#being forced to take on a ‘if you’re going to drink then id rather you do it with me’ style of parenting

[bbbbbbbbatman]

Here’s how I want robin in the next battinson movie:

The very first scene is Bruce and tiny Dick Grayson sitting across from each other at the dining table, staring each other down in silence, both clearly grumpy about it. Alfred is in the background watching them with concern. The silence lasts about 20 seconds before Dick speaks.

“Let me fight crime.” (said with all the petulance of a pouty 10 year old)

Bruce replies immediately. “No.” (this is clearly an ongoing argument)

Immediately cut to the next scene where Dick, wearing the iconic Robin suit, is having the time of his life swinging across the city while Bruce frantically tries to keep up with him while yelling at him to be careful like an anxious mother

[mrs-gucci]

Anything Goes {Maurizio Gucci x Reader}

anonymous (half of their request):

I think the world needs a Maurizio x Studio 54 fic 👀

author’s notes: hello, hello! YES, I think we need this...and now we have it! thanks for sending it in <3 I really enjoyed researching a bit and whipping up this piece! a special thanks to @babbushka​ for being the resident Studio 54 expert!  Mauri isn’t as ‘soft’ here as he is when I write him usually, but I honestly loved exploring this sort of ‘wild side’.

warnings: smut. porn with some plot. masquerade. I think Studio 54 is a warning of its own. dancing. grinding. p in v. unprotected sex. fluff at the end.

(possible) tw’s: some alcohol consumption. cigarette smoking (canon for character). (!!) implied infidelity/extramarital sex. public sex. (!!)

word count: 2.46k

terms to know

Bellissima means ‘beautiful’ in Italian (an affectionate nickname). Dio means ‘God’ in Italian (used as an exclamation in this piece). Cristo means ‘Christ’ in Italian (used as an exclamation in this piece). Cazzo means ‘fuck’ in Italian (used as an exclamation in this piece).

maurizio’s taglist peeps! @icarusinthesea @eagerforhoney my general taglist peeps! @safarigirlsp @babbushka @mrs-zimmerman @dirtytissuebox @thepalaceofmelanie​ (if you’d like to be added to or removed from any of my taglists, the link to the google form is HERE or on the top of my masterlist)​

Muffled tunes bump from the concrete walls as you and your small group of friends walk past the blocks-long line. You flash your Gucci company ID to the bouncer, who lets you in immediately, getting a few envious mutters and groans from the line-goers.

Studio 54 is the place to be these days and luckily for you, working at the House of Gucci’s New York branch gets you premiere access, since the CEO is a huge investor in the club. 

Tonight’s a masquerade theme, so all patrons are wearing a variety of different masks, from whole-face masks to only eye masks. But, each was very much their own, a sea of colors and sequins and feathers as their wearers stride about.

You’re clad in a risqué disco getup, wearing a metallic silver tube top and matching skirt with some small heels that you’re sure you’ll tire of rather quickly. But Studio 54, from what you’ve heard, is all about the looks, the glitz and the glamour. Your eye mask is made to match tonight’s look as well as resemble cat-eye glasses, black with small silver wings coming off the pointed edges. 

Your winter coat is checked and then you head up to the dance floor, music getting louder and louder as you ascend the staircase. Your breasts bounce a bit with each step, nipples peering out from beneath the silver fabric. Studio 54 is known for its ‘anything goes’ rule, and you fully intend on taking advantage of that freedom tonight. 

It’s jam-packed, just as you’d expected it to be, sweaty bodies dancing and grinding together in a large group on the floor. The stale air is hazy with cigarette smoke, smells of sex and drugs linger all throughout the thick, humid air. Your senses are overwhelmed while at the same time aroused by the sights and smells of Studio 54.

While your friends head over to the bar to grab drinks, you head right onto the dance floor, beginning your night of wild, passionate fun. A few guys come and grind with you for a few minutes or so, but they leave shortly after. Your eyes peer through the holes in your mask, lingering over the talent standing at the sides of the floor, scouting and waiting to devour their scantily-clad prey.

Your gaze pauses on a man leaning against one of the pillars, lighting up a cigarette. He looks in stark contrast to all other club-goers who sport the metallic, the feathers, the sequins, the avant-garde. He’s so abnormally normal with his crisp, classy 007-type tuxedo. His chestnut brown hair drapes down to just below the brilliant white collar of his button-up, neatly moussed and styled. He’s disguised by a bright white half-face mask, making him appear almost ghoulish when paired with his handsomely pale skin.

His eyes suddenly dart over to meet yours and your cheeks heat up as you look away, biting your lip softly. He smirks, taking a drag off his cigarette before heading over to the bar. He’s going to need some courage juice in him before he approaches you.

The night wears on and you start to get a bit discouraged. You’re still having fun, of course, you just wish that it was going more according to your fantasy and imagination. Perhaps you should head to another club, see if you fare better there. 

Deciding in favor of checking out other hotspots in the area, you begin to make your way off to the side back towards the door. Suddenly, a set of large, strong hands slide onto your waist and pulls you back, forcing you to collide with a large body. The scent of expensive cigarettes enveloping you as he steps up behind you and goosebumps instantaneously erupt down your arms as the tall man leans down, lips now at your ear.

“Ciao, bellissima.” His voice is slightly husky and thick with Italian origin, alcoholic breath hot on your skin.  “The party’s out here on the floor, not down at coat check.”

You chuckle. “It seems that no one wants to party with me for more than five minutes tonight. I was gonna try my luck at another club.”

He pulls you back a bit further against him.

“Well then, it’s lucky I caught you. I’d be just kicking myself if I missed the chance to dance with a beauty like you.”

“I think you overestimate my talents, sir.” You’re wondering if this is a dream, something to cope with the real-life disappointment of the night.

The man chuckles, running his nose along the side of your neck and inhaling your sweet perfume. “And I think you underestimate your talents, miss.”

A slower, more sensual song begins to play through the speakers and you reach up to wrap your hand around the back of your unknown dance partner’s neck, keeping him down near your head.

“Let’s find out who’s right, then, shall we?”

His grin is obvious, even though you can’t see him. “Yes, let’s.”

You start by leaning back against him, simply feeling out the slow and steady rhythm of the beat. You’ve never felt so relaxed, so carefree before and it feels really, really nice. He drops his hands from your hips, but sways along with you, trying to keep his lips away from your up-done hair. 

He ends up having a few of your hairs catch on his plush lips a few minutes later, causing him to have to try spitting them out subtly and quietly. 

It doesn’t work. 

You laugh softly and he blushes, chuckling awkwardly along with you. “Sorry about that. You must’ve caught some of my flyaways.”

“Yes, it seems that way. I feel guilty for ruining the mood, though.” His nose nudges at your temple, hands coming back up to hold your hips as he senses your motions grow a bit quicker.

“Don’t. I’m sure we can manage to bring it back to what we had before. In fact, I think we can make it even better.”

Your hips begin to circle back against him at a more aggressive rate of speed, moving the fabric of his dress slacks all over his hardening crotch. His breath is shaky as it comes out through his nose, fingers digging a bit tighter into the flesh of your hips.

The humid air practically suffocates the two of you as the other patrons dance all around, causing a slick sheen to quickly cover your skin, the roots of your hair soaking through steadily. Your fingers gently massage his scalp as his lips move and suck red marks into your tender skin that’ll surely turn purple by the end of the night.

Soon, he begins experimentally rolling his pelvis in time with your motions, grunting against your neck at the sensations this new move is creating. He’s almost fully hard beneath his suit slacks by now, already planning out how he’s gonna get with you tonight. Patrizia doesn’t have to know about this.

“So, are you ever gonna let me see you, mystery man?” You ask, chuckling.

He blushes beneath the mask. He’s extremely hesitant to let you see him, an instinct born of being in the spotlight since youth. But then he remembers, he’s in America and he has a mask on. 

His hands pull away from you and a small kiss placed on your exposed shoulder. “Look upon me, then, bellissima.”

Suddenly gripped with nerves, you turn around slowly and look up. He’s handsome; the epitome of men, warm brown hair and endearing ocean blue eyes. His gazes roam your masked appearance in a similar manner, relieved that you don’t seem to recognize him. A sudden feeling of familiarity washes over you as your eyes meet once more.

“Your eyes, your gaze...they’re familiar to me. Is there a chance we’ve crossed paths before?”

His nostrils flare in fear, eyes going wide for a moment. A soft, cautious breath leaves his lips and he shakes his head quickly. “No, it’s not likely. I’ve been told I have one of those faces, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know what you mean. That’s probably it.” You step back up to him, hands smoothing over his broad chest. “Now, where were we?”

“Hmm, I think it was...” Maurizio smirks, leaning down so that his lips hover just above yours. “Right about here, if I recall correctly.”

Pressing yourself up on your toes, you connect your lips to his just as the last of his sentence passes through his velvety pink lips. Your arms snake up around the back of his neck, fingers toying with the rich brown locks. They certainly won’t be so neatly styled when you’re finished with him tonight, that much you’re sure of.

He smiles against your lips, stepping up a bit closer to you, body now pressing right up against yours. The two of you remain that way until he pulls away softly, breathing slightly heavy as his eyes look over your face.

“Can I take you upstairs? To the uh, balcony, perhaps?”

Oh, you’ve heard plenty of things about the balcony and the heat has already begun to pool in your loins. You nod, a small but devious grin stretching across your face.

“Absolutely. Lead the way, handsome.”

The two of you make your way towards the staircase, dodging and weaving through the crowds of dancing drag queens, salacious skaters, carefree celebrities and various other perky patrons.

“Do I get to learn your name before we reach the balcony?”

His breath hitches. “Mauri, you can call me Mauri.”

Your brows furrow slightly. You’ve never heard a name like that before, but maybe it’s some kind of nickname. 

“Mauri, got it. I’m Y/N.”

Y/N. A beautiful name, fit for a beautiful woman.

He smiles and nods, guiding you up to the balcony. When you arrive, there are already plenty of people inhabiting the space, all in various stages of either sex, undress or getting high. 

This is definitely where a majority of the sex smell downstairs is originating from. 

Mauri keeps his head tilted downwards and you swear you can see a bit of a blush on his cheeks as he takes you over to a relatively secluded corner. He undoes his belt quickly, sloppily kissing you as he does so.

You gasp sharply into his mouth when he suddenly scoops you up and slams you against the wall, lips working your neck while his hands free his hardened arousal from where it’s trapped beneath the restrictive suit fabric.

Your skirt is promptly pushed up to rest on your hips, your panties are pushed to the side, and Mauri’s cock is sheathing itself inside you before you can even process it.

“Ohhh christ.”

His jaw slacks against your neck, eyes squeezing shut while his hot breath spreads over your taut skin. Goosebumps erupt where the invisible warmth falls. “Dio.”

He stays still for a moment, then buries his face into the crook of your neck before his hips begin to move. There’s nothing slow or intimate about what the two of you are doing, it’s carnal. It’s sloppy and rough, the sweat mingling especially where your skin is pressed against his. 

The smell of sex that permeates around you only makes the whole experience that much more arousing. Your eyes looking around the room to see other couples getting off, shuddering and whining as you make eye contact with a young woman currently getting fucked on the ground. Your insides clench around him instinctively, earning you a small grunt while your hand takes hold of his silky brown locks.

“You’re tight, cristo, so hot and slick for my cock.”

Your head falls back against the wall with an audible clunk sound and you cringe in acute pain for a quick moment, but the pure lust and hunger flowing through you provides the adrenaline needed to ward off the pain. It’ll surely be sore come dawn, but really, you couldn’t care less at the moment.

“So big, Mauri, fucking me so good.”

Mauri fucks you harder, then, crooked teeth scraping against the taut flesh of your neck, panting softly. You reach down into the humid space between your bodies until your fingertips find the engorged bud nestled neath folds of delicate flesh.

A wet sound soon emerges from between your legs as your fingers swipe back and forth over your clit quickly, bringing yourself right up to the edge within only a minute or two. 

He grunts into your neck, pace rapidly devolving into one that’s erratic and desperate, shaft pulsing under the tight grip of your insides. His breathing grows quick and shallow, hands pushing at your spread legs to push them further into a spread eagle position. 

“Where do you want it?”

You moan along with his motions, pitch heightening slightly with each of his powerful thrusts. “Fuck, I--”

Suddenly, you’re thrown over the edge, a powerful orgasm hitting you like a truck. An avalanche of pleasure rolls over your body, nerves buzzing with warm feelings of release. Your hand wraps around the back of his head, lips near his ear to catch the chorus of whimpers, whines and little mewls that leave your lips.

“M-Mauri.”

His brows crease, knitting in the center of his forehead as he fucks you through it, finding it a nearly impossible feat to stave off his own climax, but he manages.

“Cazzo, I--wheredoyouwantit?” He’s barely holding on, now.

“Outside, a-anywhere.”

Balls pulling up, Mauri moans and pulls out quickly, just as the first thick rope of creamy release spatters onto your fleshy inner thighs. A long, shaky groan leaves his lips before he crashes them onto yours to muffle the rest of his sounds.

You move with him, lips liquid with his, fluid motions so effortless that you’d think the union was one entity. He pulls away from your lips slowly, then out of your tingling cunt, a smile on his face the whole way along.

“I apologize for the mess, bellissima.” He pulls out a handkerchief and wipes the creamy liquid from your thighs before helping pull your skirt back down. “There we go.”

You offer him a small smile, biting your lip as the unsureness of what to do next takes over. After a moment, you clear your throat, chuckling softly.

“I’m not really sure what to do next, if I’m completely honest.”

“Me neither.” His cheeks, of what you can see of them behind the mask, turn a shade of pink. “How about I buy you a drink at the bar? That seems like a good place to start.”

Your lips instantly curve upwards into a smile and you offer him a soft nod.

“A drink would be great.”

[middleearthpixie]

Where I Belong ~ Chapter Fourteen

Summary: Noelle returns to Central Park and finds the universe isn’t quite finished screwing around with her.

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield/ Noelle James (female oc)

Characters: Thorin Oakenshield, Noelle

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 4,355 words

Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @ocfairygodmother @exhausted-humxn-being @shalinizhara @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knitastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here and AO3.

Noelle spent her birthday avoiding phones calls and running errands so she didn't have to think about why she was avoiding phone calls and running errands. Her phone case served to hold her ID and a credit card, so all she had to carry was the bag from Tiffany, holding the watch she’d bought for Dan and now had to return.

Stores were amazingly crowded, since it was so close to Christmas, but the people at Tiffany couldn’t have been nicer when she explained why she was returning the watch.

That done, she headed back out into the snow, where she paused on the sidewalk and just looked up as the flakes swirled about her. She’d felt out of sorts all day, ever since she forced herself to watch The Battle of the Five Armies and cried her way through it. Even now, some six hours after she shut it off, the movie haunted her. Ian hadn’t lied to her. Thorin did die. She watched it with her own eyes, sobbing as if she was there with him. How terribly unfair, for him to have to suffer the way he had from the time Smaug arrived until they reclaimed Erebor. The loss she felt was one she could not explain, for who would believe it? Now she knew Thorin would not be coming back. He couldn’t. Tolkien had killed him off. Peter Jackson had killed him off.

He was truly gone. He’d been taken from her and sent to die on an ice floe at Ravenhill.

She slammed into something solid and a man growled, “Hey, watch it, lady!”

“Sorry,” she muttered, going around him.

Her phone rang, so she stepped closer to the set of buildings and looked down, then briefly debated about whether or not to answer it. Answering won, so she hit Accept. “Hey, Mom.”

“Ah… there you are! I was wondering if you were dead. I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday, since it’s close to your birth minute.” Her mother, Diane’s soft voice was airy and light, as always. “You and Dan must be having a great time, I’ve been trying to call you for days, but your phone kept going to voicemail.”

“Thanks, Ma. It’s a quiet one this year.” Noelle winced, a sharp pain stabbing just behind her eyes. “But… I’m not in Colorado. We had a—a change of plans.”

“Oh, no.” Her mother’s voice went full-on maternal. “What happened?”

“He decided he’d rather ski with someone else.”

“Oh, love, I’m sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be. It’s okay.”

“Well, if you’re in New York, why don’t you come home for Christmas? Dad and I would love to have you, since Mark and Rob won’t be able to fly out because of work nonsense, and Gus is still overseas and Jay decided to abandon us and go to the Bahamas for the holidays with that slut he insists on keeping around.”

Noelle smiled despite her gloomy feelings. “Mara isn’t a slut, Ma. She’s a dancer and there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“She takes her clothes off for money,” Diane replied bluntly. “She’s a slut.”

“She isn’t but I don’t want to fight with you.”

“So, come home then. We’d love to have you.”

She shook her head. “No, thanks, Ma. I’m not feeling very festive and I wouldn’t be great company.”

“Well, that’s the beauty of family. We don’t expect you to be great company if you don’t feel it. Stay here for a few days and grump all you want. We’ll drink wine and talk about what a shit Dan turned out to be.”

Noelle almost smiled. Almost. “Ma, I—”

“We miss you, Noe,” Diane’s voice softened. “And we’re not getting any younger, you know.”

“That’s low, Ma.”

“But did it work?”

“No.”

“Damn. Okay, suit yourself. New Year’s, then? We can celebrate your and Dad’s birthdays together.”

Noelle sighed softly. “Okay. New Year’s. And there better be presents for me.”

“Have there ever not been?”

“One never knows with you.” She looked down at her watch. Three-thirty. “Okay, Ma, I gotta go. Since I’m still in the city, work is calling and I’ve got a meeting, so I’ll see you guys on the first, okay?”

“Okay. Remember to dress warmly and drink enough water.”

“I will, Ma. Love you.”

“Love you, too, princess.”

Noelle clicked off the phone and lightly knocked herself in the forehead with it. Maybe she should go home for Christmas. Her mother would fuss over her, and make real hot chocolate, from good cocoa powder and would top it with real whipped cream that she’d make and keep in the fridge the entire time Noelle was there. They would drink wine until late at night and talk about what an asshole Dan was, and Noelle would forget all about his dumping her.

She could even tell her mother about Thorin.

Thorin.

Her throat squeezed shut and she closed her eyes for a moment. No. She couldn’t tell Diane about him. It was still too raw. Too open a wound. At times, Noelle swore she could feel Thorin’s presence in her apartment. She would lift the heavy silver ring he’d given her, and just let it rest in her palm and it seemed when she did, it almost hummed with energy from time to time. Several times, she’d swear it grew warmer against her skin, as if it had come to life itself.

But then, the feelings faded and the loneliness crept back in. Two days had passed since the universe stole him from her. Two days that lasted forever and yet passed in the blink of an eye.

She began walking, and had no idea where she was really going. Her errands were done. She should just go back home, but she didn't feel like it.

So she walked.

And walked.

And walked some more

Until she found herself in Central Park.

Snow fell lightly around her, and there were still a few people wandering about, but she paid them no mind. Her feet carried her of their own accord.

To Turtle Pond.

She stood there, on the banks, the water only a few feet from her, and she had the overwhelming urge to wade into it, to see what would happen, where she might end up.

“Stop,” she muttered, scowling at her boots. “You’ll get arrested, that’s what will happen. Arrested and taken to whatever precinct is closest, that’s where you’ll end up. And you’ll be sopping wet and freezing your ass off and no one will believe you aren’t fucking crazy.”

Still, her skin tingled.

The hair along the back of her neck stood on end.

The familiar hum began—like the whir of a helicopter—faint and in the distance at first, but it crept closer.

She smiled as it buzzed its way along her skin. Oh, please… yes… take me to him.

But how was that possible? Thorin had died at the hands of a giant, pale and scarred orc called Azog the Defiler. She’d seen it. He’d died with the hobbit at his side, so at least he wasn’t alone, but still…

But maybe…

She closed her eyes as her stomach began to toss. A sour taste rose in her throat to flood her mouth. She swallowed hard as her head ached and her eyes stung and she couldn’t breathe. Had it felt like this to Thorin, when time and space seized him to fling him into her world? Did he feel dizzy and sick and apprehensive as it felt like the ground was falling away?

She fell forward, toward the still waters of Turtle Pond.

Instinct kicked in and she threw up her hands to block her fall.

They went through the water without a splash. Without a sound.

Cold bit into her, but no water soaked her clothes. Still, she was freezing. Shivering. Felt ice building on her skin, her hair, her clothes. Her teeth chattered so loudly and so hard, she thought for a moment they might shatter.

A hideous rushing sound filled her ears, threatened to burst her eardrums. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to swallow to unblock them.

Her head felt like it might explode. Her nausea worsened. Oh, dear God, I’m going to—

Then everything went black.

She hit the ground hard enough to drive the air from her lungs in a massive whoosh and for a horrifying moment, they refused to inflate.

But then…

“Ah!” She inhaled deeply, and promptly choked on a mouthful of dirt and leaf bits and God only knew what else.

Coughing and spluttering, Noelle lay there until she could breathe once more, then opened her eyes. Central Park was gone. New York City was gone. The rush of traffic, the smell of car and bus exhaust was gone.

The air was heavy, and cleaner. No lingering car exhaust fumes. No city bus fumes. The air held the scent of wet leaves and damp earth, but something else as well. It was heavy air, weighted with decay. Wood. Leaves. Maybe animals, but definitely decay. She lifted her head to see she lay on the floor of a forest that looked well on its way to dying.

“There were. And I heard water, but I never saw it. I just knew I was no longer in Mirkwood.”

“How did you know?”

He offered up a long look. “Everything in Mirkwood is either dying, dead, or decaying. It’s an oppressive place, filled with dark magic that will drive you mad if you aren’t careful. It was dark, but not so dark that I couldn’t see these trees were not dead or dying.”

Had she fallen into Mirkwood?

She slowly sat up, rubbing her forehead in the hopes of rubbing away the dull headache piercing behind her eyes. All around her was silence. Thick, eerie silence.

That and dead or dying trees.

And vines.

And fallen logs.

And leaves. So many leaves.

And not much else.

Oh, God… please don’t let there be snakes…

A hint of panic twisted her insides as she leaped to her feet, just in case. Thorin fell into Central Park, into one of the most populated cities in the world. Sooner or later, he’d have come across someone willing to help him.

She was utterly alone. If anything happened to her, no one would ever know about it, would never know her fate. She would have just simply disappeared and her family, her employees, her friends would never know what became of her. Not exactly a comforting thought.

She swallowed hard against a new nausea and slowly rose onto somewhat unsteady legs.

Then she heard it.

Or rather, she heard them.

Voices.

Her spirits rose, her heart flew even higher, when she heard a very familiar, very deep voice say, “We are to stay on the path. Do not deviate from it.”

Thorin.

Her eyes stung, only for the first time in days, her tears were those of joy. She’d found him. The universe had righted its terrible wrong and brought her to him.

Then she remembered the Mirkwood scenes from Desolation of Smaug.

Spiders. Giant, awful, terrifying spiders.

Instinctively, she looked up. And around. And spun about as if she expected them to all attack at once. Thankfully, it appeared to be only her and forest, but she didn’t know where the spiders or if they were lying in wait for her at that very moment. She hoped not. In fact, she hoped she’d avoid them altogether.

She brushed the leaves and other forest debris from her jeans, checked to make sure her phone was still in her jeans pocket (it was,) and waited to hear someone respond to Thorin.

“I think we’re to go this way.”

The unfamiliar voices became her guide.

Carefully picking her way around fallen logs and huge branches and vines and underbrush that seemed to grab at her calves and ankles, Noelle shrugged out of her heavy wool coat to drape over her arm, as it was hot and cloying in the forest, and concentrated on those voices. Her belly fluttered each time she heard Thorin and her urge to just run to him had her stumbling and tripping, and fighting to remain upright.

Then she caught sight of him and stopped dead in her tracks. Her heart melted at the sight of him, in his fur and leather coat, his dark hair tumbling down his back. For a moment, she actually forgot how to breathe. But then she smiled. She smiled and her belly was alive with the fluttering of a million butterfly wings battering her from the inside. Any moment, and she would be in his arms again.

But the forest seemed determined to hold her back, to keep her from reaching him. Brambles caught her hair, tugged at her sweater, her jeans, and the harder she fought, the harder the forest fought back.

Then, she relaxed.

And so did Mirkwood.

The voices grew nearer—the accents ranged from Scottish burrs, to Irish brogues, to elegant English, and it took only a few steps before she close enough to say, “Thorin?”

He stopped and turned, his eyes going wide at the sight of her. Her heart soared as she practically vaulted over a particularly gigantic fallen tree and launched herself at him.

He caught her easily, his arms warm and welcoming and she wrapped hers about his neck, buried her face in his hair, and breathed deep. Fresh earth. Rainwater. A hint of something muskier. They mingled together to bring tears to her eyes as she whispered, “Oh, thank God you’re all right…”

“Of course I am.” His arms tightened, but then he pulled away from her and set her back on her feet. “But, where did you come from?”

“New York.” She couldn’t keep from smiling, even if the confusion in his eyes gave her pause. But of course he was confused. She appeared out of nowhere and threw herself at him when he probably least expected it. “I was returning Dan’s Christmas present and just felt the need to go to Central Park.”

Fourteen pairs of curious eyes trained on her and her cheeks grew warm as she ventured on, “And I don’t know why I did, but I did and so I went to Turtle Pond and the air felt really odd. I felt really sick. And here I am and here you are and oh, thank God, you’re alive and well and in one piece.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He looked from her to the others and back. “Who are you and why do you accost me this way?”

The pit of her stomach fell away. The blood drained from her face. “Who am I? It’s—it’s me, Thorin. Noelle. Noelle James.”

The men around him chuckled and chortled and Thorin scowled at them as he snapped, “Quiet!”

He turned back to her, still scowling. “How do you know me?”

“You—you came to me. Remember? New York? Turtle Pond? I taught you how to use a zipper and how to hail a cab.”

“Thorin,” the shortest dwarf looked over at him, “is this a friend of yours?”

“No, Master Baggins,” he growled, shaking his head, “I’ve never seen this woman before.”

Baggins. The name was so familiar to her, but she couldn’t concentrate on it now. Not when her gut churned and twisted with the terribly uncomfortable feeling of something going horribly awry.

This was not how she’d envisioned her reunion with Thorin. He would catch her, would crush her to him and his lips would devour hers with hungry kisses. He would tell her how he’d missed her and how he was so relieved she’d found her way to him.

She never thought he wouldn’t have a clue as to who she was or how she knew him.

And he certainly wouldn’t seem to be angry about her being there.

“Well, she seems to think she knows ye,” the dwarf second only to Thorin in height chimed in with a chuckle, “so, I canna help but wonder what ye were doin’ between the Iron Hills and the Shire.”

“Quiet,” Thorin snarled, and steel sang as he withdrew the Orcrist and held it, pointing at her. “I don’t know who you are or what you are about, maiden, but you need to take your leave now.”

“Thorin.” She shook her head, her throat squeezing tight as the horror sank into her. He really had no idea who she was, had no recollection of meeting her, or anything else about her. Or them. “You have to remember. You just have to.”

“The only thing I have to do,” he told her, “is find my way out of this blasted wood. Now, leave me be.”

With that, he spun about and began moving down the path once more.

“Thorin,” Mr. Baggins said, still eyeing her up with no little suspicion, “is she one of the Mirkwood elves, do you think?”

“No, laddie.” The dwarf with the burr laughed. “She is no elf. She’s far too short.”

Another dwarf, one who actually resembled Thorin, offered up a smile. “She looks to be harmless, Thorin. Perhaps she might come with us?”

“Do not speak foolishness, Kíli,” Thorin snapped without neither turning nor slowing down. “She does not belong with us and so I care not what happens to her. Let’s move.”

Kíli. His younger nephew. That explained his resemblance to Thorin. She looked about for another dwarf who looked like him as well, one who might be Kíli’s older brother, but she saw no others who might be that nephew.

She had no time time to dwell, however. Several of the dwarves bumped into her as they tried to move around her and a small one with huge white hair and a huge white beard, stopped. “I am so sorry, miss. But we really must be on our way.”

“Balin, let’s go,” Thorin called.

“But… wait…” Her voice hitched and she blinked back tears. This was not the reunion she’d imagined with Thorin. Not even close. “Thorin…”

Balin patted her shoulder. “Are you lost, miss?”

“Am I lost?” She nodded, looking over at Thorin as he moved on down the path. “Oh, god, I am absolutely lost, yes. I don’t belong here at all and this isn’t how I thought this would go and I don’t even know how to get back home now. I helped him when he was lost, but—but he doesn’t seem to be too inclined to return the favor, does he?”

She sank onto the fallen log she’d leapt over in her haste to reach Thorin, and a heavy sigh rose in her throat. Her head fell forward, into her hands as she whispered, “And he doesn’t even remember me.”

“What was that, lass?” Balin sank onto the tree beside her. “Where do you call home?”

She looked around her, at the backs of the retreating dwarves—one in particular—and shook her head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Balin!” Thorin thundered. “We need to keep moving.”

“Hold yer horses, laddie,” he shot back without hesitation. “Can ye not see she’s lost? Poor thing. I cannot just leave her here to fend for herself.”

“You should go,” she told him, looking over into his kindly dark eyes. “I don’t want to see him angry at you.”

“Don’t worry about him, lassie. He’ll be fine. And so will I. But these woods can be dangerous for one who isn’t careful. And no offense,” his gaze moved slowly over her, “you do not look like one used to being lost in a wood.”

“I’m not. I’m from a city and the only woods I see are in Central Park or at my parents’ house in Jersey.” She let out a low sigh, rubbing her forehead. “And I don’t know how to get back there. I didn't think I’d want to leave here once I found it, but now? It’s all I want to do. He has no idea who I am and now I’m stuck here and—”

Her belly kinked sharply and she looked over at the small man with the friendly eyes. “Have you been near the water yet?”

“Water?” He shook his head. “No. Why do you ask?”

“Because—because that’s how he came to me. Through the water. Bombur fell in and he leaned over to grab him and he fell. He fell into enchanted water and landed in my time.”

“Landed in your time?” Balin’s expression became one of suspicion. “Are you unwell, miss?”

“No. I know it sounds crazy, but… it makes sense. If you haven’t reached the water yet, Thorin hasn’t fallen in yet. Which means he hasn’t been to my world, so of course he doesn’t remember me.” The realization lifted her spirits some. “He hasn’t met me yet. And you can’t have missed someone you have never met, right? So, it makes sense.” A brief pause. “I think.”

“You truly think you’ve met him before?” Balin rose from the tree and held out a hand. “Come along and tell me while we catch up with the others and I make certain Thorin does not fall into the water.”

If he did, she shuddered to think what would happen, since she wasn’t in New York for him to find again. So, she reluctantly laid her hand in his and allowed him to pull her up. She was a good head taller than him, and as she gazed down, she said, “I’m Noelle, by the way.”

“I heard. And it’s lovely to meet you, Miss Noelle.”

Miss Noelle.

“Good night, Miss Noelle.”

“You know,” she rested her hand on the molding, “you can just call me Noelle. No need for miss.”

“Perhaps tomorrow. When I know you a bit better.”

She swallowed her next sigh as her gaze went once more to Thorin, ahead of the pack, with the Master Baggins right behind him. She’d originally thought him to also be a dwarf, but then she remembered. He was no dwarf at all. Mr. Baggins’ first name was Bilbo. And Bilbo was the hobbit.

Balin fell into step alongside her. “So, why do you think you’ve met Thorin before? Do you live between the Iron Hills and the Shire?”

“No. I don’t live in Middle Earth at all and you’ll just think I’m crazy if I try to explain it to you. I know everyone else pretty much thinks that as it is.”

“Try me.”

“Thorin fell into my world. I helped him to find his way back here. And for some reason, the gods or the universe thought I should be here as well, and so here I am. Only he doesn’t remember meeting me because he hasn’t fallen into the water trying to grab Bombur. Which one is Bombur, by the way?”

“The round, quiet one.”

“Keep an eye on him. I don’t even want to think about what would happen Thorin fell back into New York and I’m not there this time.”

He’ll meet someone else who will help him, you dimwit. And he’ll fall in love with her, instead.

Not really the time to be worrying about that, you dolt.

Her heart sank at the annoying little voice inside her head. Balin must have seen her scowl as well, for he said, “We won’t let that happen. Dwalin!”

The dwarf with the burr stopped and turned. “Wha’ is she doing wi’ ye?”

“She’s coming with us, is what. I’m not leaving her here with night coming in on us. Keep watch over Bombur. Don’t let him get too close to the—”

A loud splash cut him off and Noelle’s heart stopped beating as another dwarf called, “Bombur! Get him!”

“Wait! Stop! Don’t you dare, Thorin!” Balin shoved his way to the front of the pack, where he grabbed Thorin by the back of his coat as Thorin was about to lean forward. “Dwalin, grab him! Bofur, help him!”

As Dwalin and a dwarf with long black pigtails moved to grab Thorin, Balin turned to stare at her. “How did you know he would fall?”

Thorin’s blue eyes met hers and she held his stare as she said, “He told me about it,” as she pointed to him.

Thorin rolled his eyes. “I’ve no clue what you are talking about. Balin, what mean you by this, by bringing her with us?”

“I’m not about to leave her here, to the mercy of this wood, at night.” Balin poked him firmly in the chest. “She knew Bombur was going to fall into the water. And she knew you’d try to grab him. Perhaps, she can see what lies ahead for us. Perhaps Mahal has seen fit to provide us with an oracle as well as a wizard. Especially since the wizard took his leave of us.”

Noelle opened her mouth to protest, since she just knew being accused of being a witch would come next and she didn't even want to think about how that would play out. But then she realized that she did know what was going to happen and because of that, she could keep Thorin alive.

Her hopes rose as Thorin looked over at her again. His eyes widened, and for a moment, she’d swear she saw recognition in them. But the moment passed and they narrowed once more. “Very well. Try and keep up, Miss—”

“Noelle.” Balin supplied gently.

“Try and keep up, Miss Noelle,” Thorin said, his voice not quite as gruff as it had been, “for we wait for no stragglers.”

She nodded. “Of course.”

With that, she eyed her coat and almost wanted to cry at the thought of wearing it when she was already so hot and sweaty. Instead, she let it fall to the ground and just stepped around it, then blew a wayward curl out of her face, and fell into step behind Balin once the others retrieved Bombur from the water. One crisis had already been averted.

Only about a thousand more to go.

[nat-20s]

for @jonmartinweek THE FINAL DAY prompt- Pining/Longing. This one takes place, well, you’ll see

~*~

A Study of Longing, Told in Six Parts

Part 1

Martin wonders if he’ll ever get to a point in his life where kindness doesn’t feel like a shock to the system. It’s already surprising enough when Tim and Sasha invite him for drinks in a genuine offer of friendship, but for that kindness to come from Jon? Martin has no idea what to do with being believed, let alone being protected.

And now here he is, blearily opening his eyes only to find himself staring at a mass of hair. As he sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes, the shape resolves into the form of one Jonathan Sims. He had apparently fallen asleep with his head cushioned on his arms, against the cot Martin was currently occupying. It’s not an image that Martin can fully process at the moment, so instead he debates whether or not to wake Jon up or quietly get off the cot to let him get some much needed sleep. He decides on the former, both thinking that it would be hell on his back to keep sleeping in that position, and that he would like an explanation.

Hand hovering above Jon’s shoulder, but not fully touching, Martin oh so quietly calls out, “Jon?”

That’s all it takes for Jon’s head to rush up with a gasp, glasses askew, and with the texture of his sleeves pressed in red marks on his face. It is a horribly endearing look. “Hrn?”

Martin opens his mouths, closes it, and waits for Jon to get his bearings. Jon smooths down his (frankly ridiculous) sweater-vest, adjusts his glasses, and slips back on his professional demeanor. “My apologies, Martin, I, ah, must have fallen asleep.”

