#i hope this is kinky enough to qualify

[rainbowcarousels]

25 Trinity Gate’s Do’s & Don’ts of Sex in Armand’s Bed 

(or place representing thereof) 

“Who’s your daddy?” will not be tolerated. “Who’s your mommy” will result in Lestat crying and while that doesn’t always ruin the mood, it does mean having to deal with it when there may be other plans for the evening.

The last person to use toys and equipment is responsible for making sure they are cleaned and put away properly. It’s not fair to have Louis do it, even if having them in alphabetical order helps when finding something.

Put everything back where you find it. The Georgian Library is not the proper place for a cat o’nine tails, even if I’m sure King George would have supported the efforts.

The list of safe words cannot be anything to do with parents, former masters or anyone else in the house who may hear it and come running. Sybelle is likely traumatised.

All blood is sacred and any spilled on bedding, carpets or any other surface must be licked up.

Lestat may not sulk if someone else is rightfully called a slut. He does not own the word and if he’s not being enough of one, that’s his problem.

Hair pulling is wonderful. Leaving hair you have pulled out on the floor so it gets tracked into the shower room is not.

Wearing pyjamas means you’re off-limits if you’re just not in the mood, unless you’re Louis. In which case, yes and no pyjamas will be negotiated by colour. 

All dressing must be submitted for dry cleaning before sunrise. Explaining the strains on the cheerleader costume was very awkward and those pom-poms had to be thrown away.

Any cracked walls or tiling needs to be free of blood before someone is called to repair itt.

When Bianca stays, she has first choice of activities and who with. This is just politeness. You must also ask before borrowing her jewelery, I’m looking at you Lestat. Those pearls are not anal beads. Those are in the drawer under the bed.

Reading is not permitted during sex unless previously agreed upon. Remember how upset Louis gets when his books get bloody or their spines broken.

Don’t leave pornographic materials on in standby mode. Marius came over to discuss court business and thtings became very awkward, very quickly.

No lit flames, not even for the purposes of dripping wax. Find another way to do it. Those curtains were 16th century.

Do not poke someone in the shoulder and ask them to move over because you want to watch what’s happening with the person they are pleasuring or punishing. Move yourself, they’re in the moment.

Pinwheels must be washed and sanitised before use. It’s not about infection, it’s about rust. Same goes for vampire gloves, the material will be damaged.

If you are blindfolded, no reading of anyone else's mind is allowed. Sensory deprivation experiments only work if everyone plays along.

You do not bring another person into the bed without agreement from all parties. That includes that stray cat, it almost got thrown against a wall when it was discovered that wasn’t Armand purring.

 Trains do not go up or in orifices without prior consent. It’s not being spontaneous, it's ruining their paint job.

Any collars must be lovingly maintained by their wearers. This is as close to a wedding ring as anyone is likely to get unless Lestat decides to have one of those mass marriages.

The Great Disney experiment is never to be repeated. We’re still finding glitter from fish scales in the carpet and that spinning wheel is an antique, not a prop.

The choking  is symbolic. We all know vampires don’t require breathing. Pointing it out will get you kicked out of bed.

No fake nails. We lost one up there and it still hasn't come out. 

No pet names are to be used outside the bedroom unless agreed upon whether the person is wearing a tail plug under their clothes or not. 

Other things that will get you removed from the bed: mocking Louis’ fuzzy rat socks, losing one of Armand’s rings in the sheets, smacking Daniel without asking for Armand’s consent first, breaking Lestat’s nails if he’s asked for them not to be, putting your hair in anyone’s face if they don’t like it, video conferencing the court while still naked in bed with everyone, smoking and not sharing (also bringing a lighter or matches, see the rule about matches), destroying lingerie and not replacing it, not properly securing the harnesses or breaking down the door (axe optional).

[glowingbadger]

Which of the Three Houses guys will watch their beloved go off on an enemy and have the reaction of "Well mark me down as scared AND horny", do you think?

Ahh, see my dear Friend Anon, this is a nuanced spectrum- but I'll do my best to break it down as I see it:

Scared and Horny:

Claude - has enough common sense to be scared, but definitely hot-blooded enough to be horny about it. A beautiful balance, frankly, though he may tease you about how wild you were.

Raphael - soooo close to qualifying for the "just horny" category, but he is a sweet boy and still wants to check to be sure you're alright (mentally, emotionally, physically) after the battle.

Ignatz - soooo close to qualifying for the "just scared" category lmao. However, as you all know, I see our boy Ignatz as very repressed and very kinky, and seeing you be so powerful and passionate definitely stirs some part of him.

Ferdinand - practically the poster-boy for "scared and horny" tbh; he feels sheepish about it, but he just can't help how your strength and force of will arouse him.

Seteth - also strangely close to the "just horny" category, not that he wants to admit it; seeing you like this really awakens something primal in him from far in his past. Still, his concern for you is ever-present and ultimately pushes aside how entrancing you look conquering your foes so thoroughly.

Sylvain - I almost don't know how to elaborate on this one because, I mean, of course, right? Of course Sylvain is worried, but also just burning inside watching you flushed in the face, damp with sweat, muscles tight, hair wild.......

Just Scared:

Lorenz - oscillating wildly between worried for you and worried for every person around you. Definitely impressed, don't get me wrong- he appreciates battle prowess. But if you're really going berserk, he's worried.

Dedue - while he's likely right there beside you in the fight, he worries about seeing you get particularly aggressive. He's seen what bloodlust has done to the other most valued person in his life, and never wants to see you go too far down that path.

Ashe - it's not as though he can't stomach violence, he just feels that there's a certain responsibility and necessity for rules of engagement when it comes to combat, hence his proclivity for chivalry. Seeing you completely lose yourself worries him, and he'll want to be with you and hold you and make sure you're okay as soon as he can.

Just Horny:

Hubert - I feel like this is more or less self explanatory lmao. Though he does still hope you'll be rational and not do anything unnecessarily risky while eviscerating your foes.

Caspar - again, an obvious choice. Honestly, I think Caspar wants to fuck after just about every battle you two come back from, provided neither of you is hurt too badly.

Jeritza - this is the most obvious one so far lol. Though, when he's more 'himself,' he does silently worry about you sharing in his bloodshed and provoking the Death Knight part of him.

Felix - honestly, it's probably even fiercer than Hubert or Caspar; the lust he feels for you in the heat of battle is both primal and nearly spiritual. This is about his whole life philosophy, after all. After a particularly tough and gruesome fight, he wants nothing more than to absolutely ravage you (and might need to be talked down if he has wounds to attend to first)

Outliers:

Linhardt - ideally, he is not present, as the sight of you "going off" on an enemy is likely to involve waaaaay more blood than he's comfy with. He'll definitely tend to you afterward, and wryly scold you for going overboard (secretly, he was super worried when he heard from your comrades of how ferocious you were out there)

Dimitri - he's in different categories depending on where he's at in his arc tbh. Feral Dimitri is obviously just horny about you diving into the bloodshed with him, while "redeemed" Dimitri has some measure of restraint about it

Yuri - it's more like "amused/impressed and horny," tbh. Though he never looses his head about it- he's still keeping a close eye on you to make sure nothing goes awry. But he won't deny that he enjoys watching, nonetheless.

[nowritingonthewall]

(This is not a kink shaming post!) but I think that Marc, Steven, and Jake actually would be pretty vanilla? Like maybe kinky!vanilla? Does that makes sense lol? Like pretty much down for whatever but in a more lighthearted way than is sometimes included in more intense, elaborate stuff. Idk if that makes sense I just feel like they’re very soft and sweet and even giggly, even if you guys are being kinda adventurous. Either that or very intense but in an emotional way, not a domineering way.

Hello Nonnie, tbh I haven’t given quite as much thought to the boys’ sex life as the majority of the fandom seems to have, so I am not really sure whether I am fully qualified to answer your question 😆

However. If I may be honest, I just don’t see Marc engaging in methods that might be dangerous or degrading for his partner. Risky practises that endanger his own life? No problem (and sadly not uncommon for victims of what he went through). But behaviours that hurt or even potentially traumatize his partner? I am not trying to kink-shame anyone either, but personally I can’t imagine him in that scenario.

Given what Marc went through, a loving and affectionate relationship both in and outside of the bedroom must appear pretty kinky to him 🥺

And I feel that Steven would be very sweet and gentle, too? Somehow this consensus seems to have emerged that sweet, gentle and consensual equals inexperienced and naïve, which imho are two completely different things?

As for Jake, I think the tv show doesn’t really give us enough material to derive any preferences from, but the way that he loves to take care of people? I can’t imagine him engaging in degrading and hurtful stuff, either.

I am sorry, this took a darker turn than I intended. What I was trying to say is that, yes, if they are adventurous in the bedroom, I also feel like it would be in a very soft, sweet and loving way 😊 And I really hope that Marc will find someone who’ll help him along on his healing path to get there someday 🥺

And I love the term kinky!vanilla 😊

[lovedvra]

Hi there! Happy new week lovelies. It is self-care Sunday here on Love Dvra. We are black history, but do we love where we are now? Do we love who we are now? When you look in the mirror do you admire what and who you see? Is your body a loved, protected home or a tired, overly-criticized vessel that gets you through the day? It is a conversation I’ve had with myself several times. Here is what I uncovered. As a young girl and teenager, my natural hair was heavily criticized and rarely complimented. It was “too nappy, too dry, too frizzy, too short, too kinky, or too hard to manage”. In my teen years, I desperately wanted a perm to stop those criticisms and the weight of negative emotions that came after hearing them. In my logical mind, a perm would make it easier to try new hairstyles. My go-to style was three puffs- two in the front and one in the back. I did not know how to take care of my hair. Sometimes dealing with it made me feel powerless. It was a challenge to feel confident in my appearance. There were very few hairdressers who knew how to style my hair. Most of their methods included heat, rough detangling and gel, which led to breakage. Yes, I hated my hair. Even now, I find myself reacting to it in ways others did in the past. It is so ingrained in my psyche that even when I see the beauty of my hair now, sometimes it feels like it’s not enough or should be different to be better. Can we call it hair trauma? Now I wear my hair natural mainly because it is more affordable and I know how to take care of it as is. However, there is still so much I would like to learn to treat it better. If I were to change my hair, I’m at a point where it would be from a place of necessity or curiosity instead of a need to fit in or for others to accept me. This inner dialogue about my body and hair made me question a lot of what I considered to be beautiful. What is beauty to me and how do I want to express that? I am still creating that, but so far I know I want to be healthy. I know I want to remain authentic. Koroba braids, bantu knots, afros, locs, weaves, perms, waves, pin curls- I want to try them all! The versatility black women have created for their hair and the stories that can be told from our style positively intrigues me. Beauty is a holistic experience. It is physical, creative and also spiritual, mental, and emotional to me. A black woman who loves her natural hair and complexion is less likely to perform her blackness and feminity in any space she enters. She simply exists and radiates as is. I can’t deny that the perception of blackness and beauty creates tension at times. We are so accustomed to being treated as spectacles when we show up as ourselves that some of us put up a wall. Like myself, it can be weary to constantly ignore people’s comments on the natural state of your hair, especially around people who we hoped would do better. These days I’ve had to guard myself against comments from a few persons in my life. They have natural hair, but the only way they can accept it is if it is in braids, cornrows or a bun. At times I’d like to ask them if my shrinkage is too black for them. We learned to diminish our natural appearance to appease those in charge of corporate spaces, schools, financial institutions and governance so we could gain access to the important support they offered. Mind you, the state of my hair is merely for my convenience. I will straighten it as long as it is safe and convenient to do so. However, it is so funny how it is perceived as defiance of authority or the status quo in its natural state. Why does the status quo think tightly coiled African hair is a rebellion? If we all were to allow these limitations to stop us, where would we be as a people? Our ancestors fought for freedom, for access to basic needs and for a better tomorrow. Now, we fight for unbiased access to spaces we qualify for, we fight for rest and softness, we fight to be able to express the full range of our emotions without being labelled as threats, and we fight for generational...

[codywankinkbingo]

Codywan Kink Bingo FAQs

What do I have to include to fill a bingo square?

If you’re interested in participating in the Codywan Kink Bingo 2022 Challenge, each fill you create must include Cody and Obi-Wan in a romantic and/or sexual encounter AND a kink of your choice off your card. That’s it!

What can I put in the FREE square?

You can write about whatever you want for the free square! However, and I’m sure this may come as a surprise, it must involve Cody and Obi-Wan and a kink in some way, shape, or form. 

Also, we your friendly neighborhood mods humbly request that you be explicit in your tagging of what kink is in your Free Space fill. Everyone has kinks that make them uncomfortable, even if they are your absolute favorites! In order to allow everyone to stay safe for this spicy, spicy event, we want to make sure everyone knows exactly what they’re getting into when they click.

Can I include other pairings?

Sure! Go wild! The only requirement to qualify as a fill is that a) Obi-Wan and b) Cody c) get up to something kinky. We’d appreciate it if you could tag the other pairing, too, just to make it easier on us, your friendly neighborhood mods.

Also, because this is CODYWAN kink bingo, Codywan should be:

The primary pairing

The “endgame” pairing

A few of the prompts would work great with three (or more!) participants and that’s fine, too, as long as there’s a focus on-- you get the idea. 

Wait, isn’t this the FAQ from your last event?

Friend, it sure is! If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it!

What if there’s a prompt in my way and I don’t like it?

You have the option to change the position of one (1) prompt on your Codywan Kink Bingo Card. 

Can I ask for a new bingo card if I don’t like enough of my prompts?

Unfortunately, no. Each card is procedurally generated. If we allowed people to just keep asking for new cards in order to easily get a bingo, the format of the event sort of falls apart, and what’s more, it wouldn’t be fair to the people who worked hard to write a kink they didn’t immediately have an idea for. 

We’re sorry if you got a particularly difficult card! We hope you enjoy the challenge of trying to get a bingo anyway, and remember, you can always move one prompt and use your free space!

Can I write a fic using a sort of kink that is not on my bingo card in order to get a bingo?

Absolutely, that is what the Free Space is for! As long as you fill at least five prompts in a row, as per the rules of Bingo, you have achieved a bingo.

No, I mean, can I submit a fic (or five fics) where Cody and Obi-Wan play with kinky stuff in bed to the collection without using my bingo card, and still get a bingo?

Unfortunately, no. We are playing Codywan Kink Bingo, and so in order to be in the collection you do have to be filling prompts on your bingo card. However, if you want to write kinky spice outside of our event, we are sure not gonna stop you!

How long does my fic have to be if I write?

Each bingo fic fill should be a minimum of 100 words. No upper limit. You can write as much as you want about them having spicy fun, and, in fact, we’d love it if you did! 

Can one piece of art qualify for more than one bingo fill?

Unfortunately, no. Due to the nature of art being a visual medium, we ask for ONE piece of art per ONE fill. We do, however, accept variations on a piece as a second fill, so long as it is not exactly the same piece (sketches, slightly different poses, playing with colors to give the same drawing a different feel–all fine, all separate fills). If you have questions about whether your piece would qualify, reach out and we’re happy to assist!

What if I include all the kinks in one fic?

That sounds impressive and we’d love to see someone pull it off! However, the word count minimum remains the same. So, if you do five kinks in a single fic, it should be at least 500 words long. 

What if I already have a fic or piece of art that fits a prompt? Can I add it to the collection?

No, this event only accepts new pieces of art/fic/media/etc. We want to encourage the creation of brand spanking (ha) new Codywan pieces, so we can’t accept previously published items of any sort, even if you change them slightly. 

How many fills do I have to create?

In order to get a bingo, you need to fill a minimum of five (5) prompts in a row. You can fill them in a horizontal, vertical, or diagonal line. You may include one or more prompts in a single fic or a comic or…. Well, you get the idea. 

You may also decide to do a blackout! We’d love to see one! 

What’s a blackout? 

Ah, so you were paying attention when we mentioned that in the last answer, huh? A blackout in bingo is when you complete EVERY SQUARE on your card. That means 25 kinks! We’d LOVE to see some blackouts and each person who completes one gets a special shout-out on our Hall of Fame Bingo Card Winners Supreme Post along with a fierce feeling of pride at a job well done. 

Oh, here's one that wasn't on your last FAQ: Can we create a piece that doesn’t involve the kink as a sex act?

No, sorry, this is not allowed. We do expect you to include the prompt in the spirit of the event, which is: spice. You can subvert the prompt to your heart’s content, with the main exception that it DOES have to have a spicy connotation. A hint of lemon, if you will. Sex. The point is sex. 

Please do not create a piece in which someone is tied up and imprisoned by an individual who means to do them unsexy harm and call it a fill for “bondage.” While that sounds like a fic we, your dedicated mods, would read, it will not count for the event. 

This is why we have a rule that you cannot have a G-rated fic, by the way! The subject matter by definition should merit a higher rating than that.

Why can’t I get a card if I’m under 18? 

This event is focused on kinks and spice. As such, it’s focused on fics rated M and E in the vast majority of cases and we’re only issuing cards to participants over 18.

When do I have to post?

Technically, you can post your fills whenever. HOWEVER, if you want to be included in our ao3 collection and/or part of our Hall of Fame Bingo Card Winners Supreme Post you must have your bingo completed by October 31st.

Where do I have to post?

