themselves. You were, oh godlike Diomedes. My bright-eyed Diomedes.”

Fondness. It’s fondness that you’ve just heard. Pure fondness from the man of twists and turns.

He’s genuine. His words are the truth. Your own escape you.

You understand why he pointed out your eyes earlier.

[celestiaonlyknows]

Kinktober Day 14: Alhaitham- Orgasm Denial

R18+ Minors Do Not Interact

Read on Ao3. <- Day 13 Day 15 ->

It’s been a week at this point since Alhaithem had let you come and it was actually starting to drive you insane. You would be the first to admit that making yourself come without him was probably one of your more bratty moments, but you didn’t think he was going to do this! It was just cruel. 

“I’ll let you come again when I finish the book I borrowed, since you had been so impatient last time maybe an end goal will keep your mind more focused on where it should be,” he had said coldly the first time he pulled his fingers from you–leaving you just on the edge of complete bliss. You were panting and a complete mess in your shared bed, but you hadn’t thought much of it at the time. After all, Alhaitham can finish a book in a few hours. You could wait that long. 

You should have known better than to assume there wouldn’t be some sort of catch with him. 

After his words, Alhaitham had started only reading one chapter a day of the book. It was beginning to drive you insane. He would come home and pull you to bed, skillfully and efficiently bringing you just to the brink with his fingers or his tongue before pulling back and walking away again. Always with the same response of “You’ll get to come when I finish the book I borrowed.” Then he would go and read a chapter before putting the book down and reading something else instead. 

It was infuriating. Worse, one day you had thought he actually finished the book as he fucked you properly, only for him to pull out and finish himself–leaving you denied once again. Hot and flushed with both your previous activity as well as embarrassment he dressed to walk away. 

“That’s so not fair,” you pouted childishly as you pulled the sheets around you–tears threatening to overflow from anticipation as well as heightened emotions from this abnormally long scene. “How much longer are you going to punish me? Please I promise I won't make myself come without permission again. Just please, I don't know how much longer I can take this!” 

“Are you using your safeword?” Alhaitham checked in then and you shook your head. You were frustrated sure, but you didn’t feel like it was out of control or that you couldn’t handle it. He simply smirks then and raises an eyebrow. “Then this will continue until I finish the book I borrowed.” 

You sit in the bedroom in silent protest for a moment while you let yourself cool down. A small part of you debated finishing the job yourself before deciding against it. If he pulled this stunt from just one random moment of pleasure, you could only imagine how much worse it would be if you broke your punishment now. 

An hour later, you hear the book snap closed. You don’t think anything of it, after all, he was just likely putting the book down to start a different book. It isn’t until he comes back in with a casual look on his face and the book completely closed that you sit up in excitement. 

“Now, let's see if you really learned your lesson,” he says before taking off his shirt to pick up where the two of you left off.

[iwriteasfotini]

I am currently in a writing block until December 21. Asks or direct messages will reach me, but I won't be on tumblr as often. Here is a recent little update.

Our Love is Written in the Stars

......EVERYONE HAS A STORY...... ......Always...... ......What is this series?...... ......OLIWITS Reference Materials on AO3......

The Heir and The Spare

Sirius POV, first year at Hogwarts / COMPLETE ON AO3 Rating: Mature tumblr THATS master post

The Prince's Pact - Year Two, Severus POV (24 Chapters, ~122K words) Rating: Mature Posting to Begin 12/21/24

The Bonds of Friendship - Year Three, James POV (27 Chapters, ~139k words) Rating: Mature Posting to Begin 2/14/25

The Heart of the Lion - Year Four/Three, Regulus POV (34 chapters, ~171K words) Rating: Mature Posting to Begin 4/13/25

The Wolf and The Star - Year Five, Remus POV (32 chapters, ~173K words) Rating: Mature Posting to Begin 7/11/25

The Changing Times - Year Six, Lily POV (38 chapters, ~194K words) Rating: Mature Posting to Begin 9/1/25

The Battered Boy - Year Seven/Six, Barty POV (9 chapters, ~47K words) Posting to Begin 10/31/25

Main Ships

Jegulus

Endgame Jegulus in a canonesque story. I mean, is there anything else to say?

Wolfstar

There is no who fell first, who liked who first. It is an angsty waiting game because they are both idiots. And when they finally fall they fall so hard they crash down three flights of stairs.

Snily

They love each other. But he's closed off, and she's a free spirit. From him, she only wants the one thing he can never give her, so he will never be enough.

Rosekiller

Barty has a crush on Regulus. Evan has a crush on Regulus. Regulus only sees James. So Evan and Barty find each other instead. They fall for each other. They become the next giant tragedy (because this story doesn't have enough already).

Music

This series has two main theme songs, then each book has one/two theme songs. Plus sometimes I have a song attached to a chapter, which means each installment has its own playlist.

>>>Master Playlist<<< (Theme songs only - very short playlist)

>>>Epic Playlist<<< (Every single song in order, really really epic)

The above will grow in length as I post each installment. I will be sharing all of my playlists from Spotify.

Other things to know:

*If you are a minor, please do not engage in content I rate Explicit. This if for my safety and yours. My Explicit content on Ao3 is locked to members only.*

Author Notes

This story contains a large cast of queer characters who may or may not label themselves. There are also characters who identify as trans and nonbinary. And I'll say it until I'm blue in the face, I know this isn't realistic of the time period. Who cares!

Rating will for the series is MATURE, with alternate Explicit chapters offered for a little more descriptive smut.

Posting will happen daily beginning on the scheduled day and continue at one chapter per day until each installment is complete. Then a few weeks of break between installments, for my sanity and to let people catch up.

Warning: People who have sensitivity to the following themes should approach this work with caution. It gets DARK. I will use trigger warnings by chapter and much of this does not begin until year five or later.

Underage drinking; underage recreational drug use; profanity; domestic abuse; blood; animal harm/death; self harm including attempting suicide; death; violence; grief; psychological abuse; torture; nonconsensual sex/sexual abuse; minor homophobia; sexual content; sexual themes

A final note:

If this sounds like an enticing series to you, you are welcome to follow me or the tag (#Our Love is Written in the Stars). You can also follow this pinned post as I update it regularly. This is a major passion project. I am writing 100% for me but I think some of you might also enjoy it, so I'm going to share.

Thanks for taking the time to read this introduction post. I hope to see you in the comments on Ao3. Cheers!

*I do not agree with the original author's personal beliefs, obviously.*

*I DO NOT USE AI to write, ever. At all. Just no.*

Things about me:

Fics I've Read / My Fandom Related Rants / I Want to Be an Author

[bluebirdsboi]

Dawn | Connor Rhodes x Male Reader | 18+

Fandom: Chicago Med

Genre: Angst, Implied Smut | Songfic: Haunted by Laufey

Pairing: Connor Rhodes x Male Reader

Warnings: Sexually suggestive

Word Count: 749

~ Requests are clsoed ~ Taglist is open

!! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !!

Key

Italic text = Song lyrics

(Y/n) = Your name

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Hey guys, this did turn out a little shorter than I would've liked, but I'm okay with it. Requests are still closed, but you can still show support with likes, comments and reblogs. My taglist is open, so if you want to be tagged in future fics, send me a DM or an inbox message and tell me which fandoms you want to be tagged for, or if you're okay with anything. In other news, I'm still working on the second chapter of my The Last of Us fic and the first chapter of an Anyone But You fic that I plan on being a trilogy. Both will be on my second blog as well as my AO3 and Wattpad, so I'd appreciate if you check those out. The masterlist for Chicago Med will be up later tonight and Chapter 1 of the Anyone But You fic should be up also later tonight or tomorrow, so until then, thank you for reading <3.

One more kiss, wine stained lips I don't want to go to sleep yet Pale moonlight, misty eyes I'll allow myself to have him just tonight

Connor's hands felt warm against your biceps. His lips, soft, yet passionate against your bare shoulder. You lose yourself in the feeling, savoring every second because you know that it won't last. "Connor-" "Shhh." You felt his chest against your back as he tilted your face to catch your lips. All he wanted to do was stay in that moment for as long as he could. The feeling of his lips dancing with someone else's was intoxicating, and you let yourself become enamored with the sensation.

I hold on to every ounce of sin I know he don't love me quite like I love him

He slowly guides you to the bed as he kisses down your neck, causing you to sigh and moan in ecstasy. His lips and breath continue to trail down your body, but you know that this situation means different things to both of you. You want this to keep going for as long as it can, even past tonight, but for Connor, it's just another way to change up his night. Regardless, neither of you cared and just wanted each other.