Glancing to the crappy little digital clock resting on a file box next to him, Martin rolls his eyes. Only Jon could be quite so stuffy at 4:32 in the morning. “No apologies needed. Though, um, was there? Something you needed or..?”

Jon shakes his head and stands up, dusting off imaginary grime. “No, no, nothing like that. I had just, er. I had heard you cry out and I- I wanted to make sure nothing was going on. It appears that it simply a nightmare,so I will be.. taking my leave. Now.”

He doesn’t know what part of himself replies, “Oh! You don’t have to go!,” but he replies it anyway. Jon does that little thoughtful frown at him, which forces him to continue, “I mean, if you wanted the cot. For sleeping. I’ll probably be awake for the rest of the night, so, you know, no skin off my back .”

“Ah. No, that’s quite alright, Martin. Try to get some more sleep, there’s still a long work day ahead.”

Jon doesn’t even wait for a response before turning on his heel and leaving. Martin sort of hates how much he wanted him to stay.

Part 2

Jon is laughing. Jon is terrified, all the damn time, and yet, somehow, he’s laughing. Honestly, he was starting to wonder if he was still capable of it. Martin is gesticulating wildly with his fork, animated in a way that Jon’s only ever seen when in they’re in the middle of a rather silly debate. He thinks this lunch’s topic was something like whether or not snakes were cute? He lost the thread of conversation about half an hour ago, honestly. Covering his mouth, he lets the giggles run through his whole body, shaking his shoulders and heating his core. He feels light, heady, like he’s reminiscing with an old friend and they’re both on the edge of having had too much to drink.

He only wishes he could trust this feeling. He wishes that he could trust Martin, that they were normal coworkers having a normal lunch, that the previous person in Jon’s position had gone into an easy retirement instead of being violently murdered. He wishes he hadn’t read that letter telling him, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Martin, Martin, who took him to lunch and brought him tea and seemed so very warm in so very cold circumstances, was lying to him.

Jon stops laughing.

Part 3

Of course, the second his body hits the simultaneously stiff and weirdly lumpy motel mattress, his phone goes off. It may only be about 8 pm, but he’s tired, and he’s sore, and he’s had a persistent headcold for the past week for some unholy reason, the last thing he wants to do is talk. However, only about four people have the number to the burner cell, and they’re almost certainly have a purpose behind their call.

Closing his eyes and letting out a sigh that turns into more of a groan, he picks up on the 4th ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Jon! It’s Martin, I’m not sure if you have my number programmed in that phone, or if it even has caller ID if you do. Anyway, it’s been about a week since I’ve heard anything, and I wanted to make sure you weren’t, y’know, dead or arrested or anything.”

His previously tense and aching muscles all relax, without him consciously deciding to relax them, and a sleepy smile spreads across his face, because some time in the past year he’s become a parody of himself. Yes, maybe he should be more affronted by how much Martin’s tinny voice brings him comfort, but he’s had a rather terrible time of things since...since he began work in the archives, really, and he’s worn down enough that he can admit he misses his friend.

Huh. Friends. They are, aren’t they? Wonder when that happened. (He can guess, something involving a fake CV admission, but he doesn’t feel like it right now.) “Martin, I recognize your voice, no need to introduce yourself.”

“Right! Yes, uh, ‘course..of course you can. Right. Sooo...I take it you’re not dead, then.”

“Correct. I haven’t been arrested, either.” It’s only sort of a comforting lie, so Jon thinks it can be forgiven.

“Good. Great! Yeah, that’s...that’s good.”

The conversation could probably end there. Jon could probably tell Martin good night, and they’d hang up, and Jon could get the sleep he had been so desperately craving not moments ago. Somehow, he thinks that neither of them want that. Scrambling for something to talk about, Jon replies, “Hang on, isn’t it something like 2am over there?”

“It...might be.”

“Martin!”

“What! It’s not like you have a monopoly on bad sleeping habits. Besides, I was up anyway, and I just..”

“Just what?”

“I just missed your voice.”

Oh. Heat rushes to his cheeks, and tears start to prick at the corners of his eyes, and god. He had missed Martin’s voice too. “Really? I know you’ve had to listen to a fair number of tapes lately, thought you might be sick of it by now.”

“No. I mean, I am a bit tired of tapes, honestly, but even the ones that you recorded, that not really your voice, is it? I mean it is, but it doesn’t sound like you when you’re actually, um, you. I wanted..I wanted to hear you.”

Jon’s far too worn out to deal with that sentiment, and the way that it makes his heart clench. So instead  of addressing it, he says, “I am very close to being asleep.”

“Oh. Right, sorry, I’ll let you go-”

“No! No. Um. Would you mind staying on the line? Until I’m gone? I-I like hearing your voice. As well.”

“Oh! Sure, yeah, definitely. Anything in particular you want me to talk about?”

“Whatever you like. Something nice?”

“All right. I can do that. Um. Did I tell you about this little yarn shop I found the other day. It’s called ‘Puttin’ on the knitz’, and it’s…”

Jon peacefully drifts off, listening to the voice of the man who he can only admit in moments such as these, he wishes was in this bed, laying beside him.

Part 4

please come back please come back for the love of god come back I can’t believe you’re doing this do you have any idea how stupid this is come back to me come back come back come back

Part 5

There is plenty of things to long for in the apocalypse. A decent cuppa. The relief of actual sleep. Murdering Jonah Magnus. For there not to be a apocalypse. They are grateful, however, to not have to long for each other.

Part 6

Martin comes to without a knife in his hand, or bloodstains on his clothing. Those, under other circumstances, would be good things.

Martin comes to, laying in the grass, without anyone beside him. He barely has the moment to feel agony spike through him before he’s out once more.

There are no Jonathan Sims admitted to the hospital. As far as he can tell, no one was admitted into the hospital at the same time as him, and certainly no one with a stab wound.

There are thousands of ‘Jonathan Sims UK’, typed desperately into a library computer search bar, wielding mostly results about a sport manager and a romance novelist. None of the images are of the right person.

Sometimes Martin puts one foot in front of the other, carefully blank in heart and head. Surviving, even  during times that he’s not sure he wants to, is one of his greatest abilities.

Sometimes Martin despairs.

On the worst nights, he tries to call the Lonely back to him, tries to be swallowed whole. It never works. He’s not sure if it’s because the fears aren’t in the reality or if they’re not established enough to have any leverage or if his connection has simply been broken. (He doubts the last reason. He hasn’t been this alone since Tim’s funeral. Even then, Melanie had thrown a few stilted condolences towards him. No one is aware enough of him to give condolences now. He misses Melanie. He misses all of them. He misses Jon like a gaping, bleeding wound misses skin.)

Seven months later, and he has enough money saved and identity built that he moves on to Scotland. The little village they had been adjacent to exists in this reality. Daisy’s cottage does not.

On a whim, he enters the yarn shop. He’s not going to pick anything up, hobbies are the last thing he can focus on, but it’s nice to look. To feel the various textures, to take in the rich variance of colors, to, hopefully be present in his own body, if only for a moment.

Martin steps in. The bell chimes. He’s there. Standing in front of him. Whole. In a cry that’s closer to a gasp, he calls out, “JON!”

Jon turns, looks up at him, recognizes him even before he’s even fully seen him. It’s his Jon, he’s here he’s here he’s here. The callback of “MARTIN!” sounds like it was punched out of him, the start of a sob and a laugh all at once.

In a blink, they’re together, their embrace a tangle of limbs, a collision of lips, a mixture of tears. Martin can’t tell which of them is saying the litany of “thank god thank god thank god” and who’s repeating “it’s you it’s you it’s you.”

It’s Jon that’s telling him, “I knew you had to be here. I knew it, because I kept thinking. Surely. Surely this new universe wouldn’t be so cruel as to allow me to live, but to make me live without you.”

It’s Martin that replies, “I didn’t know. I thought it would be that cruel. Please don’t make me go through that again.”

Jon pulls him in tighter, eliminating the centimeter of space between them. Speaking into Martin’s neck, whispered in fierce devotion, Jon promises, “Never again. Never again. You and me. Together. For the rest of our lives.”

Barely discernible through his sobbing, Martin tells him, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

~*~

There are people that think that wanting is more worthwhile than having. Martin thinks, frankly, that those people have never been in love.

[smol-and-grumpy]

To Be Free - CH01

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Escaping and hiding away, that’s what she wants to do. Her parent’s remote cabin in the mountain sounds like the best place for it. There, she meets someone from her past — a green-eyed mountain man.

Chapter Warnings: A little back story, cheating (not Dean), language, threats being made, car accident

WC: 2481

Beta: @winchest09​ <3

A/N: So, this is the beginning of the Mountain Man!Dean AU. I hope you’ll like it!

Read ahead on Patreon!

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

The phone buzzes on the seat next to her. Again. 

It hasn’t stopped ringing since Y/N had gotten into the car and drove away. She’s so close to just throwing it out of the window but then again, the rational side of her brain tells her that she would endanger the automobiles around her on the highway, and she doesn’t really want to cause any damage, or accidents, if it can be avoided. 

“You’re a goody-goody.” Mick always used to say, “It’ll get you in trouble if you don’t toughen up.” 

Perhaps Mick was right. She probably was not made to work in that firm where she has to help fucking criminals. But then again, he made it seem so plausible and she can’t believe that she fell for it all. Y/N had fallen for the prestige, for the fame, and most of all, she had fallen for Mick, and that was the worst fucking mistake. 

The events of that night flash before her eyes once more. 

It’s 9 PM. Mick usually doesn’t have a reason to work so late unless he has a meeting with the mob family that they have under their wings. She never liked to go to their meetings, always found an excuse to opt out. The way the men always stare at her like she was a piece of meat rather than a woman with a brain, always sent a chill down her spine. 

When she stepped out of the elevator, the floor was dark. There’s only minimal light coming from the reception area that’s vacated at this time of the night. Y/N never liked to be here after hours but it’s the only place she thought she could find Mick. He didn’t pick up his phone when she called him which was highly unusual. Somehow, she was a little afraid of what she would find. It could be him just laughing and joking with the mobsters, but it could also have been him bruised and beaten beyond recognition because the Family wasn’t happy with his work, or it could be worse. He could be dead. Today was his birthday too and she even ordered catering for the both of them to enjoy at home. She guessed that she would have to pop the dishes into the microwave because by the time she decided to check here, it was already starting to turn cold.

Walking further along the hallway, she noticed that the lights in Mick’s office are still on and a sense of relief washed over her, while the sense of dread built up in the pit of her stomach at the same time. 

“Oh god, Mick.” 

There was a faint moan that carried through the hallway of the offices. It made her blood freeze, but it forced her to walk faster.

“Mmh,” she heard Mick humming. “Always so fucking tight for me, Eve. Such a good pussy.” 

“Better than Y/N, I’d hope.” 

Mick chuckled, “I’d rather you not talk about her while I fuck you. You know you’re my best girl, baby.”

The dread in Y/N’s stomach intensified and something began to churn inside of her. She had to clutch it so as not to just hurl out the whole contents into the next pot plant she could find. 

Eve was her friend. Her best friend since she moved into the city two years ago. She was even the one who helped Eve to get a job at her boyfriend’s firm. 

Well, not her boyfriend anymore, she guessed. 

She reached the door, fingers clutched around the frame for purchase as she took in the image before her. Eve was bent over the table, Mick half undressed, fucking into her from behind. 

He threw his head back as he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he turned his head and their eyes met. 

For a brief second, she thought she saw a smirk twisting at his lips when he noticed her. He kept on pounding into Eve, though, his pace never faltered. 

Y/N retreated, tears pooled in her eyes and she moved on autopilot. Before she knew it, she found herself in her office, packing the things that she needed into her laptop bag. 

‘Stupid! So fucking stupid!’ she thought. She should have seen it. Why hadn’t she seen it? The red flags were always there. Mick always gave her assignments that would see her traveling all over the country for a long stretch of time. She would find receipts of hotels laying around in the apartment, or when she did laundry, but he always had a good reason. They hadn’t been intimate for a long time, too. Mick was always too tired and if he wasn’t then she would be. And if that happened, he would get out of bed and said that he needed a drink and was out of the apartment before she could even say anything. She was so engrossed in her work and too oblivious to what was going on, that she ignored all the warning signs. 

She was crying now, the tears not stopping. But it’s not over Mick. She would never cry over a man who had treated her like this. She cried for herself, for being dumb enough to let someone play her. 

Bending down to pack the remainder of her things, she opened her last drawer, revealing a little safe that was neatly tucked inside. Without hesitation, she punched in the combination and it sprang open. It contained a single USB stick. 

Picking it up, she clutched it in the palm of her hand. She had forgotten about the small device and now she knew why Mick kept her around. She was the only person who had a copy of the shady business his clients are doing, because she was involved as much as Mick. He was never going to give her up because if the information got leaked, he'd be taking the fall. 

There were footsteps along the hallway, the thumping sounds getting louder as someone rushed to her office and she quickly let the stick slip into her jean pocket. 

“What are you doing?” he asked too casually but with a bitter undertone, acting like he hadn’t just fucked her best friend. 

“What does it look like?” she snarled, patience wearing thin. “I quit. And don’t even come by my apartment anymore.”

He walked in further; his hair was ruffled and the buttons on his shirt were hastily done up, the material lopsided as he had fastened them wrong. She was so disgusted by his appearance.

Mick rubbed his hand over his chin, carefully thinking about his next words. “I need the USB stick before you leave.” 

She snorted. That’s typical. All he could think about is his fucking business. “I don’t have it.”

“Liar!”

“Oh, look who’s talking.” Maybe, just maybe, she shouldn’t anger him but screw that.

“Y/N.” Mick rounded up around her desk and came to stand right before her. The scent of sex hit her nose in waves. It made her nauseous. “You’re going to get into so much trouble if they know that you have it and believe me, if you walk out of here, they will find out because I will tell them.”

“I’m not scared of those men.”

Mick laughed. Fucking laughed. 

“They’ll come for you, Y/N. Those men are not to be fucked with.” He was still chuckling when he said, “They will find you and they will kill you.”

She cocked her eyebrow, and maybe she should have been scared of Mick and his threats but she’s still got the upper hand. If she got to expose him first, she has bargaining leverage. Maybe she’d get to be in a witness protection program. By the time it hits the fan, she will hopefully be long gone. 

“I don’t have it,” she said again as she bumped her shoulder against his on her way out, shoving him to the side. 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Mick called after her, his voice echoing in the almost empty hallway. 

With her head held high, she descended the stairs, too impatient and not to say scared to wait for the elevator.

 The phone buzzed again after having only stopped for a short time. It actually hasn’t stopped ringing since she drove back to her apartment to pack her duffel with enough clothes that should last her for a couple of days. She wanted to get out of here, clear her head, think about what to do next. 

It’s after she stopped for gas that she remembered the remote cabin that belonged to her parents. They hadn’t been up there for a while as the health of her father was deteriorating but she knew where they kept the spare key, and it’s the only place she knew nobody would come looking for her because she hadn’t been with Mick long enough to let him in on the existence of the cabin, nor on the memories the place held.

Buying enough food that would last her a couple of days, she drove towards the foot of the mountain. 

It was February and the roads were icy as it had snowed just last night. She hoped that her car would have enough power to get her up there, as she didn’t have snow chains with her. Not that she knew how to put them on in the first place. If worse comes to worst, she’d have to abandon her car and hike up the last bit, which was totally fine with her too. Anything to get away from civilization.

As she made her way up the snowy road and rounded up the twelfth bend in the street (There were fourteen - she had counted them from the drive up there every winter), her phone buzzed again. 

She glanced over to the passenger seat to catch the caller ID. It could be her mother for all she knew and that one, she would pick up. Y/N would maybe tell her that she was on the way to the cabin so that they wouldn’t be too worried if they can’t get a hold of her, because the reception could be pretty spotty up there.

But no, it’s fucking Mick again. She rolled her eyes upon seeing the name flash on the screen before turning her gaze back to the snow-covered street in front of her, but it was already too late. Out of her periphery, she caught it. The deer that ran out of the woods, its eyes wide when it saw the headlights of her SUV. Her foot hit the break immediately, but it was too late. The car swerved on the icy ground and she hoped she didn’t hit the animal before her vision goes black.

  Dean was sitting in his recliner in the cabin while he enjoyed his glass of bourbon. It’s his downtime, one of his favorite pastimes, next to spending his days out with Stevie, his Bernese mountain dog.

He had been coming to this cabin since his early childhood, having only missed one Winter out of the many. There were times where he would only spend a week up here but also there were times where he would be there for the whole winter. It’s his favorite place, always has been. 

The cabin is not as big as the ones that surrounded it, but it’s enough. It has only one bedroom, yet it was cozy. He remembered back to when he was younger, when he and his younger brother would sleep on the fold-out couch while his parents took the bedroom. Sometimes if Sam was upset with him, Dean would spend the night on the rug in front of the fireplace instead, and it was the best thing. He almost felt bad for wanting to get into a fight with Sam more often so that his sibling wouldn’t look at him funny when he wanted to spend the night on the floor instead of on the worn-out couch.

Once his parents stopped their annual visit up there, and they wanted to sell the cabin, Dean had saved enough money to buy it from them. There were just too many memories tied to the little property, too many of them that he wasn’t willing to just forget. 

While he took a sip from his tumbler, Stevie lifted her head and twisted her ears. 

Dean noticed, and immediately reached down to pat the dog's head, “What's wrong, Stevie?” 

The dog ignored him to get up and walk over to the door, letting out a whine as her nails started to scratch at the wood. 

“Easy, girl,” he soothes the agitated dog. “You wanna go out for a walk again?” 

Stevie whined some more, her scratching becoming more frantic. 

“Right,” Dean sighed as he got out of his seat. He took his time to empty his tumbler before setting it down on the coffee table. “Let’s go then.” 

The snow had started to fall again as they got out of the cabin, and he ducked inside once more to grab his hat that’s hanging on the hook right behind the door. Stevie was not impressed that it was taking Dean so long to get ready and started to bark.

“Easy, Stevie,” he chuckled as her wet nose nuzzled against his palm. He reached down to scratch behind her ear, a motion that seemed to calm her down. “Good girl.” 

They made their way down the street. The old snow crunched underneath his boots. Fresh layers of the white powder would cover over it soon enough, erasing their prints when it settled. He thought about doing their usual nightly walk around the perimeter, wondering if maybe they’d see a deer or two. Stevie had a way with deer. They love to meet her and Dean’s always mesmerized by the unusual bond they had. Stevie was always good with other animals and people, the dog’s sense to protect everyone is highly admirable, and Dean really couldn’t wish for a better companion.

As they rounded up the second bend in the road, he saw the car. Its headlights were still on but the front was wrapped around a tree which was the only thing standing between the car and the abyss. It was not a strong pine and the wood was already creaking under the weight.

Stevie rushed forward and Dean followed suit. The tree was going to give in at any minute, he just knew and if he couldn’t save the car, maybe he would be able to save whoever was stuck in there.

Dean thankfully reached the vehicle in time, yanking the driver’s door open and the sight of the girl slumped over the steering wheel made his blood run colder than the icy road he was standing on. 

“Y/N?” 

CH02

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

​

[hxt1b]

Let’s Just Let it Go

Doyoung x Reader 

Genre: Angst, some fluff (it’s there I swear) CollegeAU (HockeyPlayer!Doyoung) 

Warning: MATURE CONTENT/DARK THEMES, drinking (drink responsibly please), SMUT, swearing, TW sexual assault. 

WC: 11k 

Song Rec: when the party’s over by Billie Eilish 

Accompanying Stories: As Long As I’m Here, Isn’t It Lovely All Alone. 

Masterlist 

Hockey AU Masterlist 

A/N: You do not have to read all the stories to read this one. You can read this as a standalone, however reading the other two will give a better understanding of the backgrounds of the characters so if you do read all I’d suggest reading the other two first. However, by all means this can be read independently you will still understand the plot and everything without reading the other two. Lastly, please excuse the grammar, I read it over but still some things may have slipped through.

“You keep condoms in your wallet?” You asked looking up at him. Doyoung’s head was swimming, but then again that much alcohol would do that to you. 

“Would you rather I didn’t have one right now?” he asked his words slurring. You shook your head. Doyoung smirked returning his attention to opening the packet and putting the condom on. He pushed you into the wall again, grabbing you from the back of your thighs forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist as he pushed into you. 

“Fuck,” He grunted as he began to move in you. To be honest, Doyoung didn’t remember your name, he had asked, but he couldn’t recall. You’d met a couple of hours ago in the packed club, Doyoung was seeing double of everyone by the time his eyes landed on you, keeping his steps stable was a feat as he made his way over to where you were dancing, drawing you in however wasn’t that hard. You were just as drunk as him. 

Your arms looped around his neck as you filled his ears with breathy moans. Doyoung was so far gone, his mind was empty as you tightened around him. A few more thrusts and he came, letting his head fall into your shoulder as he did. You stilled against him; he didn’t really know if you finished. But he was too drunk to care. After getting his breathing to even out slightly he pulled out of you. 

“Well,” He said as he carefully took off the condom, “Thank you I guess.” He looked around the bathroom locating the garbage can and tossed the used condom into it. With that, he left the bathroom not looking back at you. He was still stumbling seeing two of everyone one that passed by him. 

He laughed to himself as he ran into a chair. But it was better this way, he didn’t remember anything this way. Kim Doyoung could successfully say that he had just wrapped up the most unmemorable summer of his life. Unmemorable because he was drunk throughout the entire thing, but it was okay because not once this summer did Doyoung think about the girl that cheated on him. Not once did he think about Yuta, the man that he looked up to. The one that slept with his girlfriend. Nope, they didn’t even cross his mind. 

But they did. 

Every damn day. 

---

“Get up.” The voice pounded in Doyoung’s head and a hand reached out and shook him. He grumbled. Slowly opening his eyes, he glared up at Kun. He watched as his friend rolled his eyes at him. 

“We have practice.” Doyoung pulled his blanket over his head, he shouldn’t have drank last night. “Come on.” 

What a new kind of hell he’d entered. He’d told himself that once the hockey practice started, he’d be fine. He wouldn’t drink, Yuta had managed to graduate, he’d avoid his ex, the campus was big enough. He could still avoid his ex, she wasn’t even on campus yet. Only the athletes were here a month before everyone. But the not drinking once hockey started, that didn’t happen, so he told himself when the semester started, and today after practice the semester started, he would have to stop drinking and his ex would be back. 

He groaned again throwing his covers off of himself and getting up. His head ached with each step he took towards the shared bathroom. They had moved, this house was bigger but they still needed to share a bathroom, well at least Ten, Jaehyun, Jungwoo and himself did. Kun upon stepping into the master room with the huge en-suite pulled his new captain status on them and took the damn room. 

“You’re just waking up?” Jaehyun asked him, as he passed the younger boy in the hallway. Doyoung didn’t respond just walked past him keeping his head down.  

Getting into the bathroom he looked at himself, taking in his appearance, he had a huge hickey on the side of his neck, how he got it was a slight blur to him. He remembered flashes of the night only. His hair was sticking out into a million directions he looked awful, he looked sick. Looking away from himself he grabbed his toothbrush and got ready for practice, he was gonna need a gallon of coffee. 

Hockey was an escape, he could be as brutal as he wanted on the ice, he was itching for a proper game so that he wouldn’t have to hold himself back he couldn’t bang up his teammates. He needed a game. 

Well, it was an escape until the new guy opened his mouth. 

“Hungover again Kim, why am I not shocked?” Doyoung sneered at the man lacing up his skates as he walked into the change room. His hands clenching into fists at his side, but he didn’t reply, because he was hungover, and this guy was the only one that called him out on it. Because he was the only one that didn’t know. Yet, it didn’t make Doyoung hate him any less. 

What kind of a nickname was Winwin anyway?

Rolling his eyes Doyoung dumped his stuff into his cubby taking his gear out and getting ready for practice. 

“Ignore him,” Kun said from his left. 

“I am,” Doyoung replied. 

On the ice, Doyoung couldn’t deny the new kid was an ace, why he transferred to their school he couldn’t say. He used to play for the team that they lost to last year, one step away from the cup. But that school had a killer roaster, this kid being one of the beasts on it, but here he was. Skating towards Doyoung with the puck. Their coach was ending this practice with a scrimmage, the hockey season would be starting in a few days and the coach claimed that this would re-charge everyone’s competitive sides because this was their season. 

He let him get close before he began his chase, letting Winwin come to him before blocking his path he hit him into the boards. It wasn’t a hard hit, but it was a hit. They both lost the puck as Winwin bounded off the plexiglass and slammed his hands into Doyoung’s chest. 

“What the fuck man?!” He asked. Doyoung shrugged, their coach was yelling as he skated over. Kun already there grabbing Winwin as he glared at Doyoung. 

“What on earth are you doing kid?” The coach barked at Doyoung. 

“Sorry I just got into it.” He said not feeling sorry at all. Maybe he wasn’t doing the best job of ignoring him. 

“Apologize to him.” He mentally scowled, he didn’t appreciate being treated like he was a toddler. 

“Sorry.” 

“Okay get off the ice, shower. Practice is over!” 

“Dude you gotta relax.” Ten said skating next to Doyoung. 

“Why the fuck do they even call him Winwin?” Doyoung’s irritation was evident “I fucking hate the guy.

“It’s because he fucking Wins, they use to call him their lucky charm ‘Winwin.’” 

--- 

Loneliness was a part of life that you accepted long ago, it was something that just came with your life. Your parents were rich, and they shouldn't have had kids, because they couldn’t give two shits about the two children they had. So, loneliness wasn’t an issue for you not until the reality settled in that this wasn’t loneliness it was abandonment and that was a hard pill to swallow. Looking around your dorm you took in your roommate's side it was decorated in whites, it kind of hurt your eyes but you weren’t going to say anything. It was better than being stuck in an apartment with your brother. You felt bad when you left him alone in the huge penthouse seeing as you were the reason that the two of you were here. But you couldn’t take it there anymore everything reminded you of the fact that your parents didn’t care about you. 

Your phone rang pulling you away from the anger that was bubbling up inside of you at the thought of your parents. Being replaced by a growing laugh as you looked at the caller ID. Your brother. 

“Hello.” You answered. 

“Want to move back yet?” He teased. 

“No, I do not I actually like it here.” You replied getting off your bed and beginning to pace your room. He laughed, the sound making you smile. 

“I was just teasing. I called to ask if you wanted to get lunch together today?” He asked. You frowned. 

“Sicheng, you aren’t eating with your teammates yet?” Your tone not hiding your disappointment. 

“No,” he replied curtly. 

“Be nice to them, be friends with them.” 

He ignored you, “So are you going to eat with me or not?” 

“No, I’ll be eating with my roommate.” You answered as she came into the room, she smiled at you having heard what you said, and you smiled back. Despite her obsession with white, you actually really liked her. “Speaking of whom, I gotta go now.” 

“Fine.” 

--- 

By lunch, Doyoung was starving, having not had time to eat after he showered in the change room. His stomach was grumbling loudly when he took his seat next to Kun at their table in the cafeteria. 

“You know I’m shocked by how good the cafeteria food is here.” Mark, a first-year rookie, said drawing the attention of the table. 

“Yo same, people complain a lot about cafeteria food I was actually stressed.” Hendery another rookie agreed.  

Doyoung nodded, “We lucked out.” 

“Yo Winwin, come sit here!” Kun yelled from next to Doyoung making him turn his head in the direction Kun was yelling in. Winwin stopped in his tracks and looked over at the table. Doyoung glared at the side of Kun’s head, but Kun ignored him. 

“Be nice,” Kun muttered to him as Winwin sat down across from him at the only empty seat on the table. Doyoung did his best not to scowl. Doyoung retreated into his own brain as the table continued to chat. He focused on the broccoli on his plate. He didn’t dare look around the cafeteria. 

Fuck looking at the insufferable cocky bastard in front of him, he was afraid he would see his ex. Ever since practice ended in the morning he was on edge; he didn’t want to run into her in a hallway again he was afraid because he didn’t know how he’d react. He wanted to say he wouldn’t care that he’d just walk by her and maybe he would, but he felt like he wouldn’t the risk was too high. 

“So, the party is at our place on Friday to kick off the year, that way we can celebrate the four rookies joining our team, along with Winwin coming to us this year and our boy Jungwoo finally hitting the ice in a game,” Jaehyun said, as Doyoung finally tuned back into the boy's conversation. 

“So, you’ll come Winwin?” Ten asked. Doyoung looked up at him frowning, the younger boy played with the fries on his plate as he nodded. 

“Yeah, I’ll come by.” 

“Cool bring friends if you want to.” Ten said smiling at him. 

--- 

Doyoung made it to Friday without a drink, and then he thought about how he promised himself he wouldn’t drink when the semester started. He then re-evaluated his choice and edited his promise, he wouldn’t drink without cause this semester, and a start of the year party was cause. Was it not? The boy in the mirror smiled back at him as he held his cup up to his reflection in a cheers before downing it. 

It was most definitely cause. 

Leaving his room his body already buzzing he skipped down the stairs, straight into a girl. You.  Doyoung looked you up and down, taking in the tight jeans you had on. He liked the way they made your ass look. He also really liked the baby pink top you had on. It was clinging to you like a second skin showing off your assets. Doyoung smirked down at you, for some reason you looked familiar. 

“I’m sorry about that.” He said and you scoffed. 

“Whatever.” 

Doyoung stared at your back as you walked away confused at the reaction he gleaned. He’d never been bad with chicks or at least he thought he wasn’t. He looked over at your friend who shrugged at him before following you. 

His house was full of people he didn’t know, and some he did. But he was at ease, this was one place he knew that his ex wouldn’t show up. So, with a quiet laugh to himself, he followed you into the living room. You were standing beside Winwin. He leaned against the wall and watched you interact with his teammate; the interaction was friendly. From the way you reacted to him it was easy to see that the two of you were close. 

“What are you looking at?” Xiaojun, another first-year rookie, asked coming up next to him. 

Doyoung replied by nodding his head in the direction of the pair, and Xiaojun nodded. 

“His sister is hot, isn’t she?” Doyoung froze as the words left the youngers mouth. Sister.

And then it came to him, the image of you pressed against a bathroom wall, with your dress pushed up as he moved inside you. Doyoung mentally facepalmed as he remembered how he left you. Turning away Xiaojun, Doyoung moved out of the living room and into the kitchen. He went straight to the cabinet where Jaehyun kept his good liquor. Pulling out a large bottle of tequila Doyoung looked around for a shot glass. He turned around and straight into Jaehyun himself. Jaehyun looked at him with a ‘what are you doing’ expression on his face. 

“I will buy you more.” Doyoung simply said finally locating the object he was looking for. Bringing the small glass over to his spot he poured some for himself. Jaehyun watched him as he tipped his head back downing the alcohol not even flinching at the burn. 

“Whoa,” Jaehyun said as Doyoung went to pour himself another one. “Aren’t you trying to like drink less or something?” 

“I slept with Winwin’s sister.” He quickly replied taking the next shot. 

“Just now?” Jaehyun asked taking the shot glass from Doyoung after poured himself another shot. 

“No. Last week.” 

“Dude what the fuck.” 

“Dude what the fuck indeed.” Your voice cut into their conversation making them both snap their head towards you. Leaning forward you took the full shot glass from Jaehyun’s hand and drank it. 

“I didn’t even get to finish.” You said after the burn in your throat subsided. Doyoung flushed as the memory of how he left you in the bathroom flooded his mind. Jaehyun looked at him a shocked expression on his face before he broke into a smile. Doyoung could tell he was trying not to laugh at him. 

He scowled in your direction taking the shot glass from you before pouring himself another shot. Jaehyun took it before he could drink it. 

“Slow down,” Jaehyun said the previous laughter gone. Doyoung rolled his eyes and moved to walk away from you and Jaehyun. 

“You know,” You said moving into his space. The two shots he’d just taken hadn’t quite hit him full force yet. “up until you ran away from me, I was actually having a good time.” Your chest brushed his as you leaned further into him. Doyoung narrowed his eyes but didn’t back away from you. 

“Too bad you don’t actually know how to make a girl cum.” You pulled away from him taking the shot glass again. Doyoung glared at the side of your head as you poured yourself another shot. He looked past you meeting Jaehyun eyes again, the boy flat out laughing this time. 

“I do, in fact, know how to make a girl cum.” He said. You scoffed. 

“I wouldn’t know.” You replied and threw your head back taking the shot. You shot him a wink before walking away from him. Jaehyun only laughed harder when Doyoung looked at him again. Sneering at the younger boy he reached for the shot glass again. 

“No,” Jaehyun said grabbing it before he did. “Pace yourself, Kun will slaughter you. You promised.” He regretted speaking to the new captain sometimes, he regretted telling Kun so much, but he did need help keeping himself in check. Doyoung rolled his eyes at Jaehyun before walking away. 

For the rest of the party, he couldn’t get his mind off of you. You stuck to your brother and your friend for the majority of the party and Doyoung didn’t like to interact with him more than he already needed to. Taking his eyes off you as you laughed at something your friend said Doyoung looked around the living room, Kun and Jaehyun weren’t anywhere in sight. He could only spot the rookies as they played beer pong in the corner of the room. Getting up from his spot on the couch he made his way into the kitchen again not seeing any of his roommates. Taking his chance, he made his way to the cabinet pulling it open and grabbing Jaehyun’s Tequila again. Your words pounding in his head as he took a shot straight from the bottle. 

“Getting shit-faced as usual,” Winwin said coming into the kitchen. Doyoung didn’t look at him as he took another swing. 

“How about you mind your own business,” Doyoung said and brushed past him back into the living room taking the bottle with him. His eyes narrowed in on you as you swayed to the music. Doyoung wasn’t in the mood of arguing with Winwin but if he had been he would have claimed that this was nothing compared to how his drinking usually went. He hadn’t had more than a couple of sips of Kun’s drink after the shots he took in the kitchen until now. Walking up to you he caught your attention, your eyes landing on the bottle he held in his hand. 

He let you take it from him as he leaned into the wall. He watched you take a drink some of the alcohol flowing out the corner of your mouth. 

“Where did your friend go?” He asked as you wiped at your mouth. 

“Home. She’s not really into parties.” You replied. Doyoung watched as you licked your lips passing him the bottle back. But he didn’t want the alcohol. His mind running as he took you in, his mind flashing to the night last week. 

“That’s a shame.” He replied. Your eyes darkened as he reached out and pulled you to him. “So, you're just here all by yourself now. Hanging out with your brother.” His hand moving to the side of your neck as he looked down at you. You let him, biting your lip as you looked up at him. 

“There’s nothing wrong with hanging out with my brother.” You replied. 

“No there isn’t except that you aren’t hanging out with him right now, are you?” You frowned up at him and then looked around the room. Doyoung followed your gaze, Winwin was still in the kitchen. Doyoung smiled to himself as you turned your eyes back to him. 

“It’s a good thing I came when I did.” You snickered at his words. 

“Is it though?” He rolled his eyes at you. That was it, he could not go down in history with this shit on his name. 

---  

You crashed into his door, your back stinging from the impact but you ignored it as his lips returned to yours. His lips were rough, moving against yours at a bruising rate, you loved it. His hands were roaming your body pulling at your clothes. 

“Bed.” You breathed against his mouth. He chuckled at you as he grabbed your hands holding them above your head as he continued to kiss you. 

“You don’t get to call any shots babe.” He said, his mouth moving from your lips to your jaw, leaving a start mark on your skin. You moaned tilting your head to give him more space, he took the chance to leave soft kisses down your neck towards your chest. His hands letting yours go as he lowered himself down your body. 