Well, you can pretty much post wherever. HOWEVER. If you want to be included in the ao3 collection, your works are going to have to be on ao3. Also, if you put your pieces behind a paywall, the mods are not going to be able to see them and therefore we cannot award you a completed bingo. 

Remind me what the rules are?

Over here, friend!

How do I get started again?

We’re glad you asked! Click right here and get your very own, unique and specialized Codywan Kink Bingo 2022 card! 

Wait, don’t go, I have more questions!

Feel free to send us an ask and we’ll help you out, friend!

[fruitcoops]

would you potentially write sirius wearing remus’ jersey? 👀 (i love your writing btw!!)

I sure can! I really hope Haz writes this in Vaincre, but for now, this is my take on it. Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for smut and mild overstimulation

Remus heard footsteps approach from the hall and closed his eyes with a sigh. Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it—

“Y’know, I don’t think Earth should qualify as a planet.”

“Fuck you,” he fired back, though it came out as little more than an incomprehensible slur around the hunk of plastic in his mouth.

“Really, I do,” Sirius continued. Remus took a deep breath through his nose and did his goddamn best not to bite through the still-soft mouthguard as it molded to his teeth. “Other planets don’t have life on them. We’re the only one. That makes us an outlier.”

“As soon as this thing comes out, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“Kinky. Anyway, have I told you about that article I read that talked about the moon landing?” Through the blood pounding in his ears, Remus heard the clink of a water glass being taken down from the cupboard. “Turns out the whole thing is a hoax.”

Remus dug his phone out of his pants and furiously typed out a message, cursing every higher power that he got stuck with that idiot as his husband. Damn you for being pretty. “Read,” he ordered, closing his eyes and holding it over his shoulder.

“I’m illiterate.”

“I detest you.”

“What was that? Sorry, I’m having some trouble understanding you.”

“Sirius fucking Black—”

Remus’ mumbled retaliation cut off abruptly with a soft huh as he whipped around, and his jaw fell open. Sirius smiled, easy as you please, leaning his elbows on the counter. “Yes?”

“Oh, fuck,” Remus whimpered around his mouthguard. A sly grin curled the edges of Sirius’ perfect lips upward; he quirked an eyebrow and turned in a slow circle.

“Fits better than I thought it would,” he remarked as Remus whined, desperately checking the timer on his phone. Two minutes and seventeen seconds. Shit. The golden number 6 on the back caught the light of their kitchen like a beacon—a sexy, sexy beacon that beckoned toward every atom in Remus’ body while he tried not to drool on himself. “Mine was a bit big on you, non?”

“Baby, c’mon. C’mon, don’t do this.”

“Should I take it off?”

“No!” Remus blurted, nearly spitting the mouthguard out in his hurry. Sirius shot him a teasing look and sauntered over, then braced his hands—his fucking hands, Remus was so gone for that irritating bastard—on the back of the couch and leaned over until their noses nearly touched.

“What?” he asked, quiet and yet low as thunder. “Cat got your tongue, Loops?”

Remus couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sharp peak of his collarbone beneath a drape of red-and-gold fabric; he couldn’t wait to get his teeth on it. His hands only shook a little as he reached up and rolled the hem between his fingertips, sliding his palms up to the strong planes of Sirius’ chest, hidden by his jersey. A meteor could strike the earth, and Remus would die happy for having seen his name and number emblazoned on the most beautiful man alive.

“Are you going to take it off?”

Remus shook his head without looking up and skimmed a thumb over Sirius’ nipple, feeling a thrill race through him when his breath caught. “Gotcha.”

“Bummer about the mouthguard,” Sirius panted. “If you didn’t leave it to the last second, you could already have that pretty mouth on me.”

As if on cue, the timer went off. Sirius’ face went slack in surprise. Remus grinned, and carefully popped the mouthguard out, laying it in its case before yanking Sirius into his lap. “You were saying?”

“I will admit, I thought that would take longer to set.”

“So you decided to torture me?” Remus guided him down to his neck and felt Sirius shudder.

“I always torture you on mouthguard Fridays.”

He hummed, opening a new package as quietly as he could. “I think I found a solution.”

“Seeing me in your jersey?”

“No. This.” Ignoring the confused noise Sirius made when he leaned back, he slid the new mouthguard mold between his teeth with a sugar-sweet smile, making sure to highlight his dimple. “You look gorgeous. You’ll be sorry for it, though.”

Sirius’ brows pitched and he mumbled a word that might have been ‘kisses’ if his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied.

“You’ll get kisses eventually. That thing’ll be done in ten minutes, and it better be perfect.”

Without giving him a chance to appeal his case, Remus pushed him flat onto the couch, set the timer, and settled between his thighs with a tight grip on his narrow hips. The first touch of his tongue to the outline of Sirius’ dick drew a deep groan from him; he saw Sirius’ next tighten and reached up to grab him by the jaw.

“What did I say?” he asked patiently as Sirius squirmed under him. The tension released, and he smiled, placing a kiss to the side of his mouth as he rubbed his palm along Sirius’ shaft. “Je t’ai, mon amour. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

In a moment of shocking foresight (which Remus was eternally grateful for), Sirius had chosen to wander about in just the jersey and his underwear. The fabric was already sticky when his breath fanned hot over it—Sirius closed his eyes with a soft sound and reached back for the armrest.

“Harlot,” Remus teased as he ran his hand along his inner thighs. Sirius huffed a laugh, but it quickly transformed into a moan as Remus pulled his boxers away and took as much of him into his mouth as he could.

“Oh, god,” Sirius said, clearly winded as one knee knocking against Remus’ ribs while his lower back arched. “Please, please, ngh—”

Remus pulled away with a sigh and took his jaw again, giving it a little shake. “Sirius. Don’t clench your teeth.”

A shaky sound slipped through; he stared up at Remus in a silent plea, but managed to relax.

“You have eight minutes left.” Remus rubbed his thumb in small circles over the head of his dick and watched his eyes flutter shut for a moment. “Count if you want, but that should be good enough for you to wear.”

Sirius nodded, his breaths coming harder as if he had just run a race. Under his palm, Remus could feel his heartbeat pounding in his broad chest—he smoothed the jersey down, then scooted back to resume pulling Sirius apart thread by thread. He had felt that exact fabric almost every day for months and rarely found anything attractive about it, but on Sirius it was astonishing how fast his whole body lit up in response. He wanted to see him wear it and nothing else.

He pulled off with a soft laugh when Sirius put his forearm over his mouth. His thighs were trembling on either side of Remus. “Oh, baby, is that hard for you?”

A keening noise was his only response.

Remus kept a tight grip on the base of his shaft, sliding his thumb along the underside as he swallowed Sirius down and nipped kisses along his sensitive hips. “Relax, I’ll take care of you.”

He grinned to himself as a shudder rocked through Sirius’ whole body and more precome dripped over his lower lip. The clock on his phone read three minutes. Plenty of time to take him apart, Remus thought, slipping two fingers into Sirius’ mouth to stop him from biting down. He made a muffled noise of protest, but it was weak, and within moments he was putty once again.

“I don’t think it really matters which skate you put on first,” he said casually, bracing an arm over Sirius’ lower belly as his hips jerked. “And at the end of the day, superstitions are bullshit.”

Sirius’ eyes flared open in disbelief; he tried to retort, but the mouthguard and Remus’ fingers made him incomprehensible.

“Sorry, I’m having some trouble understanding you,” Remus mimicked. Sirius’ chest buzzed with an angry sound, but he just smiled and licked a long stripe up his length, laving his tongue against the spot just beneath the head. “And you know what?”

“Hmm?” Sirius managed, clearly frustrated as his hands flexed.

Remus pulled back and leaned over him. The contrast between the warm colors of his jersey and the quicksilver of Sirius’ eyes drove him wild, and he closed his eyes as he bent down until his lips just brushed the shell of Sirius’ ear. “Sometimes, if it was a really long day and I was tired and ready to go home…”

Sirius made a questioning noise and Remus bit down on the hinge of his jaw.

“I would sharpen your right skate before your left.”

Sirius froze. Remus sat back up with a smug look and took his thoroughly slicked fingers out; from the expression on Sirius’ face, he may as well have told him he burned down the rink. The slack-jawed horror dissolved into pure indignance in half a second. “You mother—”

For the second time in about fifteen seconds, Sirius was lost for words. He replaced them with a yelp that Remus prayed the neighbors wouldn’t hear, rolling his hips back onto the finger that crooked upward in a practiced movement. The mouthguard may have muffled his words, but it did nothing to stop him from moaning.

Remus redoubled his efforts as the clock ticked down the final minute—he had plans for later, but they would only work if Sirius was properly handled first. He finally fell silent, reduced to gasping and writhing as Remus worked two fingers inside of him and kept up so much suction his own jaw was beginning to ache. Finally, with a desperate little sound and a harsh grip on the couch cushion, Sirius shook to pieces, his stomach jolting as Remus stroked the underside of his thigh in soothing motions.

The timer went off a few seconds later, and he carefully pulled the plastic out of Sirius’ mouth. There were a few dents from his lower teeth and the back was decently mangled, but overall…

“Huh. Not bad,” he said, setting it on the coffee table. Sirius blinked slowly at him, his mouth still open and his pupils blown wide as he tried to catch his breath. “Alright, up.”

Sirius silently shook his head, never taking his eyes off Remus’ face.

“Yep, c’mon. You’re still wearing my jersey, and I need to thank you for it.”

A quiet puff of air left his lungs as his dick twitched. “I c—I can’t.”

Remus sighed through his nose and stood, then hoisted Sirius into a bridal hold and headed toward the stairs. “It’s a good thing I’m strong enough to do this, or else you’d have to get yourself upstairs all by yourself.”

“Re?”

He maneuvered so Sirius’ feet wouldn’t smack into the banister and smiled when a kiss brushed against his cheekbone. “Yes?”

“You were kidding about the skate thing, right?”

“Depends.” He nudged the bedroom door open with his hip. “Were you kidding about the moon?”

Sirius’ shoulders shook with laughter as Remus set him down on the bed and settled on top of him, bracketing his face and waist. His hands were warm and broad on his cheeks, pulling him down for a kiss at long last. Remus hummed into it; his insides turned to happy mush, and he began running his palms along the outside of Sirius’ bare thighs.

“You look fucking amazing in my jersey, love,” he murmured.

“I know.”

“Cocky bastard.”

“You say that like you didn’t already know.”

Remus kissed the smile off his face, lacing their fingers and pressing them down over Sirius’ head—he stretched his back like a contented cat before shifting until he was comfortable. “I still think about that night, you know.”

“Well, yeah, we won the Cup.”

“I think about the way you let me push you against the door,” he continued, paying Sirius no attention as he mapped each curve and angle of his neck. After over a year of practice, he knew the best spots by heart. “And the way you looked at me when you saw what I was wearing. And when you held me like you were going to break if I stopped moving. I wish you could’ve seen your face when I begged you to let me come again. Remember that?”

The room was quiet for a moment, save for Sirius’ shallow breaths and the rustle of the sheets as he squirmed.

Remus pulled back from his neck and ran a thumb over his wet lower lip. “Hey. Answer me.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Sirius said on the tail end of a slow exhale. “Fuck. You can’t just say things like that.”

“You kept your hand right here,” he said, pressing down on Sirius’ chest with just enough force to feel his lungs hitch. “I might not have a badge, but I’ll figure something out. I think I understand why you like it when I wear yours so much.”

“Every time you wear it, we fuck, and it’s always mind-blowing. There’s no way I’ll be able to see it on you outside of bed.”

“I have the sneaking suspicion we’re on the same page with that.” He took the backs of Sirius’ knees in his hands and pushed until they almost touched his chest. “Hold.”

Through the grace of God, the lube was easy to find. Remus really didn’t know what he would have done if it wasn’t—he might have been confident on the outside, but his fine motor skills were sorely lacking and his brain was playing a loop of sexy boyfriend jersey sexy boyfriend jersey that he couldn’t even dream of stopping. Sirius made a series of cut-off keening noises as he opened him up, and Remus wanted to memorize the look on his face.

“Deep breaths, baby,” he soothed, resting a hand over Sirius’ heart when his legs began to shake. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Oh, god,” Sirius choked out, leaning his head back into the pillows. “Re, please—”

“Shh.” Remus moved his free hand up to hold one index finger over Sirius’ lips while the other pushed and pressed inside of him, skimming over his prostate in a random pattern that drew harsh exhales each time.

“I can’t,” Sirius whined. “Mon amour, I can’t.”

“You don’t need to do anything but hold.” Small white spots were appearing on Sirius’ knuckles as he clutched at his thighs; his dick was already starting to drip again. Remus slid into him and stifled a moan into his own shoulder, though he really didn’t have to worry—Sirius’ short cry would have covered any other sound easily. “There you go, nice and easy.”

Sirius blubbered out a string of incoherent words as Remus began to move and the mattress began to creak, but he was far too preoccupied with the way his jersey shone in the light of their bedroom and stood stark against the sheets in a blaze of red. Sirius’ smooth skin, so warm and flushed under his touch, blended almost seamlessly with the golden edges until Remus couldn’t think to do anything but lean down and kiss him. He responded eagerly, craning his neck for a better angle and pulling Remus’ lower lip between his teeth with a breathless moan. Once, he tried to let go of his leg and bring him closer, but Remus calmly took his hand and guided it back to the proper place without breaking stride.

“I need—I need—mon dieu, merde—need you, please,” Sirius panted, squeezing his eyes shut with a wavering moan.

“Je t’ai,” Remus repeated as he sucked a mark on the junction of his neck. Sirius’ whole left side went limp at the feeling. “I’ve got you. Christ, Sirius, you look incredible.”

A gasp left his kiss-swollen lips as he looked up at Remus. “I don’t think I can come again, Re, please—”

“You can. Color?”

“Vert, green, but—” He bit down on his lower lip as Remus held his waist in a firm grip. “I really don’t think I can.”

“I think you can,” Remus said, combing his fingers through the top of Sirius’ hair and giving it a tug. His whole abdomen tightened and his knees knocked together; it took Remus several seconds to get his breath back to the point where he wasn’t about to come on the spot. “I’m taking care of you right now, remember? If I say you can, you can.”

Sirius’ gaze was bright and untethered as he gulped—Remus gave his hair another pull, harder, and he shivered. More precome painted his stomach and darkened the hem of the jersey. His vocabulary seemed to be reduced to oh, fuck on repeat, growing slightly higher in pitch each time until he was just whimpering. “Re—Re, now—”

Remus caught his mouth in a slow, gentle kiss and wrapped a hand around him, not changing his pace until Sirius crumbled into a puddle of bliss and his shins connected with Remus’ ribs. He buried his face in Sirius’ sweaty neck with a sharp gasp and followed him over the edge mere moments later; he didn’t even try to catch himself as his knees slipped on the sheets and brought him down to lay across Sirius’ chest.

For a few seconds, all he could hear was their breaths and heartbeats. Part of him was tempted to doze off right there, but he rallied the last of his energy and peeled Sirius’ hands off his legs, pulling them down and out so they wouldn’t cramp. Sirius was staring at the ceiling in a daze; the jersey was rumpled and rucked up around his ribs, and Remus slid that down as well.

“Baby?” he said, kissing each of his cheeks. “Are you okay?”

“What?” Sirius’ voice cracked and he bit back a laugh.

“Ça va?”

“Mmm. Très bien.” His arms were little more than noodles as he wrapped them around Remus’ shoulders.

“Come on,” he said after a bit, disentangling himself despite Sirius’ grumbling. “You did so well, but we still have to clean up. You can be the little spoon, if you give me a hand.”

“You’ll have to carry me.”

“No,” Remus laughed. “I barely hold myself up, are you kidding?”

Sirius cracked one sleepy eye open, then narrowed it. “Depends. Were you kidding about my skates?”