I swear to myself as he leaves at dawn This will end, 'til he haunts me again

Just before dawn started to break, you felt Connor moving on the other side of the bed. You rolled over just to see him, even if he wasn't facing you, which he wasn't. An urge to ask him to stay started to rise, but you decided against it. "I'll, uh.. see you later today (Y/n)." Every part of you wanted to grab him by the arm and pull him back in bed, but you told yourself that this was just a situational thing. You just got caught up in the moment and now, that moment has passed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rose perfume, low-lit room I'll pretend you'll stay forever Lay me down, ghostly sounds

"Oh, come on. You know you can always talk to the guy." You were in the break room and telling April about what happened last night with Connor. It was still so vivid in your mind, the moonlight that crept through the window, the way he caressed your arms, you swear you could still feel his lips on your shoulder. You wanted to tell Connor how you really felt about him, but after last night and knowing that he's just going to move on like nothing happened held you back. "It won't matter. It was just a one-night stand type of thing, you know?" April felt somewhat bad for you because she knew how much you wanted to be with Connor. "Well, if you ever feel up to it, you know where to find him. Just find the right time." April gave you a pat on the shoulder before she left. She could tell you needed a minute alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Haunt the hallways as he wraps me around

The evening just began to settle when you heard a knock on the door and decided to answer. Connor standing in front of the door frame was the last thing you expected, but then again, you weren't expecting anything. He couldn't even explain why he was at your doorstep, but you welcomed him in, regardless. Despite your feelings, you could still be cordial with Connor, albeit they peeked through when you sat a little closer to him than you should have on the couch.

And I hold on to every ounce of sin I know he don't love me quite like I love him

The night got dangerously close to a repeat of what happened the night before, and what tipped it over the edge was when his arm found itself around your shoulders. Before you knew it, your lips were intertwined with each other's in your room, both of your shirts cast to the wayside, the rest of your clothes soon to follow.

I swear to myself as he leaves at dawn This will end, 'til he haunts me again

The sunlight was just starting to stream in through your window as you recounted what happened the previous night, remembering everything you did with Connor. You wanted to believe that he stayed this time, but you already know the truth. You didn't bother tuning over because you knew there was nothing to see on the other side of the bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @houndsoforion, @jinniemyl0ve, @zoloft3

[inneedofsupervision]

Suit Up

Summary: Spiderman, aka Peter Parker, is now officially teaming with the Avengers. Working alongside his childhood heroes should be like a dream come true. But sometimes Peter feels like he's still fighting on his own. Luckily, he can always count on his friends to have his back when he's just Peter Parker and not a superhero. (This might become a series or get several chapters)

Read on Ao3

"Sir, Mr. Parker just arrived at the tower."

Tony wipes off the grease from his hands before throwing the rag on the table. His eyes linger on his project before he glances towards the clock.

"Tell the kid to come down to the lab, Friday."

"Of course, Sir."

It doesn't take long before the door to the lab slides open, giving entrance to a slightly panting Peter Parker. Tony raises an eyebrow at the teen whose checks are dusted in a soft red, catching the sheepish grin the boy throws his way. He watches the teen pushing the hair out of his eyes, the usually soft curls weighted down by the water caught in between. 

"Sorry for being late, Mr. Stark. I got your message while waiting for the bus, but because of the snow, it was about to come later than planned, so I decided to walk-"

"Hold on, Parker. Are you telling me you walked the whole way from your school to the tower in this weather?"

The sheepish grin is back on the kid's face as he rubs his neck, owing at least the decency to look slightly guilty. Tony crosses his arms over his chest as he frowns at the teen. 

"Uhm, actually, I ran because I would have been late walking, and I want to save the web fluid for the case of an emergency. Not that meeting you isn't just as important, Mr. Stark, Sir. I mean-"

Peter quickly closes his mouth as Mr. Stark holds up a hand, successfully interrupting the teen's word vomit. Sometimes, Tony wasn't sure if the kid talked this much because his nerves were running wild or if it was his default setting. During their fights, Spiderman had gotten told off more than once to keep quiet, while other times, you wouldn't hear a tone from the spider until the mission was over. The kid would give them a curt goodbye and disappear the next moment, earning silent respect from their two trained spies at his ability to disappear into thin air. It leaves him wondering if he was the only one having a hard time reading the kid or if it's just a teenager thing.

"I've got a meeting in twenty minutes, Parker, and surprise-surprise, despite all the rumors, I do not enjoy getting dragged by the collar through the building to get shooed into a conference room full of wannabe businessmen. As much as I dread that meeting, there is no way around it, so let's get this over quickly."

Tony turns around and strides through the lab, knowing by the sound of shuffling from behind that the kid has caught on and is following him. They stop at the desk, and Tony takes the sleek metal briefcase waiting on top. He hands it over to the kid, who reaches for it only to stare at him with an invisible question mark hovering over his head as Mr. Stark doesn't let go of the briefcase. 

"This is your new suit, Parker. It got an upgrade in about every aspect since your old one cannot be called a suit, in any way. More of a glorified onesie, if you will. We can discuss the upgrades another time, or you figure them out by using it. Anyway, I have to go now, and I won't let you stay here on your own so shoo shoo Parker, get out of here."

"Oh wow, thank you, Mr. Stark, Sir! I'm going to take good care of it. Is it okay if I look into the upgrades or-", Tony grabs the kid and turns him around, hands not leaving his shoulders as he pushes the teen towards the door.

"Do whatever you want, just for the love of god, use the heater function if you go out patrolling in this weather. One popsicle hero on the team is enough."

"There is a heater function? That's awesome! How does it wor-"

"Sorry kid, but our bonding time is over. It's a pity, maybe I see you in a week. Happy can drive you home."

"That's not necessary, Mr. Stark, Sir. Thank you..." 

Peter's words of gratitude fall on deaf ears as Mrs. Potts rounds the corner, and before Peter can mutter a goodbye, he is already standing alone on the floor. 

____________________________

Ned looks up from his laptop when someone knocks against his window. He quickly jumps up from his stool in the corner of his room and walks over to the window. It is already dark outside, but the white eyes of the Spiderman mask seem to glow in the dark. He steps to the side, and Spiderman climbs into the room with practiced ease, softly letting himself fall onto the floor.

"Is that the new suit? The one built by Tony Stark?!"

Ned's eyes grow wide in awe as he takes in the unfamiliar high quality of his friend's superhero suit. Spiderman grasps the edge of his mask and pulls it over his head. Soft curls fall onto Peters's forehead. He beams at his best friend, who stares at him with amazement, taking in the new design of the suit.

"Isn't it freaking awesome?" asks Peter with a grin that reaches up to his with excitement sparkling eyes. 

"Peter, it looks so badass! I can't believe my best friend is wearing a suit built by Tony fucking Stark!"

Peter laughs at that, spreading his arms out and showing his friend the suit from all sides. He lets Ned inspect his gloves and the upgraded web shooters up close, both fanboy as much and as loud as they want, as Ned's parents aren't home for the weekend. 

"You have to tell me everything about the suit!"

Ned is back sitting on his chair, facing Peter, who sits cross-legged on Ned's bed. Peter's expression turns sober, the sparkle of excitement dying in his eyes. That did not go unnoticed by his friend. Peter seems uneasy as he looks down at his lap, avoiding the expectant expression Ned is giving him.

"Oh, well- Mr. Stark didn't have much time to tell me about the upgrades he installed." Peter forces his lips into a smile, not wanting to tear down the good mood. 

He pulls himself together and glances up at his friend, trying to sound cheerful.

"But the heater function is awesome."

Ned caught on instantly that something was going on Peter didn't want to talk about. He didn't get fooled by the pained smile Peter tried to convince him with, but he decided to humor his friend for now. Glancing back at the teen on his bed, who was absentmindedly rubbing at the fabric of the mask between his fingers, Ned got an idea, quickly changing the topic.

"Didn't you say Mr. Stark said you have permission to look into the upgrades without him?"

Peter pursed his lips as he gave it a short thought. "I'm not sure if Mr. Stark was serious or just mentioning it in the spur of the moment, to be honest."

"But that means he hasn't forbidden you to look into it, right?"

The two teens share a glance before they spring up from their positions.

"I go get the soda."

"I get the snacks."

Not two minutes later, the two teens hover over Ned's computer, staring in awe at the information put into Peter's new suit. Peter has his arms probed at the backrest of Ned's chair, glancing at his friend's fingers flying over the keys as he searches up everything the two deem interesting. 

"Holy cow, Mr. Stark is a genius," whispers Ned in astonishment at the code displayed before him. Peter was about to answer when something caught his eye. He puts a hand on Ned's shoulder, getting his friend's attention. 

"Hey Ned, can you open this protocol please?"

"Sure, gimme a second."

Peter frowns as Ned unlocks the protocol and gives them access to a folder of what seems to be a safety protocol.

"Protocol "Baby Steps.", read Ned out loud with a snort, but Peter didn't feel like laughing as his frown only deepened. 

"Did Mr. Stark seriously put a tracker into the suit?"

"Hmm?"

Ned tilts his head, wondering what his friend is on about before his eyes fall onto the part of the protocol that causes his best friend to pull an unamused face. Peter was right. The information tells them there has to be a tracking device installed into the suit that would go off in case of an emergency or if Mr. Stark requests it. 