He looked up at you as he got on his knees, his fingers grabbing at the buttons of your jeans before undoing them. You watched as he undressed you, leaving you naked from the bottom half as you stepped out of your jeans. Doyoung licked his lips as he grabbed your leg draping it over his shoulder. 

He pressed a wet kiss to the inside of your thigh, your breath hitched as you watched him. Your hand moving to his hair. He moaned softly when you tugged on the strands pulling him towards your wet heat. He pressed a kiss to your clit, using his fingers to separate your folds, relieving some of the tension that was boiling up in your body. You moaned when he darted his tongue out, a short lick. Before retreating again and looking up at you. Your eyes glassed over as you pulled at his hair again. 

He obliged again, licking up your slit slowly, dragging his tongue through your wet folds. He groaned into you, the vibrations causing you to shiver. Your head fell back against the door and he took your clit into his mouth, sucking slowly. His tongue ghosting over it. You moved your hips against his mouth wanting him to add his fingers. But your words were lost on you, only nonsense flowing past your lips as he picked up his pace. Your moans grew louder as you drew closer, your eyes closed shut as you chased your climax. 

His name rolled off your tongue as your back arched off the door. The muscles in your body tightened, as you clambered for a better grip on him. You felt his teeth gently nip at your hard nub and you crashed over the edge, your orgasm taking over your body as you pulled at his hair. He continued his ministrations, working you through your orgasm. Your body was in overdrive as you came down, a lot more sensitive than you previously were. You pulled at his hair again pulling away from you, he scowled up at you as you finally looked down at him. His lips were red and wet. He grabbed your hands as he got up. Pulling you to the bed. 

He let you lay down, as he rounded the bed going to his nightstand. He pulled out silver handcuffs. Your breathing shallowed as you took in the steel in his hands.  

“No more touching me.” He said as he placed a knee onto the bed leaning over you. He grabbed your hands bringing them up to his headboard. He closed one handcuff around your wrist the cold metal making you hiss as it came in contact with your skin. He looped the handcuffs around one of the metal rungs on his bed before bringing the other one to your other hand locking you in. 

He took a second to look down at you, before leaning down and kissing your swollen lips. You moaned into him, his tongue brushing against yours, you could taste yourself on him and it was driving you crazy. Your thighs already moving against each other as your body reacted to him, more moisture pooling in between your legs. 

“I probably should have taken this off first,” Doyoung said pulling away from your lips. His hands moving under your shirt pushing it up off you leaving it around your hands, he did the same with your bra. 

“But then again, you’re not the most attentive to details, are you?” You teased, he narrowed his eyes at you pinching your nipple, earning a soft cry from you. 

“I wouldn’t be saying shit like that right now.” He threatened, lowering his mouth to your breast. You gasped as he took your pointed nub into his hot mouth, swirling his tongue around your nipple before letting it go. He glanced up at you before trailing wet kisses over to your other breast and doing the same thing there. You squirmed underneath him, clenching your thighs tightly as you got worked up again. He pulled back from your chest looking down at your closed legs, a chuckle leaving him as he looked back up at you. His eyes dark, his pupils blown. 

Adjusting so that he was between your legs he hovered over you, leaving marks on your collarbone. You hissed moving against him, you could feel his erection through his jeans. You rolled your hips into him savouring the small amount of friction you were getting until he grabbed your hips and pushed them down into his bed. You groaned against his mouth as he pressed his mouth onto yours, his tongue pushing against yours. 

Finally, his fingers connected with your core, he slid a finger into you using his thumb to rub your already abused and sensitive clit. A loud moan left you again as your wrists pulled against the handcuffs, the metal biting into your skin. 

“Faster please.” You whined trying to move against his hand but not being able to, his hand holding your hip only tightened. You’d most definitely have a bruise there tomorrow. He picked up the pace. He kissed you harder as he added another finger, his tongue mirroring the actions of his hand as he propelled you towards another orgasm, your body seized up again, muscles tightening as you arched up into him. Your orgasm came faster this time, having already been worked up from the previous one. You panted against him as he pulled his fingers out of you, you watched biting your lower lip as he took his fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean. 

“I’d say you’d agree, I’m actually great at making women cum.” 

--- 

You walked into the cafeteria the next day for lunch, the hockey team as per usual was in their typical spot. Your brother sitting in the middle talking. You smiled as you neared the table coming up behind Doyoung. Kun smiled at you as you looped your arms around Doyoung’s neck. He stiffened for a second before turning his head to look at you, only relaxing when he realized it was you. 

“Your dear brother is right there.” He said to you quietly. 

“My brother doesn’t dictate who I fuck.” You replied pressing a kiss to his lips. Doyoung narrowed his eyes at you as you took the empty seat next to him. For some reason, you were really bold around this man, something you hadn’t been in a long time. You looked across the table feeling your brothers’ eyes on you. You smiled at him before turning back to Doyoung, but Doyoung was looking past you. Trying to get his attention but failing you followed his gaze, seeing a girl who was also staring back. You recognized the girl as your neighbour. 

“Do you know her?” You asked finally getting Doyoung’s attention. He didn’t reply just pulled your chair closer before snaking his hand around the back of your head and pulling your lips to his. You kissed him back with the same desperation he displayed only pulling away when you needed to breathe. Kun whistled as you wiped at your lips, when you looked at Doyoung he was looking past you again. You threw a quick glance over your shoulder to see the girl gone. 

“Doyoung?” 

“My ex.” He answered you as he turned to his food. 

---  

Sitting in your room as Sena, your roommate and you waited for your next class you replayed the way Doyoung had reacted in the cafeteria.

“Sena,” you started looking over at her, “you said you stayed in this dorm last year too?” Sena nodded turning her attention to you. “Did you have the same neighbour?” 

“Yeah, why?” She asked, now putting her pen down and turning her full attention to you. 

“Her and Doyoung used to date, right?” Sena sighed her eyes moving around the room as she realized what you were asking. 

“Yeah, they did. She cheated on him though. I would hear them sometimes, mostly Doyoung, but it was painful to hear. One night. He begged her to let him in for hours and she just left him out in the hall. It was all over campus too, she slept with his teammate. Yuta.” 

You bit your lip as Sena turned back to her book, you didn’t know how to react. Being cheated on was a horrible thing but to have it happen with someone as close as your teammate. 

“Fuck a teammate that doesn’t know the first thing about being a decent human.”  

Your brothers’ words floated into your head. You were confused about how people could just so easily trample over others. You thought about Doyoung’s face at lunch, how quickly he shut off after seeing his ex. Your mind floating to the dark places you tried very hard to hide from as you remembered the last party you’d gone to at your old university.  

“Crap Y/N we have ten minutes until class let’s get going,” Sena said as she scrambled to get her stuff together. 

---

You saw Doyoung again after class, he was walking across the parking lot to his car. He hadn’t seen you yet but you smiled as you decided to make your way over to him, it was weird that you enjoyed his company only because besides fooling around nothing else had really happened. You made it to his car before he did. So, you took the extra free time to stare at him, you took in the way he scrunched his eyes against the autumn sun, the way the breeze blew through his hair. 

“Doyoung!” You blinked your eyes away from him and moved your eyes in the direction of the call. You saw your neighbour again, you quickly looked back at Doyoung as he froze, stopping in his steps. You watched as his hands tightened into fists at his side and his chest rose and fell with deep breaths. He ignored her and continued in your directions towards the car. 

“Hey,” You said softly catching his attention. His head snapped to yours as he unlocked his car. He didn’t smile at you just nodded. “You going home?” he nodded again taking his bottom lip between his teeth in a manner that showed he wasn’t happy. 

“Get in.” He said as he yanked open his door. You obliged, pulling open the passenger door. You threw a glance over your shoulder. She was still standing there; you couldn’t help but sneer as you ducked into his car. 

He was silent as he pulled out the parking lot, his hands holding the steering wheel tightly causing his knuckles to turn white. You leaned forward and looked at the side of his face, you stared, because he wasn’t even turning on the radio. 

“Uh, you're being weird.” He said as you tilted your head more and moved closer to his side. 

“Am I?” You asked, he furrowed his eyebrows and pushed you back taking one hand off the wheel. 

“Tell me about it.” You said settling back into your seat, “Just say what’s bothering you it’ll help and I swear I won’t judge you.”  

He stayed silent and you sighed. 

“It can’t be worse than not knowing how to make a girl cum.” You joked. He scoffed as he glanced over at you again his face fighting a smile. 

“You know that’s not true.” He replied. 

“So, tell me.” You insisted again, “I mean I do know that she cheated on you.” You added bluntly. His barely-there smile disappearing again pushing him back into his silence. 

“She doesn’t deserve this much from you, you know that?” you said as he pulled into his driveway. “This much energy, and time.” He parked the car, but he didn’t move, both of you stayed in your seats not even unbuckling your seat belts. 

“She didn’t apologize, not once.” He was looking down at his hands. “Everyone tells me that she doesn’t deserve my time. She once told me that I didn’t deserve this, but you get what you deserve right? People always say that, what the fuck did I ever do to deserve this?” You shook your head as he spoke. Unbuckling your seat belt, you reached for him. Letting your hands guide his head so that he was looking at you, his eyes were watery and red filled with angry unshed tears. 

“The world does not give you what you deserve Doyoung, the world is unfair, and people are cruel. You did not deserve to be cheated on.” He stared at you, his hands shaking. He blinked his eyes forcing the moisture away before he moved, grabbing your chin and pulling your lips to his. You let him, getting caught up in the way his lips moved against yours, he stole your air. Greedily moving his hands to your hair and you let yours slip to his shirt, holding him close to you. 

He pulled away; his breathing uneven as he looked at you again. 

“Why are you here?” He asked, and you smiled at him. 

“Because babe, contrary to my jokes you can make a girl cum.” 

--- 

Doyoung enjoyed your company, he liked your weird bluntness, your lack of fear of the world but most of all he liked the sex. He liked that you looked at him like you wanted to eat him. He like that he didn’t feel lonely around you. He just liked you. 

“So we're basically friends with benefits then huh?” You asked pulling him out of his thoughts. He looked over at you, taking in the fact that you were still naked on his bed even though you two had fucked over an hour ago. 

“I mean because like if we are I just wanna know if we're the kind that don’t fuck other people or if we’re the kind that do.” He was perplexed by your rambling not expecting you to say this, and he wasn’t sure how to respond not that he got the chance because you continued. 

“I mean I’m not the type to sleep with more than one person like that, not that there’s anything wrong with people who do, I just would like to know if you’re, like you know, sleeping with people other than me that’s all.” 

He smiled at you as your cheeks turned a dark shade of red as you let words pour out of your mouth. 

“I’m not sleeping with anyone else.” He said cutting you off. You bit your lip, trying to hide the painfully obvious smile that was stretching across your face. Doyoung’s own smile only grew as he got up from his desk chair and moved to his bed climbing on top of you. He pressed his lips against yours lightly. 

“Want to go out somewhere today?” he asked looking down at you. 

“Like where?” 

--- 

“An indoor theme park?” You asked your eyes widening as you took in the rides and attractions. “You know in the month that I’ve known you Kim Doyoung, I did not take you for the theme park type.” He smiled at you as you continued to look around your hand reaching for his the more excited you got. 

“Come we have to start with this.” You said and began to pull him in the direction of the roller coaster. “No, wait,” You paused and pulled him in the other direction, “That’s gotta be last.” Doyoung laughed behind you letting you pull him. 

“Doyoung!” You exclaimed in amusement stopping in your tracks as you got excited again. “Look how big that bear is.” Your eyes moved to Doyoung’s face a huge smile taking over your facial expression. He looked down at you, his eyebrow cocked up as he looked down at you. 

“What?” You asked, getting slightly self-conscious as he looked at you. 

“I haven’t said a single word, yet you know that?” He teased leaning towards you. You rolled your eyes and pushed at his chest. 

“Get me the bear, Kim.” 

He didn’t get you the bear, turned out Doyoung sucked at these kinds of games because he tried five times and each time won nothing. You had to drag him away from the stall because if you didn’t, he would have stayed there the entire time. Hours passed as you went on ride after ride and played a couple more games where you did win a small bear, you’d passed it to Doyoung with a teasing remark that had him glaring at you. 

Exhausted you settled into the bench as you waited for Doyoung to come back with something to eat. You smiled at him when he looked over at you as he stood in the line for mini donuts, he winked back at you. A warm feeling settled into your stomach, you didn’t have time to think about it though as your phone began to ring. 

“Hello, brother.” You said happily. 

“Mom and dad called,” he said getting straight to the point, “They instructed that we have to go back for a dinner.” Your heart rate picked up as you processed what your brother had just said to you. You were beginning to feel warm as anger bubbled up inside you. 

“After they kicked us out?” You asked. Your anger coming out in your tone. Winwin didn’t respond. “Fuck them I’m not going.” 

“We have to Y/N, you know we have to.” He said and you hung up on him. Fuck them all. Who did they think they were? Winwin called again and you ignored the call turning your phone off. You didn’t want to deal with this right now. First, they kick you and your brother out over a business deal and now, now they were threatening money. You knew that you and your brother didn’t have incomes you knew that at the end of the day you still needed them. But you hated it. 

You tucked your phone away, looking up at Doyoung as he walked over to you and sat down, you took a mini donut shoving it into your mouth, your mouth burning with how hot it was. You swore as you opened your mouth and took in air to cool it down. Doyoung laughed at you, and just like that the anger from earlier dissipated and the warm feeling you had from before came back. You watched Doyoung as you chewed and he laughed at you, you couldn’t get enough of his laugh. He laughed around you a lot, and to be honest, you lived for it. 

“You’re so dumb.” He said still calming down from his laughing fit. His hand reached out rubbing at the corner of your mouth, wiping away sugar, and you swore your stomach felt like you were on the rollercoaster all over again. 

---

His hands were everywhere, grabbing at everything. Loud breaths filled your ears as he panted around you, your heart was beating a mile a minute in the worst kind of way. You opened your mouth to scream but you couldn’t as he pushed his tongue down your mouth. You couldn’t push him away he was everywhere.  

You woke up with a startle, your body drenched in a cold sweat. You shivered as your mind went into overdrive, your pulse drumming loudly as you turned over in your bed. You took in large breaths to try and calm yourself, to distract yourself from the memory. But every time you closed your eyes that night would come back. 

“No.” You said as Dae swarmed you, backing you into a corner. He was drunk insanely drunk, you pushed at his chest as his hands began to wander up to your thigh. 

He shushed you, his mouth coming down to yours. You shoved at him again turning your head to the side. 

“Why are you being this difficult?” he asked, his hand shooting out and grabbing your wrists. Your mind went blank as his mouth pushed back against yours his tongue pushing into your mouth. His knee came up between your legs. You screamed, and before you knew it, he was ripped off you. Your brother over him, fists were flying everywhere but you couldn’t hear anything over your own hysteria. Your hands were shaking as you pushed out the room and out the house, gasping for air as you tried to calm your breathing. 

 More hands were around you, pulling you towards them but you pushed them away. 

“Hey, hey.” It was Winwin, “I’m here. Let’s go home.” He said. You looked at him, your vision blurry. His lip was cut and from the way, his cheekbone was swelling you knew it would bruise tomorrow. 

You cried harder. 

You opened your eyes again, reaching for your phone. You thought that was gonna be the worst day of your life, but the next day was worse. 

Hitting the call button, you held the phone up to your ear. 

“Hello?” His voice was groggy, you realized that you’d woken him. 

“Doyoung.” You said quietly, “Can you come get me?” 

--- 

You weren’t shocked when he came, but that shocked you. The fact that you weren’t shocked. You could tell he was tired when he pulled up to your building. 

“Sorry,” You said as you got into the car. He shook his head slightly shivering as he looked over at you. 

“Are you okay?” You looked at your hands. You knew you could tell him, you knew you trusted him. You also knew that if you said you didn’t want to talk about it he’d just take you to his house and you’d sleep, but you needed to talk about it. You wanted to tell him. 

“My parents called my brother today.” You started, “They want us to go see them for dinner.” You looked over at Doyoung taking in his reaction, he looked confused, but he didn’t say anything he just listened and waited for you to continue. 

“My parents are complicated,” You continued, “they, well they kicked Winwin and I out at the end of the last school year…” 

Your father was furious the next morning, you’d never seen him this mad. Your hands were trembling in your lap as you listened to him yell at your brother. Your anger rising. 

“My deal fell through because you can’t keep your anger in check!” Your brother stayed silent as well, “Do you understand how much money we just lost, we’re all over the news our family name is ruined. They’re calling you a thug, what the fuck is wrong with you?” 

“He was coming on to me.” You finally said having enough, “H-he was trying to do things when I was saying no!” You yelled getting up. Your father turned his glare towards you. His eyes didn’t soften the way you expected them to. 

“He’s your boyfriend, isn’t he?” He asked his voice cold. Shock ran through your body at your fathers’ words. A business deal really meant more to him? You looked up at your mother who looked away from you. You blinked back tears as the rage in you rose again, you looked over at your brother who looked equally as shocked. His anger on his face. 

“You two need to get out of my house. I have to show the world that I don’t support your stupid behaviour and there will be consequences. You both are going to a different school and I will send you a fixed fund and pay for your tuition, but you will not stay at my house. I do not want to see your faces.” 

Doyoung listened intently as you told him everything, your hands fisting into your sweats as your anger rose inside you as you spoke. You couldn’t look at him though, you looked out the window. 

“And now you have to go see him because if you don’t, he threatens to not pay for anything?” Doyoung asked. You nodded still not looking at him. His hand reached out and grabbed your arm, but you flinched. His hand instantly shot away from you. 

“Baby, look at me.” He said keeping his hands to himself. You slowly turned your head to him; his face was angry. “That motherfucker that did that to you can rot in hell and your dad’s a greedy bastard. I’d say fuck it and don’t go but I understand why you have to.” He hesitantly reached for you again, this time you leaned into his reach taking his hand and pulling him towards you. “I – I can go with you if that would make you feel better.” He said. 

You’d done a lot of things to help you get over the incident, one of those things was trying to find a guy at the bar and fuck him, to prove to yourself that you had control over your own body that what happened with Dae, and your dad did not need to take over your whole life. That you did what you wanted, and you had control over what you wanted, you didn’t regret it either because somehow it got you to him. You pressed your lips to his kissing him slowly. You didn’t understand what you felt for him, but you knew that there was something because when you were around him you felt warm and safe, and free. 

---

You didn’t take Doyoung with you, but he told you that he’d have his phone on the entire time and that you could call him whenever. Getting out of your brothers’ car you both looked up at the huge house that you both use to call home. 

“I fucking hate him.” You mumbled to yourself and you both made your way up the few steps to the front door. Winwin pressed the doorbell and you both waited only a few seconds before your mother pulled the door open for you two. 

“Hello,” She said a tight smile on her face. “Please behave today, your father has put a lot of effort into making sure this day would come to be.” You were confused, you looked over at Winwin who mirrored your reaction. Effort into getting the two of you here? 

Your confusion vanished when you followed your mother into the sitting from and saw him. He sat there with a smirk, his body relaxed as he leaned back in a high back chair. His father sitting on a couch beside his mother. You looked around the room for your father, he was already looking at you with a fake smile on his face. 

“Welcome home kids.” 

--- 

You followed your father into his office, Winwin at your heels, he’d ushered the two of you to follow him as a deafening silence filled the sitting room for ten minutes as you all stared at each other. Your hands were sweating so much that you had to wipe them on your dress every few minutes. You were glad the dress was black. 

Your mother had finally ended the silence by announcing that the dinner was ready. Your father had ushered you after him the moment everyone had gotten up. 

As Winwin closed the door of the office you glared at your father. 

“What is th-”

He cut you off, “You will apologize to them after dinner, both of you. They agreed that the deal could be back on if you apologize.” You both balked at him. He didn’t allow either of you to speak before ushering you out of the room again. Both of you were too shocked to move still processing what your father had just said to you. When neither of you moved, he did, swinging open the door and walking out. You stared at your brother as he glared at the spot his father was standing in. 

“Fuck that.” He said and stormed after your father, you scrambled after him. 

“I don’t know what you thought was going to happen at this dinner, but the last thing we’re going to do is apologize to that fucking rat,” Winwin said stopping at the head of the long table as your father turned around and glared at him. The room was silent everyone staring at Winwin with wide eyes, even you were shocked. 

“And your inheritance? Your funds? Don’t forget your place kid. You will apologize.” Your father replied calmly. Your brother was fuming, taking a step forward until he was standing right in front of your father. 

“Fuck you and fuck your money.” 

Your father snorted. 

“How do you think your gonna afford your life boy?” 

“We’ll figure it out, we don’t need you.” You finally said taking your brother's hand and pulling him with you. You both left the large dining room, taking hurried steps towards the front door, both itching to be out the house. You pushed the front door open and walked out. 

“Go to the car,” Winwin said unlocking his car for you, “I have to grab something.” You nodded not questioning him and made your way to the car. 

You opened the door and got in, but someone caught the door as you pulled it. Dae leaned down into your space grabbing your face in his hand. His mouth a fraction away from yours, your nose was assaulted with the strong cologne he overused. 

“You think that you won?” he asked, “You didn’t, now you’re a broke bitch with nothing to your name. You’re a nobody.” You shoved him off of you kicking his shin as you did. He swore and let go of you backing up. He chuckled. “I heard about your new toy. I heard you suck his dick like a real whore would. So, it’s just me huh? It’s only a little bit before he gets bored of you. You aren’t enough and you never will be.” 

He slammed the door shut as Winwin bound out the house. You watched your brother as anger took over his features again as saw Dae

“See you on the ice motherfucker,” Dae said slamming into Winwin's shoulder as he passed him. 

“What did he say to you?” Winwin asked as he got into the car. You shook your head and looked away from him. 

“Let’s just go.” 

--- 

Three days and Doyoung hadn’t heard from you he’d called and texted only to be ignored. His head was spinning, he was feeling crazy. You weren’t his girlfriend, but he was losing it. His head ached as he stared at your contact. He felt lonely again his mind drifting to every place it shouldn’t go, every insecurity he’d developed lapping at him as he sat at the kitchen table. What happened? Did he do something wrong? Was it a mistake to tell you that he’d go with you? You hadn’t taken him after all, you hadn’t called him after and when he had called you, you’d ignored him. That awful feeling of abandonment hit him hard, his heart hurt and he couldn’t explain why. 

He got up stalking over to the cabinet and pulling out Jaehyun’s alcohol again. He didn’t need a shot glass he just opened the bottle and took a swing, the liquor burned as it made its way down his throat. He didn’t give himself time to think before he drank more. 

He wasn’t going to go see you, one because he couldn’t do that to himself this time not again, he couldn’t beg like he had with his ex. He also realized that he didn’t have a single clue where your dorm was. That realization also hurt because he’d let you into his life every inch of it, and the moment he found out something dark about you, you shut him out. He closed his eyes as he took another swing, no rational thought entering his mind as he did so. 

“Why do they ruin all my good places?” He muttered to himself as he grabbed his keys from the key holder, stumbling towards the door. 

“Hey what the fuck, Doyoung are you drunk?” Ten’s voice caught his attention as he opened the front door, cold hair hitting him as he did. 

“I mean I don’t know.” He replied, his words kind of slurring. Ten furrowed his eyes brows at him rushing to him as he did. 

“Were you going to drive?” He asked. 

“I mean maybe. I don’t know.” He replied. 

Ten narrowed his eyes at him and took his keys. Doyoung rolled his eyes and glared down at the boy. 

“Well fine then you gotta drive me, okay?” he said and grabbed Ten's arm pulling him out the house towards his car. 

“Why are you drunk on a Wednesday Doyoung, I thought you stopped this.” Ten said, Doyoung could sense the judgement in his friends’ words. But he’d expected it. His vision blurred as he leaned back into his seat, his head spinning from the alcohol. He closed his eyes and laughed. 

“Ten my man, it’s because I’m a fucking loser and everyone leaves me.” His head fell to the side as Ten started the car. 

“Take me to the indoor theme park.” He said and then laughed, “because I’m a sucker for a bad time.” 

A couple of minutes later Ten was parked in the parking lot, but the theme park was closed. Doyoung just nodded his head as Ten told him leaning his head into the window. 

“Did you really like her?” Ten asked, his voice soft. Doyoung shrugged. 

“Not that it matters now.” But he did, the answer was yes. He liked you around him, he liked your laugh, your smile, the ease you gave him. He liked that you spoke too much practically all the time and never really thought about what you were about to say. He liked how you made him feel, he liked that you didn’t make him want to drink. He liked you. 

Ten frowned, staring at Doyoung. 

“I’m not back to drinking like before,” Doyoung said quietly, he wasn’t able to look at Ten. “I just – I’m not back to drinking okay?” 

“Okay.” 

“Give me a couple of minutes and then we can go.” Ten nodded at Doyoung’s words and turned up the music. 

--- 

Doyoung was pissed, it had been a week and honestly, he didn’t give a fuck anymore, or at least he liked to tell himself that. He kept his word and didn’t drink, but that just meant that he was always angry, especially angry whenever he looked at Winwin. 

“We’re playing against your old school huh?” Doyoung heard Jaehyun ask Winwin. The other boy only nodded as he got into his gear. Doyoung ground his teeth and continued to get dressed. He wanted to be out on the ice bad, his blood was pumping, he needed to let the anger out one way or another. 

Halfway through the game, Doyoung was drenched in sweat, but his anger was coming down as he let himself be taken away by the sport. Adrenaline pumped through him as the whistle blew starting the third period. The other team got possession and Doyoung focused on defence. He kept his mind blank as he played only thinking about the game, Jungwoo checked the player with the puck, the puck going astray. Doyoung took his opening and claimed the puck, skating as he looked around for an open teammate to pass to. Seeing Winwin open he sent the puck down the ice in the same second he was slammed into the plexiglass. His ribs ached from the hit he slipped onto the ice and looked up at the guy who’d hit him, for some reason he was hovering over him still. 

“How are my sloppy seconds?” He asked, “The prude give you blue balls yet?” Doyoung’s head spun as he slowly got up, he was used to hits so his usual recovery time wasn’t this slow but, then again, he never was hit this hard. “But then again I heard that she sucks your dick like a prostitute.” But he wasn’t slow to understand what this fuck was saying. Taking his gloves off as he got up, Doyoung swung at the other man. His hands shoving him hard in the chest, before skating after him and grabbing his jersey. Doyoung didn’t think he just began to punch him, he was shoved back his helmet coming off as the other boy took his own helmet off. 

“Fuck you.” Doyoung spat, as the boy charged him, he got one good hit in. Straight to Doyoung’s jaw, before the refs were on them. Winwin was in front of him in seconds grabbing him from the ref. 

“Relax.” The younger boy said as the ref ejected both Doyoung and the other guy. 

“Let me go.” He said and shook Winwin off of him as he skated off the ice and went straight to the change room. 

--- 

He was under the spray of the shower when you walked into the locker room. The steam was filling the locker room, making the air hot as you quietly walked in his direction. He saw you before you spoke his eyes darkening as you leaned against the wall. 

“Doyoung.” You said his name softly, earning a glare from him. You deserved it; you’d let Dae’s words get to you. But now looking at him, taking the way he winced under the hot water the darkening bruise on his ribcage, the cut on his lip. You frowned. 

Dae was wrong. You looked at Doyoung, you knew whatever happened on the ice was because of you, and he’d done that even when you’d ignored him. 

“I’m sorry,” you said and took a step towards him. 

“For what? Ignoring me?  Or fucking with my head?” You didn’t reply just walked towards him, slowly getting under the water and letting your hands trace over his ribcage, your fingers skimming over the growing bruise. 

“For everything.” You said, letting your hand move up to his wet hair. The water soaked into your clothes as you pulled him into you, he let you. His arms looping around your waist. You looked up at him watching his face soften as he took you in. 

“Why’d you ignore me?” he asked. His breath fanning across your face. 

“Someone told me I wasn’t enough for you and I believed them.” Doyoung’s hands tightened, you closed your eyes and pressed your forehead against his. “I let my head get carried away with every insecurity I’ve ever had.” 

“I’m glad you came to your senses.” He said, his hand moving your shirt up so that his fingers could trace your skin. He pressed his lips to yours kissing you slowly as he moved your wet shirt up your torso. 

“Don’t ignore me next time.” He said moving his lips to your jaw, “Come talk to me instead.” You nodded and pulled out of his hold. Pushing him to the wall you ripped your shirt off over your head and quickly took off your pants. 

“Promise.” You said, “but we don’t have that long until the game ends.” looking up at him through hooded eyes, you pressed yourself against him again, you kissed his jaw, before moving down to his collar bone, taking the skin onto your mouth you gently bit it before running your tongue over it as he hissed. You kissed down his chest to the side of his ribcage pressing hot kisses down his wet skin. Until you got to his erection, he was hard and ready for you. You squatted down taking him in your hand as you looked up at him, he looked at you through half-lidded eyes as you slowly moved your hand up and down his length before pressing a soft kiss to the head. He groaned before letting his head fall back as he tangled his hand into your wet hair. 

“Babe,” He moaned as you took this tip into your mouth swirling your tongue around before moving him further into your mouth. Your hand working the rest of his cock as you continued to slowly move down on him. 

You stopped when Doyoung removed his hand from your hair and grabbed your wrist, you looked up at him again. His chest was heaving, and he looked at you like he was ready to devour you. 

“I love it when you give me head, but we really don’t have time for that.” He said moving himself out of your mouth. He pulled you up to him, his mouth joining yours again and his fingers trailed to your core. 

“So wet.” He said dragging a finger through your fold. Pulling his hand away from you he turned you around before turning around himself, your front against the cold wall, you moaned at the contrast. 

“Don’t take too long.” He said and lined himself up at your entrance. You moaned when he sank in his hands grabbing roughly at your ass before he started to thrust into you. You arched your back as you clenched around him, his cock twitching in you. 

“You’re so tight.” He moaned, his hand grabbing at your shoulder as his thrusts became harsher. You heard the buzzer of the game, indicating that the game was over. Your moans grew louder as the idea of the entire hockey team rushing in hit you. 

“Fuck,” Doyoung groaned his thrusts growing harsher, as you neared your climax. “You gotta cum now, pretty girl.” He said his arm winding around you so that his fingers could rub your clit. The added pressure pushed you along until your orgasm smashed into you. You moaned loudly as Doyoung continued to thrust into you, your muscles twitching around him pushing him to his climax. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” He panicked as he pulled out of you, using his hand to reach his orgasm. “We forgot a condom.” You turned around pushing his hand away and working him with your own until he came. You pushed your lips against him, both of you breathing erratically as you kissed. 

“What am I going to wear to get out.” You asked him pulling away from him. You both looked at your wet clothes. 

“I have an extra hoodie here, and I can look in Ten’s cubby he’s probably got sweats that will fit you.” 

He didn’t finish his sentence as the boys crashed into the locker room. Your eyes widened mirroring Doyoung’s. He quickly yanked you pulling you towards the line of toilet stalls. He shoved you in as the boys barked at each other not noticing the two of you yet. 

“Sorry stay here.” He said shoving his towel at your chest. 

“Dude why are you walking around naked?” You heard Mark ask as you wrapped the towel around yourself. 

“Because I can.” You hear Doyoung mumble back, his tone irritated. 

--- 

“You guys take forever in the change room.” You complained as Doyoung walked with you to the dorms. 

“My coach would have killed us.” He stated as he pulled you into him. “I’m sorry though that’s the only thing I could think of.” 

“Whatever it’s okay.” 

“So, I finally get to go up to your dorm huh?” He asked, and you nodded. 

“I would have brought you sooner, but I have a roommate who never leaves our room. I love her but damn is she anti-social. Getting her to that start of the year party was hard.” You explained as the two of you climbed the stairs. Doyoung looked at your ass as you walked up in front of him. It was hard not to. He was glad to hear that the reason for not seeing your dorm was because of something simple and not what he’d actually made it into in his head. You rounded out the stairwell pushing the door open into the hall of your floor. Doyoung froze as he realized what floor you lived on. A floor he’d been to many, many times last semester. 

“Doyoung?” He heard her voice before he saw, and dread set into him again. He snapped his head towards her direction as your hand slipped into his. His ex was staring at him, her eyes slightly wide as she took in his profile. The cut lip, the slightly swelling jaw. He frowned at her. 

“What?” He asked his voice cold. 

“Uh, what happened to you?” She asked. 

“None of your business.” He replied. She nodded. He watched her as she swallowed and hesitated again. He tightened his hand around yours again. 

“Uh yeah. D-do you think I could talk to you in private for a second?” she asked glancing over at you. 

“Whatever you have to say you can say in front of Y/N.” 

“Yeah, okay sure, you know I – I realized I never apologized to you.” She finally said. Doyoung was shocked, he was silent for a few seconds. He wasn’t sure if he heard that right. He was only snapped out of his daze when you tugged on his hand lightly taking his attention from his ex to you. You looked up at him with a soft expression on your face, you looked so wholly his. The way you were looking at him his heart clenched as he looked back at his ex. Somewhere along the way, he realized that he didn’t care about his ex anymore, he didn’t miss her or want her back. He was hurt sure but that was fading too. He knew he wanted to hear this and here it was, and it felt like he was being freed. 

“I forgive you.” She nodded her eyes filling with water. Doyoung turned away from her taking you into his arms. 

“Now show me where your room is baby.” He said smiling down at you. You smiled up at him and nodded pulling him with you towards your room. 

“It’s nothing special.” You said as you pushed the room door open. He didn’t look around as he closed the door behind him. Just pushed you onto your bed, kissing you. 

He wasn’t gonna let you get away from him. 

Not that you were planning on going anywhere.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading this, I really hope you guy enjoyed it! Please let me know what you guys thought, any opinions or comments you have on the story are very much welcome I love to hear from you guys so please don’t hesitate to let me know what you think. Additionally if you have any constructive criticism don’t  be afraid to let me know, I always want to get better so its welcome and appreciated. 

The next part to this AU will be Winwin so please look forward to that! and once again thank your for reading I really hope you liked it! 

[ellsbclls]

" wow... you look... you look amazing. " for peter please? i love love love ur writing btw!

NOTE: This... ended up so embarrassingly long... i don't even know what the word count is, but i can bet it's a good 20%-30% longer than the average blurb.

WARNINGS: cursing, quirky🤪 mentions of drug use, implied making out (but can be perceived as sex, dear god please don’t perceive it as sex though), and some good ol’ fashion stark!ready x peter parker banter

They say, "never meet your heroes." Well, Peter wished he had adhered to that warning before he ended up here — a lanky, overdressed thumb towering high above the roof of the Avenger's Compound.

A semi-annual assembly of New York City's finest heroes that had little to do with their civic duties, and much to do with their inhibitions, and just how much alcohol it would take to release them — but there was one glaring problem.

Peter didn't drink.

He never saw the allure, especially when it came at such a high risk. He'd convinced himself that he refrained for the sake of Aunt May, the only remaining part of his family who put her life on the line to ensure his safety and overall well-being — the Spider-Man reveal already took some getting used to, he didn't need to add drunken night expenditures to her overnight fretting. Yet, when Flash's 'End of the Year' party had been raided by the police, a small part of him found joy in knowing he needn't fear the police or their breathalyzer test, even if he was deemed Pussy Parker for the remainder of that summer.

Even if he wanted to instill some liquid courage into himself, he hadn't the basic courage to let himself be vulnerable like that, in front of all the adults that made up the Avengers. Mr.Stark had already commented on his only suit, and how small he looked as it swamped his form, and the entire altercation made him wish the roof would just open up and swallow him whole.

Bullies, you'd call them.