[atsushigre]

night terrors III

pairing: dabi x reader

summary: comfort is a two way street; he has a nightmare and you come to his rescue

wc: 3117

warnings: reader briefly gets choked and not in the kinky way (but not intentionally in the abusive way either if that makes any sense), potential manga spoilers for dabi!!

a/n: AHHHH it’s finally done!! cannot believe this is my longest piece yet LMAO if i’d kept it all one part like i had intended it would have been stupid long so. here we are!! hope y’all enjoy and reblogs are appreciated (and i’ll try and be back with more stuff soon!!)

part i / part ii

the third time you really see him is maybe the most shocking of all (though if you’re serious with yourself, you really should have seen this coming). 

the mission had gone bad in every conceivable way, and you couldn’t say you were necessarily surprised. all signs had pointed to things going horribly awry, and yet you had volunteered your expertise regardless, and dabi had been quick to follow (though he maintained that same air of disinterest despite himself). but, even with your best efforts the mission had fallen to pieces and the two of you had barely managed a (fairly) safe retreat- he had gotten pretty badly wounded but all things considered, it could have gone far worse. 

barely holding yourself together as you escaped, you quickly tried to assess the situation, and soon realized that in the state he was in dabi wouldn’t make it back to where you were stationed fast enough. seemingly coming to the same conclusion, he had reluctantly directed you to help him to a place he had, some safehouse or abandoned apartment he kept when he spent time away from the league, and you had done your best to keep him conscious and drag him along with you as discreet as possible; the last thing either of you needed was for the heroes to have caught you in the state you were in - you wouldn’t have stood a chance. 

and here is where you find yourself, in the bathroom of an abandoned apartment, rifling through the near barren medicine cabinet for supplies to dress wounds as your partner in this mission bleeds out on the dusty couch. scooping up a variety of medical supplies (including a staple gun, though hopefully you wouldn’t have to use it - you may be handy but you were by no means qualified to be adding more staples to that man) and rushing out into the living room, you quickly dumped the supplies on the floor before rushing to the (similarly barren) kitchen, looking for any sort of alcohol for disinfecting. snatching the half-empty bottle of vodka, you came back down to crouch in front of the man and get to work. he hadn’t said much of anything since you’d unceremoniously dumped him on the couch and began your search, but those same electric eyes had tracked your movement throughout the apartment, pain clouding them as he grits his teeth. 

you set to work dressing his wounds, hoping and praying that your minimal first aid experience would be passable enough that he would survive the night and be able to see a real doctor (one that had undoubtedly been paid or strong-armed by the league, of course) in the morning. every once in a while he would seem to make a move, almost as if he intended to take over for you and patch himself up, but between the energy he had expended earlier that evening and your quiet soothing, every time he seemed to concede, sinking deeper into the ratty couch cushions and allowing you to continue your work in (mostly) silence. he barely had the energy for remarks, only able to summon a deep hum in affirmation when you would periodically ask him if he was awake. 

you pull back just a bit to admire your finished handiwork before looking up to meet his gaze, half-lidded eyes still watching you in silence. you can practically see the fatigue pulling at him at that moment but he musters up his last dregs of energy to straighten his slumped form on the couch, groaning in pain as he does so. you quickly lean forward, hands securing themselves on his shoulders as you crouch down to eye level.

“i’m gonna move you to the bed, okay? can i?” your eyes search his for an answer, and as you hear him grunt and seem to nod his head, you begin to lean his weight onto yourself as you maneuver him into the bedroom. you busy yourself getting him set in bed, acutely feeling the weight of his exhausted eyes on you as you make your way out of the bedroom once he’s settled, pausing in the doorway to give him one last once over.

“call for me if you need anything,” you sigh, and you hear the sarcastic snort as he faces his head away for you, eyes sliding shut as you linger in the doorway a moment longer. hesitantly you creep back to the living room, setting yourself down on the couch and dropping your head into your hands, waves of exhaustion rolling over you as the adrenaline of the evening seeps out of your system, and its as you run your hands exasperatedly over your face that you are met with the massive bloodstain covering the couch, where you’d intended to sleep this evening. a sigh leaves you as you set to work using the remaining (mostly) unstained cushions to form a makeshift bed of sorts before allowing the exhaustion of the day to settle over you like a blanket.

it’s less than two hours later when you’re woken with a start to the familiar sounds of a nightmare; however, this time, they’re not coming from you. no, instead, you can hear the distressed noises echoing off the walls and emanating from the bedroom, and panic grips your heart as you try and orient yourself, scrambling up off your makeshift bed and over to the doorway.

he’s thrashing around in the sheets, panicked gasps coming out of his lungs, and you can see his face screwed up in an expression of terror before he thrashes once more, facing away from you. scarred hands are fisted in the sheets, and you can hear the sizzling of what you can only assume is his flesh as his temperature begins to rise. you can almost hear him starting to mumble under his breath before the mumbles get louder and he begins to frantically shout. you’re practically paralyzed, standing in the doorway mouth agape as you take him in before something snaps in you and you quickly close the distance.

bracing yourself as you begin to shake his shoulders, you feel his form shuddering under you as he’s gasping for air. you shout his name as you try and still him before he can further disrupt your shoddy stitch work, but nothing could have prepared you for what came next.

electric eyes shoot open and meet yours, wild and feral as he launches himself forward, toppling off the bed with you as the room erupts in blue flame. one scarred hand is wrapped tightly around your throat, fingers digging into your skin as you feel the heat of his fire coalescing in his palm, and the other is reared back in a threatening pose, cobalt flames licking at his skin and casting their sickly glow over the dingy bedroom. his eyes are cloudy and wild, like a feral animal as he keeps you pinned to the floor, chest heaving with exertion, and as you struggle to claw your way out of his vice grip around your neck you barely see the fire growing dimmer as he comes to his senses.

“dabi,” you choke out, prying his fingers away from your throat, and it’s as if your raspy voice breaks the spell that had fallen over him as he scrambles off of you, blue flames extinguishing and leaving nothing more than the faint sound of sizzling in their wake. the room is dark, almost pitch black, besides the faint glow of city lights peeking from behind the curtains, and you take a long moment of pause, gaze glued to the floor as you gently run your fingers over the bruises you don’t doubt are already forming around your throat. you finally manage to lift your gaze, only to find him recoiled up against the wall, clutching the hand that was moments ago choking you out close to his chest, wild eyes flitting around and occasionally risking a glance in your direction.

it’s almost funny, in that tragic way; you know very little about the fractured man before you, nothing of his life before the league and barely anything even now that he is with you. he makes a point to dance around pointed questions (not that you were brazen enough to ask any) and keeps everything besides burning ambition locked inside of him, hidden away and detached from his person. but now you can almost see his edges fraying, that tightly wound façade unraveling, and in that minute he just looks very small and very sad, huddled up like a feral animal backed into a corner. he looks almost like a child; alone and afraid and unsure. you know logically you should turn your back and leave him, especially after what just transpired between you, but between the way he’s looking right now and the phantom feeling of a hand carding through your hair that threatens to overwhelm you, you feel your resolve cracking as you clear your throat.

his gaze jumps up to meet yours, eyes so wide the scarred skin around them is pulling on his staples, and you draw a deep breath in before reaching out a shaky hand, crawling slowly towards him. he flinches backward, and you watch as his eyes linger on the angry markings left around your throat as you hesitantly continue your approach.

“you uh. you had a nightmare. but it’s just me okay? you’re safe; we’re at your safe house.” you speak gently as you crawl right up to him, slowly moving to place your hand on one of his drawn in knees, and when he shows no signs of lashing out you close the last bit of distance, shaky hand resting lightly on the fabric of his pants as you patiently wait for any sort of response. you can feel how tense he holds himself, how tightly wound he is, and in the position he’s pulled himself into it’s impossible for you to get a good look at his abdomen; you’d have to assume that in the struggle he’d done something to disrupt your subpar sutures, and you couldn’t in good faith let him bleed out on the floor in a state like this. it seems like you’re going to have to push a little harder to get any sort of response out of him, shock setting into his bones as his vacant eyes fixate on where your hand meets his form. 

“i don’t know what you saw, and you don’t have to tell me- i don’t want you to tell me anything, okay? all i wanna do is help you right now; so, can you help me help you? is that okay?” your gentle whispers fill the air, and you can see some of the tension melting from his shoulders as his ragged breathing steadies, and that clouded look in his eyes seems to dissolve under the soothing tone of your speech. your thumb rubs gentle circles on his knee, and after a few long minutes of near-perfect silence, you can hear his bones begin to crack as he slowly unfurls himself, allowing you access to his injury. you quickly assess the damages, sighing in relief when you see they’re minimal, and look up to see him staring down at you while you work, eyes swirling with an undecipherable blend of emotions before he angles his head away. 

you know he feels guilty for what transpired; you can feel it rolling off of him in waves, see it in the way his eyes keep finding their way to the marks blossoming on your skin, sense it in the way he flinches away from your touch, almost sitting on his hands so as to not let them come in contact with you again. you can practically hear the apology in the air, but the little you know about him tells you he’d never manage to choke it out, and so you rise and busy yourself with the bed, resetting the cushions and fluffing the pillows before you cross back to crouch in front of him again, hand extended with confidence this time. 

he stares blankly at your extended hand for a long moment before looking up and almost past you, eyes still sparkling with fragments of fear, and a gentle smile creeps across your face as you let out a soft hum. 

“let’s get you to bed, okay?” reaching down you grasp his hand in yours, pretending not to notice the way he jumps slightly at the contact before you gingerly pull him up, resting his weight on your frame before getting him settled under the covers once again. you pull the blankets up to cover him before you hesitate for a moment, locking eyes with him again, and it’s almost as if something possesses you as you reach forward to smooth his hair back and away from his forehead. his eyes widen in surprise, and you can’t help the gentle smile that creeps onto your lips before you pull away, lingering in the doorway and casting one last look over your shoulder.

huddled under the covers, fully and properly exhausted as he comes down off of the fear-induced adrenaline spike of moments ago, it strikes you again just how small he looks; if you were really being honest with yourself, fragile was the word for it. a man held together by staples, body and soul, tormented by what you can only assume are ghosts of his past. 

maybe that’s why you linger in the doorway longer than you should. maybe that’s why instead of shutting the door behind you, you step back inside before gently pulling it shut, creeping back over to the bed and crawling up and on top of the covers. those same eyes track your movement, and you can almost feel him going to ask why you’re doing this as you push yourself up against the headboard and angle yourself towards him, gently carding your hand through his hair. you feel his questioning gaze before you hear the involuntary exhale of relief.

“this is so you’ll go back to sleep, so hurry up and close your eyes already. i don’t have all night.” you managed to make it through the whole sentence before you softly giggle, recalling the flipped scenario no less than a few weeks ago, and you feel him still below you before sighing and shifting his head into your lap, relaxing fully under the feeling of your hand smoothing over his hair. it seems that after the evening’s events, he’s simply too tired to keep up pretenses, melting under your gentle touch, and you can feel a small smile stretch over his face, staples grazing over your thigh where his face is angled into your lap. you think you hear a muttered thanks, and though you weren’t quite sure you wouldn’t dare ask him to repeat it, pleased enough at the prospect of a thank you in the first place.

you’re up for an extra hour, watching the man melt under the repeated caresses and allow sleep to take him (peacefully, this time), before that same exhaustion comes creeping back and sleep comes for you as well.

you wake as the late afternoon sun creeps through the ratty curtains, full-body exhaustion threatening to draw you back to sleep but the nagging urge to get dabi checked by a doctor pulling you back to consciousness. during the night you’d shifted, laying down against the bed, and a blanket previously nowhere to be found had been tucked over you. you push yourself up as you notice you’re sleeping in an empty bed, and as you tighten the blanket around your shoulders and hurry back into the living room, you can’t help the sigh of relief you let out when you see dabi standing in the barren kitchen rifling through a shopping bag.

“you scared me.” leaning up against the counter next to him, you can’t help the small grin that stretches across your face as he produces a steaming mug of tea, gesturing for you to drink before he draws his own to his lips. warmth bubbles up in your chest, doubled as you take slow sips of the tea, and you spare a few glances down at his torso, trying to catch a glimpse of his injury.

“we should go see the doctor,” you sigh, head tipped back, and he makes what you can only interpret as a dismissive noise as he rifles through the shopping bag again before producing a mound of fabric, lazily outstretching it towards you as he gazes out the window and sips on his own tea. you gingerly take it from him and unravel it, coming face to face with a soft black scarf, and you can feel your face heat up as your grin grows wider.

“here. wear this,” he drawls, and you can practically feel the apology stitched into the soft fabric as you wind it around your neck, covering the marks of yesterday. you can see his posture loosen once you finish and turn to him, taking a moment to show off, and a low chuckle and a wolf whistle fills the air as you strike an objectively ridiculous pose.

“lookin good,” he scoffs, eyebrow quirked and smirk tugging at his lips, before he gathers his things and unceremoniously dumps them back in his bag. he moves for the door, gesturing for you to follow, and something in you has you reaching out and catching his arm, fingers gripping onto his coat sleeve.

“we aren’t talking about it after this, i promise, but i get it, okay? i get it. so thanks for what you do for me, and i hope i can keep doing the same for you.” 

“i thought i told you not to mention it,” you hear him say, and before you can quickly rush to drop an apology you notice the small smile on his face, and that now-familiar warmth bubbles up inside of you again.

“you’re right. my bad; won’t happen again,” you grin, brushing past him to lead the way. you hear him scoff once more before following quickly behind, and you know deep inside you that you’ve come to cherish this rather unconventional arrangement the two of you have found yourself in. despite yourself, you can’t help but quietly wish for more opportunities to support and be supported like this; after all, you enjoy it far more than you’d be willing to admit. for as long as the two of you have night terrors, you hope the other will be there to pick up the pieces, night after night.

[i-am-bitterly-jittery]

My Best Friend’s Brother (Virgil/Remus/Janus/Patton fic part 2/2)