"Can you turn the tracker off?"

Ned turns in his chair, raising an eyebrow at the request. He was about to ask if Peter was sure, but when he caught the expression on his face, Ned nodded. He turns back around, fingers already moving, before he opens his mouth. 

"I'll override the code. No one bats an eye if it seems Mr. Stark changed the protocol, right?" He doesn't try to sound smug, but he felt kind of badass, overriding a code by Tony Stark. He wasn't sure how long the change would go unnoticed, but he could understand his friend feeling weird for wearing a tracker and no one telling him about it. Maybe it didn't justify his actions, but for Ned's conscience, the reasoning was good enough. 

"Ned, you are the best guy in a chair one can ask for. Thank you, seriously."

"Anything to help Peter Parker and Spiderman," Ned turns slightly to give a mock salute and hits enter, setting the changed protocol into place.

"Now we have to see where Spiderman is lurking around," he jokes.

Peter huffed a laugh and shoved Ned lightly on the shoulder as he watched his friend check if the code worked. 

"Spiderman doesn't lurk. He waits to step in when someone needs help." Peter doesn't sound mad, more amused than anything, as he corrects his friend.

"Waiting, lurking, isn't that all kinda the same thing?" asks Ned with a grin as they watch a map of Queens pulling up. 

"Would you look at that? According to the coordinates, Spiderman is lurking around at home."

"Stop with the lurking already," says Peter with a laugh before walking back to the bed, letting himself fall face-first into the mattress. Ned closes the protocol, checking extra if there are any traces left that someone had put their hands on Tony Stark's work before closing the file. His computer display turns into standby as he turns around, facing his friend, watching him burying his face into his pillow. Silence falls over the room. It got broken by a sigh, source the body plastered on the bed, but Ned caught the sound nonetheless. Something troubled Peter, and Ned was sure it had to do with the tracker in his Spiderman suit. 

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"There is nothing to talk about, Ned," comes a muffled answer. Ned rolls his eyes at the response, deciding to drop the topic. Knowing Peter's stubbornness, the other wouldn't talk about it even if Ned started bugging him. His friend would only get irritated, and Ned didn't want to make Peter feel worse.

Pursing his lips while watching Peter lying on his bed, Ned tried coming up with a plan to get his friend's mood up again. Maybe he was acting selfish, but Ned wasn't keen on holding a sleepover with a moping Peter, sulking on his bed the whole afternoon. This entire thing was supposed to be fun, dammit.

"Hey, do you mind if I take a closer look at the suit? You can stay lying down there."

"Sure. Do whatever you want."

Peter doesn't bother moving as the bed dips where his friends sit on the edge. 

"The colors and the fabric look expensive, dude. Not gonna lie, Captain America's outfit seems kinda tacky next to this thing."

A huffed laugh comes from where Peter had smushed his face into the pillow. Ned hears Peter muttering "tacky" under his breath, shoulders shaking in silent laughter before relaxing back into the bed. Ned breaks out into a grin, patting himself on the shoulder for getting Peter to laugh

.

"For real, the suit is incredible. How do you think the heater works, though?" 

Ned counts it as a win when Peter pulls up the effort to lift his head to answer.

"Not sure. I mean,- I have an idea, but I couldn't confirm it. I planned to ask Mr. Stark, but there was no time. Giving it a second thought, I bet he wouldn't bother explaining even if he had some minutes."

The last words come out dulled as Peter buries his face back into the pillow, even deeper than before

.

Huh. 

Ned sat there with eyebrows shot up in surprise. Peter had sounded so cheerful earlier, telling about his meeting with Mr. Stark. He wouldn't have guessed from his behavior that there was something else, something that had to do with Mr. Stark personally, that was bothering his friend.

"Well, if you know how it works, you have to tell me, got it?" Peter takes one of his arms and lifts it, showing Ned a thumbs up before going back to hugging the pillow. Taking Peter's willingness to respond, Ned continues thinking of topics that could pull his friend out of his bad mood. Getting him to talk was probably his best option.

"The fabric is quite thin. Does the heater work with that?" Ned was pretty sure that with a suit built by Tony Stark, there would be no issues, but he had to talk about something, and he was kind of running out of ideas. But Peter didn't seem to mind talking about the suit, so Ned goes with it.

"I had been patrolling for two hours before coming here. It had worked just fine."

"I wonder how the isolation operates. Do you think I could feel if you use the heater function if I touched the suit?"

"Maybe? I haven't thought about that. Wait a moment."

Peter lifts his head, glancing around before spotting his mask at the other end of the bed. "It should work like this too," he says, putting on the mask before taking it back off, having successfully activated the feature. 

"It starts heating up now," he informs Ned before flopping down again.

"Awesome. Do you mind-,"

"You've got permission to touch the suit, Ned." interrupts Peter the other with a chuckle. Ned grins, not needing to be told twice. At first, he only traced along the pattern, giving the suit time to warm up. He notices that Peter is lying completely relaxed next to him, reminding Ned of the cats at his aunt's place that grows sleepy whenever they lay down on the heater during the colder seasons. The comparison let his lip quirk up slightly.

He lightly presses his palm onto the middle of Peter's back, waiting to see if he can feel anything. To his surprise, he couldn't feel any warmth at all. With Peter's old suit, you could feel the body heat radiating through the fabric. Stark's suit, on the other hand, was substantially better isolated. Ned tried different places, laying his palm on Peter's calf, his lower back, and near his neck, but the suit felt the same. Not giving it a thought, Ned puts his hands against Peter's sides, but still the same result. The only difference is Peter's reaction. Ned feels muscles tensing under his fingertips, causing him to glance down. Peter's whole body had tensed up at the hands placed against his sides, just under his ribs. A knowing smile creeps onto Ned's face, and suddenly, he has the perfect plan to get Peter to stop moping like a four-year-old. Ned pulls his hands away, observing how Peter melts into the mattress again, before placing his hands onto Peter's ribs, which were unprotected since the latter was still clinging onto the pillow like a koala. Peter's body grows stiff as if frozen in place, only to twitch as Ned squeezes once, digging his fingers between his ribs. 

Ned grins at the tale-telling redness that crawls over his friend's neck up to the tips of his ears, matching the redness of his new suit. From the small part of Peter's face that is not pressing into his pillow in an attempt to hide, Ned can tell that Peter's face got colored in a bright blush, one whose origin didn't come from the digging of his fingers into Peter's ribs but from sheer embarrassment.

"Do you think it helps if I press down onto the suit?"

Peter nearly jumps out of his skin when Ned's hands suddenly are on his shoulders, staying near his neck. His eyes widen in surprise at the unexpected touch, wondering what was going on, when a pair of thumbs press down next to his shoulder blades. This time, Peter feels like jumping out of his skin. The movement of Ned's thumbs sent a shock through his whole body. He had never thought his back could be ticklish, but Ned's thumbs dug right into a spot that caused his body to tense up. 

"What got you so twitchy, Peter?" Ned presses down again, grinning as Peter continues to squirm.

"Nehed, stohohp it. It fehehels weird." Peter scrunches his shoulders up, trying to get rid of the finger that stays persistent on the mission to poke into his back. 

"It feels weird? Is the heater malfunction?" asks Ned, tilting his head in mock surprise even though Peter couldn't see him. "I can't feel anything, is it working?"

He presses down again, laughing lightly when Peters's whole body bucked at the ministration against his back. A surprised gasp escaped the teen, who was still trying to get away from the touch, but that turned out to be rather difficult, as Peter refused to let go of the pillow in his arms but also not willing to roll onto his back, knowing he would regret it.

"I dohohn't know. It juhuhust feels weihihird. AHh!" Ned grins and shakes his head at how stubborn Peter could be but plays along anyway. It was too much fun messing with Peter when he got determined like this. 

"Hmm. Maybe something is wrong with your back? You should get that checked out, man."

Peter catches his breath as Ned stops tormenting him, only to let out a rather loud squeak when a finger pokes right under his left shoulder blade. "That felt weird too? How about this?"

Ned begins to poke various places on Peter's back, lips curling upwards, whenever Peter jumps out of his skin he comes along another "weird feeling" spot. 

"I hate to say that, Peter, but you seem to have gotten a serious problem with your back. According to what you said, it feels weird all over." while speaking, Ned softly grabs Peter's sides just above his hips and begins digging his thumbs into Peter's lower back. The reaction came instantly. Peters's arms tense around the pillow as he presses his face even deeper into the fabric, giggles pouring out of him like water running out of a bucket with a hole. 

"Nehehehed, stohop, oh my goohohohd plehehehase."

"Oh, sorry, Peter. Did that feel weird, too?"

"It tihhihihickles!"

"What, it tickles? Does that mean it had tickled before, too? When I did this?" Ned poked the place between Peter's shoulder blades again, causing the latter to shriek and do a whole body twitch before breaking into another desperate giggle fit. 