There they were, New York's finest Defender's, huddled around the Mastrangelo like it couldn't put their entire life savings to shame, hosting a rousing game of beer pong upon its marble exterior. Your father was lucky your mother was still in Milan, tying up loose ends on a new line of bullshit you didn't concern yourself with. You just counted the days until she returned home, and you could soak up every ounce of her nurturing presence.

God, did you miss her.

It’s not like your father wasn’t just as nurturing, competitively so, to a point were you almost felt smothered — but you were too alike. In spaces where you both held too stubborn, your mother was there to mediate, and with ceaseless barrages of dry humor came her firm, unwavering severity, proving her love with candid remarks instead of jesting quips.

“Oh, free intern!” He dragged you from your nostalgic supercut with your endearing nickname, coaxing a fierce glare from your hues. “Run down to that place on 7th street and get some beer? And not that Miller Coor’s Bud bullshit, the upper echelon on Sigma Delta Nu delicacies.”

Jesus Christ.

You had caught glimpses of his argument with Steve, complaining about how stupid it would be to pour anything top shelf into a red solo cup — blasphemous really — but you didn’t expect him to do anything more than concede.

"Father of the year, everybody." You clapped just above your head, prompting the remaining company to join you. "I think you're forgetting that I'm not twenty-one."

"First and foremost, I know I am," Tony counters your triumphant grin with a sarcastic one. "Which is how I know that your fake ID says 21."

"Stark, it's fine. I can grab the beer," You thanked God and her impeccable timing once Steve interrupted, settling himself between the two of you with outstretched palms. "I could use the fresh air anyway."

You mimicked Steve's stance, cocking your brows toward your father. "See? Problem solved. Now leave me alone."

Losing interest in the company exponentially, you started to retreat, but groaned once your father's voice pierced the air again. "Nuh-uh-uh, Rogers. Why? So you can go to the nearest GNC and snort a container of protein powder? I don't think so."

You retreat to the furthest recesses of your mind as Tony and Steve bicker back and forth about honesty and friendly competition. Steve wouldn't know how to bump a rail if the U.S Army assembled a thorough, interactive training course on it, and his age quadrupled the life expectancy of most snow-packed socialites. Yet, on the other hand, you were shocked that your father even knew what a GNC was — ultimately, you were riled from your thoughts by an irksome realization.

"Are you fucking- Why can't old man Jenkins do it?" you gestured wildly toward the enhanced super soldier in question, blind to the obvious offense scrawled across his features. You seldom took your opulent lineage for granted, but when situations such as these presented themself, a selfish corner of your mind wondered what it would be like to have a run-of-the mill, cheesy-pun equipped, golf short wearing father. "You'd rather risk your daughter's own safety, and the sanctity of her criminal record, for a stupid game of beer pong?"

Natasha's incredulous laughter chimed between your incessant back and forth, spurred by the uncanny resemblance you and your father shared between every aspect imaginable — your dry wit just so happened to be in the spotlight.

"Yes," He didn't bother to meet your glare, already familiar with its scorching beam against the side of his face "Yes I would."

Hues practically rolled into the back of your skull, exaggerating your every move to a thespian level to make it clear, to even the boniest of heads, that you didn't take pleasure in this task. You were so excited to finally unwind at this event — slam down the sugary mocktail your Uncle Thor always "forgot" to order virgin, dangle your feet over the shallow end of the pool, maybe even shoot a few low jests at Bucky if there wasn't a carnal gleam in his eyes.

Your thrilling plans were now put on hold just to support your father's mid-life crisis.

"I know, I know." He tried to repeat the name of the wine stop n’ shop, only for you to wave him off. He wasn’t wrong — you had been abusing your fake ID in that very stop n’ shop for years, though you’ve recently come to the conclusion that the cashier was far more interested in your chest than your credentials. "If I get arrested, I'm bring you down with me. I'll tell Business Insider that FRIDAY's just one, big elaborate ruse for the underground Fake ID business you have on the side. They'll eat it up like-"

"Love you, honey! I'll venmo you!" He butt in, sending you off with a wave of his fingers.

You flipped him off, shouting an earnest 'I love you' in return. There was no denying that you loved each other, some would even argue that he loved you more than he loved himself — you just chose to show it in your own, eccentric way.

Mere seconds into your newfound task, you stopped dead in your tracks. You could make out that bed of chestnut locks anywhere.

"Parker?" Swiftly surveying his frumpy attire, you struggled to stifle the upward tilt of your lips. Even as he stood uncomfortably before you, visibly seconds away from crawling out of his own skin, he still managed to be the sweet, endearing Peter you knew and loved. "God, I didn't even realize that was you."

You didn't have the heart to tell him that you caught one fleeting glimpse of him at the very beginning of the festivities and thought he was a part of the catering company, nor did you feel a need to disclose the snide remark you whispered into your father's ear about the miserable staff. There was no sense in kicking a dead horse while it was already down.

His gaze weighed heavy against your frame, though, bolstered by an overwhelming intensity that forced you to wonder if he could read your mind. Though, if you could tap into his thoughts, you'd be shocked to find a reflection of your own — bewilderment, adoration, the tell-tale signs of a burgeoning crush, and the myriad of excuses that disputed them.

He could only manage to stumble over his words, complimenting you with sentiments that could never amount to the emotions welling in his chest. "Wow... you look... you look amazing."

And you couldn't argue, not with the way you were pampered hours prior. Mercier had smothered your hair in this honey-infused serum that made your curls bounce to life with each step, and the custom Jacquemus silhouette you were sporting hugged every ample curve enticingly so. You felt like a million bucks, and you probably cost that much give or take, so why deny it?

Peter, on the other hand — Well, he was very lucky that he was so cute, and his jawline could probably cut Vision's infinity stone straight out of his skull. It almost made up for the tragic shape of his suit, and just how tragically out of place it was at this event.

"You look, um-" Softness tugged at the corner of your eyes as they crinkled dotingly. "You look very cute."

"That was a very convincing half-truth." He chuckled, a subtle pink hue blooming over the valleys of his cheeks."

"Oh, so a part of you knows you're cute." You teased, enjoying the way the pink hue grew deeper.

"Oh! Oh, no... No, I mean, kind of? On the scale of confident perspectives, I think-uh-cute... Cute is on the lower end? And you know what? My Aunt May-"

"Peter, you wanna get out of here?" You interrupted him, hoping to save him from all the words he had yet to stumble over. "And then immediately come back?"

"Yeah," He vigorously nodded his head, despite being equally as confused. "Yeah, I'd like that a lot."

"Come," You offered your hand, a small gesture the two of you have woven into your complicated relationship. 

You'd tend to straddle a very thin line between friendship and something more, reaping all the warm, tentative affections of newfound lovers without explicitly considering yourselves so. The both of you, for as brilliant as your merits show, continued to convince yourselves that the hand holding, the comfortable silences, the mornings plastered against each other's sides, were simply happenstance. Despite the increasing willingness of each encounter, you'd only ever chalk it up to chance. So when you offered your hand out to him, he took it in stride — because the two of you would indulge in every ounce of attention you could get your hands on, at least until one of you inevitably came to your senses and found someone worth your time.

Your fingers were firmly intertwined as you led him to the roof’s exit, tugging him down the staircase and through the vacant halls of the top floor just in time to catch the elevator. You found no reason to keep his hand hostage once you were inside, so you begrudgingly retracted yours. You swore you could hear a pitiful huff come from his side of the elevator, but you chalked it up to wishful thinking. 

Now it was just you and Peter, left to your own devices, and roughly ninety-two floors away from your destination. Just enough time to do what you were aching to do.

“Peter,” You murmured, and his gaze flickered to your own without a moment of hesitation, drenched in a hopeful haze you failed to decipher.

“Y/N?” He echoed, tilting his body toward your own.

“You look...” You paused, unsure of which word accurately portrayed your thoughts. ”insane.”

“I know.” He whined. You tried to stifle the giggle that bubbled at his hopeless demeanor, brows furrowed together as he squeezed his eyes shut, shoulders slumped impossible low.

“It’s a good thing you have such a charitable friend.” And you made light work of his suit jacket, the air suddenly rapt with a thick air of electricity as you worked the offending article off his shoulders, haphazardly tossing it on the ground. Protests formed on the tip of his tongue, but he opted to swallow them in return for your help, going slack when you ran your fingers through his meticulously gelled hair.

Though he embodied the vision of a suave, debonair socialite alarmingly well, with his carefully quaffed locks, nothing suited him as well as the pillowy, fawn tendrils that made up his soft curls. You needed them back, needed a reminder of your sweet, darling boy, and patience was never your strong suit. 

You wondered if he was in need of the same reminder, seeing as he’d let you manhandle him without so much as a hum of discontent.

All done. Only a few revisions, and he was a completely different boy. Clad in a crisp, white shirt, sans its horrifying grey counterpart, you rolled the sleeves up to his elbows and unbuttoned the top three discs. The fabric was taut against his impressive set of muscles, leaving little to the imagination with each sweeping roll of his arms. You’d pat yourself on the back, but you were too busy drooling all over your work.

“Is- Is this good?” He broke the silence with a tentative query, peering back at you through his lashes.

"Yeah,” You voice came out strangled at best, distracted by the flurry of butterflies ravaging your stomach. There was something about this moment — maybe it was the glint of tenderness ridding his gaze, or your tight proximity, or maybe it was fate, finally persuading you to topple over that dangerous line — but regardless, you decided it was now or never. “but there's still something missing," 

“My jacket?” He breathlessly queried. His eyes frantically searched your face, like he couldn’t settle on just one feature to admire.

“No, no...” You breathed back, cautiously inching closer, until there was only a sliver of space separating your chests. "You need to loosen up, Parker."

“And what- What do you suggest I do?” His gaze flickered down to your lips shamelessly, and returned just as quickly. 

“Do you trust me?” 

“I’ve trusted you this far.”

“Good,” You sighed, your breath fanning over his lips before you greedily chased its warmth, kissing him with such feather-light pressure, it almost felt like a dream — a thrilling, delicate dream. You had to tear yourself from his lips before you delved even deeper, hoping to find a mirror image of your relief, your satisfaction, in his own features. However, before your eyes even fluttered open, his palms swept under the curve of your jaw, and coaxed your mouth back to his, instantly qualming any of your fears as you both melted into the exchange. He tasted of spearmint, and cherries, and something so intoxicatingly him that you could barely restrain yourself.

You wanted him, God, did you want him, and for the first time, someone wanted you just as much, without an ounce of greed to it — He wanted you for you.

The remaining seconds of the elevator ride were filled with fervent kisses, and wandering hands, your fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck while his bunched the silky fabric of your dress. It was all smitten, indulgent brushes of your lips until the elevator dinged, and the doors opened up to reveal the fashionably late, dynamic duo —Sam Wilson and James Buchanan Barnes.

Their expressions were nothing short of priceless, one complexion green while the other ran pale at the sight of your interwoven limbs. You tried to open your mouth before they could comment, but you were far too late, buried in a booming wall of—

"This is a public space! You are defiling a public space!"

"I can't do this— I'm gonna take the stairs."

Their voices weaved into a messy, irritated harmony of disbelief, managing to still complement each other despite their varying levels of urgency.

An idea, a selfish, evil idea, popped into your head, and you enacted it before you could even unravel yourself from Peter’s hold.

"You just reminded me, I was about to text you! My dad needs a couple cases of Yuengling.” You gestured for Peter to press on the “Open Door” button, and by the time he started clicking the prompt, you’d already fetched your wallet, fishing your card out for Sam. “They probably have some at the corner store, but he’ll throw up if he finds out he was drinking alcohol from the corner store, so you’re gonna have to walk down to that market on Seventh.” You could feel Peter’s perplexed gaze gnaw at your shoulder, but you persisted in your impish pursuits, shoving the AmEx into his hand. 

“Chop chop, lover boys!” You hastily snapped your fingers in his direction, and yelled just loud enough to make sure Bucky accompanied him, parsing their punishment out evenly. 

Served them right, encroaching on such a perfect moment. 

Bucky’s groan echoed through the stairwell, followed by a childish stomp of combat boots, and you were pleased enough to shoo Peter’s hand away, pressing the “Close Door” button.

Sometimes it was nice being Tony Stark’s daughter — less backtalk from the sovereign throne of comebackdom.

“I thought you said we were getting out of here.” His brows were pinched together, the most adorable little frown forming between them.

“Oh, we most certainly are,” You replied, pressing the button for your floor. You could tell that the pieces weren’t clicking all the way, and you proceeded to spell it out for him, dropping a chaste kiss to the spot just below his ear. “We’re gonna go to my room. And then we’re gonna go right back to the party when we’re done.”

“When we’re done?” He mused, voice wavering beneath the soft caress of your lips, scattering even more tentative kisses down the column of his neck.

“When we’re done.” You parroted back, meeting his downward gaze through your lashes.”I think you still have some loosening up to do.”

[imagine-loki]

Can you Keep A Secret

TITLE: Can you keep it a secret?  CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 3 of 4

AUTHOR: ValarieRavenhearst2 ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine working with Loki in some way but you keep your distance because you have a massive crush on him and you tend to always embarrass yourself. Alas you find yourself in need of his help as you need his magic and he’s the only one for the job.

  All the incubators in the lab make it feel like a sauna today, with so many new species needing direct heat, we’ve had to give them their own room. All my specimens look healthy and well after yesterdays’ sampling and I record their status on my iPad. After working by myself for half an hour I make the easy decision to take my jumper off before I start to sweat. As I start to wiggle out of it by easing it over my head, my shirt begins to rise with it and I make that awkward wiggle to try and magically make my shirt fall down without putting my arms back down. Whilst in the midst of my struggle I can hear the keypad being used to unlock the lab door and instinctively I throw myself to my knees to hide as my shirt has risen over my bra. Instant regret. I quickly correct myself on the ground as I hear Dr Banner and another botanist talking idly. The side of my abdomen stings viciously in warning as the material of my shirt goes back over it. I quickly flip it up again to inspect a small scratch now etched over my ribs, ending just under my bra. I hiss quietly in annoyance at my own stupidity as I stand calmly to inspect what I could have scratched myself on.   Dr Banner greets me in surprise, obviously questioning what I am doing on the ground.

“Good morning.” I give them both a greeting smile, “I just dropped my jumper.” I wave it at them as proof and they go back to their conversation whilst I look at the plant specimens in front of me. This odd, black looking orchidaceous plant looks awfully ominous with its long bristly thorns of an olive green hue. It must have been the culprit as none of its neighbours have any type of protruding bristles. With a slight panic spiking in my veins I try to examine it’s ID card but it’s information is mostly blank as it hasn’t begun rigours testing yet. Shit! What if it’s poisonous. Surely it would be in a covered incubator if it was known to be poisonous and over in lab 2 with the others.  I try not to act concerned as I question if the other two know anything about it and the other botanist, Swanson? I think. Says that the whole table is due for testing today by his team. I just nod in acknowledgment and calmly exit the lab. I mean, I feel okay, right? I don’t feel faint and or woozy.  I canter off to the bathroom after throwing my jumper over my chair; I quickly raise my shirt again in the mirror to get a better look. It’s not that bad … I suppose. The thin red slice is only about six centimetres long and it doesn’t look like there’s anything caught in the wound. Honestly, what an idiot. I can’t believe I was so reckless. If bloody Branson found out he’d have my head and he’d carry on for eternity how right he was about me. Oh the ridicule! He’d have me on desk duty till he dies. No one can know! I’m breaking every safety protocol we have but if I am to die from it so be it. I’d rather die quietly than admit my fault to that grumpy old git. After a quick rendezvous with the first-aid box I should be fine. I’ll just have to spy on the other team later to see if they come with anything concerning on the evil looking sucker. Ugh! I can’t believe I just did that.   As I exit the bathroom mumbling curses at myself, adjusting my skin tight black turtleneck, a wisp of black enters my peripheral and I know that the god of mischief has returned to the floor. His eyes find me as I cross the open bullpen to my desk and I let go of the hem of my shirt and make an effort to make the concern vanish from my face. Draped in a navy Asgardian attire, he is what my high school best friend would call a snack. I briefly notice accents of gold and olive lining the leather but I am quick to advert my eyes and look busy. I suppose he would be a nice distraction from the sting in my side but I needn’t the extra embarrassment on top of my slightly spiked anxiety. I can hear Branson’s old decrepit voice engaging with that sultry sirens call as they wander by my desk but I make myself continue typing on my computer as if my life depends on it. As soon as he’s passed me I can smell his cologne lingering to tease me. Do Asgardians even wear cologne or is that just him? I shake my head, determined not to let my thoughts distract me.   As I continue to work at my desk for the day, every time I stretch and move around I check on the other team working in the lab and notice that pointy little sucker is still out in the open so my panic levels have been low and every time I go to the bathroom I check my side; gently peeling off the large non stick plaster to inspect the fading mark. The redness has reduced so much that I have to strain myself to notice the mark.   I steal glances with the God of Mischief throughout the day as he wanders from station to station. I smile politely whenever our eyes meet and always breakaway first to continue working, which I notice earns me a sly grin after the fifth time. See, I knew that tricky bugger was up to something. I just know he purposefully loves to get under my skin. But I am not giving him the satisfaction of watching me blush today. Two can play at that game. Danny surprises me at lunch by bringing me a latte and childish teasing. He sits on the edge of my desk and immediately notices Loki working in the adjacent Lab in clear view of my desk. Trying to be noticeably subtle he continuously taps my shoulder whilst cooing in excitement like a giddy school girl. I shush him and punch him hard in the leg whilst acting like his antics haven’t phased me. I’ve been doing an amazing job of ignoring his presence all morning, he is not going to trick me into actively swooning now.

“Oh he looking.” Danny murmurs whilst turning his head away, tapping my shoulder again.

“Shut up!” I mutter back as I briefly glare at him in warning before retuning my attention to my computer screen.

“Girl he’s definitely checking you out.” He rearranges himself as he opts for standing behind me and leaning over me like he’s studying what I’m doing.

“I’m going to kill you.” I swivel in my chair so that I’m facing away from the Lab. “You’re such a trouble maker.” I hiss and jokingly shove him so not to make a big scene. “Don’t you have work of your own to do?” I question as I make an excuse to walk out of sight by taking my drink bottle to fill it up. Danny follows, chuckling evilly to himself.

“Yeah but this is more fun.” I threaten to throw water on him. “But seriously, he’s definitely watching you.” I could feel it! But I ain’t playing into Danny’s game.

“Yeah right,” I scoff as I begin back to my desk with Danny in tow, “what for? A good laugh if I stumble?” I take my seat but swivel so I’m facing Danny and away from Loki.

“Well no ‘cause I don’t think he’s ever laughed when you’ve embarrassed yourself.” Danny leans against the empty desk adjacent to mine and I gasp at him with forced hurtfulness.

“Are you saying I’m not funny?” I question mockingly and his face grimaces fiercely as he shrugs in agreement.

“Well, either he’s attracted to you or just pities you.” He deduces with his great sleuthing skills. “Which would you prefer?” I scowl so hard at him that he might burst into flames yet his shiteating grin is till carved into his face. I don’t answer, not diving into this ridiculous conversation (not to mention unsafe when he’s so close). With a steady, yet annoyed breath, I exhale loudly before turning back to my computer and turn my concentration up to a hundred and ten percent to block out Loki’s alluring figure in my peripherals.

“I have work to do and if you’ve only come to tease me you can piss off.” I purse my lips together in my best passive resting bitch face before flipping him off. Honestly what an arse – breaking basic friend 101 rules. Don’t joke about the crush in front of the crush.

“So touchy today.” He laughs and kisses me on the cheek before stepping around my desk before I can clock him one. “I’ll see you later.” He teases before leaving and I can feel myself being watched and it is so tempting to look to where that burning urge is coming from but I just know if I make eye contact I’ll blush several noticeable shades. I’ll remain strong, purely out of spite.   I finish all my paper work earlier than expected and manage to send off all my reports just has mid afternoon rolls around. Spite is a good focuser. As I’m scanning through my emails to see if I need to reply to any I get a page from Clint to say that he’s on his way up to check out his new arrow heads. I beam excitedly in remembrance, jumping up from my desk and heading over to Lab 2, where I had been storing them in the cool room at the back of the lab. I had been experimenting and developing  new knockout gasses and combustibles and I thought adapting them to Clint’s arrow heads would be a more challenging task then the standard grenades. Thus far the little project has been a success, they just haven’t had any field time yet.   I notice Loki watching me through his lashes as I swipe into the lab and punch in the code. We’ve already exchanged pleasantries for the day so there’s no need for me to make any form of acknowledgment as I enter. As I enter through the double doors he straightens himself, most likely in expectance that I had entered to speak with him since it’s only he and another botanist in the Lab. But I just walk straight through without a glance which gives me such a surge of power, knowing how  much confusion I was causing him even though his poker face is exceptional. After punching in the security code on the fridge I gently pull out the draw with the arrow tips and remove the tray, taking it with me. I have to make eye contact on my way back since focusing straight ahead would be too obvious and the key is subtlety here if I want to be one up on his intimidating behaviour. My lips curve pleasantly at him but I don’t say anything as I head back to the door. Clint is already at my desk and is glancing around for me. He waves happily when he sees me and opens the door for me so I don’t have to.

“Hey,” he smiles at me and I pass him the tray, “you sure these work?” He questions mockingly.

“Have I ever failed you before?” I coyly quirk my brows in rebuke.

“Want to test them with me?” He nods his head at the door for me to follow him and I do with a skip in my step. I did archery as a child but I got nothing on him. I take my time to relish in the fact that Loki hasn’t taken his eyes off me as I exit through the corridor and I even dare a cheeky, subtly seductive glance over my shoulder just to make sure. Oh it feels good to be bad .. no wonder he loves it.

[hermannsthumb]

Maria. *Grabs your face* MARIA. I would LOVE to see 15 bobbing for apples from the autumn fic meme written by you. Nothing would delight me more!

Anonymous asked: Halloween prompt #15 please!!... "Bobbing for apples but we meet accidentally underwater lady and the tramp style." OR "I thought we'd have fun bobbing for apples but you actually hate it and are really mad now"

15. Bobbing For Apples

from autumn fic prompts here

KATE ❤️__ ❤️for you id write anything... and anon the lady and the tramp scenario is so fucking funny/good

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

It’s a really good thing that Hermann has Newt, because if Newt’s being honest, he has no damn clue what the poor dude would do without him. Work himself to death, probably. Or spend every Saturday night alone in his bunk. So depressing. Newt considers it his big charitable act of—well, of all time—to force Hermann into social functions, whether it's fun nights out at the bar (with Newt!), or down the hall a few feet for awesome movie marathons in Newt’s quarters (with Newt!), or something like tonight, which is a super awesome and fun Halloween party that, like, everyone on the base was invited to (including Newt!).

Hermann was all set to spend another night alone (probably changing the batteries in all his calculators or rearranging the hangers in his closet) when Newt dragged him out, more or less by the collar of his argyle sweater, with multiple threats to make his life a living hell the following week in the lab if he didn't comply immediately. "Seriously, dude," Newt had said, ominously, while Hermann looked at him like a furious cat ready to take a swipe, "you're gonna put in those vampire fangs and get drunk with me, or you're gonna regret it. I mean it." Newt was not opposed to blasting the shittiest depths of his Spotify account over his bluetooth speakers or using Hermann's favorite coffee mug to hold his dissection tools. Luckily for both of them, Hermann decided the risk wasn't worth it.

Newt knows Hermann is bound to recognize how selfless Newt is being and thank him for it eventually. Probably. Maybe a few years from now. For now, Newt is enjoying the warm and fuzzy feeling of having done a good deed, and also of drinking a considerable amount of spiked punch.

Hermann is not enjoying either.

"I did, in fact, have plans for tonight," he tells Newt, sipping his ginger ale and observing Newt with a fierce scowl. He flat-out refused the booze Newt tried to push on him. It's fine, whatever—it's enough for Newt, right now anyway, that he actually came. They'll work up to bigger stuff like that later.

"Like what?" Newt says. "Doing a crossword puzzle and watching the second half of that boring-ass documentary you put on last weekend?"

Newt considers it an affront to the very concept of movie nights that Hermann used his pick on a documentary, and one about the jaeger program that didn't even bother interviewing him, no less. Newt loves a good documentary, don't get him wrong, but movie nights are for escapist shit. You don't see him switching on Godzilla. Plus, having to watch stock footage of Dr. Gottlieb Sr. blabbing his mouth about how smart he was while you were debating making a move on his son (who was currently in you bed, looking super cute in your sweatpants, because he'd forgotten to pack pj's) was kind of a mood-killer. "It wasn't boring," Hermann sniffs, which tells Newt that his guess was dead-on. "It was...interesting. And anyway, just because they aren't your idea of plans..."

"Okay, whatever," Newt says. "Let's just have fun. That's the point of a party."

He throws an arm around Hermann's shoulder and drags him closer, until their heads knock together painfully. He hears Hermann growl low in his throat. Newt doesn't say, soon, we won't have the time to do stupid shit like this anymore, so we should enjoy it while we can, even though he wants to. It's better to not make fun stuff depressing. Plus, Hermann might decide to take that as an invitation to bail and put on his documentary. Instead he reaches up across Hermann and flicks his chin. Hermann's whole body stiffens. "I can't believe I got you into this super awesome party and you're not even pretending to be thankful," Newt says.

With no great deal of difficulty, Hermann pushes Newt off of him. Newt lands heavily back in his chair, making the whole thing wobble, and he laughs as he just manages to catch himself from falling off the other side. "You got me in?" Hermann says. "Newton, I was invited three weeks ago."

Newt stops laughing. "You were?"

"Yes," Hermann says. The corner of his lip twitches up, with a smugness so powerful Newt can feel it radiating off of him in waves. Bastard. "I took it upon myself to ask if you might be permitted to come, too." He adds, sarcastically, "Out of the kindness of my heart. I know how terribly put out you get when you aren't included in these sorts of things."

Newt considers this new information, and then discards it, because it really doesn't fit the image of himself he's been cultivating as the cool, hip friend to Hermann's uncool, unhip nerd. Like, come on, between the two of them, Newt is obviously the one you'd want at your party. Hermann's gotta be kidding. Probably. Maybe. "It's a lame party anyway," Newt mumbles.

He tries to put his arm around Hermann's shoulder again, remembers that Hermann really didn't like that the first time, and then drops it back down at his side instead. "Totally lame," he continues. Newt recalls the Halloween parties of his youth with a warm, fond glow: elaborate costumes, tacky decorations, passing around bowls of peeled grapes in the dark, carving jack-o-lanterns while his dad hovered protectively over him to make sure he didn't take a finger off with the knife. This is none of that. Barely anyone even dressed up! The lack of Halloween spirit is tragic. "There aren't even any party games."

"Yes there are," Hermann says, mildly.

He points across the room at a large metal tub that Newt somehow missed before. It looks like it's filled with water, and...

"Dude," Newt says.

He doesn't wait to ask before he's hopping to his feet and dragging Hermann along after him by his blazer cuff. Hermann swats at his heels a few times with his cane, but eventually—like he does with most of Newt's ideas—gives in. "I'm a fuckin' champ at bobbing for apples," Newt boasts. "I used to—oops, excuse me," (he runs into two guys who are, like, twice his height, upsetting their drinks, and he hears Hermann groan as something purple spills on his sweater), "I used to always win it at the fall fest when my dad would take me." And then when he went back as an adult by himself, but it was less impressive a win when you were up against a bunch of ten-year-olds.

"You do have an exceptionally large mouth," Hermann says, rubbing at his stained shoulder. "I suppose that helps." As Newt bends to investigate the iron tub, he says, "Oh, Newton, don't, it's been out all night. Who knows what sorts of germs are in there?"

Newt gets to his knees and rolls up the sleeves of his PPDC-issued labcoat. He's a mad scientist to Hermann's vampire (vampire librarian?) tonight. Yeah, it's kind of a lazy costume, but it was free—he already had everything he needed in the lab. "I can get it in five seconds, max," he declares. His record is one second, but he's the first to admit he's a little rusty, and he'd rather impress Hermann by beating his estimate. "Will you hold my headlamp?"

Grumbling, Hermann takes it. Newt sets his glasses on the ground. "You're going to get yourself bloody soaking," Hermann says, and then he complains about something else, too, but Newt is screwing his eyes shut and ducking his head into the tub, which makes it difficult to hear him. One second—two seconds—two and a half—Newt emerges victorious from the tub, teeth clenched down firmly on an apple, and accidentally splatters a large amount of water on Hermann's shoes. He pulls the apple out of his mouth with a grin and waves it at Hermann. "See. I'm a fucking pro."

He tucks his glasses back on his face to discover that Hermann is staring at him with a very strange expression on his face. Newt can't decide if it's the blacklight bulbs overhead that are washing him out and making him look so flushed, or something else entirely. Then, in a second, he's grumpy and scowling and tsking over his wet shoes. "A pro," he echoes. "Hardly. It can't be that complicated."

Newt gestures grandly at the tub and takes a bite out of his apple. Hermann can always be relied upon to never turn down a challenge, especially when it means making Newt look—potentially—stupid. Newt uses it to his advantage often. Whatever it takes to help the guy have a good time. "It's all yours, dude."

Hermann grumbles something again about Newt being too arrogant for his own good, and something else about showing Newt how to do it without making a mess of everything, then gets down to his knees with a quiet hiss of discomfort. He shoves his cane, and Newt's headlamp, at Newt, though bewilderingly leaves his blazer on. "I'll be just a moment," he says, and dunks his head into the tub.

He splashes back up no more than five seconds later. Apple-less. "Bugger," he coughs, and then coughs some more. The entire front of his sweater is soaked. "I didn't—I didn't start out right. Let me—"

Newt watches Hermann try to drown himself a few more times in mild interest before he finally intercedes. "Need a hand?" he says, getting to his knees next to Hermann.

"No," Hermann splutters.

Newt takes his glasses off again. "Yeah, you do. Okay, now watch me—"

He emerges with another apple in seconds.

Hermann grits his teeth. "Newton—"

"One more?" Newt says, his grin widening.

Back under. Another apple. He winks at Hermann when he goes in for a fourth time, and this time, he feels the water of the tank being upset as Hermann (refusing to be outdone once again) splashes in alongside him. God, Newt loves riling Hermann up like this—he gets so funny, and kinda cute, when he's mad about something. Red in the face, and scowling, and sometimes (when he's real mad) speaking in a dangerously low and rough sort of voice with his r's rolling that makes Newt shiver, just a little. Like, Newton, you worthless, pathetic little man, cease this immediately, or else I'll... He actually said that to Newt once. It made Newt feel a little warm under his collar. Hermann's probably going to say something similar to him this time, and Newt can't wait.

Ten seconds in. Newt has been cutting Hermann a little slack at first, just to see if he can catch up, but finally decides to just go for the apple that's been bobbing steadily against his mouth this whole time. (He loves beating Hermann at stuff.)

And, well, apparently Hermann goes for it too.

They both miss the apple. Newt's mouth is up against Hermann's for another five seconds before he realizes what's happening (that that is definitely not an apple, that that is definitely a mouth, that that mouth is wide and weird another to belong to only one person Newt knows, that that mouth is parting in surprise, oh my God) and then he pulls away so quickly that he breathes in what feels like half the tub of water. He falls back on his ass, coughing furiously, and it's not until he shoves his glasses back on with a shaking hand that he realizes that Hermann has done the same. "I," Hermann says. His eyes are wide. "I'm sor—"

"It's fine," Newt squeaks.

"It was—"

"I know!"

Newt and Hermann's mouths were touching for five whole seconds. Underwater, while apples bobbed against their foreheads, but their mouths still touched. Oh my God. In elementary school, Newt thinks dizzily, that would be enough to catch cooties. This was so not how he wanted his awesome eventual seduction of Hermann to go down. For one thing, it wasn't even a seduction.

"I'm gonna get a towel," Newt says.

Hermann nods. He looks strangely adorable with water droplets on his nose and his hair plastered to his head like that. Newt has to get out of here before he does something stupid, like take Hermann's pointy cheeks between his hands and put their mouths together on purpose. He doesn't think Hermann would respond to that very well right now.

"I'll get you one too," Newt says, and it takes a lot of effort to force himself to his feet.

Hermann nods again.

"Okay," Newt says, and stumbles away. Out of the corner of his eye, he just catches Hermann raising a hand to his mouth.

[imaginedxlan]

Pike (George Weasley)

a/n: i have an addiction. i’m sorry. take this platform away from me. anyway ENEMIES TO LOVER BITCHES.

You’ve always hated George Weasley. You can’t quite explain why, but the two of you have had bad blood since the moment you met freshman year. it’s nothing either of you said or did, just the general presence of the other always set something off in the two of you. however, you weren’t going to give up partying at his frat just because you hated the red haired boy.

warnings: alcohol & cussing, unconsensual touching but it isn’t graphic(not by george obv), mentions of sex and assault/sexual violence, violence and fratboy!georgie

i’m very serious when i say do not read this if you’re easily triggered or impacted by the theme of sexual assault. there is nothing graphic in this fic but i know it is very easy to be triggered by even the smallest mention. if you ever and i mean EVER need someone to talk to about anything pertaining to the topic, my messages are always open. dealing with sexual assault in any form is one of the most traumatising things a person can go through. please never hesistate to reach out if you’re struggling. i love you guys so much, i never want to go suffer in silence.

if you or someone you know if struggling with a rape or sexual assault, you can call 800.656.HOPE (4673) to be connected to a sexual assault service provider in your area. all my hugs and kisses to you all, i love you with all my heart❤️

saturday nights on campus are nothing short of lively for you and your friends. whether you’re testing your fake ids at every bar on the main street or dancing in a sweaty frat basement, there’s never been a dull weekend.

pike has always been your favorite fraternity to attend . you’d become close with some of the pledges on your floor your freshman year and have become obsessed with shutting down every function they hold at the house. there is one part of pi kappa alpha, however, that you could do without. george weasley.

the six three, red haired monster has been getting under your skin for an entire year now. since you met in your first semester of freshman year, you and george had never been on good terms. between the constant teasing from him or your drunk screaming matches that you’ve initiated almost every weekend, it’s safe to say that you two need to be kept as far away from each other as possible.

your friends have never understood the feud. they’ve always described george as one of the nicest guys they’ve ever met. he takes their coats at the door of every pike party to hide in his room to keep them safe from the drunk kleptomaniacs or vomit that inevitably spews from the mouth of a freshman girl. he’s always kept an eye out for your friends, but when it comes to you he swears if murder was legal you’d be six feet under by now.

as you and your friends got ready in your shared apartment for the night ahead of you, the annual pike’s peak ski themed party, you loathe the fact that you’ll be forced to see him again. you wish more than anything that he wasn’t so close with your friends, but alas, he is.

“y/n, can you please promise me something?” Angelina pleads, making you pause your makeup routine to look at her as if to say ‘go on.’ “no fighting with george tonight, we all need one night when the two of you aren’t at each other’s throats.”

if only it were that easy. there have been times in the past when angie and katie have convinced you to play nice with the boy, but he always ends up starting some type of fight with you.

“angie i’ve told you, i have no problem ignoring him for the good of the group,” you reiterate the countless times you’ve tried to prove to the girls that you’re the bigger person. “it’s him you should be talking to, he always starts it.”

katie sighs, already imagining the screaming match that will ensue tonight. “well if he starts something just walk away, easy as that.”

you mull it over for a minute. as much as ignoring him will make it seem like you’ve run out of insults, your vocal chords could use the rest this weekend. you agree to try and keep your mouth shut around george.

the three of you zip up your obnoxiously bright ski jackets over the black sports bras and jeans you’re wearing. you loved pikes peak, you could put in virtually no effort and still look like you spent hours getting ready.

the pike house is already buzzing with the bass of whatever mix oliver wood put together for the party. it’s not a pike party without ollie behind the dj booth. the high that you’re on as you walk past the pledges fades as your faced with george weasley.

just ignore him.