Part 1

Word count: 2193

Rating: teen

Pairings: Virgil/Remus/Janus/Patton (intrumoxeit?), logince

Warnings: minor swearing, suggestive language (mostly from Remus), minor contortion

~~~START~~~

“WAKE UP, THOT!” Roman startles awake as his door hits the wall with a loud bang. Remus stands in the doorway grinning at him.

“Remus, what the fuck?” Roman groans. He wants to pull the covers over his head and just ignore his brother, but if he does that, he won’t have the slight advantage of being able to see whatever Remus is about to do. So he settles for just glaring. 

“We’re going out to breakfast with all of our boyfriends!” Remus declares. “You’re going to be nice to my boyfriends, and I won’t make unsolicited comments about your boyfriend’s ass, dick, or mouth!”

“I hate you,” Roman groans. 

“Love you too, Roro!” Remus clutches a hand over his heart before turning to leave. “Get dressed or I’ll drag you there in your pjs!” He calls behind him. 

Roman throws his pillow through the open door, but Remus is already gone. Instead of chasing his brother down, Roman gets dressed because Remus will drag him out in his pajamas otherwise. 

There’s two texts on his phone when he pulls it off the charger.

From Crofters Slut @ 6:15am: Virgil Knight is a student in our year. He won that art competition last year that Remus was in. I’m surprised you don’t know who he is. 

Even with the hint, Roman has no idea who Virgil is. He vaguely remembers the art competition, but mostly, he remembers being salty that his piece hadn’t even qualified for it, and then being salty again when Remus didn’t win. There is absolutely nothing in his memory about who won, what they looked like, or what piece they’d entered. 

The second text is:

From Padre Puffball @ 7:54am: Hi Roman! I hope you slept well. I was hoping that you’d be willing to get breakfast today? You, me, Logan, Remus, Janus, and Virgil? Please? I know you don’t like Janus and Virgil, and you’re not happy that I’m dating your brother, but I really like them, and I think you would too if you’d just give them a chance (maybe not as much as I like them, but enough to be friends?) I’ll text the others too, but I do hope you come! Love Patton 💖🐶

And honestly, even if Remus wasn’t going to forcefully drag him to this breakfast, there’s no way Roman could ever say ‘no’ to Patton. So when Remus comes back, Roman is fully dressed, and in the process of applying his eyeliner. 

“C’mon, princess, let’s go!” Remus insists, but he does resist the urge to pull on Roman’s arm and ruin his makeup and possibly cause Roman to stab the pencil into his eye. 

“I have to finish this first! Logan’s going to be there and a prince has got to slay!” Roman replies. 

Remus rolls his eyes. “You just got back from spending two months sharing a room with him! He’s definitely seen you without makeup before.”

“Noooo, I woke up earlier than him specifically so he’d never see me without my makeup!” 

“Roro, you are the most pathetic thot I’ve ever met. And I’m including myself. How early did you have to wake up to be up before him?”

“...four-thirty am,” Roman admits slowly, refusing to meet his brother’s eyes in the mirror. 

“Excuse me while I go barf!” Remus giggles. “You woke up, at ass o’clock in the morning, so that Nerdy Wolverine wouldn’t see you without your makeup?”

“Yeah, well I’ll bet you showered daily while I was gone!” Roman shoots back. “In fact, you’re smelling pretty fresh over there. Did you perhaps shower already this morning?”

“I’ll admit to nothing!” Remus screeches. “Hurry up, we have to pick up Jan.”

“I have to be in a car with that freak!?” 

“If you ever call any of my boyfriends ‘freaks’ again, I’ll rip off your nipples and shove them so far up your nose they’ll lodge inside your brain!” Remus yells, angrier than Roman’s ever seen him. “Assuming you even have a brain.”

“Why you-!”

They pull up to Janus’ house forty-five minutes late. 

“I don’t know why I trusted you to pick me up on time,” Janus comments as he slides into the backseat. “You’re always so punctual.”

“Hi JJ!” Remus greets chipperly, completely ignoring Janus’ annoyance. “I told Roman to sit in the back but he refused.”

“I was here first!” Roman insists stubbornly. 

“He also called you freak,” Remus tattles. 

“I didn’t mean-!” Roman turns to Janus quickly while he tries to explain himself, but Janus just smirks. 

“Well I suppose being able to do this makes me a little bit of a freak.”

Remus doesn’t even have to look to know that Jan dislocated his shoulder and twisted his arm around his head unnaturally, Roman scream tells him everything he needs to know. Remus has to pull off to the side of the road because he’s laughing so hard. 

It takes them almost fifteen minutes to get to the cafe, which is longer than it should take to get there from Janus’ house, but Remus had needed time to calm down from his laughing fit. Roman hadn’t spoken the entire drive over, and Jan was looking pretty satisfied with himself. 

So, coming into the cafe over an hour late, it’s not that hard to find his boyfriends and the Dork (hehe, whale penis). They’re in one of the semi-circle booths with Patton sitting between Virgil and Logan. It looks like Virgil and Logan are in the middle of a conversation, which is good, until, ya know, Roman has to go and ruin it. 

“EMO NIGHTMARE!?” Roman screeches at the top of his lungs. It causes the whole cafe to come to a screeching halt as everyone stops to stare at them. Virgil stiffens, shoulders coming up to his ears and he quickly throws his hood over his head. Logan sends Roman an unimpressed look. 

“Wonderful. Excellent. Thank you, Roman,” Janus mutters, already making his way over to the others. 

“Indoor voices, Roro.” Remus nudges his brother as he passes. 

“You’re dating Emo Nightmare!?” Roman hisses, quietly enough that Remus is the only one who can hear him. “Actually, back up. You know Emo Nightmare? Emo Nightmare has friends?”

“His name is Virgil, Roman,” Remus says, not bothering to dignify Roman’s questions with an answer. “And you promised to be nice.”

“I was startled,” Roman answers petulantly. 

Remus doesn’t dignify that with an answer either, instead he ignores Roman and goes to join his boyfriends at the table. Janus has already reached the table, and has his arm wrapped protectively around Virgil’s shoulders. Remus slides into the booth next to Janus, leaving the space next to Logan open for Roman. 

“You’re late,” Logan informs them once Roman’s taken his seat. 

“Only by like an hour,” Remus replies cheerfully, grabbing a menu and perusing the breakfast options. 

“We already ordered,” Patton informs him gently. “You’re getting the breakfast sausage platter, Janus is getting a veggie omelet, and Roman’s getting pancakes with a side of eggs.”

“The sausages look like dicks!” Remus said, quietly enough that only the table next to them send him weird glances. 

Virgil snorts from under his hood, so Remus counts it as a win. 

“Charming,” Logan says, years of being friends with Roman have rendered Remus’s antics to little more than background noise. 

“So, Nerdy Wolverine, why Roman?” Remus asks, after all, that’s what this breakfast is for, right? Grilling Logan on why he has such bad taste in men? “He’s sooooooo… ugly.”

“WE HAVE THE SAME FACE!”

“BUT I WEAR IT SO MUCH BETTER THAN YOU!”

“Stop yelling!” Virgil hisses, finally leaving the safety of his hood. “We’re in public!”

“Besides,” Patton chimes in. “That’s mean! You’re both very handsome!”

“At least I don’t have a fuzzy caterpillar on my face,” Roman mutters petulantly, but any further argument is thankfully cut off by the waiter bringing out their food. 

“Thank you!” Patton calls as the waiter leaves

“Well,” Logan sighs. “After that little display I have no idea why I like Roman.”

“What!? No! Logan!” Roman whines. Logan just rolls his eyes and kisses Roman on the cheek, effectively placating him. 

“I am more surprised by you, Patton,” Logan continues, raising an eyebrow at his friend. “When we left, you were still afraid to be within thirty yards of Janus. I’m surprised you got over your fear so completely in such a short amount of time.”

“Logan!” Patton yelps, hiding his blush in Virgil’s shoulders. It doesn’t work out too well since Virgil’s shoulders are shaking from laughter. 

“Patton, I’m so insulted that you’d be afraid of me,” Janus drawls. “I was trying so hard to seem nice and approachable.”

“I’m so sorry Janus!” Patton apologizes from his place hiding in Virgil’s shoulder. 

“Don't apologize, Pat,” Virgil assures him, patting the side of his head awkwardly. “He wants people to be afraid of him. He was so happy when he realized he got a scar from flgmmn!”

Janus clamps a gloved-hand over Virgil’s mouth quickly, pulling his head against his chest to stop his struggling. 

“Nothing!” Janus hisses quickly. “Absolutely nothing. Nothing to see here!”

Virgil bats his hands at Janus’ head, but the angle makes it hard to land any solid hit. 

Remus laughs, and Patton just grabs one of Virgil’s hands and kisses it apologetically, neither of them try to help him. 

“Janus won’t let Virgil tell anyone how he got his scar,” Remus explains between giggles. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Janus says dismissively as Virgil goes limp. “Are you trying to bite my hand?”

“Kinky!”

The rest of breakfast continues… somewhat normally, of course Janus has Virgil pinned the entire time, and as a result, neither of them end up finishing their food. Roman’s determination to pout lasts all of twenty minutes, but then Janus started quoting Shakespeare and well… maybe Janus isn’t so bad after all. 

“Romeo and Juliet isn't a love story,” Janus argues, he’s still covering Virgil’s mouth even though it’s been half an hour, and Virgil has long since stopped struggling. “It’s about two stupid kids that make dumb decisions and get the people around them killed.”

“You take that back!” Roman gasps, clutching his chest as though he’s been stabbed. “Romeo and Juliet is a story about star-crossed lovers and overcoming life’s obstacles!”

“What obstacles did they overcome Roman? They both died in the end.”

“Sorry to interrupt, kiddos,” Patton butts in before their argument can get any more heated. “But Jan, do you think you can let Virgil go now? He hasn’t eaten yet.”

Janus glances down at Virgil consideringly and the emo just gives him his most innocent expression. “Fine.”

Janus releases Virgil but continues to watch him suspiciously. In turn, Virgil just starts shoveling omelet into his mouth. After a moment, Janus seems satisfied and returns to his argument. 

“And their own deaths could have been avoided if Romeo had just-”

“JANUS FELL OFF HIS BIKE!” Virgil blurts out suddenly. 

“TRAITOR!”

This starts a scuffle between the two that has Remus cackling like a madman. 

They get kicked out of the restaurant.

Well… Janus, Virgil, and Remus get kicked out of the restaurant, Patton, Roman, and Logan get told that they can stay if they don’t cause anymore scenes. 

In the end they only stay long enough for Roman to pay for everyone’s food (because he’s a gentleman… and because he’s rich, but mostly because he’s a gentleman), and Patton to get the rest of Virgil and Janus’ omelets in a to-go box. 

Remus and Janus are clearly having some sort of argument when Roman and the others make it outside, but the only part Roman manages to catch is Remus saying “calm down Peewee Herman!”

“Patton is officially my favorite boyfriend,” Janus pouts, maneuvering himself so that Patton is in between him and their other two boyfriends. Patton doesn't seem to mind, planting a kiss on Janus cheek that majorly undermines his edgy facade. “You two are dead to me.”

“Only on the inside,” Virgil responds sagely. 

“You love us Janny!” Remus crows, outmaneuvering Janus’ human wall by pulling both Patton and Janus into a bone-crushing hug. 

A funny feeling develops in Roman’s stomach as he watches the four of them interact. They all clearly like each other, and Patton seems so genuinely happy trapped between Remus and Janus. Maybe Roman overreacted last night. 

“Well?” Logan asks quietly, slipping his hand easily into Roman’s. 

“I was wrong,” Roman answers, finally dragging his gaze away from his brother, his best friend, and their boyfriends to look Logan in the eye. Logan is giving him that soft smile that makes Roman’s heart thud. “They’re cute together.”

“Patton seems happy,” Logan agrees. “Though I do believe that, objectively, we’re the cuter couple.”

“Yeah,” Roman agrees as Janus lets out an indignant squawk. 

Turning around, Roman finds the Virgil had obviously tried to join the group hug and ended up toppling them over, leaving Janus on the ground with Virgil sprawled over his back, Remus and Patton lying in a heap next to them, all of them laughing.

“Objectively.”

~~~END~~~

Whoo! Finally finished the second part, I’ll probs post this on AO3 tomorrow

There will be more in this universe (currently working on a Virgil!centric one that deals a little bit more with them getting together

Taglist:

@royalty-of-all-things-snuggly @pixelated-pineapple @the-sunshine-dims @taylorxoxo22 @oatmealoatmealoatmealoatmealoatm @captain-otis-dante @007ardra @fandomfan315 @sophiexteresa @smolemopotato @contemplativespectrum @theyluna-womoon @queer-chair @your-gay-enby-highness @sanderssides-angst @idont-freaking-know @marshymoop @imlovethomassanders @sourshadowling @frogsandcookies @aricana8 @cute-and-angsty-princess

[xjoonchildx]

airplane, pt. 2 | jjk x reader  chapter two: san juan

pairing: jungkook/reader word count: 6.6K rating: 18+

genre: smut | silly smut | nonsensical smut

warnings:  criminal!jungkook, koreanamerican!jungkook, reality has left the chat, plausibility has left the chat

A/N: okay, ya’ll. I really never intended to make this story anything more than a one-shot...but a couple of people asked for more and then the wheels started turning, and I had more than a little crush on this sexy, smartassed jungkook. so here we are! I hope you guys like it.

xoxo

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06

artwork by the shmexy @ppersonna​ who’s smut is even better than her art

************************

You still think about Jungkook Jeon.

You think about him when you spot his beautiful face on the poster in the hallway at your office, with the word WANTED emblazoned across the top.

You think about him every time you fly because you leave condoms behind in the bathroom like some kind of kinky Fairy Godmother.

And sometimes -- late at night, after you’ve had a glass of wine -- you shut your eyes and think about him when you slip between the sheets and then slip a hand into your panties.

You wonder where in the world he is and how he’s getting away with life on the run -- again.

Though technically he’s not your problem anymore.

The Marshals took over his case after he pulled his vanishing act in Los Angeles, so it’s some other poor sap’s job to find him and bring him in.  You’d done your part -- you’d tracked him down and brought him to the States, even got him before a judge.  

So what happened after that didn’t happen on your watch.

Totally out of your hands.

No reason for you to still obsess over how it all went down.

At all.

Right?

************************

The humidity in San Juan hits you like a wall the second you step out of Muñoz Marín International Airport.

You quickly scan the throng of waiting drivers and find the one holding the sign with your name on it.  The suit you’d worn on the plane is already sticking to the backs of your thighs in this heat.

“Welcome to Puerto Rico,” the driver smiles warmly, offering to take your luggage off your hands. You smile back as you follow him to the line of cars idling outside.

The ding of a text alert distracts you for a moment.  

You pull out your phone and see it’s your boss, checking to make sure your flight landed on time.  The driver opens the car door and you slip inside while he pops the trunk to put your bags away.  

You’re so busy tapping out a response that you don’t realize something is off until the driver raps twice on the back of the car.

Because that’s a signal for the car to go.

Because the man behind the wheel is not the man who just loaded you and your bags into this car.

Because the man behind the wheel is --

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you breathe, eyes wide on the reflection in the rearview mirror.

He’s got a snapback pulled low over his face but you can still see his eyes. And you’d know those eyes anywhere. You’ve thought about those eyes a lot more than you’d like to admit.

“That -- “ Jungkook says, pressing the gas, “-- is the weirdest way to say you missed me, too.”

He tilts his head up so you can catch the reflection of his wide smile.

You are in a car with Jungkook Jeon. In a moving car with Jungkook Jeon.  

“Start talking,” you snap.  

“Sure. What do you want to talk about?”

You slump back into the seat and clap a hand over your face. Damn this man and damn his stupid, smart-assed, beautiful mouth.

“Where are you taking me?”

Jungkook snorts at the note of panic in your voice.  

“To your hotel, dummy.  You have a meeting in like, two hours.”

“Unbelievable,” you sigh after a moment. “Do I even want to know how you know all of this?”

“Well in my defense,” he starts, “you guys still have really shitty firewalls.  You’ve got a lot of nerve calling yourselves an intelligence agency with that set-up in place.”

“I’ll be sure to pass along your feedback,” you mutter.

“You should. So anyway, I was reading through your emails one day -- you know, as I do -- and I saw you were coming to town. I couldn’t pass up the chance to see you.”

Holy shit.

That’s a lot to take in right now and you’re still trying to process the series of events that led up to you, in a car with Jungkook Jeon.  You keep asking questions because it seems like the only sane thing to do in this entirely insane situation.

“You read my emails.”

“Yeah.”

“How often?”

“Uh….all the time?”

You blow out an exasperated breath.  

“You’re a real piece of work. Just what makes you think I won’t have this car surrounded by Feds by the time we get to the hotel?”

“You could,” he concedes thoughtfully. He looks up from the road for a moment to lock eyes with you in the rearview. “But we both know you won’t.”

His certainty makes you bristle.  Is he right about that?

You force yourself to look away from him and redirect your gaze outside to watch the carefully landscaped palm trees speed by.  He’s been here for some time, you think, as he navigates the streets with ease.  He doesn’t seem to be looking for his next turn or second-guessing which way to go. He’s not even using GPS.

“You are in some deep shit back home, Mr. Jeon,” you say, finally. “You embarrassed them. They hate being embarrassed.”

He chuckles.

“Don’t you think it’s time to drop the formalities, Agent? I’ve had my tongue in your pussy, you know.”

He startles a laugh from you with his casual, crass statement of fact.  You forgot how funny he is -- how smart and affable and completely disarming he is.

“Anyway, that’s their problem, not mine,” he continues. “And not yours anymore either, from what I understand.”

Boy, he really wasn’t kidding about those emails.

You mentally rummage through your inbox, try to imagine what information he’s had access to these past few months.  Countless agency messages, a few personal ones and at least one exchange that could qualify as both. You wonder if he’s seen that one, too.  

You clear your throat, uncomfortable with the thought.

“So what’s your plan, then? Hide out in plain sight in a territory of the United States?”

“It’s worked for me so far, hasn’t it?”

You roll your eyes.

“Anyway, my plan right now is to drop you off at this hotel,” Jungkook says, turning into the drive. “Then you’re going to skip that reception they have scheduled for tomorrow night because you’re going to have drinks with me instead.”

You say nothing for a moment.

It’s absurd that your first reaction to his words is a tingle of excitement. It’s ludicrous that you haven’t picked up the phone to call this in by this point. It’s fucking bananas that you’re picturing yourself sharing a drink with this man instead of having him arrested.

The car rolls to a stop.

“Now, as much as I’d love to act the part of a perfect gentleman and help you with those bags, I can’t,” Jungkook says, reaching for his wallet and pulling out a small piece of paper. “Your hotel is crawling with cameras and believe it or not, I’m trying to minimize the number of stupid risks I take these days.”

You snort.

He reaches behind his seat to hand you the note.

“Meet me at this address tomorrow night at 7 o’clock. Be sure to wear something tight, yeah?”

“You are out of your mind,” you say from between clenched teeth, snatching the paper out of his hand.

Jungkook laughs.

“I know, right?”

***********************************

You should call the Marshals.

You should really call the Marshals.

Why haven’t you called the goddamned Marshals?

“ -- do you think, Agent?”

Fuck.  

You can’t seem to keep your mind focused on this meeting and now everyone around the conference table is looking at you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that,” you’re forced to admit. “Catch me up?”

“I was saying,” Agent Dominguez starts again, “that given the damage done to the office here in San Juan, we should move agents to the mainland temporarily.  Miami, preferably.”

“Yes,” you agree. “That would be best.  Until we can get things back on track.”

Dominguez smiles in a skeptical way, like he knows you’re preoccupied and he’s curious as to why.  You smile back and hope it’s convincing.  

“We’ll have to go over some logistics, of course, after the final decisions are made,” he continues, turning his attention back to the room at large. “But for now, let’s consider that a flight from Miami is just a hop, skip, and a jump.  It makes sense.”

The rest of the assembled meeting guests murmur in agreement.

Your mind wanders back to that slip of paper tucked away inside your bag at the hotel, back to the man who gave it to you.  The ridiculous, self-assured little asshole who just knows you aren’t going to rat him out. Who just knows you’re going to join him for drinks like he’s not an actual federal fugitive and you’re not an actual federal agent.

Dominguez continues to drone on in the background.

“...and if you look at the numbers, you’ll see post-storm crime is actually way down…”

What you would give to be anywhere but this meeting right now.  You pinch the bridge of your nose, shut your eyes and go down the list of facts as you know them.

He’s been reading your emails.

Following your every move.

He wants to see you tonight.

What the hell is wrong with you that knowing all of this excites you instead of freaking you out? What does it mean that a part of you -- a really big part of you -- wants to take him up on his offer?

******************

Dominguez pulls you aside after the morning round of meetings wraps for lunch.  

“Hey,” he says, stopping you in the hallway.  “Are you alright? You’ve seemed just a little off since yesterday.”

“Yeah, sorry,” you say apologetically. “Been feeling a little off these past two days.”

Not technically a lie?

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” Dominguez replies smoothly.

“Hope you’ll be feeling up to attending the reception tonight,” he continues. “I’d hate for you to miss it.”

You offer him a weak smile.  The look on his face right now is making you a bit queasy.

What if they knew? What then?

Once was insane enough. Once could be written off as a mistake, a terrible lapse in judgement.  An embarrassing and regrettable fluke.

But twice? Twice is a choice, a conscious decision.  

Twice would make you complicit -- a co-conspirator, a co-defendant and a whole host of other “C” words you’d rather not contemplate right now.  

There would be no explaining away twice.

You busy yourself with getting a bottled water from the vending machine just to have an excuse to look away. You tell yourself not to be paranoid. You have no reason to suspect they know anything and this is not the time to borrow worry.

“I’m going to try and get some rest after we wrap for the day,” you say finally, opening the bottle to take a drink.  “See if I feel better after that.”