"Why didn't you mention that at the beginning? I was genuinely worried about you here. But it turns out you are just ticklish," teased Ned before running his fingers lightly down Peters's back, causing the latter to try to avoid the touch by pressing himself deeper into the mattress, a maneuver that turns out to be completely useless. 

"You suhuhuhuhuck!"

"Is that your way of saying thank you for being concerned for your well-being? Maybe you should work on your way of showing gratitude. You know what? Let's work on that right now while we are at it. What do you think, Peter?"

Ned stood and climbed down from the bed as he was talking. He notices Peter lying on the bed, busy taking deep breaths with his ears still colored pink and facing the wall to hide from his friend. Ned rolls his eyes, amusement causing his lips to form a grin. Peter made it too easy for him. It takes not more than a squeeze of his side, and the teen rolls onto his back to avoid the tickling, playing right into Ned's hands. Quite literally. Ned's amusement only rises when Peter takes the pillow with him, holding it tightly over his face and avoiding looking at Ned at all costs, too embarrassed to show his face. If he had put the pillow down, he might have done something to hinder Ned from jumping onto him, causing Peter to groan at the sudden weight on him before he found himself pinned, but now with his back pressed into the bed. Ned glances down at his friend, who does not attempt to move, desperately holding onto the pillow like a lifeline.

"Peter?" 

"What?" comes the muffled question from under the pillow.

"It's kinda unpolite to not look at someone while talking to them."

"Well, sucks to be you, I guess."

Ned raises an eyebrow at that.

"I have been nice until now, you know. But now you are just asking for it."

He watches the arms tightening around the pillow, fingers burying into the fabric in silent anticipation. Ned shakes his head with a grin on his face. 

"Where should I start?" muses Ned as he voices his thoughts. His hand hovers over Peter's stomach, which lies entirely unprotected in front of him. He let out a hum, acting like he had to think fiercely, while lowering his hand, noticing how Peter's body started to stiffen, shaking under his fingers before they could even make contact with the suit. He looks up to see Peter's fingers digging even deeper into the pillow when he finally understands why Peter is reacting so strongly without needing to see what he is doing. Ned retracts his hand and lowers it next to Peter's sides, not touching but barely hovering over them. A twitch runs through the body under him as Ned's hands shoot back to his tummy but still not touching. A whimper mixed with panicked giggles broke from Peter's lips, and Ned couldn't help but laugh at the sound.

"I'm not even touching you, what's wrong? Don't tell me you can feel this with your spidey sense." Ned let his hand shoot forward again, halting his movement just before his fingers could dig in between the spaces of Peter's ribs. His action follows a muffled shriek and a whole body shudder, confirming his suspicion without needing a verbal answer.

"Oh my god, please just get over with it. This is so bahahad," comes the weak protest from under the pillow. Ned's grin grew even wider at that. 

"Now you are begging me to tickle you? That's unexpected but kinda adorable."

Without warning, Ned's hands go down, fingers digging into Peter's stomach. Peter's arms tighten the hold of the pillow, his grip tensing in an instant as he feels his friend's fingers moving all over his midriff, causing him to squeak, unable to hold it in and instantly breaking out into laughter. Ned didn't give him a chance to get familiar with any of the touches, switching places and testing his reactions, although years of knowing each other gave him all the knowledge of how to turn Peter into a laughing mess. The feeling of fingernails gliding over the suit that clings to his skin leaves a maddening tingly sensation in their trace, and Peter finds himself unable to stop the high-pitched giggles escaping him. He squirms under the ministrations on his middle, but Ned merely follows his movement, never letting up to knead, scribble, and squeeze away as he pleases. 

 

When the fingers wander downwards, staying right under his belly button, and the touch changes into teasingly light strokes that cause goosebumps running over his arms, Peter tries curling in on himself on instinct, legs hitting against Ned's back.

"Hey, no kicking allowed," with these words, Ned reaches out and tickles the back of Peter's knee, causing the latter to throw his legs back down with a squeal. 

"Ready to let go of the pillow, Peter?"

"Nohoho!"

Ned lets out an overly dramatic sigh.

"Peter, you are making this not easier. I tried to refrain from taking such drastic matters against my best friend. But you leave me no other choice."

He shoves his hands under Peter's underarms, resulting in the teen's body buckling under the touch. Peter's arms shoot down to block Ned's fingers from moving, revealing his face. Ned glances down at the sight of his furiously blushing friend, hair a mess from all the moving around and laughter pouring out of him. 

"There he is. Now let go of my pillow. I'm afraid you are about to rip a hole in it."

Ned doesn't know how Peter manages to, but the laughing and squirming teen wore a guilty expression and let go of the pillow almost ruefully, causing it to fall onto the floor. 

"Thank you, Peter. Now it's gotten dirty."

Ned shakes his head, giving Peter a playfully stern look as he digs deeper into his underarms, wriggling his fingers in a way he knew Peter couldn't stand.

"Ahahahah, I'm sohohohorry!"

"Yeah yeah, of course you are. By the way, you should ask Mr. Stark if he can give the suit another run-over. Either you are very ticklish, or the suit doesn't offer as much protection as it should." Despite laughing his head off, Peter was quick to protest.

"The suhuhiht is just fihiHIHNE!"

To make a point, Ned went back to Peter's stomach, attacking it with kneading fingers. Peter gives a surprised shout at the sudden attack before pressing his head back into the bed, legs kicking out behind Ned as he loses himself into another high-pitched giggle fit. 

"So you're admitting that you are insanely ticklish?"

"Youhuhu are suhuhuhch an ahahass."

Ned shrugs his shoulders and grabs behind him, starting to squeeze the place just above Peter's right knee, sending ticklish shocks through Peter's leg, leaving him twitching under him. Deciding that he is done tormenting Peter's knee, Ned went back to paying attention to his upper body, poking at every place that Peter couldn't cover quickly enough. 

"I've been wondering, for someone skilled enough to singlehandedly beat up the Winter Solider and Falcon, you are not putting up much of a fight, man."

"I dohohohon't wahant to huhuhrt you!"

Peter regrets his words as soon as he catches a glimpse of the smug grin Ned is wearing while hovering over him.

"You don't want to hurt me?" Ned repeats, hands stilling their movement. He watches the teen under him calm down a little. A bit red around the face, Peter glances up at him while still about to catch his breath.

"You're kinda squishy, and I'm afraid I'm going to break your fingers, or something."

Peter realizes by the display of pure smugness taking over his best friend's face that he just dug his own grave and yeeted himself into it. Willingly.

"Are you telling me I can tickle you however I want, and you won't fight back because I'm, I quote, squishy? Cause that just now sounded like an open invitation to wreck you with tickles, and you not planning to do anything to stop it."

Before Peter can take back his words, Ned pins his arm above his head with one hand while the other hovers over Peter's stomach. Nervous anticipation takes over his whole body as his eyes pinned on the hand, ready to strike at any moment. The smirk Ned is wearing sends a shiver down his spine, and a nervous giggle slips out as Peter knows what is about to happen.

"Any last words, Parker?"

Peter swallows, his lips twitching into a nervous smile.

"Let me live?"

_______________

"Sir, according to the newly installed safety protocol, I must inform you of a significant rise in Mr. Parker's vital signs. The suits measured a fastly increasing heart rate."

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose, trying not to get irritated by what he just heard. 

"I told Parker to call if there is an emergency. Did he ask anyone for backup?"

"None of the Avengers have gotten a request for backup, Sir."

The man takes a sip of his stale coffee, rolling his eyes.

"Call the kid, Friday. And show me a display of his current vitals."

As Friday has stated, the kid's vitals are going wild in front of his eyes. Hate rate and oxygen level showed clear signs of Parker's body being highly stressed.

"Mr. Parker cannot answer your call, Sir."

"Why?" 

Tony squints at the numbers shown in front of him. The kid couldn't be unconscious with those vitals. He should be very much awake by the amount of adrenaline pumping through his body, enhanced metabolism or not.

"Mr. Parker doesn't seem to be wearing his mask, Sir."

"Now that's surprising," Tony mutters under his breath as a frown takes over his face.

The kid has always been sensitive to his secret identity. Looking at Parker's stress level with the knowledge of him wearing the suit without his mask leaves Tony with more than one question about what kind of situation the spider-kid got into.

"Friday, track down his location."

"Tracking failed, Sir."

"Is the suit damaged?"

"No damage detected, Sir. Tracking is not possible through an override of the safety protocol."

"Why haven't I been informed about this?"

"The system states the code got overridden about four hours and thirty-six minutes ago by you, Sir."

Tony clicks his tongue, knowing full well that he hasn't been overriding anything as he had been in that annoying meeting. Maybe he underestimated the intelligence of the kid. 

"That little smartass. Friday, connect me with Spiderman's suit and activate the microphone. I want to be sure at least I won't have to scrape the kid's dead body off from a random alley."

"Understood, Sir. Presenting live audio of Mr. Parker's suit."