“look at my most beautiful groupies,” he says with a smile, scanning over angie and katie. “and...whatever that is.”

you can already feel your cheeks heat up with rage and your fists tighten. you take a deep breath and repeat katie’s words just an hour ago, ‘walk away.’ you roll your eyes at the boy and move your way through the party, eventually taking your spot next to ollie behind the dj stand.

“well hey there miss y/n,” ollie greets you, resting his headphone around his neck and pulling you into a hug. “half expected you to be beating weasley to a pulp by now.”

you laugh at his honesty, everyone expects some huge blow up between you and george within the first few minutes of a party. “trying something new, ignoring him for the night. can’t tire myself too much.”

ollie just smiles and goes back to the music. you’re adding songs to the queue and laughing along with him. you almost forgot how much you missed spending time with him, most of your interactions with the boy group ending with a fight with weasley without even being able to talk with the other boys.

across the room, george is watching you actually enjoy yourself and is fuming. he’s so used to being able to get under your skin, so you blowing him off was a major knock to his ego. he thrives on your reactions to his teasing, feeling like he doesn’t even have a purpose at this party now that you’re ignoring him.

you eventually leave oliver behind the booth and find angelina and katie, luckily they’re now where near george, rather dancing with his twin. you’ve always liked fred, but your constant arguing with his brother makes it hard for you to have any sort of friendship with him. this is the first pike party you’ve been to all year that you’re genuinely enjoying yourself. dancing with your friends, drinking without a care. the night is actually starting to look up.

you tell angie and katie that you’re off to the bathroom, the beers and seltzers finally catching up to your bladder. as you make your way through the crowd of people, you finally make it to the bathroom which is in the furthest corner of the house. before you can reach for the handle, someone is grabbing at your wrist.

“let’s go to my room.” the boy slurs, you turn to see a tall boy, far taller than you. you recognise his face but don’t know his name.

“no than-“

“i wasn’t asking,” he cuts you off and grabs your hip with his other hand. “come on i know you want to.”

“no just get off of me!” you yell trying to push his hands away from you but his death grin on your body doesn’t seem to be loosening. using your free hand you start beating the boys chest and that seems to just make him angrier. “you’re hurting me! just get off, i’m not coming to your room!”

even though you feel like your screaming the loud music seems to drown out the noise from anyone who could come and help you. even though the boy is obviously stronger than you, that doesn’t stop you from continuing to hit him in the hopes that his drunken state will take him off of you. your efforts are to no avail as his mouth connects with your neck, sucking harshly, making you scream out again. your head is thrashing, continuing to attempt to free yourself from his grasp.

“no! stop get off of me, please!” you shriek, tears beginning to stream down your cheeks. before you can realize what’s going on the boy is ripped from you and pinned up against the wall. you don’t even look to see what’s happening, just trying the catch your breath.

“she said no!” you immediately recognize the voice. george weasley. he fist connects with the boys jaw, almost knocking him unconscious as he’s still pushed against the wall. “what the fuck is wrong with you pucey! don’t you ever fucking touch her again!”

george still screaming as the boy you know realize is adrian pucey, is wailing in pain as george’s fists continue to meet his body. you don’t want to watch this anymore so you grab george’s hand before he can hit adrian again.

“stop, please.” it’s softer than you wanted it to come out but george still hears you. he drops adrian to the ground and takes a hold of your shoulders. even in the dark he’s examining your face for any sign of adrian’s abuse, his eyes land on the growing bruise on your neck and his fingers lightly trace over the mark. his other hands goes to your face, using his thumb to wipe the stream of tears.

“are you okay?” he asks quietly, eyes still trained on the hickey adrian unconsensually left on your neck. “i would’ve killed him.”

“why are you doing this, weasley?” you step back from him, crossing yours arms over your chest. “go on and tell everyone how you had to pull pucey off of me. how i was crying like a little baby. how helpless i was, i know that why you’re here.”

a flash a hurt crosses his face, he shakes his head. “is that really what you think of me?”

“of course it is, you’ve never given me a reason to think anything else,” you reply, wiping the remaining tears from your cheeks. “just leave weasley, i can’t take whatever’s going to come out of your mouth, not tonight okay? i could’ve handled this myself.”

“yeah you were doing a great job of handling it before i came it,” he scoffs and goes to walk away, kicking pucey one last time for good measure, but stops himself. “would you just stop arguing and follow me?”

you go to protest but figure you’re not in any mood to argue with him. he reaches his hand out to guide you through the sea of people but your arms stay folded against your chest. he rolls his eyes and leads you up the stairs and into a bedroom. you’d never been in his bedroom before. he goes into his closet to pull out a sweatshirt and tosses it your way.

“i’m not wearing this,” you tell him, throwing it back at him and he groans at your stubborn attitude. “why am i in your room, weasley?”

“does the word thank you not exist in your vocabulary?” he asks with a bitter tone. “i don’t care if you wear it, i’m leaving.”

he slams the door behind him and leaves you by yourself again. you look in the mirror on his wall at the disheveled sight looking back at you. your mascara collected under your eyes from your tears, the dark hickey from pucey on your cheek, bruises forming on your wrist and hip. you thought you had cried all the tears out before but seeing the damage he had done pulls sobs from your lips. you’re shaking at the memory of what happened, the thought of what could have happened. you collapse on george’s floor.

almost immediately the door swings open. you’re hoping maybe george told angie or katie and they were coming to take you home but it’s just george standing there. he never left his door, seeing pucey attack you like that made him fear that it might happen to you again. he quickly shuts the door behind him and crouches next to you as you struggle to catch your breath.

“hey, hey what’s going on you were fine a few second ago,” he tries to read your face but it’s hidden in your hands. “look at me, y/n, please.”

you lift your face to look him in the eyes. your puffy eyes and red cheeks make his heart sink. this is the first time he’s looked at you and felt something other than utter annoyance. you look so sad.

“i-i’m so s-scared,” you stutter through your speech. “if you hadn’t come he could’ve, it would have turned into -”

“don’t talk like that,” he begs you, still staying a bit of a distance from you. “i was there, i stopped it. you’re safe now.”

once you calm down he pleads for you to lay down and get some rest. you finally take the sweatshirt from him and wrap it around your body. he leans down to crouch in front of you, your eyes still welled with tears. he pats your head and goes to leave. in reality he would be posted outside the door for the rest of the night, but he’d never tell you that. As he shuts off the lights and opens the door, you squeak out a plea, “can you stay? please.”

george hesitates, he knows showing any kind of compassion for you in this moment will inevitably put a rift in your strict enemies only relationship. the one he’s been so set on keeping since he started developing feelings for you last semester. the only way he could keep you close while also concealing his feelings was to pick those fights with you every weekend. this would change everything.

however, seeing you curled up in his bed, shaking under his blankets, your eyes wide with fear broke something in him. he let out a deep sigh before closing his door again and locking it behind him. he stands in place for a minute, unsure of what to do from here.

“george,” you call out, voice cracking. you hadn’t called him by his first name in months. “thank you.”

“you haven’t called me george in a while.”

“shut up, weasley,” you immediately reply, making george chuckle. he decides to sit on the edge of his bad facing you, watching you continue to shake as sporadic sobs come from your frail frame. it’s breaking his heart. He eventually comes up to lay beside you, careful not to touch you. partly due to the fact that he knows you’re probably traumatised by pucey’s attack on you and also partly due to him knowing he may not be able to control himself from taking you in arms until you stop your terrible shaking.

it wasn’t george that first moved closer, it was you. you weren’t sure if it was the fact that he just saved you from a potentially life shattering situation or the fact that his room felt like subzero but you wanted to be close to him.

“why is your room so cold?” you ask with a shiver. “i feel like i’m in the arctic.”

“don’t be such a baby it’s not that cold,” he scoffs, giving you the same tone he always has. something in you is disappointed, partly hoping that maybe this changed something. maybe you were overthinking him being so doting on you tonight. of course things wouldn’t be different. why would you want them to be? what he did tonight he would do for any girl in thai party. while you don’t get to see that side of him, angie and katie have always talked about how protective he is, you just never thought it would extend to you.

“why’d you help me?” you ask, staring at him dead in the eyes. his breath hitches, he’s not sure why. he would do it for anyone, no questions asked. he’s never been the guy to look the other way when a girl is hurting, but what was he doing all of this for you. surely he wouldn’t bring just anyone up to his room, he wouldn’t stay if they asked.

“i wasn’t going to let pucey hurt you like that, i wouldn’t let him do it to anyone,” he replies, hoping you’ll be off the topic from now on.

“you would’ve killed him if i hadn’t stopped you.” george thinks back to the moment. how angelina had pleaded for him to find you after you’d been gone for so long. how he heard your cries over the music, you screaming no. how pucey had himself attached to you and the rage bubbled over in him.

“would you come off of it?” he asked sternly, fearing if this conversation moved any further he would be confessing that he’s never actually hated you. “i forgot how annoying you were for a second there, i’m getting out of here.”

your heart sinks at his words. you were already in shambles and he decided to be his same old asshole self. it hurt. you immediately sat up and watched as he grasped the door handle but didn’t turn it.

“classic, something gets hard and you’re running away,” you spit at him. you needed someone there, you needed him there, and he was running off. “go on weasley, be the little bitch you are, run off and tell everyone how big bad george weasley beat up pucey just to leave me up in your room where he could for sure do it again.”

“you just love running that fucking mouth of yours don’t you?” george snaps, his face beginning to heat up. this is always how it starts. his tone is playfully arrogant until it switches completely. “you think i would just leave you in here where anyone could come in? are you really that stupid? i would’ve staid outside the fucking door all night if that’s what it took for you to sleep after ehat happened, i just can’t be in this fucking room with you.”

you roll your eyes at how dramatic he is. as if staying in a room with you for one night would kill him. in his mind, however, it might. seeing you curled up in his bed, in his clothes, begging for him to stay, it’s all too much for him to handle.

“yeah sure you would. you wouldn’t go chasing after your brother the second he called that some girl was asking for you. this is all for show, you’re trying to make me seem like the one you can’t coexist with you,” you shout. “then everyone can blame me for this stupid fucking fight we’ve been having for an entire year. you can be the innocent one, that’s it isn’t it?”

george can’t believe how blind you are. how you’ve failed to notice that every time you get up in his face to yell at him he loses his breath. that you can’t see that teasing you is his only way to keep you coming back to pike. that he almost killed pucey because he likes you. he so painfully likes you.

“you’re an idiot you know that?” he yells, taking his hand off the doorknob. “seriously how dumb can you be? you really think i’m doing all of this for my image?”

“then answer my fucking question, weasley,” you spit at him, becoming angrier every minute that he won’t admit his own obsession with how everyone perceives him. “why. are. you. helping. me.”

every word comes out dripping with the venom of your rage. getting george to admit he’s a self centered, self serving asshole will give you all the evidence you need to show katie and angie that this feud is his fault, not yours. he begins to pace around the room, hands going to his hair as he looks deep in thought. your eyes never leave him, watching as he slowly unwinds in front of you. it’s happening, he’s going to admit it.

“you want to know why? you really want to know why i’m doing all this? why i dedicate my fucking saturday nights to fighting with you? that’s what you really want?”

“that’s what i asked isn’t it?”

“because i fucking like you, okay?” he shouts, making your heart stop. your jaw is practically on the floor, this is not the confession you were expecting. his face softens along with his tone, “i like you.”

he’s quiet, almost inaudible over the muffled bass of the music coming from downstairs. you face hasn’t changed, your brain is empty. your completely unable to move. you begin to shake your head after a minute, repeating the words ‘no’ and ‘you’re lying.’

“fuck this,” george finally speaks up, going back to reach for the door. “have a nice life, y/n, don’t bother coming back here after tonight.”

“george stop!” you yell which makes him stop in his tracks. his first name again. it makes his heart ache. he can’t get involved, he can’t fall into your trap. he continues to make his way to get as far from you as he possibly can. “george i mean it! stop running away from me.”

you’re now off the bed, following close behind him. you’re swimming in his sweatshirt, the material falling just below your knees. you don’t know why you suddenly have the urge to touch him, to be with him but it’s there. him threatening you to never come back made your chest tighten, not because you’ll be missing parties, but you’ll be missing him. memories of your screaming matches flood your brain, the absolute high you’re on as you’re staring up at him after shouting something offensive his way. the way you can never seem to catch your breath when he’s around you. the fact that you continue coming back, knowing he’s going to hurt your feelings in some way or another, because it means you’ll be with him. as toxic and backwards as it seems, you’ve never hated george. you were utterly obsessed with him. when you finally reach him, grabbing his hand to stop him fleeing, his whole body snaps to turn toward you. he looks wild.

“what could you possibly have to say to me?” he shouts, making you step back. his words are fueled by anger and hatred. when he sees you back away from him, he immediately regrets his tone. “come to gloat? to make fun of me? save it, y/n. i don’t want to hear it.”

you don’t say a word. on the crowded staircase of your drunk classmates you do the last thing you could have ever imagined doing with george weasley. you kiss him.

he’s completely taken aback, freezing in his place as soon as he feels your soft lips against his. one hand is wrapped around the back of his neck and the other is holding his cheek. eventually, reality hits the boy and he’s pulling you into him by your hips. you wince in pain from the tender bruise aching on your hip from pucey’s hands and george immediately pulls away to see if you’re alright.

“god, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry. i didn’t realize he hurt you so bad,” he starts to ramble on, keeping his hands off of you to keep from hurting you. “y/n, i’m — i just — i don’t know what to say.”

your hand is still on his face, your thumb stroking over his cheek bone. you can’t believe you had just kissed the boy you had sworn to hate for the rest of your life. pulling your hands away from your body you take a hold of his that are hovering inches away from your hips. you move they to lay against your waist and move yours to return to his face. you lean yourself back up toward him again, capturing his lips for the second time tonight. he didn’t hesitate this time, pulling you closer to him.

as soon as you pull away from each other, you’re soon walking back to his room hand in hand. he closes the door and flicks on the lights. being with him now feels astronomically different. the tension that once plagued any room you two shared has melted away.

“i didn’t want to pressure you into doing that,” he says softly, his palm resting on your cheek as the two of you sit only inches from each other on his bed. “especially after what pucey did to you, i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have been so harsh.”

you stop him from spiraling any further into a pit of blame. “i feel safe with you georgie, i wouldn’t have stayed in here with you, kissed you, if i didn’t. you know i’d be the last to admit this, but you saved me, i owe you one.”

a small smile tugs on his lips. he can’t help but feel his heart hammering against his ribs like it’s going a thousand miles and hour. “consider the debt repaid,” he replies, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “i don’t think i would’ve ever been able to face you after tonight if you hadn’t come running after me.”

your smile mirrors his, unable to contain the butterflies in the pit of your stomach. the two of you just stare at each other for a while, trying to imprint this moment in your memory forever.

“can i kiss you again?” he asks, his lips so close that you can feel his breath against yours. you nod against his forehead, silently begging to feel his warmth again.

kissing george is like nothing you’d ever felt before. you spent your entire life kissing boys that meant nothing to you, this feels like home. his tongue slips into your mouth, exploring every inch of you, memorising how you feel as if you’ll be stolen from him at any second. he’s thought of this exact moment for months, every time you fought, every time he spoke to you, he imagined what it would feel like to have you like this.

“still feels like a tundra in here,” you tell him after you pull away. he takes you by your good wrist and urges you to lay next to him, his arms wrapping tightly around your body wishing he would never have to let go.

“better?”

“better.” you reply, letting you hand rest against his chest, feeling his heart beat. “this is not how i imagined this night going.”

“neither,” he says, running his fingers up and down your side. “never thought i’d get to hold you like this.”

your cheeks heat up, not from your usual rage but from the sudden rush on nerves. you don’t know how to act around him when you’re not about to beat his face in. he gently pulls your face from where it’s hiding in his chest to admire you. he presses his lips softly against yours, then moves to either cheek, then to your forehead.

“what happens now?” you ask, suddenly hit with the realization that you can’t go on with the feud that’s been bubbling between the two of you for the past year. you’ll have to tell your friends that you don’t hate each other anymore, that you did the unthinkable and kissed george weasley.

“i don’t care,” he says simply. “we could continue fighting until my dying breath, i just don’t want to be without you. ever.”

“what a little sap-fest you’ve become,” you tease holding yourself up on your elbows to get a good look at the boy. “who knew the george weasley could be so sentimental.”

“oh shut up,” he nudges your shoulder, pulling his arms from around you to rest behind his head. “you’re the one who kissed me, y/n, you started this.”

you let out a giggle, resting your head against his chest. you talk for hours about everything and nothing at all. eventually you hear the music die from downstairs, your phone buzzing with texts from angie and katie worried sick about where you ran off to. you tell them you’re fine and you’ll explain tomorrow. it’s an unspoken assumption that after all these months of fighting, you’ll be sleeping in george’s bed, cuddled up to him like you have been for the last few hours. you turn from your phone to see him stripping his shirt from his body, going to pull his khakis from his body and your heart stops.

“george i-” you start, not being able to form a coherent sentence. “i’m sorry but i can’t do anything like that, not tonight, not after what happened.”

his face turns down in worry, swiftly pulling a pair of sweats from his drawer to cover his bare legs. “oh my god, no y/n that’s not where i thought this was going at all. i usually sleep without a shirt on but it that makes you uncomfortable i can put one on. i’m so sorry i wasn’t even thinking.”

you sigh in relief, of course he wasn’t going to ask you to do anything like that after what he saw. you can’t believe you assumed that of him.

“no, no i’m sorry i know you would never,” you reply, rubbing your face between your palms. “i’m just on edge.”

he sits next to you, already holding a pair of boxers for you to wear and places them in front of you. he runs his hands up your arms. “don’t apologize to me, you’re allowed to be on edge after that. i should’ve been more conscious of that. i can go to the bathroom while you change if you want, unless you want to stay in your jeans.”

you shake your head, pulling the denim off your legs and replacing them with george’s boxers. you’re safe with him, you remind yourself.

“thank you, george,” you say quietly. “for everything.”

“i’d do it again, a hundred times over if i had to,” he tells you, pulling you into his arms to hold you. “do you want to talk about it?”

you shake your head no and he nods. he lays the two of you back and pulls his blankets other you. your head lays against his bare chest, feeling the most secure you have in your life. george’s breath eventually steadies as he slips into a deep sleep. it’s the easiest he’s ever been able to fall asleep, feeling completely comfortable with you in his arms. you fall asleep soon after him, the arms of george weasley and the walls of pi kappa alpha lulling you into the sweetest dreams.

[thebashfulbotanist]

Mushroom Rules and Taboos

Mushroom season is in full swing! There are a few topics one should always avoid when talking with mushroom hunters. I’m a moderator on a mushroom identification group of about 30,000 people, and if you start talking about one of these topics, your post or comment will be deleted! Here are a few rules one should follow when talking with fellow mushroom hunters (and yes, I know these sound like a cross between Karen complaints and fae rules). 

1. Never ask for someone’s mushrooms spot. Asking for someone’s mushroom spot is tantamount to declaring you’re going to steal all of their mushrooms and leave them with nothing but severed stipes! This is very rude and hurtful. If you really need a hint as to where to find certain species, instead ask something like, “at what elevation in what mountain range did you find these?” That will allow the forager to give you a general answer, and won’t force them to give up their secrets. A kind forager will respond to, “Where is your mushroom spot?” with something like, “400m, Cascade foothills.” A less forgiving forager might stuff a wad of moss down your throat.

2. Do not argue about or even mention “cut versus pluck.” Whether you cut a mushroom from the ground with a knife or pluck it with your fingers has no significant effect whatsoever on the health of the mushroom population or how many mushrooms will come up the next year. There is a common misconception that cutting mushrooms with a knife is less damaging, but this is untrue. Cutting and plucking both don’t cause any harm! You’re just removing a fruiting body, and the real body of the mushroom is formed by mycelia underground. People feel really strongly about cut versus pluck, even if they know the different methods have no real effect on the fungi. Some people prefer to cut so others know they were there, or to keep their baskets clean, while others prefer to pluck to leave less visible debris in the forest, or to take more edible fungus. Either way: it should never be brought up. It’s a bannable offense in some groups - think, “We! Do not! Talk! About! The! Orangutan!”

3. Do not scold people for picking mushrooms they do not know the species of. This is called “pick shaming” in mushroom hunter communities. Sometimes, well-meaning folks will scold people for picking mushrooms they don’t know because they think it’s “wasteful” to pick a mushroom if they do not intend to eat it. This comes from a good place, since they’re obviously environmentally-conscious, but it also shows that they don’t know much about fungi. They are not plants! Revisit point 2: picking or cutting mushrooms has no effect whatsoever on the health of the fungus. More importantly, a lot of mushrooms need spore prints and a view of the entire specimen, from the base to the top of the pileus, to properly identify. In fact, to identify many toxic Amanita species, you must look at the volva at the base of the stipe, which requires pulling out the entire specimen. New foragers should indeed pick mushrooms to identify them - this is how they should learn. 

4. This is more of a pet peeve, but: do not ask “is this edible?”  or  “is this magic?” before you know what mushroom species you’re working with. Few things irritate me and other mushroom experts as much as seeing a picture of a toxic mushroom with the question, “Edible?” but no request for id. There are three reasons for this: First, I don’t want to be responsible for whether you eat a mushroom and get sick from it. I can tell you what I think it is, and there’s a 99.99% chance I’m correct, but if I’m either wrong or you have a particular sensitivity to that species (and many people do to common species like Laetiporus conifericola), I don’t want to get the blame for “telling you it was fine to eat.” Many mushroom hunters make a point of giving only the identification and letting the requester research edibility on their own for this reason. Second, me telling you if something is edible is not helping you learn to identify or hunt mushrooms, it’s just giving you a cheap way to repeatedly stick Agaricus foundinmyyardicus  on the forum and have someone else id it for you. Third, and more importantly, why are you putting things in your mouth if you don’t know what they are?  WHY?! What is wrong with you?! Mushroom maggots are also edible, but you would not eat them! 

5. Do not make unverified claims of mushroom medicinal use or, worse, offer medical advice unless you’re a trained and licensed professional. You can say, “There are some studies I found in this peer reviewed journal that indicate Trametes versicolor might be promising for such-and-such use,” but do not say stuff like, “Turkey tails cure cancer!” or, “Susan, I hear you had the flu. You should drink Ganoderma oregonense tea to boost your immune system!” Don’t risk poisoning someone, messing with their medication, or spreading pseudoscience by suggesting they use a mushroom for medicinal purposes unless you’re a trained medical professional. A forager who has casually read some journal articles is not a trained medical professional!  

6. Don’t mock folks for asking for confirmation of an “easy to identify” mushroom species. You’d be surprised by how many people misidentify species that are as “easy” to identify as Cantharellus formosus. I would much rather forty people post chanterelles and one accidentally post Hygrophoropsis aurantiaca while asking for confirmation than forty one people blindly eat their mushroom haul, thinking they’re chanterelles, only for one to get sick on Hygrophoropsis aurantiaca. Be responsible, and remember you were a beginner once, too. 

7. In identification groups, don’t give a definite identification unless you’re 100% sure of the mushroom someone is asking for an id of. If you’re unsure, say something like, “Looks like Laccaria bicolor,” or, “Compare to Amanita augusta.” Don’t say, “That’s Xerocomellus zelleri” with certainty unless you’re willing to bet on your mother’s life it’s Xerocomellus zelleri. This usually isn’t a big deal, but there was a bit of a kerfuffle on one of the mushroom forums a few years back when someone said, “That’s a matsutake!” about a deadly Amanita smithiana, and then proceeded to argue with David Arora, a legend among mycologists and the author of identification books like Mushrooms Demystified and All that the Rain Promises and More, upon being corrected. 

8. When identifying mushrooms, always use scientific names. Common names are colorful and easy to remember, but different species might have the same common name, or other people might be unfamiliar with the common name you’re using. Some species don’t even have common names! It’s totally okay to give both a scientific name and a common name, though, if the common name exists. 

[spvce-cowboy]

songbird

ch. 4 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x fem!reader)

previous-ch. 3: “reunion”

next-ch. 5: “the hero’s shoulders”

rating: mature

11.3k words

warnings: PERIL!!!, violence, alcohol and drug use, jealous/protective mando

a/n: apologies in advance for the slight cliffhanger—this chapter got WAAAYY too long so I had to split in two. luckily means I’ll be able to get the next one out to you all asap ! <3

summary: you are forced to go undercover in order to help Mando capture his next quarry, the lionized Tyreus Cavill. 

**

You’re most nervous about remembering the proper steps to a waltz. You know, instead of being worried about aiding one of the deadliest bounty hunters in the galaxy on his highest profile mission yet. Because that totally makes sense, right?

At the Estate, you and Febhana were taught dancing in order to entertain the Lord’s guests. Digging up any memories from that period of your life is enough to have the taste bile flood your mouth. You do your best to swallow it down, keeping a cool face for your sake and everyone else’s.

Honestly, you’d trade being afraid of the known over the unknown any day. The anxiety of remembering your time at the Estate was more familiar, something you could deal with, and have been for years now.

Thinking too hard about the severity of the current situation, about how you had absolutely no idea what you were doing, that was the kind of fear you avoid at all possible cost. So you settle for being nervous about a waltz, nothing more and nothing less.

Mando is seated beside the driver. He doesn’t turn back to address you and Febhana directly, instead tilting his head slightly in order to look at the two of you through the rearview mirror. Before the three of you left, he gave you a small listening device that you now have tucked against the edge of the undergarments you have on. The dress is too exposing to hide it anywhere else.

He debriefs you on the specifics of the mission the entire ride there, showing you multiple images of the quarry, plans of action, a blur of different scenarios and how you should react that you have already quickly forgotten in the haze of your building anxiety.

“The main rule is no secondary locations,” he concludes. “We can’t risk either of you being alone with him. It’s too unstable of a situation as is.”

You nod, staring at him through his partial reflection. From the back of your mind there’s a quiet glimmer of endearment, how you’ve never seen him this thorough about a hunt—Mando seems more like a wing-it-and-figure-it-out-from-there kind of guy. You’re not sure if you’re getting special treatment because he doesn’t like involving someone like you in his job or because this quarry is too valuable of a target to botch. The former doesn’t add to your anxiety, so you run with that.

You tear your eyes from the mirror when Febhana digs through her purse and plops a set of papers in your lap. You examine them closely, trying to bring the little details to memory as best you could.

“Is that even a real name?” You ask, face screwed up slightly, pointing where it’s listed on the fake ID.

Febhana cranes her neck over your shoulder, looking down at the papers with you. “Sophste Wilkbail? Sure, sounds like a poet or something. You can play that up.”

From the front seat, Mando gives a sardonic huff of air. It’s such a cruel sound you can practically visualize the scowl he’s put behind it. Febhana rolls her eyes.

“Listen, darling, believability is just about the last thing we need to worry about, right now,” Febhana settles back into her side of the speeder’s velveteen cabin. “Hiding who you are is more important. As soon as we get past the guards it’ll be easy. Just try your best to pretend like this is any other party.”

You neglect to tell her that you have not been to any parties besides the ones at the Estate. Instead, you nod, training your gaze out the front windshield.

The driver lights another cigarette as he pulls the speeder into a line of idling vehicles that border the streets outside the Tagge mansion. You can tell that you’ve arrived by the bright lights and banners flooding from the building’s open face, an intimidating amount of guards tucked away at every discernible outpost. You drum your fingers against your knee to the song you can faintly hear playing from the radio.

Febhana’s soft hand against your arm breaks you from your reverie. Her words are far more gentle now. “Are you ready?”

You nod. It’s a sharp, curt movement of your head. Steadfast. You’re kind of scared shitless, but determined. She smiles at you, widely, and it’s enough to have you smiling back.

“Let’s get this show on the road, then.”

**

The first thing you are certain of upon entering the Tagge’s mansion is the fact that this isn’t a home. It’s a cathedral. Possibly the biggest, most extravagant place you’ve ever been in.

The entranceway alone is enough to have you clinging to Febhana’s side a little tighter than you had initially intended to. It looks like… it looks like a marble maw, stretched open, fangs bared. You and Febhana follow the tongue-like carpet down the hall in small, measured steps. She takes to ducking her head in greeting to those she recognizes, you  

It only takes a few moments for you to realize the awe you’re feeling is a strange combination of genuine wonder and pure intimidation. You think that’s the point. It doesn’t help with the uneasy feeling that’s situated itself in the cavity of your chest since getting into the car.

“They like to play pretend royalty here, don’t they?” Febhana mutters under her breath, giving a polite smile to a passing guard as she does. “Stars, you’d think they’d try to lay claim to Naboo itself with a place as decked out as this. Tasteless.”

You huff a laugh as she continues to lead you down the main hall. You try to look as dignified as possible, as if environments like this were an everyday occurrence. It’s difficult to do, but with the assurance of her at your side and Mando a few rigid steps behind you, the anxiety pressing from within your chest is somewhat quelled.

The main dancehall is filled with people. Everything—from the tall curtains to the paintings on the walls—is in cool tones of green and gold, interrupted by great expanses of marble. At the far end of the room are two twisting staircases leading to a platform where the band is playing. The ceiling has some kind of intricate mural you desperately want to examine, but when you try to crane your head back Febhana tugs at your arm slightly, reminding you to play it cool.

You square your shoulders as Mando sidesteps to remain pressed against the walls with the other guard droids, the movement a little too fluid for someone who is supposed to be a robot. You pray everyone is too drunk to notice. They are.

With Mando’s presence lost you sink a little further into your anxiousness as Febhana begins introducing you to a flurry of different people. She delicately places a drink in your hands from a passing server, murmuring a word of encouragement in your ear before moving to the next group. It all passes in a blur, but smiling and graciously dipping your head seems to get you through a lot of the interactions without having to actually pay attention.

You quickly realize she is strategically maneuvering her way towards the stage—or, rather, those who are gathered beneath it. There are a collection of small tables lining the perimeter where people are seated if they are not dancing. Below the stage are three larger tables that overlook the entirety of the ballroom. It’s too crowded from where you’re standing to see any of the occupants.

What you really notice, right after taking in what you can of your surroundings, is that there will be no feasible way for you to pull this off. Not here in the Tagge house at least. Every entrance into the private portions of the house are heavily guarded, cameras everywhere. You do your best to swallow the mounting sense of dread, keeping a smile on your face while Febhana continues to lead you through so many introductions all the names and faces blur together.

You tug at Febhana’s arm slightly between introductions to signal your need to speak with her. She eventually pulls you into the cubby of a towering window after disentangling the two of you from another meaningless conversation.

“Febhana,” you lower your voice and maintain small smile on your face to keep prying eyes and ears disinterested. Better safe than sorry. “There’s no way this is going to work. Not here. I’ve counted at least five guards around every possible entrance.”

“I know, I saw,” Febhana takes a deep breath, eyes wandering out the window. “Let’s just… tough it out. See what happens. I don’t really want to get on the Guild’s bad side, or your friend’s for that matter.”

You wince slightly as the idea that this plan could affect her in any way but nod, trying to swallow your guilt in not fully thinking through how much you were asking of her to help you and Mando out like this. You step out of the little alcove and move your way back to the perimeter of the floor.

From this vantage point, you can see one of Febhana friends wander up to the main tables and hug a seated boy in greeting. The contact leans down and says something in the boy’s ear before turning back to glance at where you are standing.

You’re close enough, now, to realize the table the contact just approached is where the Tagge siblings are sitting. The playboys surrounding them have such a loud presence you’re surprised you didn’t notice them earlier.

They’re all practically kids, at least a year or two younger than you, but they act in that way where they knew they were untouchable. They have lived and breathed an entire lifetime of knowing that they are people who could get away with absolutely anything—and have, more than once. It radiates off of every movement they make, from the way they throw their heads back in obnoxious laughter, to the cruel tilt of their mouths as they speak. Everything about them set off some deep-seeded instinct in you to stay away.

Scanning their faces, you recognize the quarry almost instantly.

The photos Mando showed you didn’t do him justice. Tyreus Cavill is wearing a crisp black suit and has skin so pale it’s nearly opalescent. His hair is slicked back close to his scalp, the severe nature of his bone structure combined with some of the darkest eyes you’ve ever seen gives him the appearance of a leering jackal. 

Cavill stares up at the ceiling, tracing the rim of his wineglass with long fingers as the person seated beside him speaks. He looks bored--they all do, a kind of lax slant to their gathered bodies that stands in stark contrast to the tight, aloof postures of most everyone else around them.

You tear your eyes from Cavill as the boy that Febhana’s contact is talking to begins to stand. You look at the new boy evenly from where you’re standing, holding his gaze as confidently as you can, before turning back to where Febhana is standing behind you.

Febhana flashes you a sly look. You can practically see the gears turning in her head as she flicks her eyes in the direction of the Tagge brothers and Cavill. You quickly put two and two together.

Whoever it was that’s approaching you right now is your invite to the table. Possibly the only one you’d be getting all night.

“I’ve got eyes on him,” you murmur to yourself, hoping Mando’s device can pick it up. You glance to where he is positioned against the wall and see him dip his head slightly in response. Feeling a little more confident, you pull your shoulders back and pretend to make conversation with Febhana.

The boy enters your periphery shortly thereafter, standing at your side as he greets Febhana first.

“Febhana,” the boy tucks his head in greeting to her, then turns his gaze to you. His hair is a thick mop of curls, nose slightly twisted in a way that suggests he isn’t too good at fighting. The crooked smile he gives you is warm enough to push off your initial feeling of disquiet concerning his friends. “And who is this?”

“Lucius, this is my old friend, Sopheste Wilkbail,” Febhana introduces you by your fake name, then motions to the boy. “Sopheste, this is Lucius Laycam, his father owns the racetrack we went to earlier.”

“Dreadful business,” Lucius’s eyes glint, keeping his head tucked slightly in that way men do when they want you to feel like you’re the only person in the room. You don’t like the fact that he knows to say something like that, it demonstrates an ability to read you too easily.  

Lucius takes your hand delicately, leaning down to kiss the ridges of your knuckles. He straightens to say his next words directly into your ear, getting unnecessarily close to do so.

“I’d like to treat you to a dance, if you don’t mind,” his voice rumbles. Your eyes flick to the table from over his shoulder. You make brief eye contact with Cavill, who has leveled his head to take a swig straight from the decanter at the center of the table, entirely disregarding the glass already in his hand. Cavill actually looks at you this time, and holds it, albeit briefly. Lucius finishes his proposal as you train your gaze back to the floor, “And then another drink.”

You give him your best smile and nod. It’s just a small dip of your head, but he eagerly pulls you away from Febhana and towards the center of the dance-floor.

Luckily for you, Lucius isn’t a flashy dancer. He’s amicable in a way you weren’t expecting, considering the company he keeps. He reminds you a lot of the village boy you were having a bit of a fling with before you left Am’ile’s planet: slightly empty-headed, but cute, and very enthusiastic about whatever task he’s put to. There’s a certain goofiness to him that pushes away any residual anxiety with the fits of laughter you tumble into as a direct result of his antics.

It’s kind of… exciting. You don’t want to admit it fully, but there’s something thrilling about someone taking so much interest in you. You’ve been so touch-starved that just the feeling of his hand partially cupping your exposed back in enough to send butterflies straight to your stomach. A different kind of anxious butterflies. Good butterflies.

Maker, it’s only been a few months since you left Am’ile’s and you’ve already been reduced to a giddy schoolgirl at the very brush of someone’s hand against your bare skin. You don’t know how Mando does it, you really don’t.