Dominguez’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes.  

“You do that, Agent.”

***********************

Wrapped in a towel, fresh from a shower, you alternate between staring at yourself in the bathroom mirror and looking back at that damning piece of paper in your hand.

You should put on the nice-but-work-appropriate cocktail dress you’d chosen for the reception that you should be attending tonight.  You should drop this piece of paper in the trash, forget Jungkook Jeon exists and move on.  You should be having drinks with your colleagues from the San Juan office in an hour, making decisions that don’t amount to career suicide and living life on the straight and narrow like a normal fucking human being.

Should, should, should.

You walk over to your suitcase and pull out a slim-cut sundress with spaghetti straps instead. You smooth your hands over the delicate material, imagine the light weight of the fabric would feel just right in this humid weather.  You slip the dress over your shoulders, smooth it down with your hands, turn from side to side to assess the fit.

For a moment you close your eyes and allow yourself to imagine Jungkook slipping his hands underneath this dress, pushing the hem up your thighs. You imagine his thumbs and fingers circling the sensitive skin there.  His lips on your neck.  His voice in your ear.

The sound of an incoming text knocks you out of your fantasy and you open your eyes to see your flushed reflection staring back in the mirror. You reach for your phone.

you gonna make it out tonight? [ 5:48 PM ]

You stare at Dominguez’s message for a moment.

Decision time.

Are you?

************************

You’ve been over every step you took before leaving the hotel at least a dozen times by now.

You’d sent Domniguez a text, claiming to be under the weather.

You’d left your phone in the safe in your room.

You’d walked out of the hotel through a service exit and into a waiting car.

All clear, decisive, sane choices despite the fact that you are obviously a crazy person. Because no one in their right mind would be pulling this kind of stunt.

The ride is short, only a few minutes from your federally-funded accommodations to the much more humble beachside hotel where Jungkook told you to meet him. You give the driver more than enough money to cover the fare and tip and step out into the thick night air.  You spot him a short distance away, sitting at a tiki bar just off the water.

Puerto Rico has apparently been very good to Jungkook Jeon.  

He is reclined casually in a barstool, drinking a bottled beer.  The creamy off-white of his linen shirt is a perfect contrast to the deep golden tan he’s managed to acquire these past few months. He’s let his wavy black hair grow long again and it falls just below his ears. The laugh he shares with the bartender reveals his smile and makes him look relaxed and radiant and fucking perfect.

Jungkook turns in his stool just as you approach and the slow, appreciative once-over he gives you makes your entire body feel warm. The corner of his mouth curves up in a half-smile.

Dammit.

You’ve got to get your head on straight.

Jungkook isn’t some hot, available guy you’re trying to land. He’s a wanted man and the fact that he’s sitting out in the open at this tiny outdoor beach bar makes you nervous. It’s a saving grace that the bar is damned near dead but there are still too many angles, too many clear lines of sight. You’re annoyed that he’s being so flippant about keeping a low profile.  

You wait until you are close enough to whisper before you speak.

“This is a terrible idea.”

He cocks a brow. “Drinks?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” you hiss. “We need to go somewhere more private.”

“Christ woman,” he groans. “Don’t you know it’s polite to wine and dine me first? I’m not a piece of meat, you know.”

He grins when you huff your frustration.

“Besides, if you were really worried about drawing attention --” he pauses, rakes an appreciative gaze across your décolletage, “-- you certainly wouldn’t have worn that dress.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake, does he ever turn it off? Is he incapable of recognizing how risky and fucked up this situation really is?

“You’re an idiot,” you bite out, turning to leave -- but Jungkook grabs for your wrist.

“Relax,” he soothes, pulling you back.  “Seriously.  I have the situation under control.”

A charged moment passes as you give him a long look. His hand remains firm and warm around your wrist.

“Do you trust me?”

What a ridiculous question.  

What you know about Jungkook Jeon could fit on an index card, and what little information you do have doesn’t exactly do him any favors. You’re putting your career -- potentially even your freedom at risk even being here.

But something about the naked sincerity on his face makes you want to trust him.

God only knows why.

You take a deep breath in and out before sliding into the barstool he’s pulled out for you.  The bartender smiles from a few feet away, makes his way over.  You tense, turning to face away and Jungkook puts a steadying hand on your knee.

“It’s cool,” he murmurs. “He knows me.”

“Why on earth do you think that’s supposed to make me feel better?” you fire back.

“I think -- you just need to have a drink,” he reasons, eyes sparkling. He lifts his beer to his lips and you catch yourself staring for a moment at the way the tendons in his arms flex, the way his lips slide over the mouth of the bottle.

Has the simple act of drinking a beer always looked that masculine?

Shit, you do need a drink.

You order a mojito without ever looking the bartender in the eye. Whoever he is -- Jungkook’s buddy it would seem -- he’s understanding about your appalling lack of manners. He can probably recognize a truly fucked-up situation from a mile away and is steering clear like someone with an inkling of common sense.

For his part, Jungkook has dropped the flirtatious act for a moment and the small smile that plays across his face is calm and reassuring.

It works.

“Alright Jeon,” you sigh after a moment. “Let’s talk. How did you do it?”

He takes a long drink of his beer.

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

You’d expected as much. You would bet everything in the bank that his parents helped him get out of Los Angeles.  The kind but guarded look on his face is the closest you’ll get to a confirmation of that fact.

“Ask me anything else.”

“Fine.  How did you pull off the stunt at the airport?”

“Oh, that was easy,” Jungkook teases. “I found the driver holding your name card and offered him twice the fare. He was happy to help me out. Nice guy, actually.”

“He’s lucky you didn’t cut me into pieces,” you grumble.

Jungkook laughs. “You’ve got a wild imagination. Besides, who wouldn’t trust a face like this?”

To make his point, he turns from side to side to offer you a better look at his profiles. Outwardly you roll your eyes, but inwardly it’s hard to ignore the sharp line of his jaw, the perfectly symmetrical angles of his face.  You take another long drink from the cocktail in your hand.

“Why Puerto Rico?”

“Why not? The scenery is beautiful, the food is delicious, and people know how to mind their own goddamned business,” He takes another sip of beer. “Besides, you guys didn’t exactly leave me with a lot of options when you took my passport. And hey -- thanks for that, by the way.  Finding a good fake is a real bitch.”

“We’re not travel agents, Jeon,” you snort.

He laughs.

“So this -- “ you motion to the small building attached to the tiki bar, “ -- is where you’ve been staying?”

“Dammit, woman — I said ask me anything, not everything. You’re not wearing a wire, are you?”  

He grins at the glare you fix him with.  

“I’m kidding, obviously. No way you’d be able to hide a wire under that delightful little number.”

He chuckles when you flush.

“So yeah, this is one place I’ve been staying. Mostly locals around here.  After the storm, so many new people turned up to help rebuild that it’s been pretty easy to blend in with the new faces.  Plus, it’s not hard to find work.”

“So you’ve got this all figured out, huh?”

“Some of it,” he demures, and you can’t help but notice he’s managed to slide a little closer.  His proximity is distracting. You’ve only had one drink and you already feel a bit lightheaded.

Jungkook scrubs a hand down his mouth, fixes you with a long look.

“Now it’s my turn to ask a question.”

“Fair enough,” you concede.

“You gonna go to dinner with him?”

You exhale a nervous laugh against the rim of your glass. You’d wondered if the series of back-and-forth emails between you and Agent Kim Namjoon would come up. You should have known it would.

Agent Kim’s last email came this week. It said he would be traveling to Los Angeles for some training soon.

It said that he wanted to take you to dinner.  

You should have fired back an enthusiastic yes! right away because Agent Kim is hot and smart and to your knowledge has zero outstanding warrants.

But you didn’t.

Jungkook tilts the mouth of his beer against his lips.  

“Well?”

“Yes,” you say, finally.

“Don’t.”

The reply is so abrupt, so emphatic that you have to laugh.

“Why?”

“He’s an empty suit. A cardboard cut-out. Not right for you at all.”

The smirk on Jungkook’s mouth indicates he’s teasing, but his tone indicates something else entirely. The territorial current that runs under his words is annoying and exciting and complicated.

“He’s just trying to fuck you, you know.”

You raise an eyebrow at that.

“Oh, and you’re not?”

“No,” he murmurs, leaning close. “I have fucked you. I plan on fucking you again. He and I are not the same, at all.”

His words set off a throb between your thighs and you shift uncomfortably in your seat, uncross and recross your legs.  Jungkook leans back, looking satisfied with how much he’s managed to unnerve you.

“So this is some kind of pissing contest?”

You laugh to keep the sounds of your words light, but your words come out uneven. “You stalk my inbox for months and abduct me from the airport to what -- keep me from fucking Agent Kim? You hate him that much?”

“I don’t give a shit about Agent Kim,” he snaps. He takes a deep breath before speaking again.

“You know what this is about. Don’t play with me.”

He’s right, of course.  You do know what this is about.  

It’s why you fucked him in an airplane bathroom against all rules of decorum and common sense.  It’s why you’re here, making stupid decisions and taking dumb risks instead of back at your hotel playing it safe. It’s why you’ve never been able to stop thinking about him.

Something connects you to this man, something you don’t really understand -- and now you know for a fact that whatever it is, it isn’t one-sided.

Your body is rigid, unnaturally still as the bartender drops off new drinks and you immediately reach for the glass, if for no other reason than to stall.  Jungkook takes a long sip from his new beer before speaking again.  You can feel his eyes on you but you don’t look back.

“I like you.”  

No sarcastic quip follows. No charged sexual innuendo.  Something about that simple admission is more intimate than the fact that he’s literally been inside you.

“You don’t know anything about me,” is the only thing you can think to say.  

Jungkook shoots you a playful smile.

“I know you like mojitos.  I know you have a standing appointment with some fancy hair salon in LA every six weeks.  I know you order Chipotle far more than is necessary or probably healthy.”

He leans closer and the look on his face changes into something different -- something that makes you shiver.  He slides his hand under your jaw, tips your head up, strokes a thumb across your cheek.  

“I know what you sound like when you come,” he whispers. “I know I’d like to hear that again.”

Oh, God.

This must be what it’s like to drown. To see your demise play out before your eyes but still feel powerless to stop it.  Every smart-assed retort you could fire back dies on your tongue and all you can do is blink when Jungkook brushes his lips against yours.

“And I know you like me too,” he whispers against your mouth.

He’s right.

You do.

You really, really do.

*****************************

It’s like a switch flips inside your brain.  Once you start kissing him, you can’t stop.  

You both fall through the open door to his room in a tangle of limbs and lips.

Jungkook lifts you up off the floor and you immediately wrap your legs around his waist, never stopping the assault on his mouth and skin.  He moans when you lick a stripe up his neck. He tastes like salt and sunscreen and sex and you are so desperate to feel him inside you that you can’t think straight.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he protests, walking you both over to the mattress.  He drops you unceremoniously on top of the bedding.

“Stop.”

“God, no,” you groan, panting.  “Why?”

He takes a deep breath in and out, shoves a hand through his hair.  

“I promised myself I was going to take my time with you if I ever got this chance again,” he explains, voice ragged with arousal. “No cuffs. No rush. Not this time.”

You huff in exasperation and climb up onto your knees on the mattress.  

Jungkook’s eyes widen when you drop both hands to the hem of your dress and pull it up and off in one swift motion.  You’d had to forgo a bra given the skimpy nature of your sundress and it’s easy to forget he hasn’t really seen you naked. The look on his face says he heartily approves.

“Take your time later,” you fire back.  “Take your clothes off now.”

Jungkook laughs.  “Are you always this bossy?”

“Yes.  If you wait one minute longer I’m going to sober up and realize this is a terrible decision. Take your clothes off.”

“Hush woman.”  

He silences you with mock annoyance as his fingers drop to work the buttons of his shirt. You catch your mouth before it drops open as he pulls the shirt off, exposing the chiseled planes of his body.  You swallow thickly when he drops the garment to the floor.  

No human being should be allowed to look like this.

It’s obscene.

The tattoos that run across his hands and forearms extend up to his shoulders, across his chest. The defined lines that outline his abdomen are made even more plain by his deep breaths.  He is -- hands down -- the sexiest man you have ever seen in your life.  

“Shit Jungkook, you’ve been holding out on me,” you breathe, a note of awe in your voice.

“And I knew you had amazing tits,” he grins, shoving his jeans off his hips. “Lie back.”

The gruff command makes your body tight with anticipation.  Jungkook’s face is damp with sweat, locks clinging to his brow when he sinks down onto the mattress and crawls until he’s hovering over you.

“Goddamnit,” he whispers, slanting his lips over yours.  “Goddamnit, I’ve been thinking about this for so damned long.”

You sigh into his mouth.

Me too, you want to say. But you don’t.

“I’ve thought about the way you taste every single day, did you know that?”

He circles one aching nipple with his tongue and teeth.  You whimper at the heavy drag of his tongue.  

“I’ve imagined getting my mouth on you again far more than is normal or sane,” he whispers against your skin, pulling the damp lace of your panties off your ankles and tossing it away.

“Jungkook,” you whine. “Please.”

His lips skate over the sensitive skin between your breasts, across your stomach as he slides downward.  Your body stills when you feel his lips at your entrance, breath warm against your wetness.  

The first touch of his tongue is quick, teasing.  You’re wound so tight your hips jerk off the bed at that light contact.

“Easy girl,” Jungkook teases, sealing his mouth over your clit.  The strong fingers of one hand press into your hip, grip you tight to keep you from pulling away.  He slips one long finger from his other hand inside you to join his tongue in the all-out assault.

“God you are sexy,” he groans, licking deeply into you.  You grab handfuls of his damp hair in between shaking fingers.   “You’ve ruined me for all other federal agents, you know.”

Your laugh bleeds into a gasp when Jungkook slips a second finger inside of you, presses harder against you with his tongue.

“Oh, shit,” you whine, legs trembling. You roll your hips mindlessly, enjoying the way he moans in response.

“You gonna let me hear it again?” his words vibrate almost painfully against your already aching clit. “Be as loud as you want this time, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you sigh in agreement, feeling that telltale prickle building between your thighs.

He sets you off with the firm press of the heel of his hand on your mound.  You can’t control your body’s reaction when the pressure against that sensitive wall and the stimulation of your clit combine.  Your back arches high off the bed when you start to come apart, moaning wantonly.

Your orgasm seems to go on and on forever and Jungkook whispers words of encouragement as you ride it out.  He doesn’t stop with his tongue and fingers until you start to quiver from the overstimulation, breaths hitching when shudders run up and down your back.

“Dammit, Jungkook,” you gasp once you regain control of your ragged breathing.

He laughs as he kisses his way back up your body, across your chest and neck.  You welcome the press of his body when he settles over you.  He grinds his hips down and you whimper at the feel of his rigid cock straining against his boxers.   You clench hard at the memory of him deep inside you.

“Take those off,” you order, scraping your teeth against the damp skin of his neck.

“Ask me nice and I might consider it,” he teases.

You shoot him a playfully disapproving look before pushing against his shoulder until he rolls over.  His eyes fall shut when you climb over him and drag your drenched center against the firm outline of his cock.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he whispers, and you lean forward to seal your lips over his.  He pants into your mouth as you rock against him.

You slide down his body after a moment, hooking your fingers into his boxers and pulling them down with you.

The thing about your hurried little encounter inside that airplane bathroom is that it’s hard to remember the details.  It was so rushed and illicit and bizarre that you can barely recount what he felt like, what he looked like in the moment.  But right now -- when his cock springs free and he looks down at you from beneath heavy lids and he looks so sincerely fucked out -- you make sure to commit this moment to memory.  

Jungkook sucks a strangled breath between his teeth when you take him in your mouth.  His fingers immediately wind into your hair and you sigh around his length when he groans his satisfaction.  His hips jerk when you pull off of him, dragging your tongue against the sensitive spot under the head of his cock before releasing it.

“Shit,” he moans, “I forgot how good you are at that.”

You laugh and wrap one hand firmly around the base of his cock. He’s already leaking at the tip and he hisses when you sweep your tongue across the swollen head. He gathers your hair in his hands, pulls gently on the strands but you can feel the restraint he’s exercising. His body is radiating tension, taut with unspent energy.  

“You can get rougher if you want,” you breathe, pumping him steadily with your hands.  

His agonized groan tells you he’d love to take you up on that offer.

“You can’t talk to me like that,” he pants, words sounding pained. “I’m doing everything I can not to literally blow my second chance here.”

You release his cock with a smile and he pulls away to shift his body up the bed. He reaches into his bedside table and pulls out a condom.  He holds it up for a moment and the two of you share a knowing laugh.

The laughter dies the moment you crawl up the bed to join him and take the condom out of his hand.  Jungkook’s eyes are dark and focused as you rip it open and roll it down his straining cock.  Once it’s in place he steals the air from your lungs with a deep kiss and pulls you onto his lap.  

You’re struck still for a moment when you look down at him just as you are lining him up with your entrance. He looks back at you with those blown-out pupils and kiss-bitten lips and you lose your momentum.  You should say something or do something but it’s so damned hard to focus when he’s looking at you like that.

He brushes a damp lock of hair away from your face with his fingers and fixes you with an expectant look.

You want to tell him how handsome he is.