Tony didn't know what exactly he had been expecting. Gunshots? An explosion? Someone threatening to gut Spiderman and Parker snarking back while sounding like he was about to keel over? Maybe something like that. What Stark had not expected were the childlike and a tad panicked-sounding giggles filling up the lab. Knowing that Friday doesn't make mistakes and that this had to be the audio from Spiderman's suit, Tony couldn't help but stand in his lab, feeling a little flabbergasted.

"What am I listening to, Friday?"

"It appears Mr. Parker is laughing, Sir."

He rolls his eyes at the obvious answer, letting a hand run over his face, feeling too tired for whatever the heck this was.

"This is not an emergency, Friday."

"According to the protocol, you are to be informed about any medical anomalies or potential emergencies, Sir." Despite being slightly annoyed over the false alarm, an amused smile dances on his lips. Glancing at the vitals again, Friday had a point. The kid is currently under extreme stress. But not the kind he would have expected. 

"I swear I'm dying, Ned. Don't do it, seriously. Nehehed, pleahahase dohohon't. I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna dihie- AHH NOHOHOHOHO! NOHOHOHOHOT THAHAHAT! STAHAP!"

Tony chuckles at the audio. Giving it a second thought, this does sound like a special kind of emergency the kid was dealing with. He catches himself smirking at the sound of a shriek followed by more pleading and hysterical laughter filling the lab, the owner of the voice none over than Peter Parker. He wasn't sure if he ever heard the kid laugh before. Maybe a sarcastic chuckle from Spiderman as he webs some gangsters upside down against a lamppost. But this now was a completely different story. It was the sound of the kid laughing carefree, entirely unguarded, and Tony caught himself slightly adored at the giggling, wondering how the kid must look while laughing his head off like that. 

__________________________

"Maybe I should tell Mr. Stark about this?" teases Ned as he is about to go for Peter's ribs when he gets pushed back rather strongly.

"No! Ned, you cannot do that!"

He is taken aback by the panic in Peter's voice, glancing down at his wrists caught between his friend's hands. He realizes quickly that the hold made him immobile, the opposite display of strength Peter had shown just moments ago when he had been weakly batting his hands away.

"What? Do you think the Avengers will use it against you? Scared of getting tickled by your idols?" Ned jokes in a purposely light manner. He furrows his brows as he watches his friend worrying his bottom lip, avoiding eye contact with him, and it strikes Ned that there seems to be a more complex issue they need to discuss. He leans forward, head tilted slightly to the side as he tries to get a look at his best friend's face.

"Peter, what's wrong?"

"It's stupid."

Peter still avoids looking at him. His words are a murmur, barely audible.

"Come on, Peter. Not everyone has superhearing."

Ned patiently waits until Peter heaves out a small, shaky sigh.

"I said it's stupid, Ned."

"What about it is stupid? You being ticklish? There is nothing wrong-"

"They are going to think it's childish."

Peter answers a little louder than deemed necessary before he looks surprised by his outburst, eyes blown wide and instantly flooded with regret. He quickly mutters a breathy sorry, hands releasing the grip around Ned's wrists. Ned furrows his brows as he takes in the kicked-puppy look his friend is wearing.

"Did they ever tell you you are childish?"

Peter's eyes finally meet his, clearly taken back by the question. He stumbles over his words in an attempt to answer, the rambling giving away his nervousness.

"N-No, they didn't. But maybe they think I am." Peter runs a hand through his already messed-up curly locks, chocolate-colored eyes meeting Ned's before he continues.

"I'm not sure, Ned. Mr. Stark calls me kid sometimes, but it doesn't feel like he means it to sound condescending. But at the next moment, someone asks if I have done my homework yet or if I need help with school, and I don't know if they are serious or are just making fun of me for being a high schooler. What do I even answer? "Sure, Mr. Hawkeye, Sir, I could use some help with my history report. Do you think I should ask Captain America if he can explain how the times were before he got turned into a popsicle?"

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Ned couldn't help but snort at Peters's words. His reaction causes Peter's lip to twitch upwards just a teeny bit. At least the sass was still there.

"I would pay money to see you asking him that, just saying." Ned grins when Peter gives a little chuckle. His fingers play with the hem of the mask, running over the newly produced fabric before he glances up at his friend, back to carrying a sober expression.

"I'm afraid they won't take me seriously. A sixteen-year-old high schooler playing superhero, trying to act mature between all those adults. But then it turns out he can't stay serious when someone pokes him. How can I expect them to think of me as one of their partners when everyone knows Spiderman can't stand getting tickled? It just sounds dumb, and I feel dumb-"

"Wow, hold your horses, Mr. Parker."

Peter's eyebrows rise when Ned puts a hand over his mouth, successfully shutting him up. Ned feels conflicted. He had been aware that Peter doesn't tell if he's not feeling all too well right away. He knew about his friend habitually swallowing down whatever plagues his mind and bringing it up when he felt like he was just about to break and that this situation right now was one of those moments where he had to be here for him. 

"For someone so smart, you just said a lot of dumb stuff, man."

Ned's lips break into a little grin when Peter rolls his eyes at him and crosses his arms over his chest without attempting to push his hand away. He is willing to listen. 

"First of all, you aren't playing a superhero, Peter. You are one. Spiderman is a hero. No matter if he helps someone get home safely at four a.m. or if he fights alongside the Avengers to save the world from weird aliens who try to eat our brains." Ned can feel Peter's lips curling into an amused smile under his palm, feeling encouraged to continue. 

"Just between us, as much as I'm a fanboy of the Avengers, we both know Spiderman is the coolest hero." He is met with another round of eye-rolling and laughs it off. 

"Don't get silently sarcastic with me, dude. How can you not be a fan of Spiderman? Super-strength, enhanced senses, stick to walls, and has the best punchlines. It's hard to top that, even if you are called Iron Man. I think you are not giving yourself enough credit, to be honest. As you said, you are sixteen and a high schooler. Someone who has to go to school and do his homework. Someone who takes time for his aunt and friends and is always willing to help. Never mind if he's being Peter Parker or Spiderman. You are probably handling just as much, if not more, than the Avengers. You should be proud of yourself."

Sensing Peter wants to say something, Ned takes his hand away. Peter takes a deep breath, giving him a playful look.

"Thank you. I thought I was about to pass out." He chuckles as Ned shoves him against the shoulder with a grin. 

"It's not long since we worked together as a team, and I guess I'm just anxious about them thinking of Spiderman as weak." He is back to glancing at the mask in his hold, clenching it slightly in his fingers. Ned waits patiently for his friend to continue. Peter takes a deep breath. "I haven't told you this before, but I'm not hanging out with them after missions. We go debriefing, and I usually go patrolling or home. They invite me to go out or do something together, but that means I have to take off the suit, and I just-"

"You are afraid they won't take Spiderman seriously after getting to know Peter Parker," finishes Ned, his friend's sentence, who struggled after stumbling over his words. Peter shoots him a grateful look for having caught on, visibly having a hard time. 

"I trust them to have my back when we fight together, but them knowing about this," Peter stops to gesture vaguely at his own body, but Ned understood what his friend was trying to tell him, "I think I'm not comfortable with them knowing about it. Oh god, all of this is so silly. I'm overreacting, aren't I?"

Peter bends forward, elbows leaning on his knees as he buries his head in his hands with a groan, the tips of his ears dusted in a light red.

Ned gives him a thoughtful look.

"I doubt anyone in their right mind would call someone who catches driving vehicles with his bare hands and getting away without a scratch weak. But it might help if you look at it from a different perspective. It's not Spiderman who is ticklish. It's Peter Parker who is too intelligent and sassy for his own good. Spiderman won't mess up a mission because of this. If the Avengers think a sixteen-year-old beanpole like you is stupid or childish because he breaks into a giggle fit if someone squeezes his side, then they can straight up start calling themselves the world's mighties douchebags."

"Do you want me to relay that message to them the next time we meet?" asks Peter as he glances up at his friend, a grateful smile playing on his lips.

"Only if you want me dead."

"Nah, Spiderman needs his Guy in a chair too much to let him get kicked in the ass by the Avengers."

"Wow, I feel so loved," Ned rolls his eyes but wears a gin on his face, undermining the sarcasm.

Peter laughs at Ned's expression before he puts a hand on Ned's knee, catching his attention. He gives him a bright smile.

"Thank you, Ned."

Peter doesn't have to elaborate further for Ned to understand what he is getting at as a similar smile to Peter's appears on his face. 

"Don't sweat it, dude. That's what friends are for."

_______________________

"Friday, turn the audio off."

"Of course, Sir."

Tony glances at the ceiling before downing the rest of his coffee. 

"Friday put together a list of bonding activities that won't bore the heck out of me but are interesting to a sixteen-year-old, that is too smart for his good. I want this done in twenty minutes."

"Certainly, Sir."

"We also need a "No Masks During Briefings- Protocol" .Wait, scratch that. I want a "No Masks-l In The Tower-Protocol". Show it to me before sending it to the rest of the team."