Lucius pulls the two of you to a halt when the band dies down, the singer murmuring something unintelligible into the mic.

“It was a pleasure, Miss Wilkbail,” he steps back, kissing your hand again and bowing. By this point you’ve figured out that his exaggerated, gentlemanly manner is just another shtick of his. You press your lips together to poorly conceal a giggle, giving him your own mock curtsey in turn.

“And you, Mr. Laycam.”

“Now if you’d like to join me, I’m on a mission to get absolutely plastered before these blowhards,” he motions to the others on the dancefloor with a twirl of his finger, “find a way to make this night even more suffocating than it already is.”

“Sounds just about perfect,” you say as you take the arm he offers you. He pulls you toward the table and you try to keep up with his long strides, bunching some of the skirt of your dress in your hand and lifting the fabric to prevent tripping.

Lucius pulls out a seat for you, introducing you to the playboys seated beside him. You’re directly across from Cavill, who is still nursing the table’s decanter, completely disengaged from the conversation occurring between the two friends that are seated on either side of him.

“Are you new to Canto?” The playboy who asks is a Tagge twin, one of the three brothers who are currently seated at the table with you. You can tell by the signature white-blonde hair.

“A friend of mine wanted me to stay with her for a while,” you say, graciously taking the champagne glass that Lucius plucks off a passing server’s tray to offer you.

“Febhana, you sister’s friend,” Lucius clarifies for the Tagge boy.

“The visiting court singer Heresta was telling me about, before?” The Tagge brother directs the question to Lucius, when his friend nods he raises both eyebrows and shoots you a grin.

“I’m still in training,” you clarify with a nervous laugh, finding it easier to talk if your eyes are trained on the glass in your hand. “But yes, that’d be me. The court singer.”

“What did you say?”

Cavill’s voice quiets the conversations of the other playboys almost immediately. The other Tagge brothers glance over but quickly resume a normal volume. The hierarchy of the table becomes very clear, after that.

“I’m training to be a court singer,” you repeat yourself, sliding your head towards the quarry with your best stab at a cool, practiced gaze of utter ambivalence. Cavill’s eyes remain trained on you, utterly serpentine.

Ah. You press your lips together and look down at your hands folded neatly in your lap, initial resolve broken.

“A court singer?” His voice is a low purr. You raise your gaze again. It seems as though once he takes interest in something, most of his buddies do too. A few of them glance away from their conversations to give you a scathing examination. It takes everything within you to not crawl out of your own skin. So much for the ease you felt back on the dancefloor. “Will you sing for us?”

Your cheeks fill with a heat that quickly travels to your chest. Didn’t expect that. Maybe you should have.

“I... Not here. The singer the Tagges have hired is so lovely, I’m afraid they far outshine me,” your eyes flick back up to his at your last word, you do your best to mask your burning revulsion as shyness.

“That wasn’t a request.” Cavill’s response is so blunt and immediate you actually flinch a little.

“C’mon Tyreus,” Lucius’s voice is quick to intervene. “Leave her alone, she just got here.”

Cavill blinks slowly, as if his eyelids are too taxing of a weight for him to bear. He hums, leaning back in his seat slightly and stretching his arms out to rest on the backs of the chairs on either side of him.

When it becomes clear he has nothing else to say, the other conversations at the table continue as a normal. As if there were no previous interruption. You gradually return to the sense of ease you’d begun to develop earlier, the feeling is seemingly dependent on Cavill’s lack of attention.

Eventually, one of the playboys taps Lucius on the shoulder in passing, quickly murmuring something in his ear before leaving the table to chase down one of the serves for another decanter. Lucius nods, then turns back to you.

“Tyreus wants to extend an invitation to a club we’re going to in an hour or so, if you’d like to join us,” his fingers graze over the peak of your exposed shoulder from where his arm is resting against the back of your seat. For some reason it does not feel as nice as his touch had previously. It’s more intentional, all his playfulness gone. You think that’s why. “Way better than this shit, not so fuckin’ rigid. More private.”

The emphasis he places on those last words is so overt you have to resist an eye-roll. You nod, trying to keep your expression light and ditzy while straightening slightly in your chair. “Tell him it would be an honor.”

Lucius smiles, the fingers that were tracing the line of your opposite shoulder coming up to brush against the shell of your ear. You blink at the touch, vaguely aware of his face inching closer to yours.

You stand without warning, mumbling something about having to use the bathroom before quickly maneuvering your way around the tables and through the arching marble columns that line the ballroom. You walk as briskly as you can into one of the adjoining hallways, following it down and into the women’s bathroom.

Taking a shuttering breath, you place your hands on your hips and close your eyes. Your brain runs at a mile a minute, trying to figure out how to adapt the plan as Mando communicated it to you, considering the fact that Cavill’s posse was leaving within the hour.

You reach your conclusion quickly. You’re the one with the invite, with the way into the inner circle. No time to try and bring Febhana along with you. Honeypot it is.

The bathroom door slamming open breaks you from your thoughts. You gasp, hand pressed to your chest as you whip around. There’s a second of blind panic at the decorated droid stiffly stands at the door’s threshold, both fists clenched at its side, before you remember Mando’s disguise.

You open your mouth indignantly to scold him for bursting in like that but he holds a finger up to shush you, entering the bathroom in one long stride, checking under the stalls for people then briskly locking the main door behind him.

He’s furious. It’s the most blatant display from him you think you’ve ever seen.

“I—” Mando grits out. “Your singing. He doesn’t deserve to get that. None of them do. They’re just using it to get to you.”

You blink twice, completely baffled that that’s the first thing that comes out of his mouth.

He makes another frustrated sound, obviously recognizing your shock, and tries to clarify. “They were… clearly making you uncomfortable but they just kept pushing you—you shouldn’t have to just sit there and take that—"

“Yeah, Mando, that’s kind of how flirting works when you’re dealing with a bunch of entitled assholes,” you snap, finally finding your words. Out of any other possible thing he could be angry about and this was it? “I’ll have to play into what they want to get closer to Cavill. Lucius seems sweet, a little overbearing but sweet. It’ll be fine.”

You’re already hovering the fine line between tipsy and just plain tired. All you want is to get home at this point—your feet hurt, the dress is uncomfortable, and, by your book, making conversation with these silver-spoon pricks could be comparable to pulling teeth. You love Febhana, and you could see the fun in a night like this, but you’re also trying to help Mando do his damn job and if he doesn’t start cooperating—

“He doesn’t. Lay. A finger. On you.” There’s an anger in his voice you’ve never encountered before, not while directed at you, at least. It stops any other thoughts from entering your head. He takes a deep, quivering breath to calm himself. It doesn’t work. “If you’re… if you don’t want it. He will not even look at you. The second—I don’t care if it makes a scene I’ll—"

“Mando.” You lay a hand on his chest. He instantly freezes. “I know that. Thank you. I’m a big girl, I can hold my own. It’s okay.” Trying to lighten the mood, you lift your chin up a bit, smiling at him as brightly as you can manage. “Can we please just talk about how we’re gonna pull this off?”

He gives you a tight nod.

“I… I know that you’ve been doing this for a lot longer than I have, which is the understatement of the millennia, but just… hear me out here. Lucius just invited me to go with them to a club—like, right now.” You feel like if you stop talking he won’t listen to what you have to say, so you keep plowing forward. “I know you made a point about no secondary locations. But, if we have the time I think the best plan of action would be for me to split off, go with them to the club and draw him out to you in some way. The security here is so tight, there’s no way I think we could pull this off without it blowing back on Febhana. She’s important to me and I would appreciate if we could get her out of this scot-free.”

You take a breath, glancing up at him to gauge his reaction thus far. When he doesn’t interject, you continue, keeping your hand on his chest as you speak—for some reason you feel like he listens to you better when you do. “Lucius mentioned that things are way more lax there, so I’m thinking that’ll translate to security measures too. I’m sure Febhana is familiar enough wherever they’re going. She can give you enough intel to be able to get an idea of the place on your way over. Then we can go home.”

“I agree.” His reluctance is palpable, but his next words are far more level-headed than you expected. “You’re right, we shouldn’t jeopardize Febhana. Try to get one of them to tell you a specific location and I can meet you there. I just—” he flexes his hands. “I need to get off this planet.”

“I know,” you sigh, giving his chest a reassuring pat before turning away to go back to the line of mirrors stationed above the sinks, checking your makeup. “Me too.”

You turn on the faucet and lean down to drink straight from the tap. You’re stone sober at this point and the icy water is potentially the best thing you’ve ever tasted. The headache pushing at the back of your eyes has increased to a dull throb.

Mando’s voice from behind you. “Ladylike.”

You turn off the sink and straighten, rolling your eyes. “Oh bite me,” the sharpness of your voice is negated by the laugh you have to push through to get the words out. Relieved that the charged air between the two of you has dissipated, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “Let’s get this over with, I’m exhausted.”

Mando escorts you back down the dimly lit hall, the low hum of the party forms a gradual crescendo the closer you get to the intricate archway where the hallway breaches the ballroom. He pulls you to a stop with a hand on your forearm before you are able to enter.

Despite the heels you’re wearing, he still has to lean down to speak to you.

“Be careful,” he murmurs. Unexpectedly, he swipes his thumb across your elbow before turning heel and rejoining the other droids against the wall.

It’s such an unnecessary motion you can’t help but freeze, unsure how to process that small display of… well, if you didn’t know any better you’d describe it as intimacy. And not the unique sort of platonic camaraderie you’ve started getting used with him. It feels too much like a stolen gesture for that. Something he’s only done out of a pure disregard for his usual utilitarian ethos.  

You swallow and square your shoulders, putting on the best smile you can before heading back to the Tagge table.

Biting your lip as you sink down onto the seat beside Lucius, you drag the knuckles of a relaxed hand down the length of his arm.

“Could I say goodbye to Febhana before we go?” You say as innocently as possible, still figuring out a way to organically ask where the fuck they were going to be taking you without acting too suspicious.

Lucius’s eyes flick over the table, only a few of the seats have emptied. Cavill is gone already.

“Yeah, that should be fine. Just find me when you’re done.”

You stand back up, stretching your neck to find your friend among the crowd. Quickly spotting Febhana, you navigate your way back through the crowd. Just as she has predicted, the uptight façade of the event is quickly dissolving as glasses empty and bodies inch closer together. The crowd you are now navigating through seems completely different from the one you’d encountered upon first entering the dancehall. The heady breath of the gathered crowd leaves a different crackle of energy over the room—considering Cavill’s circle wants to leave this for something “more exciting” is foreboding. Wherever you end up, you’ll deal.

Reaching Febhana’s side, you gently touch her arm to get her attention. She turns, smiling as she sees you.

“There you are! I thought I’d lost you,” she aligns her inner forearms with the length of yours, gripping you lightly in greeting. Touch was once meant survival for the two of you. Back on the Estate, sometimes the only communication you would be able to engage in for days on end, the smallest of reassurances are sometimes the most solid. Old habits die hard. You reciprocate the motion, grasping the inner portion of her elbows.

You duck your head in the direction of the person she was speaking to in a small apology for interrupting. Leaning in to quietly inform her of the change of plans, you tell her that Mando is going to try to meet you at the club. Febhana keeps a straight face as you do, but there’s a glint of worry in her gaze.

“Alright,” she says cheerfully. “I’ll tell the driver to wait outside. He can pick you up and take you back to the apartment when you’re ready to call it a night. I’ve prepared the guest room for you, the service droid can lead you there.”

“Febhana—” your brow furrows as you pull back, unwilling to take advantage of her kindness more than you already have, let alone her only way home. She interrupts you before you can insist.

“I’m going for drinks with friends after this, I’ll ride with them. Please, darling,” she kisses your cheek. “Good luck, and be safe,” she says softly as she pulls back, still gripping you by both elbows. You squeeze her forearms, giving a curt nod.

“I’ve learned from the best,” you manage a confident smile and disentangle her arms from yours. You tell her you’ll update her over the comlink and turn to rejoin Lucius, who was in the midst of his own farewells.

Febhana leaves as you wait for Lucius to finish his conversation. Mando has long since disappeared from his place at the wall. Taking a deep breath, you keep your shoulders back and your head high. You were completely alone.

**

There are five neat lines of spice on the mirrored platter. The Tagge twin is the one to offer it to you, pushing the surface in your direction before sinking back into the velveteen material of the curved couch.

You are in a private room at the club, one of a series of pod-like structures suspended over the dance-floor. The private pod opens into an expansive piece of curved glass that fills out the rest of its intended, ovular, form. If it weren’t for all the plush carpeting, the liquor and smoke and sultry lighting, it would make a decent observation deck. The room makes you feel like the surrounding world is a fish tank, all those people below you just interesting little creatures to look down at and inspect.

There’s something about the very nature of the space that drips luxury—but it’s a kind far removed from the crisp marble lines of the Tagge mansion. This is all seduction. All contours. All darkness and deep tones of amber, starkly contrasting against the pulsing blue lights of the dance-floor below.

The table before you is cluttered with empty glasses, bottles, as well as a few personal items owned by the boys who had already left to chase down the bodies below: a tuxedo tie here, a watch probably worth more than the Crest itself there—you know, the usual things you abandon in search of a warm mouth.

Lucius and Cavill are sharing a cigarette, the burning cherry one of the brightest sources of light in the room. Everything else is illuminated by low shades of red and orange from the warbling fixtures woven against the solid portion of the wall, which then part to trace the curved edges of the observation window.

The music is subdued at this height, yet the grinding pulse of a guitar still sends vibrations through the floor. Through you. The boys’ cigarette traces patterns between them as they exchange it, back and forth, saying very little in between.

Taking a deep breath, you glance down at the platter on the table. You press your lips together, glancing up at Lucius, then Cavill, who has gradually started to pay more attention to you the further into the night you descend.

Pretending to take another sip of your drink, you push the platter towards Lucius. Trying not to draw too much attention to your refusal, you move a little closer to his body as a potential distraction. Either it works or they didn’t care to begin with. Lucius curves into himself, pressing a finger against his nostril to inhale a line. Cavill does two.

Genuinely, there’s no way they could find any kind of appeal to this. You just can’t fathom it—they barely talk to one another, this group. And when they do they seem just as bored in the act as everyone else is. You’d take a night spent with Mando and the kid over this any day.

The Tagge boy jolts back awake, blearily rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. The motion is so sudden it startles you, jumping slightly as he pushes away from the table.

“M’gonna go downstairs,” Tagge’s legs wobble like a newborn calf’s might. “Getta girl.” His departure is unceremonious, just like the others had been. You have a feeling the only thing keeping Lucius at this table is you, and the only thing keeping you at this table is Cavill. Fuck doesn’t really cut it.

As the two of them work on what remains on the platter, you carefully shift out of the circular booth, pacing over to the glass wall to look down at the crowd of writhing bodies.

“Have y’ever been to this place before?” Lucius asks after a moment. He stretches over the top of the couch to look down at the crowd with you. As he does, because you think the universe genuinely hates you, you notice Mando’s disguised silhouette—he’s barely concealed by the darkness of the dance-floor’s periphery. You look away as to not draw too much attention to that one spot.

“No. Never. I’ve been cooped up at the conservatory for most of my life,” you say as angle your body towards the couch, crossing your arms and leaning against the wall with one shoulder. Like this, you’re able to keep Mando in the very edges of your periphery.

What you just said was true for your mother, you knew that. Honestly, you’ve gotten through most of the night by just adopting what you remember about her. It was far too natural of a mask to adopt—maybe that should have creeped you out, but the ease of being able to do so is comforting considering the scope of the mission before you.

You take a breath to clear your mind, needing to get ahead of the conversation before either of them can corner you in a story you’re not able to fabricate. You need to give Mando a clue about where the hell you are.

“How far up do you think we are?” You ask, cocking your head slightly, praying that Mando’s comlink can hear your above what you’re sure is a raucous crowd. It works, you see his head jerk up to finally notice the private rooms above him. Thank the Maker.

“I dunno,” Lucius turns his head to look where you’re looking. “You afraid of heights or something?”

You give a nonchalant laugh, shaking your head slightly. By the time you look back up to scan the crowd one more time you’ve lost track of Mando. Either he’s disappeared in the mass of bodies or he’d gone completely. You have absolutely no clue, and you don’t want to draw attention by continuing to search for him.

Leveling your gaze back to the two boys, you look them over in a way you hope will draw either’s attention. Both are belligerently intoxicated, the glasses before them long since emptied, the smell of spice thick. It gives Cavill the air of a cat luxuriously stretched in the sun, as if it were just some kind of a natural, comfortable state for him.

As if he can read your thoughts, he speaks.

“Why wouldn’t you sing for us, earlier,” Cavill’s voice alone is enough to make your skin crawl. He ashes the cigarette he was smoking. There’s a loud sound of inhaling from Lucius, whose shadowy form is hunched over the table as he finishes what is left on the platter before him.

“Could you quit it,” Lucius mumbles as he rubs either side of his nose, head thrown back as he sniffs indignantly. “She obviously doesn’t want to.”

“If you were shy earlier, it’s just the three of us now. Completely different,” Cavill says, reaching over to wipe his fingers over the platter’s surface. He rubs his gums with the residue. You expect Lucius to defend you and divert the conversation like he’d done earlier. He doesn’t. Cavill sucks his teeth, leaning back once again. “Sing. I want to hear you.”

“It just feels strange is all,” you bite your lip, voice admittedly a bit brisk in how absent-mindedly it disregards what Cavill is asking. Your turn your gaze back out over the club, mainly to get Cavill’s off you.

You’re worried about Mando, about how long it’s taken him to give you some kind of sign that he’s ready. Maybe he’s waiting until you’re completely alone with Cavill? He pushed that in the car, how this whole thing has to be done as quietly as possible. The problem is that you’ve got absolutely no idea how to get Lucius out of the picture.

“Before there were too many people and now there are too little? What do you want?” Cavill’s words float in the air behind you as you pace to the bar cart, determined to busy your hands by remaking the drink you hadn’t touched since entering the room. “Isn’t that what you’re training for?”

Maybe Mando has been stopped? Your eyes flick to the circular doors partitioning the enclosed room from the catwalk hallway. You remember loudly greeting the guards that were there when the posse first entered the room, giving him the best heads up you could organically muster. Could he take both of them out on his own? Quietly?

“Um, yeah I suppose. It’s just different, there. In conservatory.” Dropping ice into your glass, you hear Cavill scoff. Lucius mumbles something. You bend slightly to get some of the bitters from the cart’s lower shelf.

And an explosion of glass shatters right where your head just was.

You whip around in shock, only to see Cavill already standing, swaying a bit on his feet, dress-shirt partially unbuttoned and messily untucked. It’s almost like some kind of switch went off, transforming him into something utterly unrecognizable.

He’s a fucking mess. Eyes nearly black. The empty decanter from the Tagge mansion in his hand.

“In conservatory,” he mocks, his lips pulled upwards in a vicious snarl. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Before you can react, the decanter is being flung at you—it misses, again. Shattering on the ground in front of you this time. You press yourself as far as you can against the bar cart, eyes wide. Cavill spits, then wipes his mouth with his hand, looking at you through half-lidded eyes.

“Kneel.”

Horrified, your gaze flicks from Lucius back to the tantrum-throwing, wolf-eyed aristocrat standing in front of you.

“What?” You ask incredulously, browns knitted together in complete confusion.

“I said kneel,” Cavill jabs his finger to the ground. “Pick that shit up.”

Lucius does a poor job of concealing a pained grimace. Or maybe you’ve grown far too good at reading the tiniest expressions from your masked companion that you’ve become hyper-aware of these kind of things. He gives a small: “Maker, Tyreus.” If it were supposed to be a warning it was a shitty one.

Survival instincts set in immediately. You turn your eyes to the floor and make your breathing as small and quiet as possible. Obediently, you comply. Kneeling on the ground and reaching out a shaking hand to begin plucking the shards from the carpet.

Cavill stalks behind you in an instant, one hand sealing around the back of your neck and pushing your head down to immobilize you. Simultaneously, his other hand wraps around your wrist, twisting your arm back and making your body to fold in on itself, pressing you into the ground.

You can’t help but cry out, the sharp motion forcing you to quickly catch yourself with your free hand. Your palm lands directly in the broken glass. You’d give anything to erase the wet sound it makes from your head forever.

It takes you less than a second to realize he’s trying to force your face into the carpet. Into it. Fuck.

“D’you want to tell me, huh?” He’s folds in half to speak directly in your ear, his spit hitting your cheek. He twists your arm further, grinding the hand supporting the rest of your body deeper into the glass. You grit your teeth to prevent another pained sound from escaping. “Wanna tell me who the fuck you think you are? Too good for me, whore? Too good for all this?”

The doors burst open. Cavill lets go of you in shock, it gives you time to crawl away from him as Mando levels his blaster at the boy. You scrape one of your knees in the process, you don’t notice it over the adrenalin pulsing through you.

Lucius swears loudly, standing.

“Don’t move.” Mando’s words are more of a growl than anything else.

In the pause this creates, you’re able to kick out your leg and take Cavill out from the back of the knees. It’s not graceful or pretty but it works. Cavill falls to the ground and you quickly clamber on top of him, forcing his hands behind his back, keeping him down with a bloodied knee to the spine.

Mando throws you the cuffs, training his blaster back on Lucius as you work on securing the binds around his quarry’s wrists.

“The spice,” Mando barks out the order. Lucius, eyes wide with terror, looks from the bounty hunter, to you, back to the bounty hunter.

“W-What?”

Mando shoots Lucius in the leg. The boy screams a curse, folding into himself in pain. The air smells like burnt flesh and coins. You swallow, looking back down and busying yourself with keeping Cavill still as he struggles against the floor.

“The. Spice.” He repeats. Choking on his sobs, Lucius reaches a shaking hand into his suit jacket’s pocket, throwing the little bag on the floor. Mando stalks over to him, Lucius cowers.

“Listen, man I—I’ll give you anything you want, ok? My father—”

Mando pistol whips him, the force behind it is enough to also slam Lucius’s head into the table as a result, knocking him unconscious. The bounty hunter turns, snatching up the spice on the ground and crossing over to you, kneeling beside Cavill, whose face is pressed into the ground.

“Mother fucker,” Cavill snarls, the first coherent set of words he’s said since Mando entered. Without reacting, Mando pinches Cavill’s nose shut. You’re confused for a moment, then Cavill opens his lips to either breathe or continue his litany of abuses and Mando takes that opportunity to empty the rest of the spice directly into the quarry’s mouth.

Cavill’s eyes widen, then almost immediately roll back into his skull. He jerks once, then lays still.

It all happens so fast you barely process Mando’s gentle order for you to stand. You do eventually, your legs a bit shaky as you cross back over to the bar cart, holding your palm up to the light in order to puck the largest pieces of glass out before wrapping your wound with a decorative napkin.

When you turn, Mando is pacing the room’s glass perimeter, looking down at the dance-floor to see if anyone noticed the commotion over the pounding music. His takes two brisk strides to cross the room, back to you.

“Are you okay?” He asks, his voice curt and professional. You duck your head in a nod, still pressing the napkins to your bleeding hand. Mando then turns to deal with Lucius’s body, stuffing his mouth with one of the tux ties on the table, binding his wrists. Buying the two of you time, you guess.

You look down at Cavill’s crumpled body. Unconscious, like this, you realize he couldn’t be more than twenty years old. Maybe even nineteen. “They’re all just kids, aren’t they?”

Mando’s sighs, crossing the room again to lean out the open doors to gauge the best way of getting back to the driver. “Pel kar’ta.” Whatever he just called you, it sounds like an accusation “That doesn’t excuse it.”

“No,” you murmur to yourself, gaze still fixed to the boy on the floor. “No, I guess it doesn’t.”

**

The napkins you use on your injured hand manages to somewhat stop the bleeding. You wait in the backseat as Mando and the driver stuff Cavill’s body into the trunk. You manage to pluck the last of the shards out of the meat of your palm once Mando silently slides into the seat beside you.

The driver leans over to the seemingly empty passenger seat, plucking a bundle of swaddled fabric and passing it back to Mando. It’s the child, sleeping deeply.

“Febhana said she had a feeling you’d want to get off planet as fast as possible. She sends her well wishes,” the driver grits out. He pulls the speeder off the roof of the club, quickly maneuvering the vehicle into Canto Bight’s weaving back alleys.

You take a deep breath, leaning your head against the window.

“I’m sorry,” you manage after a few minutes of driving, the words so soft they break slightly as they leave your mouth. “I… I didn’t think it could get that messy. I should have stuck to the plan.”

He says your name softly, it crackles over the speakers of the modulator. You take too much comfort in how he says it, the way it fills the space between the two of you. “Jobs like this are never clean.”

“You said this needed to go quietly,” you turn your head to look at him directly. “That wasn’t quiet.”

“I should have interfered earlier, that was my fault,” his response is immediate. “You shouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes and resting your head against the window. “I am not trying to make this about me. I just—I know it was a leap of faith involving me in this. I screwed it up, I want to apologize.”

“I didn’t think you were. I was making a clarification. You shouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

The kid makes a small sound in his sleep, you know he’s stretching and nuzzling into the crook of Mando’s arms without having to look over.

“Okay. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

He says your name again. You shake your head.

“Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen like that, if that’s okay?” You keep your gaze trained out the window, watching the city as it passes a good distraction from the pain pulsing from your hand up your wrist. “I’ll be fine once we get home.”

From your periphery, you see Mando nod.

Arriving at the hangar, you scoop the child in one arm and open the speeder door with a slight wince. You thank the driver and make a beeline for the Crest, busying yourself with tucking the little one in his cradle while Mando deals with the body.

By the time you shed the dress Febhana leant you—now ruined, thanks to that asshole—and quickly shower, you’re starting to catch a second wind of energy. You’re wide awake by the time you pull on a sleep shirt and a soft pair of shorts, catching yourself on the wall as the Crest rumbles into hyperspace.

Settling at your med station, you examine your injured hand under a small portable light, making sure you didn’t miss any pieces of glass due to the dim lighting of the landspeeder’s interior. You hear Mando step behind you.

“Let me see it,” he says. You straighten, looking up at him. Mando is holding a hand out, for yours. He’s back in the clothes he sometimes wears during your long stretches of travel, no armor save for the helmet on his head. His gloves are removed.

The first time he’d done this it had nearly knocked the wind out of you, stopping your words mid-sentence as you entered the cockpit to feed the kid breakfast. He was reclined in the pilot’s seat, the sturdy fingers grasping a rag to oil the pauldron he held in his other hand. You only caught the brief glimmer of a thick beskar ring on his thumb before averting your eyes, stuttering an apology.

At this point, you’ve seen enough of his hands to have memorized every scar and callous. You know it all, from the broken mountains of his knuckles to the small tattoo below the web of his thumb, so weathered by age you still cannot make sense of what it’s supposed to be.

This is different, though. He’s asking to touch you, skin on skin. That’s what makes you pause, looking at him blankly. Mando tries again.

“It’s my fault you got hurt—please, let me take care of you this once.”

There’s something in his voice that sounds incredibly pained, it’s enough to break you from your thoughts. You hesitate, then shift to face him on the crate you’d pulled over to sit on.

You offer him your hand, palm up, in wordless agreement.

He starts his work there, diligently giving it one last look over for glass before slathering it in bacta and firmly wrapping it with gauze. His hands feel just as you thought they would, rough but warm, hesitant at first but firmer once he gains the confidence to really touch you.

Mando then begins to examine your shoulder, delicately asking you to lift your arm, shift it in different directions and tell him when it hurts. You comply, easily succumbing to his little, light touches.

Maker, if Lucius had managed to give you butterflies on the dance-floor this… this couldn’t even be qualified at anything close to that feeling. The flight of birds, more like. A whole flock. A force only rivaled by the quick beat of your pulse.

“I got you something.” If you didn’t know any better you’d think his voice has a certain tinge of shyness to it. “A few days ago. I kept forgetting to give it to you.”

“Do tell,” you manage a casual yawn, then wince when his fingers dig into your scapula. “Ow.”

“Sorry,” he removes his hands from you, turning and walking to the other side of the hull. He rifles through a crate and emerges with what looks like a little box, offering it to you. You balance it in your bandaged hand, recognizing the object the second you see the speakers affixed to either end of it.

A wide grin breaks out over your face as you look up at him. “Is this a radio?”

He nods, plucking the tube of muscle warming agent from the med-kit and spreading it against your shoulder. His gloves are still off, the rough feeling of his hands against you enough to steal all words from your parted lips.

“Thank you,” you manage. “Mando—this is so nice I—”

“It’s nothing,” he says it frankly. You gladly don’t continue your sentence, turning the object over in your hand. “The woman told me it should work just about anywhere. If it loses signal it’ll just play some kind of recorded catalogue.”

You nod, bracing your forearms against your thighs and fiddling with the radio’s controls as he continues to talk, his thumbs working against every part of the joint they can. The feeling is far too easy to give into, you allow yourself to close your eyes as he continues, placing the radio beside you and leaning back to rest your elbows on the table to your back.

“I thought it was the least I could offer you. You seem so happy whenever there’s music,” Mando says as he kneels in front of you, wiping off your injured knee, rubbing away the scabs that were already forming with a disinfectant-soaked towel. He disregards the hiss you give and begins applying the bacta to the scored surface. “Especially tonight, when you were dancing. I didn’t realize you could.”

You laugh, smiling to yourself. “I was most nervous about that, as ridiculous as it sounds.” You muffle a relieved groan at the numb warmth that begins to spread as soon as the bacta sets in. You turn over what you want to ask for a long time before you muster the courage to say it. Why not? “I could teach you.”

A pause. “What?”

“I could teach you to dance, if you want me to,” you open your eyes to look down at the man kneeling before you. His fingers are frozen against the bandage he was in the process of tying off—incorrectly, you might add, but you can fix it later. You can’t help but smile at him. “Put this radio to use.”

He pauses for a moment longer, then shakes his head and goes back to adjusting your bandages. “Don’t mess with me like that, I’ll take back the compliment.”

“Hey! C’mon,” you bite your lip, stretching out your uninjured leg to faux-kick his side. He grabs your foot before it can make contact, gently guiding it back to the floor. “I’m being serious. Gotta blow off some steam before I can sleep.” Heat shoots up to your face, the words leaving your mouth before you can think them through. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“Alright.” Mando stands, crossing his arms over his chest to regard you.

You genuinely don’t believe it. Your smile widens. “Are you serious?”

His head cocks to the side. “If you make a big deal out of it I’ll purposefully step on your toes.”

It’s hard to contain your glee. You push yourself up to your feet, Mando’s arms shooting out in a protective gesture to catch you when you wobble slightly.

“Relax, I’m fine,” you gently push his hands away, walking over to the other side of the hull to place the radio on top of a stack of crates. Fiddling with it for a moment, you find a station playing something slow.

Turning back around, you see that Mando has turned off the med-station’s light, the brightest source of illumination now coming from the radio’s tiny interface behind you. The rest of the hull’s sconces are in night mode, the dull orange glow just enough to see what’s in front of you.

“Okay,” you begin, standing in the middle of the room and motioning Mando towards you. He complies. You hold out both hands. When he doesn’t get it, you press your lips together to suppress a smile, taking them for yourself where they rest limply at his sides. “So, you’d start by approaching your lady and holding her hand up, like this.” You bend your right elbow, your loosely interlocked hand forcing his left arm to do the same.

Mando nods, head bowed to you in observation, a diligent student.

“Then,” you continue, guiding his right hand to the curve of your waist. “You’d place your other hand here, or mid-back, whatever feels most appropriate for the situation.” He doesn’t move his hand. It sends a bit of a thrill through you. You place your left hand on his bicep, looking up at him and grinning. “See? You’re a natural.”

The both of you laugh at that one. His comes out as nothing more than a hoarse release of air from the modulator, but it’s enough to have you absolutely elated.

You start to sway slightly, to the rhythm of the song now playing from the radio’s speakers. Mando picks up the hint, taking up the role of leader while you gladly follow. He’s actually okay—granted, the two of you are just swaying in place, but still.

“I meant that, you know.”

“Hm?” You ask, partially distracted in trying to figure out what move to teach him next. The waltz you and Lucius did would be far too complicated, maybe there would be some kind of way to simplify it…

“What I said earlier. You looked beautiful, tonight,” Mando says, chin still tucked to look down at you. You blink, only actually processing what he’d just said a few seconds after he said it. You purposefully keep your eyes trained to his chest in order to keep your thoughts straight. “I um… I didn’t know how to tell you. Earlier. In the car. But I wanted to.”

“Hate to inform you, but the dress is in tatters and I am way too lazy to put all that makeup on again,” you chuckle, using the side of your foot to nudge him into a bit of a wider stance. He has the resting state of a soldier at attention—fitting, you guess, for a Mandalorian. It’s something so natural about to him that you’ve only really noticed the rigidity of it now.

“No, no I’m not… That’s not what I meant. You look that way always just—tonight, especially.”

“Well, Mando, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you sound a little bashful right now,” you joke, trying to move on as quickly as possible to cover up the fact that you had no idea how to take a compliment. You turn your head a little too quickly to look back down at his feet, ready to instruct him on the next steps, and your forehead collides with him helmet.

It fucking hurts.

You wince, cursing slightly under your breath and screwing up your face, trying to laugh off the heat burning in your cheeks and across your chest. “Ow.”

“Fuck, sorry,” Mando mutters, releasing your hands and cupping either sides of your jaw with his hands. His thumbs press along the underside of your chin, tilting your face up towards him as he inspects it for damage. “Are you okay?”  

You close your eyes and nod, swallowing. “Yeah, just surprised me is all—never had to teach a tin can how to dance before, forgot I had to be conscious about the...” one of his thumbs traces a curved line against your chin before he removes his hands from your face. The motion is quick and then gone immediately, just as he had done in the hallways of the Tagge mansion. It has a far more vivid consequence of completely scrambling your thoughts, this time around. “Helmet,” you manage.

After a moment, Mando tilts his head.

“Close your eyes,” his voice is husky, from the modulator or something else you don’t know.

You comply without question, pulse increasing as you feel Mando step away and rummage through something. He returns, standing behind you this time. Fabric is wrapped around your eyes—once, then twice. You reach a hand up to touch it, recognize the slightly rough texture of gauze almost immediately.

There’s some kind of a hissing sound, then the clank of metal being placed on something solid. Then he’s back in front of you.

“Think you can teach me like this?” And it’s his voice. His voice. Rough but warm and unobstructed. Just as his hands had been. It takes the wind right out of your lungs.

“Mando,” if you could think of anything else to say, you’d cringe at how breathless you sound. What are you, a locked-away damsel in distress?

“When I was younger I was… a bit more lax. Running with the wrong people. I relied on… technicalities, in our code, a little too heavily back then.” You never want to stop hearing his voice. There’s something about the modulator that doesn’t do the light lilt to his words justice, the low but crisp resonance of his voice. “But I’ve… this is new. But okay. Within the rules.”

“Are you—” clearing your throat, you try again. More firm this time. “Are you sure?”

“Just don’t touch my face with your hands,” his voice remains clipped, slightly cautious, but resolved. Typical. “If you—I can put the helm back on, if this makes you uncomfortable.”

“No!” You interject, placing both hands on his chest in reassurance. “No, I… no. I feel honored and happy, really happy, that you’d trust me like this. It means a lot.”

You hear him hum low in his throat, a sound you know he makes sometimes when he nods. He takes your hand, again, the other going back to your waist. “Okay, start over.”

“So,” you begin again, trying your best to run your mouth enough to distract from how… serious this feels. You know it most likely isn’t a huge deal, if he’s willing to do this after one accidental collision—but, well. Still. “When you’re ready, you’ll step forward and I’ll step back. And… uh…” you bite your lip as his hand drifts lower, just an inch, to rest at the small of your back. You look up at him through the blindfold out of habit. “You lead, I follow, simple as that.”