You want to tell him that he’s the most interesting person you’ve ever met.

But you don’t.  

Jungkook rescues you from your sudden crisis with a well-timed tease.

“You’ve been rushing me since we got here,” he chuckles, brow raised. “You’re gonna leave me like this?”

He grabs the base of his stiff cock with one hand, rubs the head against your clit to make his point. You answer him with a desperate kiss, swallowing the groan he makes when you finally sink down.

His hands move to either side of your ass to guide the movement of your hips.  Your first few thrusts are hesitant, shaky as you adjust to the feeling of him deep inside you.  He feels harder and thicker than you remember.

“Oh, god --” you moan.

You feel his faint hum of satisfaction against your breasts.  He tongues messily at your aching nipples, sucks them into his mouth.  His fingers dig into your ass as he thrusts up to meet your thrusts down.  

His mouth is full of you. His hands are full of you.  You are full of him.  The feeling of filling and being filled is unbearable at this point.  It’s so much stimulation at once that it borders on painful.

“Feel so good wrapped around me like this,” Jungkook groans. “I can’t get enough.”

Me neither, you want to say. I’ve been dying to feel you like this, you nearly whisper.

But you don’t.

You feel disoriented for a moment and grab onto the headboard for desperately needed balance.  It gives you the leverage you need to take him deeper, faster, and the steady rhythm of his thrusts and breaths starts to pick up in speed.

Then you make the mistake of opening your eyes and looking down into his face.

He is covered in a sheen of sweat, eyes hooded and mouth slack with pleasure. He fixes you with a look so erotic you nearly blush.  It’s pretty ridiculous to be literally riding a man’s cock and feel suddenly shy, but that’s exactly what happens.  

You force yourself to close your eyes.

Jungkook buries his face in your neck. You feel one of his hands move away from your hips, down to where the two of you meet. The rough pad of one thumb starts to work your clit and the stimulation distracts you for a moment, makes your rhythm sloppy.  

“I want to feel you come,” he breathes, teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your collarbone and neck. “I want to know what it feels like when I’m inside you.”

“So close,” you whine on a shaky breath.

“I’m gonna go off like a bomb,” he groans, stroking so deep you see stars.  “Take me with you.”

If it weren’t for the one hand keeping you anchored to the headboard, you’d have collapsed onto him with the sheer force of your orgasm.  You whimper as Jungkook’s orgasm rips through him, body shuddering as he pounds harder and faster.  It takes a few frantic, frenzied moments for his rhythm to slow and his moans to subside.

Then you do slump onto him, spent and sweaty and rubbery with utter exhaustion. You’re both still for a moment, damp bodies pressed together as you both catch your breath.

He brushes your hair away from your face and presses a soft kiss to your temple.

***********************************

You take a shower together.  

Afterwards, you both fall back into bed clean and warm.  

You make good on your promise to let Jungkook take his time this go-around.  He fucks you slow and relaxed from behind while you lay side by side.  The steady lap of the waves outside his window is a perfect backdrop as he whispers into your ear and buries himself deep inside you.

Afterwards, everything is still but the waves.  

You both enjoy the complete silence for a while.  Your stroke your fingers across the strong forearm Jungkook has wrapped around you and he breathes deeply into your hair.  It feels natural, somehow.

It feels good.  

You can’t remember the last time anything felt this good.

“Stay with me,” Jungkook whispers after a while, nosing into the nape of your neck.  He drops a soft kiss on the sensitive skin just below your ear.  

“I can’t,” you whisper back.  “I have a meeting first thing in the morning. Don’t tell me you skipped that email.”

He’s quiet for a moment.

“I wasn’t talking about tonight.”

You go rigid from head to toe.  Maybe you didn’t hear that right.

“What?”

“Stay with me,” he says again, like it’s going to make more sense the second time he says it. “We could go all over the world and eat the best food and fuck in the most beautiful places.”  His fingers stroke up your side, sending chills up your back. “It could be great.”

You wait for him to laugh.  He doesn’t.

You pull out of his hold, flip your body so that you’re facing him.  You expect to see his teasing smirk staring back, but you don’t. He looks serious.

“What the fuck was in that beer, Jeon?”

He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling.

“You don’t have to give me an answer now,” he says quietly. “You could think about it for a while.”

You stare at the side of his perfect profile, dazed for a moment by the strange combination of feelings swirling inside you right now.  

There’s disbelief at the insane Bonnie and Clyde fantasy he’s decided to pitch.

There’s disappointment because there’s a tiny part of you that wants to entertain that fantasy.

And there’s a little bit of heartache because right now he looks so lonely.  

That’s the part that gnaws at you.  It makes you feel raw and exposed.  So you do what you know best and try to redirect with humor.

“Who’s got a wild imagination now, huh?”

His lips twitch into a wry smile.  

************************

You’d waited until you were certain he was asleep before slipping out of his arms and out of the bed.  He slept heavy, not stirring once while you slipped into your clothes and shoes.  He slept like someone without a care in the world.

Hardly.

It had taken a moment to find a piece of paper.  It was only just as you were about to give up that you remembered Jungkook’s note, tucked safely into your bag.

You looked back at him in the bed -- studied him for a moment before quietly scrawling a note on the other side of that piece of paper.

you know i can’t. i’m sorry.

[jawritter]

Elf

Summary: Maybe being stuck at home for Christmas with Dean during a snow storm, isn’t so bad after all. 

Warnings: Light Smut, unprotected smut, language, fluff. That’s about it really. 

Word Count: 2814

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Prompt: Elt

A/N: This fic was written for @janicho88 100 follower Christmas Celebration! Congratulation on the new milestone hun! This fic was also beta’d by the lovely @miss-neard95!! Thanks so much love!! As always please do not copy my work! Feedback is golden! I hope you all enjoy this one! We need a little Christmas in September! I mean hey? Why not? LOL 

 Want more? Check out my Masterlist, or become a patreon for exclusive fics!

***MASTERLIST***              ***BECOME A PATREON***

You shivered as a cold draft of air blew into the Bunker behind you, Dean closing the door as quickly as he could with his hands full of groceries. 

It had been snowing for three solid days now, and there were no signs of letting up any time soon. Dean was convinced that this was how the world was going to end - you were all going to freeze to death. He hated the cold, hated the snow, and more than that, he hated the holidays that usually came with this kind of weather. 

You and Dean made your way towards the kitchen with this week’s supplies, as well as the next in your hands. Normally you would only buy enough for a couple of days, but since the weather conditions only seemed to worsen, you figured it might be best to stay hunkered down for a little while. 

You dumped the bags down on the counter, Dean mimicking your actions,  before the both of you shrugged out of your coats, throwing them down over the table in the corner with a huff as you looked at the sprawling display of things in front of you that needed to be put away.

“Okay,” Dean said, warming his hands by blowing on them and rubbing them together as his piercing green eyes scanned the items on the countertop. “You put away the freezer stuff, and I’ll clear up everything else except your lady products.”

A wicked smirk tugged on your lips as you grabbed the box of Tampons out of the bag, waving them around in front of his face in a  manner that you knew was childish, but Dean seemed to bring out the brat in you. 

“You mean these lady products, Dean?” You asked, giving him a cheeky smile that could make the Cheshire Cat jealous. 

Dean's wrinkled nose with his lips in a grimace was the cutest look of disgust you had ever seen, not that his perfect face wasn't a factor, swatting your hand away like you were holding something revolting.

“Yes, that. Now come on, I want to get out of these jeans, and change into something warmer.” He turned his back to you in mock annoyance as you placed the tampons back on the counter with a chuckle, and started putting the frozen foods away.

It was quiet in the Bunker for the most part. Sam was snowed in at Jody’s when he’d gone up there last week to work on a case with the girls, and that just left Dean and you alone in the Bunker for the foreseeable future-or at least until the snow melted enough for Sam to make it home. 

Cas and Jack were on some sort of 'Angel business' and neither of you, dared asking exactly what that was. Some things you were just better off not knowing until there was no way to ignore them.

Christmas was two days away, and while Dean never really made a big deal about the holidays, you always enjoyed celebrating them. It was the only thing you ever looked forward to as a kid growing up in the hunting life, something your mother tried to hold on which became a normal for you. It was the only reminiscent of your childhood, and something that you clinged to for comfort.

Once you were done, you saw that Dean was still working, so you grabbed the sanitary products and made your way to your room to change into your fuzzy pajama pants, and one of Dean’s old flannel you had stolen from him when you had first moved into the Bunker.

You didn’t need said lady products right now, but you didn’t want to be trapped here without them either. It sucked to be a female because you had to make sure you were prepared for these types of situations, hunter or otherwise. You never knew when you were going to need them, but it was usually at the most inconvenient moments of your life.

You smiled as you made your way from the bathroom after stashing the box away to your bedroom to change, thinking about Dean’s adorably childish reaction to you messing with him in the kitchen just now. 

You knew he was just playing with you. Dean wasn’t bothered by something as small as a box of tampons, but he did love to get a rise out of you and did seem to enjoy the attention of any form he could get. 

So he liked to be playfully grumpy with you, knowing you thought it was more than a little cute.

You were just finishing up throwing your hair into a messy bun when you heard a soft knock on the door and turned around to see a very confused Dean, holding a DVD case in his hand. 

“Y/N, what’s this?” He asked, holding up the new Elf DVD that you had just purchased while on the supply run to watch later tonight after Dean went to bed. 

“Whatever it is, it's mine!” You snatched the DVD from his hand. 

A smirk settled deeply on his handsome features as he strutted his way through the door towards you. Your eyes took him in, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips and his  tightly fitted T-Shirt did very little to hide his well toned chest and shoulders. 

“Elf? Really Y/N/N, I took you to be more of a 50 Shades type of girl,” Dean said, flopping down on his stomach across your bed, his elbows bent with his smug face resting in his hands. He’d obviously found a way to get back at you for the little teasing back in the kitchen, and you just knew that he wasn't going to let you brush him off that easy.

There had always been an undeniable sexual tension between you two, but neither of you ever acknowledged it. No, you weren’t dating, you weren’t friends with benefits, you were literally just friends. But that didn’t stop you from enjoying the view of the curve of his ass as he laid strewn across your bed.

Maybe you were more of a 50 Shades girl, but he didn’t need to know that. You liked the friendship between the two of you. He was the greatest thing that ever happened to you. He was your best friend, your rock, the person you went to when you needed someone to lean on. You couldn’t fuck that up just because you had feelings for him, there was no way that was ever gonna happen. 

“Well Dean, we can’t be all kinky all the time, sometimes you need something a little vanilla,” you answered his question with a suggestive wink in order to keep up the banter that he’d started, but when you turned to look at him, your hair fell out.

Dean sat up cross legged in the middle of your bed when you huffed looking in the mirror, watching you as you started fixing your hair again with an unreadable look on his face. 

“Well, let’s watch it,” he said with a shrug. 

You turned on the spot and stared at Dean like he’d popped out a second head. 

“What?”

“Let’s watch it.” 

“You wanna watch Elf? You feeling okay, Dean?” 

Dean’s eyes narrowed at that, sticking his tongue out at you before jumping off of the bed and grabbing the DVD from your hands.

“ Dean Cave. Fifteen minutes.” He yelled over his shoulder, and you watched his retreating back as he made his way down the hall to start  the movie for the two of you.

Shaking your head you laughed as you made your way to the kitchen to grab a few beers before you walked back to the Dean Cave.

Dean was always full of surprises. Just when you thought you had him figured out, he did something you never would expect. Like agreeing to watch a Christmas movie with you, when you knew he hated Christmas. 

It wasn’t like it was a great mystery why that was. His father didn't exactly qualify for the parent of the year nomination, and Bobby, well he tried, but he wasn’t that into it either. Good family memories just weren’t something Dean had. 

When you stepped in the Dean Cave, Dean had pulled out one of the oversized blankets you kept in the laundry room for nights like this when you would all pile up in here and watch TV, and was waiting for you with the remote in his hand. 

“I brought beer,” you said, holding the two clinking bottles high above your head as you approached the couch. Dean grinned at you before flipping the covers open for you., offering you to sit down beside him.

“I knew there was a reason I kept you around,” Dean said with an impish smirk, his lips grabbing your attention that you wanted to feel on your own. 

You settled comfortably next to him as Dean hit play, throwing his arm around you and tucking you into his side before giving you a chaste kiss on the top of your forehead. It wasn't anything unusual for Dean, but it made your heart flutter in your chest all the same. 

You curled into his chest, laying your head against his shoulder as his arms wrapped tightly around you with your legs on his lap. He felt warm and safe, and you honestly could have given everything you had to stay just like this forever. 

As the credits rolled on the movie, Dean reached over and flipped the TV off, leaving both of you in the dark room with the only light from the hallway peeking in through the cracked door. 

“I have to admit, for a Christmas movie, it wasn’t that bad.” Dean said, wrapping the blankets tighter around the two of you instead of getting up like you had expected him to. 

Dean’s large hand brushed a stray hair away from your face as he held you against him, his face so close to yours, you could feel the warmth of his breath fanning over your skin. 

“See, maybe you should do what I suggest more often,” you fired back, trying to keep the conversation light and ignore his hand that was under the covers slowly creeping its way up your thigh as he laughed. 

“I don’t think so sweetheart. Tomorrow we’re watching Death Race, like it or not.”

Even in the darkness of the room Dean’s eyes seemed to sparkle just a little, and the army of butterflies in your stomach started to take flight against you.

You could have sworn he was moving closer to you although it seemed impossible as he held you closer to his large frame. 

“Dean, I don’t know if this is a good idea,” you whispered as his lips came ever so close to your own that they were almost brushing.

He just chuckled in response, resting his forehead against yours. “I don’t see the problem, I mean, people already think we’re a couple now.”

Before you could even register what he was saying, Dean’s lips captured yours in a sweet, slow kiss that made your toes curl and your breath hitch in your throat. It didn’t last long, but it was long enough to leave you breathless as he pulled away from you. 

“I know I joke around a lot, but I can be as soft as you need me to be, if you’d give me the chance to show you.”

You could literally feel your heart pounding in your ears as his eyes scanned yours, fear of rejection lingering not far below the surface. 

You don’t know what made you react, you just did. In a spurt of bravery you closed the distance between you, your lips crashing into his as his arms wrap even tighter, pulling your body flush against his. 

You could feel his excitement growing by the prominent bulge that was forming in his sweatpants as his teeth caught your bottom lip, tugging it just hard enough to pull a moan from your lips. 

“Let me show you baby, let me show you what you do to me,” Dean murmured, his hands tracing the skin of your back. 

You had wanted this to happen for so long, that it almost felt like a dream. But one thing was for sure, you weren’t going to push him away anymore. Dean was the kind of person that took things to heart, and if you rejected him, even if it was out of your own fear, you knew you would lose him forever. 

“Then show me, Dean.” You mutter against his lips. 

Not even for one second did Dean break eye contact with you as he pulled your shirt over your head before finding your lips again with his own, dominating your mouth, his hands explored the now exposed skin. You didn’t miss the low growl that came from him when he discovered you’d decided to forgo wearing a bra. His hands slid over your exposed breath before running his thumb over each nipple. His tongue licked into your mouth in a way that made you shiver in his hold. The man was good, and he hadn't even gotten started yet.

His hands wandered to the waistband of your pants and pulled them down in one smooth go, leaving you fully exposed before him.

His eyes travelled shamelessly over your body, his white teeth sinking into his lower lip. 

“You're fucking beautiful, sweetheart,” Dean said, his voice deep and dripping with lust. 

“You’re wearing too many clothes, Winchester,” you purred. 

It took him mere seconds to strip out of his clothes. You noticed that he’d also chosen to go without  his underwear and you couldn't help the smirk forming on your lips. 

He was gorgeous. His well-toned body from a life of hunting and killing monsters hovered over your small frame on the couch you were laying on. His thick length was heavy and dripping against your already wet folds as his lips found your throat, running his teeth lightly over your collar bone before sucking his mark there. 

“I’ve wanted you like this for so fucking long, baby girl,” Dean said between kisses as he rutted on your folds. His blunt tip created just enough friction on your sensitive clit to drive you crazy and want more. 

“Then have me Winchester, what are you waiting for?” You asked him teasingly. 

Dean repositioned his hips, and with one smooth thrust he was fully seated inside of you without warning, his face hidden in the crook of your neck as he panted above you, holding himself still and giving you time to adjust. 

You had never been so full, so stretched as you were right now. It took you a moment before you were able to roll your hips against his, giving him the push he needed to start moving. At first he set a slow, steady pace. Each stroke of his cock against your already clenching walls driving you higher and higher until his tip hit that special spot deep inside of you at which you cried out. 

“Fuck, Dean,” you moaned, before his lips found yours in a deep kiss that was all tongue and teeth. 

You could already feel that familiar coil begin to wind tight in your abdomen with each thrust of his hips. 

Dean could tell you were getting close, and he picked up  a faster, deeper pace, hitting your g-spot directly everytime. 

“Come on baby, I can feel you're close. Let go,” he said breathlessly, his rhythm beginning to falter. 

It was like that was the command your body had been waiting for, and you came with a silent scream as your walls clamped down around him, and his hips locked in place as he spilled his seed deep inside of you, your walls milking every drop his body could give you. 