"Of course, Sir. Will this be all?"

Tony purses his lips.

"This is all, Friday. For now."

[dcficrecs]

I'm A Good Pretender - Chapter 2: I Got Lots Of Problems

By shipNslash on AO3

My last post was an excerpt from the first chapter of this fic. I've finished it now and I like most of it, but there's something in Chapter 2 that I just have to talk about. This whole fic is a Robin origin story. It has seven chapters, so it drawfs in comparison to the 'Firework' fic by paganpunk2 on fanfiction.net (I posted about that too, maybe my favorite fanfic ever). Still, I really like it. It's written with excerpts from days. It starts with day zero, where Dick's parents are killed and Bruce comforts him. Day one is him meeting Alfred at the orphanage, and it goes all the way to day 262, where Commissioner Gordon meets Robin.

Anyway, in this particular excerpt, Dick is scheming to sneak out of Wayne Manor and kill Tony Zucco himself, and has to guilt trip Bruce in order to be alone long enough to escape even though he feels bad about it. He likes Bruce, but he isn't quite a father figure to him, yet. Dick has inherited Bruce's old bedroom, something very sentimental to Bruce. The excerpt starts with Bruce giving a tour of his old room. Bruce also gave Dick a note, saying to ring the service bell when he wakes up. He does, and it calls Bruce to his room. Dick keeps the note in his pocket. Also, a slight trigger warning for mentions of sexual abuse against a child.

So Bruce awkwardly shows Dick around the cavernous bedroom. The dresser is full of generic clothes in his size and Bruce promises they can get his stuff from their trailer later today and go shopping soon for anything he's missing. He shows him how to work the computer at the desk and the TV on the wall, and even points towards the staff lift at the end of the hallway that will take him directly to the kitchen. The bathroom is in the bedroom and almost as huge, with a sink and toilet and a big shower/bathtub combo already filled with a bunch of different soaps.

"I wasn't sure what you'd need," Bruce mumbles when Dick comments on the variety. "We have different hair types."

That's…surprisingly thoughtful, Dick thinks, and Bruce's folded note feels like it's burning a hole in his pocket.

He ignores the guilt and smiles. "Thanks, Bruce. I appreciate it."

"I want you to be comfortable here," Bruce whispers back, even quieter than normal.

Dick pushes the guilt down, down, down. Now is as good a time as any and Bruce is already uncomfortable. Now if Dick can just get him to leave…

(Never talk about sex, Mama always says, grown ups hate when kids even mention sex.)

"What about rules?" Dick asks, pitching his voice a little higher and widening his already big eyes just a little bit bigger. "One of the older boys at the detention center said rich people only foster kids to warm their beds. I don't know what that means, but I'll try, if you teach me."

And bingo.

Bruce's pale skin goes practically gray and he flinches back until he's outside of the bathroom. "That- No, I- You won't ever-"

"Did I say something wrong?" Dick asks, adding in a small sniffle and not letting up on the eye contact. (He's already learned that Bruce Wayne hates eye contact.)

The man is still backpedaling, now well to the hallway. "No! No. I'll… see you at breakfast." When he steps out of the room, his shoulders sag. "Kitchen. Eight." And then he's gone, latching the door shut behind him.

Dick sighs and flops against the bed. That was almost too easy. He feels… kinda bad.

Still. Eight o’clock. That's just over three hours, according to the clock on the wall.

"Alright," he mumbles to himself and carefully rocks to his feet. "Like Mama says, make a list."

So, he does.

Stretch my poor, atrophying muscles

Shower off the scent of the detention center

Find out where Haly's went

Sneak out

Catch and murder Tony Zucco

Run away to (re)join the circus 

There, that doesn't seem hard now that he's made a list- Mama's always right.

Something about "I don't know what that means, but I'll try if you teach me," is literally so well written. Obviously, gross, but Dick using something that makes Bruce obviously uncomfortable to his advantage against Bruce is so Dick coded. Dick absolutely knew what it meant and purposefully used it to horrify Bruce. Guilt tripping Bruce Wayne is so easy, as long as you're Dick Grayson. He's a little gremlin and I love it. Also, the list he makes is adorable, literally went from zero to a hundred real quick.

[theglamorousferal]

Cryptid of Smallville Chapter 3

Hey ya'll, this has been a long time coming.

First off, I want to thank everybody who liked and shared! I'm not great at talking to people but know that everything has made me so happy and warms my heart so much that I can barely put together words.

Secondly, I will be writing more, but I definitely won't be able to keep any sort of schedule. I already have a good part of the next chapter started and though it's definitely going to be a shorter one, it will still be good.

Finally, this beast of a chapter. I wrote the first 3/4 of this chapter about a week after I finished the first chapter and then began to second-guess myself about whether people would want an entire chapter dedicated to a lore dump. I fought with myself for literal months before I finally sat down and was like, "You won't be able to do the rest of it until you get this one done, it's important". Finally this morning I sat down and plugged out the last bit of the chapter and after looking everything over again I decided to just post it before I lost my nerve.

Please let me know any critiques you may have, I barely edited this. Thank you so much for the support!! <3 Here's the AO3 link

For as long as he can remember, Danny has always been fascinated by space. Something about the fact that each star out there being home to other planets and all the different things on those planets just tugs at his curiosity. To make it better, it’s infinite, so he can just keep learning about new places for as long as he’ll live. Which might be forever, but he’s trying to not think too hard about that right now. 

He wonders what the members of his Fright are up to right now. Jazz it probably trying to psycho-analyze Vlad who claims that his days of evil are over with and that he plans to just be the chill uncle to both the Fenton children. Tucker’s probably hacking into the GIW again just to mess with them. Sam’s probably planning a protest to try and get some of the anti-ecto acts repealed while Mom and Dad help with the research to back her up. Ellie is probably still hanging out with Pandora learning how to fight ancient style. Danny sighed, most of that sounded really fun, and he really wished that he could learn to fight alongside Ellie. He missed his totally-not-twin.

Right now, Danny is basically on vacation until his body is back to being 16. He basically can do whatever he wants, but he does have to go to school to keep up appearances. He’s allowed to use his powers whenever, but not where anybody can see. Which typically means he’s not allowed to go into low orbit to look at the stars because that’s just a bit far for the Kent parents' tastes.

They compromised with the roof.

So here he was, at the highest point of the Kent family home staring up at the night sky with little to no light pollution and not a cloud in the sky. The Milky Way was on full display as the stars all twinkled above. One thing he noticed pretty early on is that despite this not being his planet Earth and dimension, the constellations are the same. He tracked his way through all of the astrological signs, pausing a moment on Libra as he pictured himself as the balance with morbid humor, and then through the popular ones like Orion and the Big Dipper. He glances next to him a moment later when someone settles down on the roof with him.

“Hey Clark, what’s got you up?” Danny asked, turning back to face the sky. It’s been about five months since he started staying with the Kent’s and he’s forever grateful that they’ve been so kind and understanding with him.

“Not much, was finishing up studying for this new unit in science when I noticed you were up here. Heard you sighing, what’s got you worked up?” Clark sat with an arm braced on his knee and the other behind him staring up at the sky as well. 

“Just thinking about what my Fri- family is up to. I know time works differently here and it’s probably just been a couple days or maybe even hours for them, but I miss them a lot. They’re a crazy mess, but they’re my crazy mess, ya’know?” 

Clark glanced down at Danny, the kid looking a bit lost. He shifted so he was leaning back on both of his hands. “Actually no, I mean, it’s just been me and Ma and Pa out here before you came along. I don’t really have friends at school that I’m close with.” He paused for a moment, staring straight out across the fields. “Mind telling me about them?”

Danny whipped his head toward Clark, scanning his face. “Are you sure? You don’t have to listen to me ramble, I know I can go on and on, and I don’t want to bore you or anything.”  

Clark chuckled, “Nah, go right on ahead and tell me about your family and friends, it’d be nice to hear about the people who helped make you, well you.”

Danny paused looking at Clark’s face for a moment before he blew out a breath and turned away to look at the sky. 

“My parents are mad scientists,” Danny started. “Not in the ‘we’re building a thing to take over the world’ way, but in the ‘this sounds insane but it’s somehow real’ way. They’re the leading scientists in Ecto-biology and Ecto-engineering, also known as the study of ghostly behavior, biology and the properties of ectoplasm. Ectoplasm is both an energy source and the material that ghosts are made of. They make all kinds of things from weaponry to shield generators to tracking devices all based on ectoplasm. Their crowning achievement however was the portal.” Danny paused here, debating how much to say. “They built a portal to the afterlife in the basement of my childhood home, and it’s the reason I have ghost powers.” He decided to not get into the fact that he walked in and had a whole dimension pulled through him as the portal opened, no need to scare poor Clark. 