“Simple as that?” His words have a rare, palpable heat to them. You can never be certain, of course, but you’re convinced there’s a small smile behind his question. It’s easier to tell, now.

“Yeah,” your chest feels tight with an emotion so close yet so different from the joy you’re used to feeling. Your smile is uncontainable, if barely visible in the hull’s dim light. “It really is.”

He’s a fast learner, easily taking you in slow, looping circles around the room for the next few songs. The silence between the two of you is comforting.

The longer the radio plays, the deeper you sink into one another, your entwined movements eventually spiraling back to the center of the space, settling into an easy, sedentary sway there. You only really notice this as Mando’s hand drifts from your lower back to wrap around the curve of your opposite hip, the length of his sturdy forearm braced against your body. After a beat, you let go of the hand you’re holding onto and wrap both arms loosely around his neck, leaning into him fully.

The two of you don’t acknowledge it, playing it off as an incidental thing, this gradual enclosure of your bodies. The equally quick thrum of your hearts betrays the known secret behind the little game you are playing.

“What did that phrase you use mean, when we talked earlier?” You press the side of your face to Mando’s chest. He props his chin against the crown of your head in welcome response.

The hand previously holding yours moves up your spine in order to gently cradle the back of your neck, gently holding you in place. His thumb traces repetative arcs against the sensitive line between the corner of your jaw and your earlobe. It feels like a salve in its own right, erasing the feeling of Cavill’s skin pressed against your own.

“What did what mean?” Mando asks innocently enough, as his hand continues its serene movement. It’s the most he’s ever touched you, and you suppose he keeps his tone completely casual to make up for the fact. As if the two of you were conversing from other sides of the room, not entangled in each other. You’re more than willing to play into the charade if it means you can have this, the ability to close your eyes and take in the rumble of his voice against your ear.

“Pel… pel kar-ta?” You wince at your gross mispronunciation. “What you called me back there, at the club.”

“Oh—” he seems surprised, like he didn’t even remember saying it. “That’s—that’s Mando’a. It means… well it’s the closest expression to kindness we have.” He keeps rubbing the corner of your jaw with his thumb, keeping rhythm with your movements. If it could even be considered that, at this point. “A more direct translation would be ‘soft hearted.’ Someone who is unapologetically forgiving towards others, even to those don’t deserve it. An ability to love that clouds greater judgment.”

“I have the feeling it’s not the most complimentary nickname for Mandalorians.”

“No, no it isn’t,” the breath of his laugh ruffles your hair. You can’t help but hide your smile in the warm fabric of his shirt, laughing with him. Mando shifts slightly, curving over you, your cheek against his, rough with a well-developed five o’clock shadow. “But, um. I mean it as a compliment, for you. As stupid as you can get.”

If someone punched you in the gut it wouldn’t have left you this breathless. You try to disguise the euphoric feeling it gives you in humor. You’re worried that if you give too much away he’ll stop touching you. Stop holding you like this. Like you were the one gentle thing he’d succumb to.

“Well, it seems hardly fair that you get to call me a nickname and I get nothing at all,” you huff in playful offense, barely able to keep the smile off your face. “Totally unfair.”

“Give me your best, then.” He’s still smiling, you don’t know how you can tell but you just can. It’s infectious.

“What about… hmm… I dunno—tin can?”

“That one’s taken.”

“Oh, have some lady in waiting I should know about?”

“That’s probably the exact opposite way I’d describe him.”

You laugh. “Bucket head?”

“Not very original.”

“Well,” you give an airy hmph. “I’m stumped. You win. Mando it remains.”

Continuing your sway as the music maintains its soft tumble from the radio’s speakers, the two of you go so long without speaking you think the conversation has ended--until:

“Din.” He says the word so softly it wouldn’t have been picked up if he were still speaking through the vocoder.

Your brow furrows. “Sorry, what?”

“Din. Din Djarin. My name. When it’s… when it’s just us, you can use it. If you’d like.”

You cup your hand around the other side of his neck and pull back slightly. His hand automatically lifts to press against your cheek, a refusal to allow you to move any further despite the fact that you’re wearing the blindfold. Pure habit, you think.

You blink against the fabric stretched over your eyes, trying to quell your burning desire to do something absolutely disastrous.

So you say his name instead.

**

tag list: @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @walkingthegrounds @roseallisonparker @kaitlyn2907 @dinsbeskar @mandoandyodito @kyjoraven @ineffableloveforyou

please let me know if you would like to be added/removed !!

[hoebii]

Birthday Bash

Pairing : Squirrel hybrid!Kim Seokjin x Fox hybrid!Kim Taehyung (MXM)

Genre : Fluff, hybrid!au, established relationship

Rating : PG13

Warnings : Swearing

Wc : 1.6k

A/N : Okay before all, thank you @taegularities​ and @kassrole​ for being my beta, you guys are the best <3 Second- HAPPY BIRTHDAY @aroseforyoongi​ HOPE YOU HAVE A BLAST AND THIS YEAR TREATS YOU LIKE THE QUEEN YOU ARE <333 I hope you like my present for you~ Thank you for being so nice and welcoming all the time, you’re the best <3 OH I COMPLETELY FORGOT - I got the ‘We were supposed to bring the cake for our mutual friend’s birthday party but we got in a fight over who should carry it to the car and now the cake is on the floor and HOUSTON, WE HAVE A PROBLEM!’ prompt from @creativepromtsforwriting !!

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

Taehyung was in the middle of a meeting when his phone buzzed. His ears twitched at the low buzzing- he had initially decided to ignore it till after the meeting was over. But with how much it was vibrating, he sighed in mild annoyance before taking his phone out as discreetly as he could to not alert anyone else. 

His annoyance got replaced with curiosity when he saw it was a new group chat named ‘SURPRISE BITCHES’. Clicking open the chat box, Taehyung almost snorted at what was on his screen, alerting the others but he paid no mind to the questioning gazes.

           ~Jinnie created group~

          ~Jinnie named the group ‘SURPRISE BITCHES’~

 Jinnie : THIS IS A GROUP CHAT FOR ALL YOU BRATS TO PLAN A SURPRISE PARTY FOR MY BIRTHDAY

 Jinnie : Make sure it’s AMAJIN *laughing sticker*

       ~Jinnie has left the chat~

  Kook : ...what just happened 

  Park Brat : We have to plan a party for hyung now, I guess?

  Kook : Yeah, no shit shorty but wth was that o.O

The rest of the chat had transformed into the two arguing with each other. Taehyung put his phone down and leaned back into his chair, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead. He was surrounded by children. Absolute children.

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

After the meeting had ended, Taehyung was walking back to his office when his phone rang, playing a sound akin to... Spongebob’s laugh? Taehyung’s ears stood straight on alert as he checked his screen, eyebrows raised in surprise at the odd tone - someone had changed his ringtone again. 

Seeing it was a call from none other than the soon-to-be 29 years old, Kim Seokjin, he picked up the phone with a sigh, “What’s up, hyung?”

“Did you see the group?”

“Hello to you, too, I haven’t had lunch yet, have you? My day has been pretty busy, thanks for asking,” Taehyung started, completely ignoring what the older man had asked, snickering when he started scolding Taehyung on the other side.

“Stop being a brat! Did you see the group I made?” Jin whined. Taehyung could almost imagine Jin’s furrowed brows as he paced around wherever he was. 

“Yes hyung, I saw the group you made,” Taehyung finally answered, smiling softly when he heard a happy gasp come from the excitable squirrel hybrid. 

“So?”

“So what?” he asked, trying to keep a neutral face while passing by employees when he heard a grunt on the other line.

“So, what did you plan? What are you getting me?”

“I thought it was supposed to be a surprise?”

“Yeah but I want to know!”

“Oh well, if you really want to know,” Taehyung started, humming as if in deep thought, “we haven’t planned a single thing.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“When have I ever joked around? I am the most serious person you can ever meet,” he announced dramatically, stepping into his office and closing the door behind.

“You’re no fun, I’m calling Namjoon.” Jin huffed before hanging up, giving the other man no time to reply.

Taehyung laughed to himself, deciding to call the group to check on the plan, given they had made any rather than arguing like before. Taehyung would have their head if they didn’t make this the best birthday for Jin.

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

It was the day of the party. Everyone had arrived at the venue, Taehyung noted as he scanned the place - except two people. The two who were in charge of the cake.

He was about to call one of them when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Taking out the device, he instantly picked up the call when he saw the caller ID being displayed as ‘Kook’.

“Where are you two?! Hoseok and Yoongi hyung are gonna bring Jin here any minute! Even Namjoon hyung has arrived!”

“Okay, don’t get mad…” Jungkook started after Taehyung finished his rant, “we sort of have a problem.”

“What problem?”

“Well, you see. Uh. Well. Listen, don’t be mad,” the bunny hybrid stuttered, causing Taehyung’s concern to rise tenfold. 

“Oh give me that,” he heard Jimin say on the line before his voice chimed in, “yeah, hi. I know we were supposed to bring the cake for Jin, but we kinda got in a fight over who should carry it from the car and now the cake is on the floor and HOUSTON, WE HAVE A PROBLEM!”  

Hearing no reply for a moment, Jimin asked, “Tae? You there?”

“You… dropped the cake?”

“Accidentally, yes,” the cat hybrid answered, getting nervous the longer he got no answer. He had thought Taehyung would blow a fuse, but there was no screaming… yet.

“Fix. This.”

“What?”

“Fix the mess you made. Don’t show your face unless you do.”

Jimin raised his brow at his words, “Do you want us to go get another cake? Cause this was a custom one and I don’t think it’s possible to get that so fast.”

“I don’t care, fix it or don’t show up.”

“You serious?”

Taehyung hung up without answering.

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

The party was coming to an end. Jimin and Jungkook had somehow managed to get another cake - albeit not the one Taehyung had wanted, but it was good enough - and he had made up with the two, apologising for his behaviour earlier. 

“It’s fine, dude. I’d be worse if I was in your place,” Jungkook had said, patting him on the head while saying so.

“Exactly what Kook said, don’t worry too much, man. Enjoy the party, and do not get cold feet,” Jimin had chimed in after the maknae. Taehyung was grateful to have such amazing friends.

He had been standing at the balcony, sipping on champagne when Jin found him.

“What’s up, babe?” he asked, words laced with concern. 

Taehyung sighed, looking down at the drink, “Don’t worry about it. Did you enjoy the party?”

“Don’t change the subject, Tae.”

When Jin got no reply, he sighed, grabbing Taehyung’s face and forcing him to meet his eyes, “The party was amazing. I didn’t expect you people to actually do something when I made the group as a joke. Thank you.”

Staring into Jin’s eyes, Taehyung gulped, nervousness consuming him. He had to do it now or he would cower away again, he decided. 

Stepping away, he placed the glass down on the ledge, “I haven’t given you your gift yet.”

“Gift? This party was enough, honey. You didn’t need to- what are you doing?” Jin started, getting interrupted mid-way when the younger man got down on one knee in front of him.

“I don’t want to be your boyfriend anymore,” Taehyung started, pulling out a velvet box. 

“Is your gift for me to break up? You didn’t have to get down on your knees for that, you know?” Jin asked, trying to act calm, but Taehyung knew him better.

Snorting at his words, Taehyung squinted his eyes at Jin in warning, “Shut up and let me finish before I back down again.”

“Sorry.”

“When I met you, I never thought we would be together, much less me wanting to spend the rest of my life with you,” Taehyung began his speech, smiling when he saw Jin playfully glare at him, “but you came into my life and made it so much better. I would be a mess without you. I’ve had this ring for months now, never finding the right moment to do it, but now feels as good as any. You always told me to not wait for the right moment and make the moment right, so here I am. Kim Seokjin, will you make me the happiest man alive and-” He was about to finally ask when a clearly drunk Namjoon stumbled onto the balcony.

“There you guys are! Everyone is looking for you two!” he exclaimed, grinning happily at finding his friends, the two barely able to understand what he said.

The smile slipped off of his face when he got no reply, and scanning the scene in front of him, he quickly connected the dots before he was back to smiling happily, his tail wagging furiously and exclaimed, “Oooh Taehyung-ah! Did you propose yet?”

Taehyung stared at him, lips parted in shock, not knowing how to react. His heart sank as the drunk man blubbered on about god knows what. What did he do to deserve this? He wasn’t sure whether he was angry or disappointed at the situation, but what he did know without a doubt, was that he'd teach Namjoon a lesson after this.

Seeing Taehyung deflating each second, Jin pushed Namjoon out of the balcony with a ‘Fuck off, you dumb dog’ - to which he got a very drunk reply of ‘I’m a wolf!’ - before returning to him. Crouching down to be face-to-face with him, Jin smiled reassuringly, taking Taehyung’s hands in his, “Ignore him, baby. Finish what you were saying.” 

“The moment’s ruined.”

“I will smack you if you say that again. The moment is not ruined and if you don’t finish what you were saying right now, I will hunt Namjoon down and push you both off of this balcony.”

“Will you say yes if I do?” Taehyung asked, looking like a kicked puppy as he did so.

“You’re gonna have to say it to find out, won’t you?”

Taking a deep breath, he resumed, “Kim Seokjin, will you marry me?”

“No.”

“W-what?” Taehyung sputtered, looking at Jin with wide eyes, heart shattering the longer he got no reply.

Jin laughed, “I’m kidding. Of course I’ll marry you.”

“Yah! You’re so mean, why would you ever do that?!” Taehyung whined, “You can’t just joke around li-”

Jin grabbed Taehyung’s face, cutting him off by pulling him into a sweet kiss. He smiled when he felt the other one kiss back instantly, one hand sliding down to intertwine it with the others’.

Pulling away from the kiss, the two smiled at each other, Taehyung slipping the ring on Jin’s finger.

“Best. Birthday. Ever.”

[illfoandillfie]

You Can Make It Up To Me

Ok sorry if its too late or its already been done just thought id ask anyway, for the 1000 followers celebration why not throw it back to the early days, what about a sequel to "I'll make it up to you" based on another time rog comes home after being away for a while? Maybe reader cant keep to her promise this time? 😊 have been hooked on your writing since I read that fic!! ❤

I’LL MAKE IT UP TO YOU

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT (18+), dom!Rog, sub!Reader, edging and denial, chastity belt, oral sex (male receiving), facial, mentions of spanking though it doesn’t really feature, mentions of cockwarming though it doesn’t really feature either, it’s really just a fuckload of edging lmao

Words: 9,307

A/N: Listen, ya’ll should know by now I have a denial kink. You suggest a fic with edging and i fucking run with it.

This was another request from my 1000 followers celebration roughly a year ago. Apologies to the person who requested it for taking so long, I hope you’re still around and you see this! 

Taglist: @vee-ndetta​ @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac @labessieisallama​ @deakyclicks​ @jennyggggrrr​ @drowseoftaylor​ @hannafuckingsucks​ @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming​ @queenmylovely​ @taron-egrotten @johndeaconshands​ @borhapbois​ @stardust-galaxies​

You’d thought edging for a week was hard. Oh how wrong you’d been. A week was a piece of fucking cake compared to the two months you’d been asked to endure this time. Stupid Roger. Stupid you. You’d been a fool to agree to the edging challenge again. You let Roger sweet talk you and convince you it’d be fun and hot and maybe he was a little bit right. Maybe you were turned on just from the suggestion of being edged for an extended period of time. He knew that and he used it against you as he cooed about how much he loved seeing you desperate and how good it had been last time he’d been away and how much fun you’d had playing with it all those times since, but they’d all been so short and wouldn’t it be fun to go for longer. And that was all very true, but you’d still been an idiot to agree to it. Two months! What had you been thinking? You supposed it could be worse. They could have been doing the whole tour in one hit, leaving you with much longer to get through. But that was by the by really. You’d never have lasted longer. You hadn’t even lasted the two months you’d agreed to. Roughly half a month from Roger’s return and you’d fucked up. Gone over the edge without meaning to. And he was going to call at the previously agreed upon check in time and you’d have to tell him and then be punished when he got home. Maybe you could distract him, get him talking about the tour and stuff. Technically you were meant to save all the chatting for the end of the week when he could call earlier and spend longer on the phone but maybe he’d be so homesick he’d forget about the rules you’d agreed on. Or maybe you could just lie about it and get back into your edging routine and still be the same drippy mess he expected to find waiting for him on his return. Ten minutes until he was supposed to call. You had to make your mind up now.

 “Love?” “Hi Rog,” You were still apprehensive about the call but the weary drawl in his voice softened your worry, “you sound tired.” “Only just got back to the hotel, how’s my girl?” “Good, how are you? How’s the tour going?” “Love, you know this isn’t a social call, it’s a check in.” Damn. So much for distracting him. “Sorry, I just miss you.” “I miss you too Y/N.” “So let’s just talk for a minute.” A feeble last ditch effort really. “We can talk. About how your edging is going. Tell me what my slut’s been up to.” Double damn. “I’ve been edging Sir,” “Good. How many times today?” “Six.” “Only six?” “I, uh, I got caught up doing o-other things and, um, didn’t have as much time today,” you hoped he couldn’t hear how fast your heart was beating. “Is that so? This from the same slut who told me about how she’d been so desperate while driving the two minutes to the supermarket that she’d pulled over halfway to knock one out.” His weariness seemed to evaporate with every word, “What were you doing that was so distracting?” “I- um, it was, um,” He let you stutter and sweat a little before he cut you off, “I’m starting to think you weren’t too preoccupied. I’m starting to think you disobeyed me.” “It was an accident,” you sighed, “I was edging and I slipped up and came. I’m sorry.” “Oh, love, that’s okay. Mistakes happen. And I know we’ve never done it for this long before and it must be so hard to keep stopping.” “It’s so hard!” you half laughed, relieved at his reaction. “I know. You’ve done so well.” “Thank you,” “But you know I will have to punish you when I get home right,” “Sir?” “Not because you slipped over the edge, that I understand completely. But you tried to hide it from me. So you’ll have to make it up to me.” “Yes Sir. How?” “I’m not sure yet. Have you edged much since you went over?” “No, I haven’t touched myself at all. I wasn’t sure I could start again and keep up with it.” “That’s okay. You did such a good job getting this far so we’re not going to worry about edging any more for these last…how many? I think ten days of the tour, whatever. You can have as many orgasms as you want. But I want you to keep count for me okay?” “Okay, yeah, I can do that.” “Yeah? That’s my girl. Why don’t you run grab your vibrator and let me hear you have one now,” “Now?” “I need something to wank to if I’m going to get to sleep any time soon.” “Right, give me two minutes to grab it.” “Take your time, love.”

 You hurried to the bedroom to pull open the draw where you kept your toys, not wanting to keep Roger waiting longer than you had to. Your fingers slipped a little as you quickly plugged it into the wall and positioned yourself, picking the phone up and pressing it back to your ear. “Okay, I got it,” “Let me hear it,” You turned it on for a couple of seconds. “Good girl. Now, what are you wearing?” Despite how worn out he must have felt Roger took his time. He made you describe the underwear you wore and told you how he wanted you to touch yourself over your knickers, made you tease yourself while he listened. He told you where to put the vibrator and on which setting and for how long. And you followed every instruction as best you could. You could feel the weeks of edging like every unachieved orgasm was gathered in the pit of your stomach. They made you ache for release. You told Roger as much, less eloquently, begging and whining rather than full sentences. There was a fear he’d lied about letting you cum or that at the very least he was going to make you wait for it. But he didn’t. All you had to say was please Sir and he told you to let go. He didn’t need to tell you twice. Relief washed through every inch of you as your pleasure cracked moans subsided. But he wasn’t finished, and he wasn’t going to let you off so easily. He gave you half a minute to catch your breath and thank him and then he told you to put the vibrator back against your clit. When you whined about being sensitive, he mocked you. His poor pathetic slut who was so worked up she just had to have an orgasm. “But I haven’t had mine and I told you I wanted to listen to you while I got off.” You came again as his grunts of release echoed down the phone line and he let you stop. But he was gentle as you caught your breath, soft words of praise making you feel warm and treasured. He made sure you were okay, reminding you to drink some water and get some rest, before he wished you goodnight, the tiredness returned to his voice, stronger than ever. But his parting reminder to keep count and expect his call the next night sent a shiver down your spine.

 Over the six and a half weeks since Roger had left you’d grown accustomed to X-rated dreams. Most nights ended with an edge or two and most mornings began the same way so it was no wonder your dreams quickly picked up the theme and ran with it. In them Roger returned early to surprise you and fuck your brains out. Or else he took you on tour and dressed you in skanky clothes that left nothing to the imagination so he could use you whenever he needed. Sometimes he’d share you with rooms full of men you didn’t recognise but understood worked with the band. Once or twice you’d woken up on the verge of release and cursed dream Roger for being so arousingly evil. You hadn’t expected to have one of those dreams after Roger overstimulated you on the phone but you woke the next morning grinding against the bunched up sheets, with a vague memory of Roger plowing you over his drumkit while a crowd of fans cheered him on. It wasn’t until you were rubbing the sleep from your eyes that you realised it couldn’t have been real. And it was followed by a moment of panic that you’d gone over the edge in your sleep before you remembered everything. The recollection brought a smile to your face as your fingers slipped between your legs. Still a little sore but you could avoid your clit, focus on trying to imitate the way Roger could finger fuck you to orgasm. You were laughing as you came, blissed out on just the notion of being allowed an orgasm. And not just one, as many as you wanted. It was tempting to take another just because you could but instead you forced yourself to get out of bed and start your morning routine. Of course you had to make some adjustments. You’d taken to edging in the shower each evening but instead you allowed yourself the luxury of a bath, coming with the tap gushing directly into your clit. And instead of mindlessly edging while you spread out on the couch and read, you let yourself get off to the erotic novel you were halfway through. It was incredible, even without Roger there to help. The tingle you’d get right before it hit, the one that used to make you pull your hand away. And then the rush of the actual release that made your whole body tense up before relaxing completely. You’d grown so accustomed to edging, gotten so used to the constantly building high that never ended. Actually being able to finish was like a drug and you kept going back for another hit. It was five times when Roger called though he made you do a sixth, once again explaining what he wanted, asking you how it felt. You didn’t complain, didn’t even consider it.

 It was the same most days though the number of orgasms you got out declined as Roger got closer to coming home. You were guaranteed one with every call he made to check in on how you were going, but more often than not it ended up being two or three. And he’d always ask for how many you’d had that day and then your total number of orgasms. Whenever you gave him the new numbers you could hear the scratch of a pen as he wrote it down. The night before he returned you reached thirty-nine. “Thirty-nine?” Roger let out a whistle that made you chuckle. “You wanna hear one more? Make it an even forty?” “No,” “Oh, really?” “It’s hilarious how disappointed you sound. But I think I’d like to give you number forty myself, in person.” “I suppose I can wait for that,” “Not long to go,” “You gonna miss touring?” “Yeah, a bit. But I’m gonna be even happier being back home with you.” “Getting to use your slut more like,” He let out a soft, breathy laugh, “There’s that, but also just getting to sleep in the same bed as you sounds so good right now. And your tea. I haven’t had a decent cup since I left.”

 You held off on the last orgasm, looking forward to one at Roger’s hands and not just his voice. A little hint of denial to round out the separation. A nice way to bookend the experience, even if you hadn’t managed to last the whole time. But your days of free flowing orgasms meant that his return wasn’t like last time, when you’d be so desperate for release you’d tried to jump him on the front steps. You could wait, let him get settled first. He’d probably want to shower, maybe eat something better than the plane food, maybe sleep off some of the travel, before sex even crossed his mind. Or rather, because it was Roger you were talking about, he was probably thinking about sex already but he’d want to make sure it was good for both of you even if that meant waiting a day or two. So you did what you could to make his return more comfortable, making sure the kettle was on when he arrived, calling out from the kitchen when you heard the door open. He greeted you with a tight hug and a soft kiss and followed it with a contented sigh as you handed him his favourite tea cup and led him out to the couch. He pulled you in close, entwined your fingers again as you chatted and relaxed. You figured that’s how the rest of the afternoon and evening would be, that you’d order take out and stay on the couch until you were ready to shuffle off to bed. So, when Roger’s hand, palm still warm where he’d been holding the teacup, landed on your thigh and began to creep higher, you were a little surprised. “Remind me what your total number of orgasms was again,” “Uh, thirty-nine Sir. But we don’-” “So you didn’t sneak in one more after I hung up?” “No, I wanted to wait for you.” “I’m here now,” “You sure you don’t want to rest? I can wait a bit longer,” “Love, I’ve spent the last however long sitting on a plane, think I’d like to do something a little more…physical.” You couldn’t stop from giggling, couldn’t deny your excitement at the turn the afternoon was taking. “Is that a yes?” “Yes, definitely.” “Then why don’t you go to the bedroom and strip. I’ll finish this perfect cuppa and meet you there. We could do your punishment too, if you’re up for it.” “What’s the punishment going to be, spanking or something?” “Or something,” he said with a laugh. “Okay, yeah, let’s get it over with then,” Roger just laughed again as he leaned forward to kiss you and then sent you on your way.

 “Good girl,” he cooed as he entered the room and saw you kneeling on the bed, your clothes scattered around the room, “You wanna know what your punishment is?” “Please,” “Well, because you tried to get away with cumming without permission, I’m going to edge you again. I think one for every orgasm you had sounds fair, don’t you?” “What? But…” “But what, love? You didn’t think I was going to give you a little spank and then forget about it, did you? I can’t have my slut thinking it’s okay to lie to me.” “But you said I could have those orgasms,” “I know. They were a reward for trying so hard to hold off for me. I’m not punishing you for accidentally going over the edge,” he stepped towards you as he spoke, reached out to cup your cheek, his thumb rubbing over your skin softly, “Sorry, I should have been clearer when I left that I wasn’t going to be upset if you didn’t last. Two months is a very long time and it’s hard to keep edging when you’re on your own, especially if you’ve never gone that long before. All I wanted was for you to try and you tried so hard and did so well. I couldn’t be prouder. But then when you did go over, you tried to keep it from me and that’s not on. I expect you to tell me when something like that happens. Otherwise what’s the point in agreeing to all this submissive stuff?” “Sorry, Sir, I know I should have told you,” “Thank you but you’re not getting out of it so easily. Lie back for me,” With a deep breath you did as he asked, shifting against the mattress to get comfortable. “Remind me what your safe word is,” “Red, Sir,” “Good, don’t be afraid to use it if you need to.” You nodded as you watched him walk to the cupboard, your hands already rising over your head in anticipation. He chuckled when he saw you waiting, “so you agree then, I need to tie you down.” “Thirty-nine’s a lot, I won’t be able to stay still,” “Of course you won’t, you’re a needy whore who likes to cum more than’s good for you. Spread your legs for me too, I’m going to tie your ankles.” You did as you were told, earning another chuckle from Roger as he took one wrist and tied it to the corner of the bed frame.

 He made you wait there, on display and unable to move, spread eagle on the bed, as he stripped down to his briefs and then stood over you, looking you up and down as if deciding how best to torture you. “Already a little wet,” he said softly, fingers brushing over your pussy. You stayed quiet, worrying at your lip. “I said,” he slapped your thigh and made you jolt, “Already. A little. Wet.” “I’ve been thinking about this since your last call, Sir.” Another slap, this one directly on your pussy, “Hmmm, thirty-nine orgasms in ten days and you’re already asking for more? Such a good slut for me. I’d have loved to see what kind of a mess you were by the time you accidentally came.” You whined as his fingers teased your entrance but he ignored you and kept talking. “I’ll do my best to get you dripping again now but I think I might need to give you a hand getting started, huh,” his fingers left you as he moved to the draws and pulled out a small tube of lubricant. He spread a dollop over two digits before slipping them inside you easily. Instinctively your hips rose to meet him, encouraging his fingers to sink deeper into you. “Maybe I’ll give you a few weeks break and then we might try again, see if you can’t go the whole two months while I’m here. I’ll help you be a good girl, keep you from going over. And then we can see just how drippy you get. I imagine you won’t be able to wear knickers for more than an hour before they’re soaked through. But it’ll make you easy to use. A self-lubricating little toy for me to play with. So desperate and needy.” He grinned as he stretched you out, using his other thumb to collect some of your rapidly pooling arousal and spreading it over your clit, paying close attention to how you jerked in your restraints, watching for any sign of the release you weren’t allowed, “You like the sound of that?” “Y-yes, Sir,” “Thought you would. I definitely do.” He shifted the position of his fingers seamlessly, almost second nature. “Fuck, close, ‘m close,” He pulled both hands away from you, smoothing them over your thighs, “Thank you for telling me.” The familiar disappointment of a subsiding orgasm made you sigh but otherwise you kept quiet, not wanting Roger to hear you complain after just one edge. The first of many. Roger waited thirty seconds before he started in on you again, enough time for the orgasm to completely disappear so he could slowly rebuild the pleasure to the same point before he pulled his hands away again. There was another half minute pause before he repositioned his fingers where you so badly wanted them to be and began building you up once more. “What a pitiful little whine that was. And we’re only just getting started, love.” Roger stilled his fingers as he laughed again. “Fuck,” “Maybe. If you’re lucky. But for now,” he curled his fingers inside you, watching every reaction closely as he pumped them into you, stilling as you neared the edge again. He didn’t remove them though, just held them in you as you calmed so he could begin again as soon as you’d settled. “That’s three done, thirty-six to go,” You groaned but nodded your acceptance.  Roger played you as well as he would any of his instruments, keeping you right at the edge as you jerked and jolted in your restraints, desperately trying to get just a little more, one more thrust, one more stroke, anything to finally feed the craving. It was blissful torture. But it was so much better with him physically there. Edging for him on your own was fine but nothing beat the way it felt to have him do it for you. The pure submission, the total lack of control. He owned your orgasms. You willingly gave them to him and now he owned them, controlled them.

 Roger enjoyed it as much as you did, the evidence becoming clearer with every pleading whine you gave him, though you were too distracted to notice. It only became obvious to you how turned on he was when he got up to take his underwear off and your eyes fell to his erect cock. He settled himself back between your legs and tapped the head of his dick against your sensitive clit. “What d’you think, slut? Should I fuck you now?” “Please,” “Awww you really want it don’t you?” “Yes, yes Sir, I really want it,” “My good little whore likes Sir’s cock, doesn’t she?” “Yeah,” “Especially in her cunt,” “Yeah,” “Yeah. But we have a problem.” Roger shuffled over you, straddling your hips, “See, it’s been a while.” “Months, Sir,” Roger chuckled, “Exactly, months. And I just worry that I’m going to enjoy being in your cunt again so much that I forget to edge you. And I don’t want that. Not after you’ve been so good for me.” “It’s okay Sir, you can fuck me. I promise I’ll be good,” “I know you would try to be good, but accidents could happen and I’m not ready to let you cum yet, even accidentally. What kind of a punishment would that be? So, instead, I’m going to use another hole I’ve missed, okay?” You agreed, though really it didn’t feel like you had many other options besides taking it or safe-wording and you definitely weren’t ready for things to end. “Good girl,” Roger cooed, leaning forward to kiss you softly before he repositioned himself. You giggled as he somewhat clumsily turned around, but the laughter died as he moved to kneel over your face instead. “Sir?” Roger wrapped his hand around his cock, “Yes, slut?” “Can I have my hands please?” “I think you can manage without them,” Roger said, “But how about this?” He leaned forward to release the ties around your ankles before settling back, his bollocks resting against your lips. He seemed to be waiting so you opened your mouth, laving your saliva over them with your tongue. “Good girl,” Roger hummed as you sucked one testicle into your mouth, a small part of you hoping that if you did enough, he’d be lenient and reduce your punishment. “If it get’s too much, stamp your foot okay?” You raised your legs so your feet were flat on the bed and stamped one to show you understood. “Good girl,” Roger said, pressing a kiss to your knee before he readjusted his position, letting his cock find your mouth.

 At first Roger contented himself with rocking slowly, letting you grow comfortable with the position. You had no control over how deep he pressed into you or how often but he kept his movement measured and careful, making sure he wasn’t overwhelming you, and you kept up as best you could, running your tongue along his length and sucking on his head. It got harder when he leaned forward and attached his lips to your cunt. The distraction of being edged with his tongue made you lose focus as you bucked your hips in a weak attempt to get more pleasure. Which meant you were taken by surprise when he suddenly thrust into your mouth, pushing himself into your throat. You wished you had your hands so you could grab his arse or jerk him off, but you made do as best you could, eyes watering as you moaned and he gave another sharp thrust. As he got closer to release he slid deeper into your throat, unable to control himself as easily while he was concentrating on edging you again and again. Each time he’d tell you how many edges he’d given you but you stopped listening. Between the jolts of pleasure from his tongue licking along your slit and the weight of his body on yours and the strain on your jaw as you kept your mouth open for him and the dizzying gasps of air you sucked in as he remembered himself and pulled out of you before sinking back in just as deep, everything else seemed fuzzy and distant. Your hands grasped at thin air in an attempt to break loose and touch him and your hips rose to meet him until he held them down. You moaned around his cock and whined with each new edge which only seemed to spur him on. At some point, after you weren’t sure how many, Roger decided he’d had enough of edging you like that and sat up a bit higher on his knees. He gave you a brief warning and let you take a few extra breaths before he fucked your mouth for real, unrelentingly using you for his own pleasure. You knew he was getting closer by the way he was grunting and the small twitches in his cock and you tried to prepare yourself for a mouthful of spunk, tried to ready yourself for how it would feel when he came on your tongue. But then he stopped and pulled out of you entirely. You were surprised by his sudden disappearance as he swung his leg back over you and got off the bed. Surely he wasn’t going to edge himself along with you? Surely he was going to use his release as another way to torment you, telling you how good it felt and mocking you for wanting the same. It was hard not to feel a little disappointed too. Especially when you could see how hard he was, his flushed tip proof of how close he’d been. “Sir?” you croaked out, voice scratchy and throat sore. Roger ignored you, as he walked back to the end of the bed, wiping his mouth and chin. “Sir, didn’t you want to finish?” “Awww, did the whore want my cum that bad? Don’t worry slut, you’ll get it, just not to taste. I’m going to put this load where it belongs. In my cunt.” You gasped as Roger pressed the tip of his cock into your heat, bracing yourself for the rough fuck he was sure to give you. But there was no thrusting, no pushing deeper. He held his tip inside you as his hand slid up and down his shaft, pulling himself over the edge with a grunt.

 You were left squirming and aching to be filled, to feel him inside you properly, as he left the bed again and moved towards the cupboard. A combination of your juices and his dripping onto the sheets. You knew what was coming but that made it all the worse. “Do you remember how many I said you had left?” he asked as he plugged the wand vibrator in and gave it a test pulse. “No Sir,” “No? You really should, I said it only a few minutes ago,” “I don’t know Sir,” “Well it’s a good thing I know then. Otherwise we might have had to start all over again and kept better count.” You trembled at the idea, part terrified of it happening, part wanting it to. “You only have to last 5 more. Not very many, is it?” “No Sir. I can do five,” “I know you can. Because you’re such a good girl for me. My good girl. You ready?” “Yes,” you swallowed thickly and took a steadying breath waiting for the buzz of the vibrator to start again. Roger made you wait a little, building the anticipation and the tension as he refrained from doing what you expected. He let the soft head of the toy rest against your clit, laughing when you jolted at the contact. And only once you’d stilled did he turn it on, leaving it on the lowest setting. Instinctively you tried to move your still unbound legs, but Roger gave you a slap to your thigh and warned you to behave or else he’d tie you down again and give you extra edges. You whimpered a small, “Yes Sir,” as you did your best to keep still though it got harder with each edge. Roger was careful to pull the machine away as soon as he saw signs of your impending orgasm, never letting you get too close lest his reflexes be too slow. He didn’t want any accidents to happen now, not after he’d been edging you for so long. He counted down each one, giving you ample breaks between to calm yourself again. When you finally heard him turn off the vibrator and say you were done you cried grateful tears. He untied your wrists and pulled you into his arms, soothing you with soft words of praise and gentle touches.