When you both came back down from your high Dean laid down next to you in the small space, pulling the covers over the two of you and snuggling into you.

You both stayed there in silence for a minute before you finally had the courage to speak. 

“Where does this leave us, Dean?” You asked him as his lips brushed over the exposed skin of your shoulder.

“It means your mine now, baby girl. Merry Christmas,” He said, his voice cocky and he was back to being the Dean you loved so much  

Turning around you swatted him playfully on his arm before settling back into his hold, nuzzling into his chest before letting out a content sigh of your own. 

“Best Christmas present ever,” you tell him before drifting off to sleep in the arms of the man you would always love with your whole heart, but now, he was yours and you, his.

Forever Tags: @deanwanddamons​ @rvgrsbrns​ @bi-danvers0​ @onethirstyunicorn​ @i-love-superhero​ @akshi8278​ @lyss-dw79​ @magssteenkamp​ @lemondropirwin​ @squirrelnotsam​ @hobby27​ @spnbaby-67​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @defenderrosetyler​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​ @thecreatiivecorner​  @aflamboyanceofgays @vicmc624​ @busy-bee-angel-misska​ @justanotherwinchester​ @brilovesdeanwinchester​ @idksupernatural​ @lyarr24​ @amandamdiehl​ @love-jackles-37-blog​ @miraclesoflove​ @waywardsistershy​ @emoryhemsworth​ @dean-winchesters-gardian-angel​ @softsebastian​ @tatted-trina6​ @deanmonandnegansbitch​ @hayleeharling​   @flamencodiva​ @coldmuffinbanditshoe​ @bxbyizzy​ @rain-dance-goblin​ @itmejado​ @supernatural3002​

[edyacouky]

What an Alpha is

Can be read on AO3

***

Jason has realized quickly that what he want, what he is, isn’t normal. He has realized that before his research for his biological mom. Sometimes, he thought that Bruce and Alfred were family and they loved him. Sometimes he remembered what a great liar they were, all his future depended on them. Sometimes he remembered hos he loved Willis, how he loves Catherine and forgiven Sheila. No matter how much he loved them, he never trusted them with all his soul and heart. Finally he takes his secret on his grave.

Literally.

But now he feels better. Sort of.

Many things happen since his resurrection. But the only person knowing Jason’s secret is Essence.

Jason can’t really explain why. Essence has the same secondary gender as Jason, who is an alpha. She is raised by a culture different from Jason but with cliché about gender too.

When Jason let Essence know, he didn’t expect her to understand or being accepted. But she was.

As much Jason was relieved then, he is still scared that someone knows the true.

Many things happen since Essence.

Now Jason is happily in a relationship with Roy, an omega.

Jason is truly happy, more that he can remembered. And Roy must be too since he didn’t dumped him, yet.

Sex is good too. Jason makes sure of that. Doing like every intercourse may be the last one. Like he fears they could be. And since Roy initiate many time, Jason must succeed. But the true, like his fears, never disappears.

He does his best to fight the thought that harass him, but sometimes he lost.

This time is one of them.

Roy isn’t at home. He shouldn’t come back for a few days. So Jason thinks he is sage enough to succumb. He puts the box that he hides in one of his room walls. He cuts the security while his heart is beating cray. He can’t believe he will finally do it. It’s been months, almost a year.

There is his collection of sex toy in the box.

No fake cunt or anything else alpha are traditionalism portray use it.

There is dildo from different size, color and brand with different option.

Jason almost throw himself on the biggest Bad Dragon he has, then he stops when he see the dildo he brought one time on a space mission. Jason still doesn’t know who invent it and how it works, but this things is wild enough that it provokes Jason’s rut every time, no matter where on his cycle he is.

He had to take a deep breath. It’s been almost a year since he had the audacity to even fingered himself. He has to play soft, at least at first.

His eyes fall on a smaller and less crazy dildo. Its shape make him of Roy’s dick.

Thinking of his mate, guilt submerge him. He hates hide a part of him to Roy, even if it’s just a kinky part of him.

But his biological father’s voice, his old friend's, even Bruce’s friend’s voices remind him that he is abnormal.

An alpha who loves takes it in his ass, he is not a real alpha, neither can be a good mate.

And Jason want to be good, especially for Roy. It’s not like he want Roy to have a different secondary gender or change his.

He imagine Roy fucking him with his dick, how they can play together with a double penetration dildo.

Fuck all this asshole voices, but mostly fuck him.

Horniest is stronger that shame and he takes the smaller dildo.

Once he will have calmed the urge he could become again a good mate for Roy

***

Roy come back much earlier than he expected from his mission. Not that he is disappointed by that, quite the contrary. He missed Jason so much.

He realizes once in the front door that he didn’t warn Jason like he wanted. He can only hope that his mate will be at home.

All the tiredness he feels flies away when he smell sex. No other smell that his mate, so he is absolutely turn on.

“Jaybird.” He sing song while approaching the room

What he sees is so marvelous that he doesn’t believe it at first.

He won’t going to lie, he sometimes imagine fucking Jason. Who could blame him? But Jason never seems interested and Roy didn’t want him to feel pressure to do anything.

But now!

Now that he saw Jason ridding a really monstrous dildo, one of his hand gripping hard the headbed, surrounded by used dildo on their bed, the most illogical part of his omega brain whispers:

“Damn, I want carry his children.”

Not gonna happen if he does the fucking. He just can’t help but always have this though when he is really horny.

Without getting the time to think, Roy join Jason on their bed.

“Jaybird.” He whispers in his ears before kissing him deeply and caressing his fabulous thigh

Jason shivers but kiss him back with abandonment

At first.

As suddenly as unreal everything has been for Roy since he comes back, Jason pushes him violently, making him fall out the bed.

Roy realizes that the fact that Jason wanted alone sex time doesn’t mean that Roy can join him without making sure Jason want him to.

But before he could apologies, the room reek of fear and anger.

The look on Jason’s face freezes Roy.

The betrayal, the terror, the hate.

Roy was hoping fucking Jason, but it seems he fuck it.

“I…

-Get out!”Jason yells using his deep alpha voice

Jason never use it on people he loves, because he knows how you can feel miserable and afraid, even if it may be illogically, when this voice is used.

And damn! Roy feels miserable.

Jason deserves the world, and Roy want to give it to him.

Roy crawls to the bed, to Jason, showing him his neck with pitiful moans. He need to apologies.

But Jason pushes him again, repeat his order with more strength and baring his teeth.

Roy have to admit that he has to back off if he really want things to cool off.

He really, really doesn’t like that but submit.

Carefully he leaves the room and starts pacing in their living room.

He repeats his apologies in his head.

He keep questioning why Jason react so violently.

It’s happened before that Roy or Jason had an alone time and the other want to join. A simply “No” was always enough.

He realizes that he never saw this sex toy before, never Jason shares any interest to play with his hole.

He repeats his apologies in his head.

He start questioning if Jason is attracted by omega. Did he accept this relationship because Kory was part of it at first? Did he keep it because deep down he is afraid of being alone? Or did Roy do or say something that makes Jason thinks he can’t share it with Roy?

He realizes he is waiting for Jason for too long when his stomach starts asking to be fulling.

Roy isn't surprised when he realizes that Jason run away. He is disappointed and terrified.

He hopes that their relationship isn’t over.

***

When Bruce walks in front of Jason’s old room door, he is not surprised when he smells his son’s odor.

Until he remembers that Jason’s smell changed drastically after … everything that happen after Ethiopia.

And he doesn’t smell only the faint old smell of his son, but also loud new Jason’s smell.

He frowns.

He doesn’t remember a time where Jason sleep in here since …

The rare time Jason sleep in the Manor, they open him a new room.

He opens carefully the door.

Jason is hiding, Bruce doesn't know how else describe it, under his sheet. His hairs aren’t visible.

“Jason?” He says quietly

He miss calling him Jaylad, but it feels wrong for now.

Jason groans but doesn’t move.

“Are you ok, Jason?

-I am here. What do you think, Greatest Detective in the World?

-That something really awful must happen to you if you came to your childhood den to have comfort.”

Jason scoff.

“I am here because no one will search me here.”

That’s still hurt to realize that one of his pups doesn’t feel safe in the Manor, that Jason is right when he say no one will search him here.

But worry hits him when he realizes that something awful happen.

“What happen?

-Like you care.

-I do! Jason, tell me what happen.

-Why? So you can make it all about yourself.

-What if I promise to shut up while you will take?”

Jason’s head perk up and he glares at Bruce, judging him.

“I shouldn’t have been resurrected.”

First shot and Jason aims directly to the heart.

Bruce wants to argue with Jason, yells at him for daring saying it.

But he recognizes this light in Jason’s eyes. He test him.

Bruce takes a deep breath, keeps his scent has calming and safe as possible.

“Why do you think that?

-Because it’s true. Jason says with vulnerability. I’m not a good alpha.”

Bruce frowns, doesn’t understand why Jason may think that. Jason never seems like the kind of people who care about what a second gender should be.

And Jason is a good alpha. He is protective of people he considers part of his pack, he is fearless warrior, he is a good provider. He is always more than happy to help and cook for everyone.

“You are a good person, Jason. Bruce tries hoping he doesn’t make Jason angry. So of course you’re a good alpha.

-You don’t understand.” Jason grumble and hide again

Bruce groans and rolls his eyes. And society think that omega are the moody one.

“I can’t understand if you don’t explain it to me.” Bruce argues

Per chance he promised to shut up. Jason will avoid the Manor again for at least a few weeks and Alfred will be super pissed at him.

There is a long silence where Bruce expect Jason too suddenly leave, even punches him. But finally Jason sit down and with spite simply says:

“You can’t be more ashamed of me and I am not your child anymore any way.”

Bruce immediately want to argue. Jason should talk to him because he feels safe and loved, not because their relationship is so bad that he have nothing to lose.

“I am a fucking faggot.” Jason drops

Bruce frowns. It is not a word Jason use and he does that now to qualify himself.

“Why did you say that?

-Because it’s true. I can’t be with Roy now that he knows.

-I don’t think that you cheated on him. And I was sure that you loved Ollies’s omega. So … what happen?”

Jason mumble something, his face tunrs red.

“Do you cheat on him?

-No! Of course no! I will never do that!

-Aren’t you in love with him? Do you want to be in relationship with an alpha?

-No! Jeez, Bruce, you have no idea how much I love him! He will break up with me anyway.”

Bruce tries to pick up the piece together but the clues don’t help him understand the situation.

“Roy will break up with you because you are not straight?

-Yes! An alpha that like take it in his ass, is not a real alpha, he is not a good mate!”

Bruce blinks rapidly. Like … what?

“Everyone knows that! Jason tries to defend himself

-Well everyone is stupid.”

Jason groans and get up.

“I don’t know what I was thinking, coming here.

-Jason please wait …

-No. I need to talk to Roy. Sooner the better. See you next time B.”

And just like that Jason leaves.

And just like that Bruce feels he let him down once again.

***

Jason doesn’t really know what he expect when he come back to his home.

Maybe Roy take this things and leave, blocking his phone number. Jason will understand if he does. But it’s not Roy’s style do to that.

“Roy.” He call hims

He doesn’t see him in the living room nor the kitchen.

Blushing he goes to their bedroom. Roy has tidy up his sex toy. Knowing that Roy clean them and put them back in their box is so embarrassing. Bu he doesn’t know if he could have endure seeing them spread out and dirty on his bed.

After looking in the bathroom, Jason is sure that Roy isn’t here, but his things are still there.

In desperation, Jason sit on the couch playing with his phone. He should apologies for using his alpha voices and running away, but what if Roy had blocked his phone number?

Damn, why can’t he have more self control?

He start thinking where could be Roy and who he should call if Roy really block him.

Suddenly the front door open and Roy appears.

“Yeah thanks. I already went there. Tell me if you …”

Roy finally see Jason and smile at him.

“No forget what I told you. It’s ok now. Yeah, I will call you later.”

Without letting Jason time to apologies, Roy sit down on the couch next to him.

“You came back. And only after a few hours.

-Yeah, I start getting better at that.”

There is a silence where neither of them don’t know what to say.

“I am sorry.”

Jason frowns and argues:

“You have nothing to apologies for…

-Of course! I should ask you if I can join you and not assume…

-Roy….please stop...It’s not for that I freak out…

-Is not?”

Jason shakes his head and takes a deep breath.

“I am the one you should apologies. I shouldn't use the alpha voice. It was a shitty thing to do and I am sorry.

-Honestly I was more surprised. I really freak you out didn’t I?

-No...I mean...sort of. But it’s not an excuse and I am sorry.

-What do you mean by “sort of”?”

Jason tuck his sleeve and bit his tongue.

“I never want you to see me like that.

-Like that?

-I really love you and want to be a good mate to you. I am sorry I disappointed you.

-Disappointed me? Hold on. Can we rewind?”

Roy stand up and start to pace trying to understand what’s going on since he came back from the mission.

“Ok so first thing first, did I like that you used you alpha voice? No, but I am not disappointed in you. And why shouldn’t I think that you aren’t a good mate?

-You saw what I did! I am a freak, you can tell it!

-What you did?”

Roy rethink what he saw in the room. The only thing he was disappointed it’s how it ended. He really feels blessed to have saw Jason so debauched playing with himself like that.

“The sex toy, Roy! Jason yells impatient blushing furiously. I put it in my ass!

-Oh yeah, that was really hot.

-What?

-I mean I would have loved participate of course. I am on board with that too. But I won’t be disappointed if you like doing it alone or only with alpha or male beta. You respect my limit, I will respect yours.

-You are not disgusted?

-Wow! How did we go to disappointed to disgusted? No I am neither of them.

-Really?

-Really.”

Jason feel like he can finally breath. When Roy sit down against him again, Jason kiss him tenderly. He start crying too, but he feels too much joy and relief.

“Are you alright?

-Yeah I’m good. I just … I just open about it only with one person, I was always so afraid to be see as less alpha. Thank you Roy.

-I love you Jason. I won’t think less of you because of that. But I still have some question.”

Jason sight but smile.

“Shoot.”

Roy takes Jason’s hand in his and look at him even if Jason avoid his eyes.

“Do you love omega? Roy finally ask

-Is that a trick to ask me if I love you?

-Maybe. Sort of. Do you?”

Jason finally look at him with so much sorrow, it provokes Roy a twinge.

“I do. Jason caress tenderly Roy’s cheek. More than any word or act can prove you.”

Damn Roy fall in love with Jason everyday.

They kiss slowly, tenderly. Things aren’t always easy but they are so happy they have found each other.

“I am sorry I make you doubt that.

-I am just glad we clear it up.”

They kiss again.

“Do you have anymore question?

-Well I have one more question in mind. Roy says playfully. Next you play with your dildo - you have a really impressive collection if I can say it -…

-Asshole.

-Can I participate or … at least watch it?”

Jason close his eyes and bites his lips but smiles.

His cheeks turn beautifully red.

“I really love the idea of you being a really active participant.

-But…?

-I had sex with just one alpha before and I never do more with anyone less. So I want it but … Can we take it slowly?

-Of course we can, baby.

-I may freak out again.

-You may. But it’s not a big deal. You are here for me, I am here for you. We are partner in every sense of the word.

-Love you.

-Love you too.

-By the way, who did you warn about my running away?

-Artemis and Bizarro.

-You realize they will kick my ass?

-Don’t worry my alpha. I will protect you.”

The end.

[goron-king-darunia]

2, 6, 10, 11 for the fanfic ask meme!

2. What is your favorite snippet of dialogue? SO MANY! You can probably pick any line out of Flanoir and I probably love it, but I do just genuinely love “I know, right?! Hey, you know something else? You can't say 'happiness' without saying --!” from Together with Richter. My favorite dialogue ever probably has to be from original fic under a different pseud so I’ll save that but my favorite fanfic line is basically anything from Flanoir and the above line where a drunken Richter comes dangerously close to saying “penis” in a fic where kinky gay sex happens. XD 6. What’s the detail you wait on bated breath for readers to notice? Most of what comes to mind are, again from original fic with a different pseud. The most recent fic-related thing I was wondering if people would notice is from Everything Gone Wrong. Richter pleads guilty to the charges against him and yet seems to get a trial, despite the fact that in most places in the world (if not all) pleading guilty forfeits your right to a trial. This is one of the more subtle details meant to feed into what I’m gonna call “tragedy bait.” Since the fic is about everything that can go wrong going wrong, it makes it all the juicier that Richter has a lot of things that go ridiculously right for him. He gets a fair trial despite pleading guilty, though that does net him a perjury charge for lying in court trying to get convicted. He gets the possibility of parole even though he qualifies for life in prison. Everyone, or at least almost everyone, is impossibly nice to him in prison. In my opinion, this makes his death all the sadder. There’s hope in the world. But he’s given up on it. And that’s just deliciously tragic to me. 10. What would you change if you had it all to do again? I’ve been meaning to go back and add lube into the sex scenes in Together With Richter, but I didn’t know what they would have had on hand to use as lube so I just skipped it and never really added it even though I KNOW they needed it. I probably would have done a bit more research with the hindsight I have now. Eggwhite could be a decent substitute, but theoretically, since Richter was planning this, he could have had a synthetic lubricant since Tethe’alla has computers. So I’m sure if I’d given it more thought at the time, I would have had a proper lube scene. For a more general: What would I do differently if I had to restart? I would probably just... develop better writing habits. Like writing down my ideas, keeping better logs of old content (I lost so much good easy-fic content from RP with some old friends on Skype) I would keep a better-organized list of ideas and prompts, and I’d also just... probably have two pseuds for my kink and regular content. I get that some people just want to read smut without the weird stuff I add in. AO3 is great at filtering and whatnot, but I’ve probably made a few people squeamish to leave kudos and comments because if I’m highly recognized for anything it’s probably my kink content and there are probably enough people squicked by it that they’d feel safer interacting with content that DOESN’T share the same obvious source as some of the sin I write.  11. What’s a fanfic idea you haven’t done yet? I’m still sitting on a few ideas. The one that comes to mind as something I haven’t even worked on yet is the “rose ice cream” fic. It was supposed to be kind of tragic fanfic where Richter stops in at an ice cream shop Emil runs where the ice cream is shaped before being served and he has rose-flavored ice cream in the shape of a rose while he’s charging his phone. They were supposed to fall in love and at the end, one of them was supposed to be killed in a freak car accident while crossing the street. IDK if I still want to keep that ending or if I even want a stand-alone fic like this at all since I could probably fold it into a WIP like Stuck in the Rain.