“Lab safety has always been a thing that was more like guidelines than actual rules in the house, so since growing up in that environment, it led to myself and my family getting contaminated with ectoplasm. I definitely have it worse off than my family members, but each of them has something that’s just a bit off about them. Like my dad lifting things he probably shouldn’t, my mom moving just a little too fast, and my sister does this thing where she’s looking at you and it feels like she’s looking at your soul and it takes her just a little too long to actually blink and then she’s psychoanalyzed you and knows all your secrets. It’s unsettling, but we just live with it. I had a bit of an accident so I got more contaminated which is why I can fly and do other ghostly things.”

“Must be great having people around who’ve studied ghosts and everything when you have ghost powers. If you have them, why were you left with us? Wouldn’t it make more sense to have you stay with your parents who can handle it if your powers get out of control?”

Danny winced at this, “It’s kinda complicated. So I have some responsibilities in my dimension that I kinda need to be bigger for. I have all my power, and who knows maybe going through puberty a second time will make them grow more, but for now it shouldn’t be much. I’m mostly here to get something of a ‘normal’ childhood and to wait it out until I’m my full size again. It’ll be weird because by that point I’ll technically be 26 but hey I’m not gonna have to go through all the ‘adult’ things I need to do, just need to lay low and do some fun kid stuff, maybe do better in school this time around, maybe I’ll be able to pass high school when I get back. Maybe I’ll work on learning some stuff that could be useful like karate, that could be fun, we could do it together! Since we’re both strong we wouldn’t have to hold back against each other!” Danny excitedly looked over at Clark. It was hard to see in the light of the full moon, but it almost seemed like the freckles on Danny’s face were glowing green in his excitement. Clark smiled at his excitement.

“Yeah that sounds like fun, we can ask Ma and Pa together tomorrow.” 

“Yeah! It’ll be great, maybe when I get back I can show off that I’m a black belt just like mom. I can show Ellie all my new moves while she shows me what she learned from Pandora.” Danny smiled to himself and yes, those were certainly glowing freckles. 

“Who’re Ellie and Pandora?” Danny stilled for a moment, the freckles dimming a bit. Should he tell Clark about the whole clone thing? Should he mention that he’s friends with what basically amounts to gods? 

“So Ellie’s like my younger sister/cousin, we are very close and everyone says we could be twins, she’s a bit of a free spirit and is traveling a lot of the time. Right now she’s spending some time with Lady Pandora. Does your dimension have the myth of Pandora’s box?” at Clark’s nod Danny continues. “That’s her, she keeps the horrors in a box that she keeps locked down pretty tightly in the GZ, there’s a whole labyrinth and everything. I did have to help her one time when someone got a hold of it, not a fun time, but hey it was one of the first positive experiences my parents ever had when dealing with ghosts so there is that. Pandora has become something of a doting awesome aunt who can and will teach you how to fight if given the opportunity.”

They lapsed into silence for a bit, Clark content to just sit there while Danny gathered his thoughts.

“Let’s see, I talked about my parents, Ellie, Pandora and a little bit about my sister. So Jazz is the most amazing and overbearing sister known to all kind. She has her heart in the right place, but Ancients if she puts me in soup-time one more time, I’m gonna figure out a way to do it to her and see if she likes it.”

“Excuse me, ‘soup time’?” Clark was baffled. “Actually a few things you’ve mentioned have me confused, what is the ‘GZ’ and why say ‘Ancients’ like it’s a curse word?” 

Danny looked sheepish at that. “Right yeah, I forgot, I’m just so used to talking to people who know. So the GZ is also known as the Ghost Zone, the Infinite Realms or the afterlife. Basically it’s a dimension connected to all other dimensions and houses the ecto-entities of the worlds. It’s where all the afterlives are connected together and there are also, like, gods or god-like beings, which are the Ancients I mentioned, there as well as monsters. Basically anything that gives off a whiff of ‘spooky’ is probably connected to the GZ in some way.”

“So your friends in the corn fields?” Clark trailed off giving a dubious look at the fields.

“Yeah, they’re technically ecto-entities. There are places that the veil between thins and sometimes things crossover. Like, I saw in one of the aerospace books that you also have the Bermuda Triangle as a thing, a lot of those incidents are from the veil thinning there and some natural portals opening up into the Infinite Realms. Sometimes they come back out, but it’s likely going to be a different time period than they first went in.”

“So, ‘soup time’?” Clark asked, getting Danny back on track. 

“Right! So, you know how I mentioned that my parents make some crazy things? Well some of those things are containment devices, but there’s one that works the best out of all of them, and that is the Fenton Thermos. Basically it’s bigger on the inside and can suck in and hold an ecto-entity until it is released, usually through the portal. It’s very cramped and not a great feeling and my sister is rather clumsy so when she first started helping me, she accidentally sucked me into the thermos six times. Six times! Like I get it, sometimes somebody’s aim can be a bit off, but she kept getting me and not the ghost that was attacking! She’s gotten better and can and will join us on patrol if need be, but she’s more like a backup and also our field medic. She’s going into psychology and stuff for school, but she also wants to be a certified emt, it really couldn’t hurt in our town and with what I do.” Danny paused here, seeming to think about the fact he wasn’t home patrolling his Haunt. “Hey Clark, would you mind going for a short fly around the property with me? I need to move a bit.”

“Yeah, sure we can do that.” Clark got up and waited for Danny before making his way down towards the ground. “So you mentioned patrol? What’s up with that? Also do you have any friends you hang out with?” 

Danny started flying in a set route and Clark followed along, curious. “So, you know how I have powers and whatnot, kind of obvious now that we’re actually flying.” Danny and Clark both snorted at this. “So not all things that come through the portal in my basement are good things. I fight whatever comes through and send it back where it came from. Most of the time it’s just animal ghosts that don’t know any better, but there are also ones that know full well what they’re doing and seem to just want to make my life worse. I mean, can’t Skulker lay off me for long enough for me to finish an essay? Honestly.” 

“So, you’re a hero, is what you’re telling me? A vigilante?”  Clark asked, and watched as Danny scanned the horizon for anything weird. Well, at least weird for Danny, which, on second thought, Clark decided he would just pay attention to the child-teen next to him. No need to see things not meant to be seen.

Danny glanced over at Clark, “Yes, though it took a while and some misunderstandings for the town to accept that I’m there to do good. There was an issue with mind control and then the mayor was possessed, it was a whole thing, I’ll go into it later. Anyway,” Danny turned down a path between fields. “So I talked about my parents, a bit about my sister and the basics of ghost stuff, how’s about I talk about my best friends in the whole world?” He smiled at this, a fond wistful thing. 

“So my best friends are Sam and Tucker, and Valerie is getting there. We had a bit of a rough time before she realized I was the ghost boy she wanted to fight. It was a whole thing, but we’ve figured it out. We’ve got a truce going and she’s starting to hang out with us more and trains with us when she can. She’s this badass hunter in a red power suit with a flying surfboard, it’s really awesome. I mean, it wasn’t when she was unknowingly working with my nemesis, but the suit is now tied into her own ecto-signature so he can’t take it back from her now.” 

“So I guess that brings me to my best friends in the whole world, they’ve been with me since before all of this and have stood by me and kept my secret before I told my parents. Tucker is the best hacker that I’ve ever met, and I know a ghost who literally can become electricity. He’s a self-proclaimed carnivore and will not eat veggies unless they’re with an almost equal portion of meat. He’s also the reincarnation of an ancient Pharaoh and will inherit a domain in the GZ when he passes on. He’s been helping out my parents with some of the tech they make and also keeps all our data safe. He also has been working with some people in the GZ to update our tech, specifically stuff for tracking and also medical stuff for ecto-entities. He may hate hospitals, but that doesn’t mean he won’t help when it’s needed.” He paused for a breath here before he basically sighed out, “And then there’s Sam.” His freckles started to glow again when he said her name. 

“Sam is awesome. She’s a vegan and a goth and can and will absolutely beat the afterlife into anyone who messes with any of us. She has some level of powers following an incident that had her possessed for several days, but mostly it’s stuff like enhanced strength and speed, nothing too alarming, and juuuust a touch outside of normal for an athletic human, but she also can take and recover from hits almost on my level. She can talk to plants and grow them very quickly and when needed during a fight she can sprout out vines from the ground to help take out enemies. She’s set to take control of a part of the GZ as well when she dies, just as a princess, but still. She’s really smart and knows all this stuff about mythology and the kinds of things that we end up fighting a lot before the rest of us realize what it is and she’s a great shot too.” Danny seemed more content now than when Clark first came out, and while Danny had been right to warn him about the rambling, he found he really liked it when Danny was talking about the people he loves and things he knows about. 

“So, what other things do you want to do before you go back? You already mentioned karate, did you want to learn anything else?” Clark asked. They started to make their way back to the house since they found nothing along the edges of the property. 

Danny thinks for a moment. Learning new other combat techniques wouldn’t be a bad idea, but he can always learn from masters in the Zone. On one hand, learning politics wouldn’t be a bad  idea, but he has a feeling that it’s probably different in the Zone than in the living world. On the other hand, he was told to treat this time like a vacation, meaning he can just enjoy himself and pursue his hobbies here. 