 “How do you feel?” He asked softly once you’d sufficiently calmed, leaning back and placing his hand on your cheek as he studied your face. “Bit sore. Really want to cum. But good.” “Yeah? You’re okay?” “Yeah I’m okay. Might need a few minutes before I can do more though. The fortieth orgasm I mean.” “That’s alright. In fact, it’s perfect because I’ve got a surprise for you.” “A surprise?” “Wait here, I’ll grab it from my suitcase,” You nodded, intrigued, and leaned against the bedhead to wait, letting your eyes close for a moment as he left the room. Roger returned and handed you a glass of water and box tied off with ribbon. You were definitely curious now, the box larger than you’d been expecting. You pulled at the bow with one hand as you drank with the other, letting Roger lift the lid from the box. You didn’t understand what you were seeing until Roger explained. “It’s a chastity belt,” You almost did a spit take. “I saw it while we were exploring the shops of one of the towns we were in and I thought it might be fun to try it out, if you’re interested.” You placed the cup down and reached into the box to pick up the metal device, “Looks a bit medieval, doesn’t it,” Roger chuckled and agreed, “We don’t have to use it if you don’t want to. But while I was edging you I thought maybe it would be fun to make you wait a few extra days,” “You want me to wear it now?” “Only if you want to. If I’m being honest, I hadn’t planned to show you today. I was going to save it for after the rest of the tour, but you know how impatient I can be,” he laughed, his hand falling to your rub softly over your knee, “If you’d prefer to cum now I will very happily make that happen. More than once. But if you did want to test it out I’d also be into that.” “How would it work?” “Well, um, you’d wear it all day, when you’re at home and when you go out. The guy who sold it said it’s very discreet and will go under most clothes without showing. You have to take it off once a day to clean it so I was thinking that you could wear it all day and take it off at night when you have your shower. That way it can be cleaned and dry out over night and you wouldn’t have to worry about it not being comfortable to sleep in.” “And um, how would, uhhhh, bathroom stuff work with it?” “Well, there’s a slit at the front that can be opened so you can pee but isn’t it kind of hot if you have to ask me to unlock it every time you have to go to the bathroom?” “I hate to admit it but yeah it is,” you laughed. “I could also unlock it for other reasons. Maybe if I really really wanted to fuck you.” You shifted excitedly. It had been too long since you’d had Roger properly, and especially after his little teasing stunt just before, but you tried to sound more casual as you said, “That’d be fun,” “Think I’m probably more likely to use your mouth though. So much less hassle.” “It’s kinda unfair that you promised me number forty and now you’re not going to pay up,” “I’ll give you forty and forty-one and forty-two and as many more as you can handle. Right now if you want. Or after a few days of having your cunt locked away.” You stomach clenched at the thought, “How long were you thinking?” “I don’t know. The part of me that likes symmetry says ten days since that’s how many days of tour were left when you stopped edging. But really anything you want is okay with me. If you tried it for a day and decided it wasn’t for you that would be completely fine. And, like I said, if you don’t want to do it right away we don’t have to.” “I think I want to. Maybe just a day to start, see how it goes. If I want another day I’ll let you know.” “Really?” You laughed at how excited Roger seemed, “Yes, really.” “I fucking love you,” “I am very loveable,” Roger laughed and pulled you into a kiss.

 He joined you in the shower, helping you wash off the sweat and other fluids left from the torture you’d just been through. You took turns washing each other’s hair as you relaxed together, letting the hot water sooth any aches you felt. But there was a layer of excitement too and a few nerves at the prospect of wearing the chastity belt. Once you were thoroughly cleaned and dried, Roger helped lock the belt into place before you both got dressed. It was an odd sensation but thrilling too. It made you hyper aware of your own desperation. Every time you moved, sat down, you were reminded of how impossible it would be to touch yourself or get any sort of release. You only wore it for a few hours that first day, asking Roger to unlock it when you got up to change into your pyjamas. Together you worked out how best to clean it and hung it up ready for the next day. Roger kissed you good morning when you woke and asked if you wanted to try a full day of it. You agreed and, after visiting the bathroom, let him once again fasten the belt into place. It was even more thrilling the second time. In part because you had a better idea of how it operated, how it felt to wear it, but also largely due to wearing it out of the house. Roger decided to take you out for an early lunch, grinning cheekily as he made the suggestion. He knew full well you’d spend every minute of the excursion with your mind on the belt, wondering if anyone could tell you were wearing it. He was right. But it only made you wetter. Once you were home Roger checked in with you, asking how it was going and if you were still interested in wearing it. “It’s good. Still feels a bit weird but not what I'd call uncomfortable. It’s just very obvious to me that it’s there. But fuck I’m horny,” Roger laughed, “that makes two of us. I swear I’ve been half hard since I put it on you. Was even worse when you asked me to unlock it so you could pee.” “Jeeze Rog. I’ve been edged and denied, what’s your excuse?” “Shut up, there’s just something super hot about me holding the key to your cunt,” You chuckled, leaned towards him and gave him the most sultry look you could muster, “You know you could use that key whenever you want.” “Maybe later, love. Right now I really should unpack my bags, do some laundry.” “But that can be done any time,” “So can you,” Roger laughed, leaving you with a kiss to the temple. That night, after you’d taken the belt off and cleaned it, Roger edged you again, kissing you as his fingers explored your slit and your hand pumped over his cock.

 On the third day Roger disappeared into the back yard with a guitar. A question about the grocery shopping list sent you seeking him, and you found him sitting on a chair under the shade of a large tree, plucking at the strings. It was almost a shame to interrupt what seemed like such a serene moment. He spotted you though and waved you over, pulling you onto his lap. His fingers moved to the front of you shorts, seemingly automatically, but he stopped and chuckled when he met the firm resistance of the belt. “Oops,” “Forgot did you? Lucky,” “You're not enjoying it anymore?” “No, no, I am, but I’m also getting really frustrated,” “Yeah?” “There is literally no way to relieve any pressure when I’m wearing it and you keep edging me before bed and honestly I want you to fuck me so bad like I just feel kind of empty all the time cause it’s been so fucking long since I had more than your fingers in there and I'm used to just being able to pull out a toy and make myself feel better even if I’m edging. It’s fucking torture not being able to touch anything and not being even a little bit in control of my own pleasure.” “Do you want to stop?” “Hell no. I just want you to fuck me,” “Oh really?” he chuckled, “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised my slut likes being completely denied,” You recognised his tone, the one that meant he was pent up and wanted to take it out on you. Hope that he’d do it, that he’d unlock you and give you a good hard pounding, made you sit up a little straighter. Your head was buzzing with ideas of Roger filling you with cum and locking you away again, but they were interrupted rather rudely by Roger growling at you to kneel. You nodded, a little disappointed but more just happy to get some sort of attention, and settled on your knees, intently watching as he stood and unbuckled his belt, the jangling noise of the metal sending another wave of desire through you. He’d barely managed to push his pants down just low enough to get his cock out when you reached out to stroke him, mind so thoroughly focused on him that you barely noticed the itchy tickle of the grass under you. But before you could he slapped your hand away. “You’re here to watch. Open your mouth and stick your tongue out. C’mon needy whore, I don’t have all day.” You nodded as you did what he said. Roger waited, watching you for any signs of impatience but soon rewarded you with his fingers, two of them sliding towards the back of your throat until you gagged. He pulled back and then did the same thing again, slowly beginning to fuck your mouth with just his digits. You could feel saliva pooling on your tongue, his fingers gliding through it until they were slick and shiny. That’s when he moved his hand to his dick, slowly spreading your drool over his shaft. You whimpered as he brushed his thumb over his tip, letting out a small hiss at the contact. You leaned forward slightly, intending to lick his length and replace his hand but he stopped you, his free hand holding you in place, and you realised what was happening. He knew you wanted to be fucked and he was going to deny you that as well as your orgasms. He wasn’t even going to fuck your mouth. All you could do was sit there, whining and watching as he jerked himself off. Every so often he dipped his fingers back into your mouth, either to gather more of your spit or just to hear you gag, you weren’t sure which. A small part of you hoped he’d just push you down onto his cock but as his hand sped up, expertly pleasuring himself, that hope withered away. He was close. You could see it in the way his smooth strokes stuttered, hear it in his groans. If you’d looked up you probably would have found flushed cheeks, and lust blown eyes, but you couldn’t drag your eyes from his cock, right in front of you, pulsing as he neared his release. And then he came with a guttural moan. You jolted as the first drops hit your cheek, but he was already holding you in place, making sure you stayed still until he was done.

 Roger looked down at you, the fist still milking his cock slowing down once more, though he didn’t release himself. You swallowed thickly, shifting on your knees as the temptation to wipe your face and get up rose. “Stay there, slut,” Roger said softly, reading your mind, “you look so good on your knees. Just a toy I use to masturbate with.” You nodded, agreeing, your eyes already drifting back down to his dick. “You want it don’t you? Wish I’d just use you properly,” You nodded again. “If you’re very good I might...” he lay his cock on your tongue, “let you have it,” It took all your strength not to close your lips around his girth as he rubbed his dick over your protruding tongue but your resilience seemed to impress him. Slowly he pushed himself deeper, allowed you to suck on his head for a moment. “Maybe I should use this time you’re all locked up to train you. Teach you to be a filthy oral whore.” The suggestion made your cunt throb but there was nothing you could do to alleviate the desperate desire to be touched. Not even squeezing your thighs together helped. “I’ll teach you to be so desperate to suck cock that you won’t ever want to take the belt off. And when I decide to use your cunt you’ll wish it was your throat,” Roger pulled himself from your lips and you were once again forced to watch as he wanked in front of you. Right up until he stopped and walked behind you. “Sir?” His presence came close again, right up behind you, “Shhhh, slut, I’m still here,” Roger gripped your chin from above and tilted your head back slightly.   “Fuck you look so hot like this, drives me fucking wild to see my little toy all soaked in cum. Close your eyes,” You did, heart racing with the uncertainty of what he might be planning. There was a tap on your forehead as the tip of Roger’s dick landed there. “I’ll reward you with some more edges tonight. Maybe I’ll even give you a ruin, if you’re very lucky. I want you so desperate that all you think about is my cock. Twenty-four seven. So desperate you’ll beg just to be allowed to suck me off.” You couldn’t see what Roger was doing but you felt it when he came again, jizz running from your forehead down the side of your nose, onto your cheek and over your top lip, dripping onto your waiting tongue. Roger stepped back and you heard the zzzziiippp of his fly being pulled up followed by the jangle of his belt, but you didn’t move. He stroked his fingers down the side of your neck, offing you a soft, “good girl,” as he moved back round to take in your appearance. “Jesus this is….you look so fucking hot,” you could feel the breath of his laugh as he leaned forward, his thumbs brushing over your closed eyes, making sure they hadn’t been caught in his crossfire, “alright, you can open your eyes now, and close your mouth if you want,” You carefully opened on eye and then the other, able to taste Roger as you swallowed what you’d caught on your tongue. “Did that make you feel any better?” “I don’t know if I’d say better. Wetter? Definitely.” “You’re a bloody poet, love,” “I try. You wanna help me up or did you have more in you?” Roger held out his hand with a chuckle, pulling you to your feet. When you were closer to eye level he paused, eyes roaming over your face, and then leaned in to peck you on the lips. It was unexpected but appreciated, though not quite as much as the damp face cloth he used to clean you.

 The next morning Roger asked if you’d like to put the belt back on and you said yes. And the next day. And the next day. And the next day. Each time he reminded you that you were allowed to say no and then, when you assured him you knew that, helped lock it into place. At some point (and sometimes at multiple points) during the day he’d use your mouth, only needing to click his fingers for you to drop to your knees for him. He made sure to compare you to vacuum cleaners and other objects. Metaphors that would normally have made you roll your eyes or tell him he was disgusting, but which now turned you into a whiney wet mess. Admittedly they weren’t all good. The time he said you had a mouth like a black hole you’d nearly choked as you started laughing with your lips already stretched around him. He’d apologised and said he’d cut back on the sci-fi comparisons so you could finish the job properly. At night you’d have a shower and change into pyjamas, often forgoing PJ pants since Roger liked to edge you while you weren’t wearing the belt. He’d slip his fingers into your panties while you watched TV or as you were settling down to sleep. But not once did he try to actually fuck you. It was infuriating and frustrating and such a turn on. Until it stopped being hot.

 You’d woken up that morning as excited and enthusiastic about the belt as you had been the previous few mornings but by the afternoon it had started feeling uncomfortable and oppressive. You came to the conclusion that denial and edging was fun but you needed a more definite time period to work within. When Roger had left and said you’d be able to orgasm again when he came back in two months’ time, that had been exciting and hot because there was a time limit. A light at the end of the tunnel that you could see and count down to. Something to aim for. Denial wasn’t just about not cumming, it was about challenging your own expectations of yourself and maybe trying to beat your previous record. What you were doing now didn’t have that specificity, that goal to work towards, and it was beginning to feel like you were being punished for nothing. The constant empty ache you felt didn’t help. Of course denial usually came with aches and desperate needy feelings but something about this time was different. Usually Roger would relish fucking you as much as possible, all the time telling you not to cum or else he’d have to spank you. It was always hard holding back as he took his pleasure but it was rewarding too and it helped relieve the tension that constant edging could cause, even without finishing. Sometimes, if you’d been good and he wanted to be nice, he’d give you a ruin as well. And even if he ended up being mean and leaving your arse pink and smarting from his blows, you got a certain kind of enjoyment from it. But with the chastity belt and the refusal to fuck you, you weren’t getting any relief at all. After thinking through it all, you decided you needed a break from the belt. It would be fun to try again another day but maybe with more discussion and certainties. You looked over to the other couch where Roger was stretched out. “Hey, Rog?” “Yes, love?” “I think I want to stop.” Roger looked away from the TV, his attention shifting to you, “You mean with the belt?” “Yeah. I think I’m close to using my safeword. It’s just feeling kind of not good at the moment. Can you please unlock me?” “Okay. Of course we can stop. C’mon, I left the key in our room,” Roger held out his hand for yours, brushing his lips over your knuckles as he pulled you up.

 You sighed with relief as you stepped out of the belt, already feeling better, if not a little embarrassed by just how obviously wet you were. Roger stood, about to say something, but you pulled him into a kiss instead, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. “Well,” he said with a laugh, “I was going to ask what else I could do to make you feel better but I think you’ve made it quite obvious,” “Need you Rog. Literally need. I’ve never meant it as much as I do now,” “Jesus, okay,” he was already fumbling with his fly one handed, “We really did a number on you, huh,” You nodded, dropping your hands to help him get his pants off. As soon as the zip was down he kissed you again, leading you towards the bed. “How do you want me?” “Don’t care, just fuck me,” “For as long as you want,” Roger pushed on your shoulder and you fell back onto the bed, watching as he kicked his pants and underwear off. You whined when he took too long but he soothed you with a kiss and then more down your neck, until he met the neckline of your t-shirt. He didn’t bother removing it though, just squeezed your breasts through it. You were glad, sure you’d implode if you didn’t have him immediately. Instead he kissed your lips again, fiercely, as you reached for his cock, willing him to hurry up and get hard enough. As soon as he was ready he pushed your hand away and pressed into your cunt with an ease that was somewhere between ridiculous and pathetic. “Fuck you’re soaked,” he mumbled, more to himself than to you. Even if he had been speaking to you, you’re not sure you would have heard, much too preoccupied by how full you suddenly felt. It was such a contrast from the previous week of aching for it and all you could think to say was thank you, over and over as Roger slowly fucked into you. “You gotta stop squirming so much, love, or I’m gonna slip out,” You clenched around him at the suggestion, smiling when he tightened his grip on your thigh. Roger brought his fingers to your clit, circling it as you whined, your orgasm already so unbelievably close. It didn’t take much more than a couple of light circles around your clit to tip you over the edge. You weren’t sure you’d ever cum quite so hard from quite so little stimulation but you could barely speak, your breath catching in your throat along with your voice. Roger kept his fingers in place as he calmly thrust into you, egging you on, pushing you through the most well-earned orgasm you’d ever had. But he was by no means done with you. He gave you a few moments to calm and catch your breath, and then he shifted your legs over his shoulders, one at a time as you tried to brace yourself. He sunk deeper with the change of position, picking up his pace to fuck you harder, keeping a firm grip on you so that, even though your back arched and you writhed under him, head falling to one side and then whipping around to the other, you’d remain in place on his cock. With every thrust, every squeeze of his fingertips, you felt yourself drawing close to the edge again and you begged Roger, through gasped breaths, not to stop. He didn’t. He wouldn’t have even considered it until you told him to. “I can feel how close you are, love. Come on, cum for me. Show me just how much you like being fucked and cum,” “yes, yes, fuck yes,” “That’s right, good- good girl, f-fuck you’re tight. Fucking feel your cunt pul-sing. You’ve missed that feeling haven’t you?” You just nodded, head still foggy. “Think you’ve got another one in you? Or do you want me to stop?” “No, don’t stop,” Roger chuckled and pulled out of you as you whined but it was only so he could flip you onto your stomach and pull your hips up. Before you could even begin to complain about the sudden desertion, he was back inside you, pulling you back onto his cock as he rammed into you. “I want to hear you this time. You know I like how loud my slut gets,” There was no way you could deny a request like that, not when he was making you feel so good, filling you so perfectly, giving you exactly what you’d so desperately needed. You babbled for him, a mess of curses and half conceived thoughts about how good it felt mixed with whines and moans. And that only made him fuck you harder, until you came again, screaming his name. He fucked you through it, though he grunted with each thrust, holding off his own orgasm until he was sure you were satisfied. You swore you nearly came again as he spilled himself inside you before both of you collapsed bonelessly to the bed.

 You complained when Roger pulled out of you again, but he did make a good point about not wanting to crush you. And he made up for it by pulling you close and kissing you as much as he could, in between checking how you felt and if you were okay now. “Yeah, better,” you sighed, running you hand over his arm, “I really really needed that,” “I could tell. Sorry I made you wait so long,” “No, it was fun too, the waiting. But not forever, y’know.” “Yeah I do. If you ever want to try the whole chastity belt thing again we’ll be better, figure out how to make it fun again,” “Sounds good. But maybe not for a while,” “No, not for a while. I like fucking you too much to give it up again so soon,” You laughed at that, leaned in to kiss him again. “You’re probably too tired but, uh, I could go again if you wanted,” “Now?” “Maybe a minute?” “A minute sounds good and I’m not too tired. But if I was, maybe we could sleep like that, with you in me?” “Really?” “I don’t think you’ve grasped quite how badly I’ve wanted you since you first showed me the belt, how badly I still want you,” “I think that can be arranged then,” he laughed again, kissing you once more as he rolled back over.

[feliix]

Beck & Call ✦ MYG (18+)

✦  Pairing: Yoongi x Reader ✦ Word count: 1.4k ✦  Rating: M  

✦  Genre: smut, crack, a tad bit of fluff, FWB!au

✦  Summary: All hell breaks loose when your brother calls you while you’re in the middle of hooking up with his best friend

✦  Warnings: PWP, explicit smut, creampie, phone sex (but not the kind you’re thinking of), Yoongi has a big dick

✦  Requested by my bby @hobiance​ ‘requesting one yoongi + vodka pls’

✦ A/N: Thank you to the lovely @namjoonsdove​ for helping me come up with the title and @jintobean​ and @hobiance for helping me figure out the banner for this sucker ily all ♡

✦ Written for the BHQ Drinks and Drabbles game hosted by @bangtan-dreamland​

“Fuck,” you moan as Yoongi drives his hips into your ass, “right there.”

Hooking up with your older brother’s best friend was never in the cards, well, not until you actually started hooking up that is. Yoongi was a good fuck, nothing more. Relationships weren’t exactly your thing, and even if they were there was no way in hell Jin would ever approve.

Yoongi’s large hands grip your hips as he thrusts into you from behind, his length reaching deep inside you from the angle he was holding your body. You hadn’t been at it for very long, but sex with Yoongi was always a relay rather than a marathon. Several quick and variating rounds just worked so much better than one long one. That way it was easier to take the emotions out of things, just scratch the itch (or many itches), and go your separate ways.

You’re pushed forward with one noticeably harder rut, your face meeting the mattress as the force from Yoongi’s thrusts deepens. A string of curses leaves his lips as his tip swipes past your cervix, the size of his length reaching new crevices each time he’s inside of you.

“So close,” you moan as your eyes clamp shut, focused on reaching your sweet release. To your demise, your focus is soon cut short. A bright light illuminates the room from his bedside table, quick and rapid vibrations following soon after.

Yoongi’s head cocks up immediately as he focuses on the name of the screen, his eyes widening a bit when he sees the caller ID, “Its Jin.”

“I’m not answering that,” you pant as his pace begins to pick up in speed, your breath soon leaving your chest.

“If you don’t he’s just gonna call again,” Yoongi grunts between thrusts, not slowing his movements one bit. Answering the phone was a bad idea, but bad ideas were kind of Yoongi’s niche, or else you wouldn’t be in his bed right now.

Without pulling out he reaches over you and to the side, grabbing your phone placed on the nightstand beside the bed. With just one tap of the screen, he was accepting the call, placing the phone to your ear.

“Jinnie, hi!” You speak in the sweetest voice, trying your best to mask the lustful tone that had taken over your voice just seconds prior.

For Yoongi this was just a game, seeing if you could last being railed by him while you were on the phone. It was the anticipation that got him off, knowing that the person on the other line had no idea what was going on.

“Hey, I just wanted to know if you were going to be home for dinner? Are you still at Chaeyoung’s?”

“Yep! OOF–”

Yoongi smiles as his hips thrust into you with such force, knocking you forward just inches away from the bed frame. You look back at him with a sneering look on your face, agitated with his antics, but that wasn’t enough for him to stop.

“Everything alright?”

“All good! I just uh,” you stutter as your brain wracks for a response, “I tripped!”

“Oh? Okay well–”

“Actually Jinnie this isn’t a great time to talk I’m in the middle of something, can I call you later?”  Your lip worries between your teeth as you try to suppress a groan, knowing you wouldn’t be able to last much longer and refusing to have an orgasm while on the phone with your brother.

“Well actually I was–”

“Okay great! See you at dinner bye!”

And with that you were snatching the phone out of Yoongi’s hand, ending the call and tossing your phone back off to the side. “You did great,” Yoongi praises as he squeezes your sides in reassurance. Heat rises to your cheeks instinctively; you’re thankful that he can’t see the small smile creeping onto your face in the position that you were in.

“Don’t get all soft on me now, Min,” you retort as you arch your back to give him a better angle. That high you were just inches away from had faded, but you were desperate to get it back.

A deep chuckle rips from his throat as his hands tighten on your waist, increasing his pace again to satisfy you. Focused on getting back on track you rock your ass backwards, hands gripping the sheets to give you better traction.

Yoongi’s movements were beginning to slow and become more forceful, the sounds of his skin colliding with yours and the deep moans echoing from his throat filling your ears. Your chest heaves deeper and heavier with each of his movements, soft whines bubbling past your lips. 

Lewd sounds fill the room as the squelch from your arousal begins to drip down your thighs. “So wet for me,” he groans, teeth clenching as you squeeze tightly around him. The familiar knot in your stomach was finally beginning to make its way back to you. The repetitive tap of Yoongi’s tip deep inside you had you too far gone. With one powerful thrust, you were coming undone around him. Your legs soon begin to shake, the force from your orgasm too strong for you to handle.

A gentle scream escapes your mouth as you ride out your high, Yoongi’s pace only quickening to grant himself an orgasm of his own. The familiar tingling sensation begins to rush through your veins as oversensitivity starts to set in. When your eyes slam shut all you can see are stars, small white blotches blinding your vision as your pussy continues to spasm around him.

Yoongi’s thrusts persist through your orgasm, leaving your legs shaking and all you can offer is the tightening spasms your pussy. Your clenching around him rapidly, milking him for everything he’s worth.

You aren't even able to catch your breath as your orgasm begins to subside. Yoongi is too busy pounding into you, his hips meeting your ass with a slap as he bottoms out.

He doesn’t have to pull out, thankfully you’re on birth control. All that's on your mind is being filled to the brim with Yoongi’s cum. You’re aching for his release, squeezing your core as hard as you can to ease it from him, “Want you to fill me up.”

The grip he holds on your waist tightens, his face scrunching as he focuses on chasing his high. With a few especially hard thrusts he was collapsing over you, holding you close as his cum paints your walls. His heavy breathing fanned over the back of your neck, the perspiration from your body’s mixing like a sexy sweat cocktail.

Yoongi’s body relaxes as he pulls out of you slowly, a trail of cum following in its path and dripping down your thigh. The weight of Yoongi’s body flops down onto the mattress next to you as he lets out an exhausted grunt. Your actions follow soon after, extending your limbs out and laying down to rest your muscles. You know you didn’t have much time until you had to get home. Jin would be there to ask questions if you kept him waiting much longer.

“Come back after dinner?”

Your ears perk up at his words as you rotate your head in his direction. It was odd for you to see him more than twice a week, let alone twice a day. For a moment you’re convinced your hearing things, but by the relaxed look on his face and sparkle of his eyes, it was hard to tell.

“A-after dinner?”

“You could spend the night,” he starts, his words beginning to quicken as he grows anxious at his offer, “if you want to.”

Yoongi’s cheeks begin to grow read as he waits for your answer. It was never his plan to make your situation a serious or permanent thing. But after months of sneaking around, those underlying feelings had begun rising to the surface – he wanted things to be permanent.

An awkward silence fills the air as he awaits your response. A thick gulp travels down his throat, his fingers searching for a loose string or anything to fidget with to ease his nerves.

“I want to,” you say very matter-of-factly, the expression on your face holding true as you try to read his. His face was already red and worn from all the action earlier, but the pink blush creeping onto on his cheeks was due to something else.

“I’ll be back,” and with a soft kiss that you place to his blushing cheek, you are on your way out.

‘Beck & Call’ is copyright 2020 @parksfilter​, all rights reserved. Please do not repost on any platform or translate without permission.

[clouditae]

First Love | 03

Yoongi x reader | 18+ | college au | tattoo artist au | angst | fluff | swearing

Word: 2k

You first saw him in the multi-purpose room. Later learn his name, and on your third year, as he becomes your neighbor, you discover his lifestyle. Knowing your crush on him was nothing but that, you wanted to find the courage to look for love. Asking your friend for help, you’re pointed in the direction of the expert. Your neighbor, Min Yoongi

Chapter Index

You stare down at your phone in confusion. 

[5:29 pm] Jerk: Multi-purpose room. 9pm. 

“I thought he didn't want to meet in public?” you mumble, locking the screen to your phone before hopping into the shuttle. You take a seat at the front, sitting by the window. You can’t help but wonder what it is that he wants today—especially in the multi-purpose room where people hang out all the time.

 As the shuttle takes off, you watch the people pass by as the vehicle makes two more stops on campus before driving off campus and heading towards your dorm. The ride is rather quiet, with two or three people sitting further in the back as you listen to the melody of the song playing through your earphones.  

By the time you reach the dorms, the sun is gone, and you only have an hour to grab dinner before the dining hall closes. You're not expecting to study for so long, but with your first big exam coming up, you need to study as much as possible. Exiting the shuttle, you make your way straight towards the dining hall. After doing your usual routine: ID, food, sit and eat, you’re making your way towards your room. You check the time on your phone and can’t help but let out a sigh as you read the time. With only an hour of time to prepare before you throw yourself into the social world, you enter your room to lie in bed, your feet dangling off the edge, and charge yourself. 

“You’re going to bed already?” Ari asks, as you collapse face first on your bed. Your reply is a mumble, resulting in her saying, “What? I can’t understand you.”

You sigh, turning your head to look at her. “He wants to meet in the MPR,” you say again. 

“Oh. Ew. You have to socialize downstairs?” You let out a whiney moan in response. “What time are you supposed to meet him?” she questions. 

“Nine.”

You can see her look of disgust as she stares at you. “Who does that?” 

“Apparently him,” you tell her. “Can you text him for me and tell him I died?”

She laughs. “You think he won’t just come up here and drag you out? He is our neighbor after all.” 

“He is not that dedicated to helping me.”

“Helping you, probably not—no offence, but getting help from Hoseok just to help you? He’s beyond dedicated,” she informs.

You push yourself up, only to slide off the bed. “Hoseok is helping Yoongi just so Yoongi can help me because I asked Hoseok for help?”

You can see the slight look of confusion on her face from the way you worded the question, but she tells you, “Yeah. I told him he doesn’t have to, but he insisted, so you have to go through with this.” 

You want to tell her to have Hoseok stop. He shouldn’t have to go through such lengths just to help you, but when you remembered the excited look on his face when you asked for help, you can’t ask Ari to stop him. You run your hands through your hair. “Fine,” you mumble.

As nine creeps closer, your heart and mind race until eventually, it’s time for you to go downstairs. 

With all the courage you can muster, you leave your room with Ari giving you the thumbs up. That courage immediately dies when you reach the bottom step to the first floor. All you have to do is walk out the door, walk past the first floor laundry room, and past the mailboxes. Then you’re standing at the doorway to the MPR. When you finally exit the stairwell, the laundry room next to you with the sound of both the washers and dryers running, you can hear the large group of people. 

You feel like you’re going to throw up. Who knew that socializing would freak you out this much. It’s ridiculous. 

Taking in a deep breath, you make your way towards the doorway, but that doesn't stop your racing heart. When you enter the room, you’re not expecting this many people. Usually the room has a few people scattered around all doing their own thing, but this place looks like it’s supposed to be a club with how many people are dancing and chatting with each other. Some even have red cups in their hands. You can't help but wonder if they’re drinking alcohol since it isn't allowed with plenty of underage students. That doesn’t stop them though. It is college after all. 

“You got this,” you whisper to yourself, fists clenching as you enter the room. You’re so lost in your own anxiety that you don’t even notice the blasting music until you’re standing in the outskirts of the crowd, watching them dance. They all look like they’re having fun, and you wish you can have fun like them, but you’ve never liked parties all that much. Too many people in one place, all clustered together scares you. It makes you want to leave, and it drains you trying to speak with a few people. Even now, as you watch a boy approach you, you feel yourself draining and fighting the urge to leave. 

“Hey,” he somewhat yells over the blaring music. 

“Hi,” you force out. 

He’s rather tall, his brown hair slightly gelled backed, wearing a green hoodie and black jeans. He looks pleasant and extremely friendly. 

“I know this is so random of me to come up to you, a complete stranger, but my boyfriend is forcing me to introduce myself.” He sticks his hand out toward you. “I'm Christopher.”

You shake his hand a bit skeptical. “Y/N.” You shake your head. “Why is your boyfriend forcing you to introduce yourself to me?” you can't help but ask. 

He smiles awkwardly. “I'm trying to become an RA next year, so he's forcing me to practice my bright personality and be more friendly.” 

You nod. “Ah. Okay.”

Suddenly another person appears, a big expectant smile on his face. “How did he do?” 

“Uh… he was friendly,” you tell him. 

It seems to be all they need to hear as they chat to one another happily, seeming to ignore you after that. Giving you a sign to walk away, you quickly slip away from the excited couple and make yourself go deeper in the room, but still in the outskirts. 

Your eyes wander around the crowd, but there is no sign of Yoongi. Why did he tell you to come if he isn't even going to show up himself? You don't want to give him the benefit of the doubt, so you wait. 

That was the dumbest thing you've ever done. After standing around for almost an hour, staring at everyone like some creeper, your ball your hands into a fist. You’re fuming. “That jerk,” you whisper. Without much thought, you’re heading for the exit. 

You’re going to give him a piece of your mind when you see him again. What did you ever see in him in the first place? He’s a jerk who clearly only cares about himself. He's probably with some girl in his room. That only makes you even more mad. 

You quickly walk around the room and leave, leaving the happy and social crowd. You stomp your way past the mailboxes, past the window that shows into the small room that only contains a round table and several chairs where students study together or alone, and pass the door to the dorm supervisor before reaching the door that leads to the stairwell and the student dorms.

You pull out your ID, pressing it against the chip card reader. With the sound of a beep, you pull the door open and step into the stairwell. 

You walk up the two flights of stairs until you reach the third floor and make a right towards your hall. Before you can pass the doorway that leads to your hall, a voice calls out, “Not sociable at all.”

You jump, turning around to find the culprit. Sitting at the third flight of stairs that lead to the roof, Yoongi looks up from his phone at you, his elbows propped on his knees. After your heart slows to a normal pace, you glare at him. “Where were you? Why tell me to go to the MPR if you weren’t even going to show?” 

“I told you to arrive at the MPR so that I can see how you interact with others and how you act in a party.” He stands up, walking down the stairs until he reaches the last step. He stares down at you, hands in the pockets of his gray sweats. The way he stares at you makes your heart race. It’s ridiculous that even though you hate the way he acts since you’ve met him a month ago, your heart disobeys your thoughts and races whenever he looks at you. What are you to do? What are you supposed to do when your feelings for him still linger even though you know who he is?

He takes that final step, being one step closer to you, and forcing you to step back. He cocks his head ever so slightly  to the side. “Do you have social anxiety?”

You try to not look as shocked as you do, but you know your eyes are wide and mouth slightly open as if he caught you stealing. Are you that easy to read? How could he know? 

“What makes you think that?” you question, trying to play it off like you don’t. It isn’t working.

He crosses his arms over his chest. “A friend of mine has social anxiety. He glances at doors when he’s desperate to leave. In the MPR, I noticed you kept glancing at the door and your lips were slightly moving as if you were talking to yourself.” 

“And that gives you the idea that I have anxiety?”

“My friend does the same thing. He’ll talk to himself to keep himself from running out of that room. He doesn’t like being by himself. Everyone is different, but if I’m wrong, and you don’t have social anxiety, tell me now so that I can correct myself,” he tells you. 

“Correct yourself how?” you ask, voice not as confident as it was before.

“If you don’t have social anxiety, you’re going to a party so I can see how you flirt with people,” he answers, brow raised. 

He knows. The way he’s staring at you with that expression that just says he knows you do. If you deny his allegations, you’ll eventually end up at a party full of people trying to flirt. They’ll judge you harshly, and that is not what you want. You cross your arms over your chest, mimicking his stance. 

“Okay, so I have social anxiety, what does that have to do with anything?”

He sighs, “It means that I have to teach and evaluate everything myself. Lessons will be more private rather than me watching you and telling you what to do differently.” 

You stare at him for a moment, processing the words he just said. “Private?” you whisper. 

He nods. “We’ll be in my room a lot more that we both like,” he finishes, walking around you and down the hall towards his room. He leaves you there in complete and utter shock.  

What are you going to do? What in the world are you going to do?

You don’t have to do this. 

No one is forcing you. 

But if you were to quit, would Hoseok’s feelings be hurt because you quit?

You couldn’t do that to him.

The sound of laughter brings you out of your thoughts. You turn around and walk down the hallway and enter your room. Ari looks up from her phone, a leg dangling over her bed. 

“If I feel uncomfortable at any moment, I quit,” you tell her, with every ounce of courage you can muster. 

She nods. “Any ounce of discomfort, you quit immediately, and I kick Yoongi’s ass.” 

You let out a breath. 

You’re in for a rollercoaster.