“Well, I haven’t really had the time to do my hobbies or major interests in the last couple of years, so I guess I could do that. I’m not sure where you are with video games, but I’m sure they’re nowhere near what I’m used to, but building model spaceships and maybe I can try out flight simulators at museums. I’d love to learn to pilot, but right now I have the body of a six year old, so that’s gonna have to wait until I’m bigger. I’ve been a bit interested in the mechanics of things too, my dad’s shown me how to solder computer parts together, so I wouldn’t mind learning about how electronics and engines work. I’ve always wanted to be an astronaut, so I’d have to learn some of that stuff anyway.”

“Oh, one of our neighbors has a small plane he uses for crop dusting and sometimes for fires or rescue things if the police or firefighters need his help. We can see if he’d be willing to take us up sometime! I think there’s an aerospace museum in Metropolis that has a flight simulator, but it’s pretty far away, we’d have to go in winter when we can leave the farm for a day, but I’m sure Ma an’ Pa would take us. I’m sure Pa would be happy to teach you about the engines of the truck and the tractor too, though he might not let you do anything except hand him things until you’re older. As far as video games go, I’m not sure what they’re like there, but we only really have an arcade with some fighting games that are pretty cool. I mean, the Mayor’s kid has a home gaming system, but they’re hard to get around here.” 

“Aw man, I’m gonna end up spending all my allowance at the arcade aren’t I?” Danny groaned as they made their way up the stairs of the house. Clark chuckled, swinging the door open. “But yeah, all that sounds awesome! I hope we can convince your parents to let us do all that stuff.” Danny yawned. “I think it’s time I actually head to bed though. Tiny baby body needs sleep.” Danny floated his way up the stairs, too tired to use his legs and not wanting to wake the Kent parents with the creaky stairs. “Hey, Clark?” Danny asked.

Clark turned back to Danny, about to head to his own room. “Yeah Danny?”

Danny smiled a small smile. “Thanks for listening to me, I think it helped with me being homesick. To, you know, talk about them all. I do wish I could see them and hang out with them all, but I’m glad that I’m here too. For the first time in a while I’m not responsible for anything, I can actually be a kid.”

Clark smiled back at Danny, “Of course, I’ll listen anytime.” He thought for a moment. “You mentioned before about responsibility, you mean the hero thing right?”

Danny nods at first, then tilts his head to the side for a moment. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, it’s not just that. I’m also to be the King of the GZ when I’m old enough.”

Clark’s face drained and he landed hard on his feet. Breathlessly he asked. “King of the GZ? You mean the dimension that connects all the dimensions? You’re going to be King of it all?” 

Danny just nods then sits criss-cross in the air. “Yeah, gimmie a sec, I can make the royal getup appear, you might want to shield your eyes, it’s a bit bright.” Danny called forth his newest transformation, the one that came to be when he agreed to become Crown Prince of the Realms. A bright white light similar to an aurora with static on the edges appeared at his middle and hoarfrost seemed to spiral outwards as the light passed over his body. Left in its wake is medieval looking armor. 

Chainmail that seemed to be made from frost under a breastplate of black metal with his logo etched in silver. A cloak that started as a slippery black faded on the edges to look like the galaxy itself was trailing after him. His bracers were a pale silver and the clothes beneath his armor were a black leather-like material. He had white leather boots that went up to his knees and had the same pale silver metal tipping the toes. Above his head an aurora circled and little flakes of snow would drop into his hair like falling stars. Danny himself changed also, he stayed a six-year-old, but his skin faded to a light blue, his freckles began to glow a bright green as they had earlier. His eyes changed and glowed with a similar green light, and his hair turned white as snow and seemed to float as if in water. His fingertips were a deep navy and clawed, his canines elongated and his ears became pointed. On his finger there appeared to be a ring made of onyx with a gem so bright a blue that it almost hurt to look at, though it didn’t seem to light up the place more than Danny himself.

The most startling thing to Clark however, was not his appearance. “Danny, why don’t you have a heartbeat?” he asked, projecting as much outward calm as he could muster while being twelve and internally freaking out.

Danny seemed confused for a bit before he seemed to realize something. “Oh, right, so right now I’m a ghost, and as a ghost I don’t have a heartbeat, you should be able to hear some sort of almost rhythmic buzzing though, that’s my core, it’s similar to a heart and brain for ghosts.” Clark listened closer and relaxed once he found the buzzing sound. It reminded him of the sounds of a plane engine in the distance.

 “I also completely forgot that I never showed you my ghost form, so one sec, this one’s a lot brighter, I definitely don’t advise looking at this one.” Clark decided to listen this time, as the last time hurt his eyes. 

In a flash of bright white light, Danny appeared once again differently than before. He kept the green eyes, snow-white hair and glowing freckles, but the rest of him looked more like his human form, albeit wearing a black and white full bodysuit. The suit itself was black with the stylized DP logo, white boots, white gloves and a white belt. Danny’s skin was a more healthy tan, though still a bit paler than his human form. 

“So this is my usual ghost form, I’ve been able to change into it since I got my powers and it’s why my parents didn’t know I was who I was at first. It led to a lot of miscommunication and getting grounded even though I was out saving the day. Things have gotten much better since they learned about me and then looked at their research and realized a lot of it was wrong. I’m really proud of them, they looked at all their biased papers they had written over the years and instead of doubling down or letting it ruin them, they instead found a renewed vigor and are learning all they can. They’re releasing paper after paper correcting all the assumptions they had made now that they aren’t blinded by their prejudices.” Danny had a soft smile on his face as his eyes and freckles glowed brighter thinking about his parents. He yawned again. “I think I’ve dropped enough info on you for tonight though, so I’m gonna head to bed. You should too.” Another bright flash and Danny was back to being human, feet firmly on the floor. 

“Yeah, I’ll do that. Sleep well Danny.” Clark appeared to have reached his limit for processing things as he put some dots together. As he lay awake in his bed he realized that Danny is going to be a king to literal gods.

And he thought his math final was stressful.

Part 1 Part 2

[hereforthefanficsandromance]

Tied and Crying

Request from @rainbowpumpkin on Discord.

Read on AO3 Read on Blogger Read on Tumblr Master List: One Shot

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Summary

Fan Request: IM TELLING YOU, HE WOULD LOOK SO CUTE ALL TIED UP AND CRYING FOR RELEASE Rating: 18+ Words: 0.5K

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You told Cal that you wanted to show him something later and he gladly agreed. The sweet man was always up for anything if it would make you smile. 

He wasn't however expecting to come home to you tying knots in a significant amount of rope. He asked if this was the new thing you wanted to try and when you said yes, he looked perplexed.

You approached him and gently wrapped some of the rope around his exposed forearm, showing him some of the beautiful patterns you had been practicing. 

He smiled and let you guide him onto the bed and slowly undress him and you wrapped more and more rope around his limbs. 

He complimented your work and seems at ease with the overall process. He though you were only showing him a new form of art. 

An hour later of working Cal is in his underwear and covered in tasteful rope work. Giving him a sinister smile, you suddenly pull tight two ropes that you had looped through the legs of the bed and also the patterns on his limbs. He didn't see this coming and is now lying fully restrained on the bed.

He laughs and tells you to knock it off, his playful attitude changes when he realizes that you won't be letting him go. 

You relieve his fears, giving him a little kiss, then you tug down his boxers and gently stroke his flacid cock. He whimpers at the sensation, and tells you it's not fair to tease him like this. 

You don't stop, pumping his length until it is fully erect and a deep red. Cal is trying to buck his hips but the restraints prevent much movement. 

He is begging for release in a few minutes. You smile and stop your ministrations. He lets out a frustrated groan but they quickly are replaced by moan when you start jacking him off again. 

It only takes 3 more times of edging him before Cal's eyes fill with tears. He is beggin for you to let him cum, telling you how mean you are being. But you can tell he loves it, the little swears and whispers of your name are enough evidence that he wants this. 

By the fifth round of denial he is ready to sell his soul, telling you every single way he'll make you cum if you please just let him finish this one time. He is promising to do your half of the chores, to let you have anything of his that you want. Tears  now stream down his cheeks as he begs for release. You almost pity him, but his sounds are so addicting that you want to draw this out longer. 

You pause, denying his orgasm again. He whimpers and writhes against the restraints, his cock so painfully hard that it twitches repeatedly in your hand. 

You give him a long look, open your mouth, and take him deep down your throat. His cries fill the room and he repeatedly calls out your name like a sinful prayer. You suck and lick hard at his length and it doesn't take long before he cums hard down your throat. 

You suck him all the way through the intense orgasm and he is a whimpering mess as the sensation becomes overwhelming. You let some of the semen stay in your mouth and move upwards to kiss him deeply, forcing him to taste his own need. 

He is obediently cleans your mouth with his own tongue and you gently untie his raw and red body.

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