[whats-her-quirk]

Ugh I'm so bummed out I just lost an internship I worked so hard to get and I can't help but feel like there were other applicants that weren't as qualified as I was 😤 I literally just want a fictional character to pop out of my phone and tell me I tried... this shit gets e x h a u s t i n g sometimes. Anyways time for some thirst. If aizawa was taking his s/o's virginity, he wouldn't be terribly kinky, but he would ruin them just enough so that vanilla sex would never be enough for them- 🌟💫

Aww I’m sorry about the internship. That really, really sucks. I hope you end up finding an even better opportunity!

If Aizawa found out it was your first time, he’d be so sweet. He’d talk you through everything. He’s a talker in bed anyway, but he’d be explaining things, asking if you’re ready, keeping your nerves from getting the better of you. But once you were in the middle of it and he could tell you were really enjoying it, he’s sneak some spanking in there and maybe the sliiiiightest hint of choking that leaves you wanting so much more.

[amnachil]

To The Perfection Chapter 1 Part 4

Hope you’ll like it :)

Thomas Monday January 14

"I mean, her booty man ! There isn't more to say."

Thomas glanced at Joël, irritated. Well, he didn't show his annoyance of course. They were supposed to work out, but the man was coveting girls.

"Lara's boobs are attracting too." he continued. "But she's a bit too chubby for my taste. That's a loss."

The main concerned party smiled again. You piss me off. For real. He knew Joël and Cody since kindergarden. Unlike Raphaël, from whom the royal court had always been growing until highschool, Thomas preferred to keep only a few people around him. I don't need more crawler. But as they grew older, Joël started to be a little too confident. After all, he was tall, ripped and popular. His cocky demeanor was starting to get the best of him.

"I admit, Lara's a bit on the chubby side." Thomas eventually replied. "But isn't it a win-win, since she has bigger boobs ?"

Joël frowned.

"Fair enough." he admitted. "So... What about your preference ?"

"I would rather not talk about it." laughed the ginger. "I have no time for this."

He noticed Cody and Ilhan coming closer. Their work out session was over... What a waste of time. Jeez he's so easily distracted with his working hormones nowadays.

"Hey guys." greeted Cody. "How was training ?"

"Fine."

His friend stared a him. He was way more discreet than their big mouth friend. Standing at 1m80 (5'11"), he weighted a skinny 67 kg (148 pounds). He was lanky, with dark hair and eyes. Recently, he's always looking at me weirdly. Like if I was lying all the time. Thomas wasn't a liar. He only get used to his interlocutors.

"Dude to be honest we didn't do much." accepted Joël. "I'm craving soooo much for sex, it drives me crazy."

Well, at least this one was honest.

Soccer pratice started well. But after a moment, the coach decided to make them watch a game to learn some skills. A game of Raphaël, obviously. While they all admired and complimented his older brother, Thomas felt a huge rancor growing in his stomach. He already stole the person I love. Now, he will take my friends too ? Why is this world so unfair ? Analyzing his behavior, the teenager realised it was not about these useless people he called friends. It's all about Dan. Since friday's evening, it was getting harder (was it even possible) to not cross the limits. His brother's boyfriend wasn't only a kinky fantasy... He said he likes me. Why did he said that ? Of course, Dan intented to do good. But for Thomas, it was a real ordeal to resist at his drive. I want to touch him. To rub his overstuffed belly. I want to cuddle with him. To have sex with him. He wanted to be Raphaël. Consequently, he needed to keep his mind off it. Am I exactly like Joël ?

Once they finished this completely useless practice, Thomas decided to make a quick visit. He wanted to talk with someone, but he needed someone who won't repeat everything to Raphaël. He finally arrived at the sheriff's station. He entered, and went directly to the front desk.

"Hi Gregory." he smiled.

His massive friend turned towards him. His munched two donuts at once quickly.

"Thomas. What brings you here ?"

The ginger teenager's smile grew larger. Gregory was a year older than him. He was a former classmate of Raphaël who got himself right in the middle of the game this latter was teaching to Shirley Vince (Dan's sister). Point was, Thomas had fattened him during months, and he had become a true behemoth at the end of his 11th grade. During summer, his parents had sent him in a summer camp, with mixed result. Since then, Gregory had developt the physic of a wrestler. Well, a fat wrestler. He was very muscled : his arms showed strongs biceps, his pecs were brought out. But his too-tight top also revealed a huge beer gut. Gregory was 1m80 (5'11"), but he weighted around 115 kg (255 pounds approx).

"I need your help regarding Joël Davos, the son of the sheriff."

His friend nodded. Once he had graduated from highschool, he had been recruited as a trainee here. He knew he wouldn't have much career opportunities, but the police department always needed new arms anyway.

"So... He has this crush on someone, but he's always complaining he can't talk to her. Which is true, because she's already in a relationship. It's turning him crazy, and he's annoying me for counseling. But you know more than me in that department. What should I tell him ?"

No way Thomas would reveal his crush for Dan. This way, it should work.

"The sheriff's son has a crush ? That's so cute, he has a big mouth but no balls eh ? Look, if he absolutely can't reveal his love, I think he should just let it go. Find a way to get his mind off that ? Like... sleeping with another person ?"

The teenager nodded, unconvinced. I guess coming here was a bad idea after all.

When he arrived at home, Thomas came upon something he wasn't ready for. It was only early January, and they since two days, they were facing cold temperatures. And Dan seemingly didn't like cold temperature. So he had put the heating system on hot. Very hot. He was shirtless in the living room, savouring some melting ice. Not the first, judging by all the wrappers in the bean. Thomas's eyes widened. He froze with amazment. His junior friend was so handsome. He was a strapping lad, well built all over the body. But he had a little softness which made the ginger shiver. It wasn't much but some thickness around the edge. Well, except for his belly. Since three week ago, it had grew bigger. Dan soft flesh was bulging slightly, forming a tiny curve from his lower stomach to his pecs. Most people wouldn't even notice it. But Thomas wasn't most people. Sure, Dan had already been way fatter. But it was something so sexy, so appealing...

"The weather is so cold today." mumbled the junior. "And we are burning inside because the heating system is broken. It's like a heatwave in the middle of winter. Can you cook something refreshing ?"

The temperature isn't the only thing hot around here. No way Thomas could say this. For real, he really needed a distraction, because it was very hard to resist to the temptation in these conditions. But the prospect of seeing Dan pig out shirtless was obssessing the young teenager. I'll just need to hide my hard-on, and it'll be fine.

"Sure thing." he finally responded once he had collected his thought. "I'll prepare all that."

Dan Tuesday January 15

Another really cold day. Dan couldn't bear the cold. He was heading to his parent's home for lunch, after an interesting but difficult morning at the uni. He wasn't stupid, but he wouldn't qualify himself as bright either. Maybe it was a consequence to hang out with two genius most of the time ? But anyway, the cold was killing him. He was almost home when he noticed a moving van in their neighbor's driveway. Someone is moving in ?

"I must be dreamin' awake !" shouted a cheerful voice. "Dan Vince, buddy is that you in the flesh ?"

The junior turned towards the person who hailed him. It was an handsome guy with disheveled chesnut hair. He looked rather lanky, dressed with baggy pants and a flowerly jacket. His features were delicate, and he had beautiful blue eyes. Wait a second. He does look familiar.

"You're Dan, right ?" asked the lad. "I mean, it would be really awkward for me if you weren't."

"Darren ? Darren from the double D ?"

The guy nodded, enthusiastic. Oh wow. It had been so long ! Darren was his bestfriend through primary and middle school. He had moved in another state of the country after their 9th grade.

"Oh man ! My first day back in town, and I ran into you ! That must be fate !"

"Yeah, probably. Damn, it's good to see you." replied Dan, still a bit surprised.

"Do you have time ? We really need to catch up !"

"Sure. I'm gonna have lunch with my parents but I can come after if you want."

I thought I would never see you again. To be honest, it had been a long time. Maybe they had complete different interest now. But Dan was very happy to see his long gone buddy. And so they suited a meeting.

After an hearty meal, Dan came back to his neighbor's home. Darren welcomed him in the living room, apparently excited.

"I didn't eat yet." he revealed. "It would be rude to not offer you something and to eat alone, so please yourself."

The junior nodded, not really focused on the food anyway. He grabbed a plate of lasagna and a beer, and then asked his friend :

"So D one, you are coming back ?"

The chestnut lad smiled as the mention of his nickname. Back in times, they had been nicknamed the Double D. Everyone had been saying they were inseparable.

"Well, I just finished a two-year private school in Japan and now, I'm looking for a job around. I thought it would be nice to move in here, since my parents have abandonned this house for their penthouse in New York."

Rich people and their multiples homes... Well, the inhabitant of the town were wealthy for the great majority. Dan wasn't a person you would be sorry for, regarding his parent's condition.

"Japan eh... Sounds like you travelled a lot." he observed. "You look fine by the way."

"I managed to keep in shape yeah." replied Darren. "But not as much as you. I mean look at you dude ! You were all skin and bones when we were kids."

"Yeah, I guess I changed since then." chuckled Dan.

They talked for hours. It appeared their had still strong common interests. Darren was as Dan imagined : comical, acting with poise and confidence. But he was still clumsy and straight. He related his trip in Japan, but also his highschool's years. He talked about his family, the friends he made along the way and other stuff he had enjoyed. Nonetheless, he asked a lot too. Dan explained his own highschool's year have been rather annoying. He mentionned his try at soccer, but he had sucked at it. Finally, maybe because they had consummated  a lot of beer, Dan confessed he was gay. Not that he wanted absolutely to hide it but when he had done his coming out, most of his friends had abandonned him. He had been bullied, and misunderstood even by his own family. Even now, his parents were acting differently with him, like if he was in porcelain. Without Raphaël, he would have lost himself in depression.

"I have a boyfriend." he heard himself said in the middle of the conversation. "I did my coming out two years ago."

When he finished his sentence, he expected a comment. Anything. But not this reaction.

"You're in a relationship ?" exclaimed Darren. "That's so cool dude ! I don't know why, but I'm proud of you. I'm not that lucky with hearts stories at the moment."

"Well, thank you ? And I'm sure you'll find someone." assured Dan.

Now I realise how much I missed him. Darren was so understanding. He wasn't judging at all. In fact, his friend was already narrating his love stories, absolutely not troubled by Dan's sexual preference.

Dan left at dusk. He had skipped a lesson, but didn't feel guilty. It was a wonderful afternoon. They had agreed to meet again on friday's evening. Raphaël's coming back Saturday, so my weekend was booked. When he arrived home, the junior smelled a perfumed scent of pie. He was kinda bloated from all the fizzy beer, but he knew he wouldn't resist. It was to please Thomas anyway, right ?

To be continued

So little explanation : Gregory was one of the main character in The High School Game. He was a teen who craved attention, and thought he had to be at the top to do so. He ended up fattened by Thomas, Shirley and co and realised it wasn’t that bad to be spoiled and nicely fat.

Thomas isn’t kind with his friends, but only in his thoughts. Otherwise, he always keep his facade.

[thegreenfairy13]

Mr. Van Dahl’s Remarkable Double Life - Final Chapter

At last, I finished my slightly cracky tale about the marriage of Jim and Oswald. Read it on Ao3 here. 

Jim is incredibly relieved he’s finally allowed to leave the basement - for about five seconds.

Oswald is standing behind him, still complaining about the cream smeared all over his fancy clothing, when Victor Zsasz blocks their path.

“I think you’re going nowhere,” the assassin declares smugly while already launching himself at Jim. Oswald shrieks in terror and raises his cane the exact same moment the hitman's fist connects painfully with Jim’s jaw. Not having expected the sudden attack, he drops to the floor. The mobster surges forward but Jim isn’t having it.

“Stop it! Both of you!” he hollers despite the white and black dots dancing merrily before his eyes and the excruciating ringing in his ears.

Zsasz, completely surprised by the Penguin’s sudden attack, freezes. Oswald lowers his arm dutifully. Good, Jim thinks. At last, his husband is listening. Well, after the last couple of days, he’ll probably fulfill all of his wishes - before returning to his wicked ways by next week.

“What the hell is he doing here?” the detective inquires while getting back to his feet. Shaking his head, he wonders if this week qualifies for the worst of his life. The sad answer is: no. This week doesn’t even make it into his top ten.

Nervously licking his lips, the Penguin tries putting on a nonchalant demeanor and fails miserably. Blushing furiously, he gives everything away. For whatever reason, Oswald is a terrible liar when it comes to Jim. The cop smirks despite himself. Oh, he knows exactly why the killer is at their home, but he needs it to hear from his husband.

“So?” he urges, cocking his head slightly. This will be the first time Oswald has to confirm what they truly are.

“Uhm…”

“You hoped I’d agree with your ridiculous plan, right?” Jim growls in annoyance and Zsasz’ eyes widen. He can tell the killer is speechless.

“Who would agree to get tortured?” he sputters once he found his voice again while Oswald simply glares at him.

“I never said anything about torture,” he snarls petulantly.

“You said Jim Gordon is being kept in your basement and I should come over,” Zsasz argues, slowly losing his patience. Jim can’t blame him. This whole ordeal is infuriating.

Pressing his mouth into a thin line, the kingpin tries pushing past the killer.

“Oswald!” Jim commands, inwardly rejoicing when his husband stops still in his tracks. “Isn’t there something you want to tell Zsasz?”

The gangster tenses but Jim doesn’t care. Oswald promised, and there’s no way the cop is letting his husband off the hook now. He turns around, a pleading look gracing his features but Jim merely nods, encouraging him to go on. Meanwhile, Zsasz is looking from one man to the other, becoming more confused by each passing second.

“Fine,” Oswald huffs at last. “Zsasz, I’m proud to announce that James Worthington Gordon is, in fact, my husband. I specifically hired you to go after him and rough him up regularly in order to keep up the pretense that my husband and I are enemies.”

The hitman’s mouth drops open, closes, and drops open again. It’s the first time Jim sees one of the most feared psychopaths helpless. In his utter confusion, he almost resembles a baffled child. Jim snickers while marveling at the killer’s unease.

But then Victor’s mouth curls into the most discomforting smile and the moment is gone. Staring at Gordon, the killer looks incredibly impressed. “How?” he utters, awe-stricken. “How did you trick him into believing he’s your husband?”

If Jim wouldn’t be so proud of his husband, he’d for sure be annoyed. But at this moment, the only thing that counts is Oswald finally having confirmed their relationship and making it clear that they are married.

Smiling softly at his huffy husband, Jim verifies the statement.

“We have a certificate,” Oswald adds briskly, leaning heavily against his man. “And as we won’t be keeping our marriage any longer a secret, your services will no longer be needed. Well, regarding Jim,” he adds as an afterthought. “I might have other assignments for you, though.”

“Absolutely not,” Jim interrupts sternly, finally dragging his man upstairs. He doesn’t miss the conspiratorial look his mobster shoots the killer.

Jim hopes to finally let Olga and the rest of Oswald’s staff in on their secret but, of course, he has no such luck. Once they reach the kitchen, Harvey and Selina already stare curiously at the pair of them.

“Where have you been?” his friend growls sourly. “I thought your little psycho has killed you after all.”

“And what is this stuff on his suit?” Selina chimes in, staring at Oswald with obvious disgust.

Harvey takes only one look before making a gagging motion. “I’m worried sick and you’re having kinky sex with your man?!” he explodes, almost flinging his glass at them.

“There’s a child present!” the Penguin yelps, horrified about the cop’s accurate observation.

“Child,” Harvey snorts. “The little brat probably stepped on this earth fully grown with a plan in her hands how to rob elderly ladies.”

“I’m offended,” Selina remarks good-naturedly, sticking out her tongue at the man beside her.

Jim’s head hurts already. What even made him think this would work smoothly?  “What are you even doing here?” he asks her, internally debating how to throw them out both as soon as possible.

“I was curious about your fate,” she simply replies. “And Ozzie’s cook makes some rad breakfast. Did you two know that?”

“As I hired her,” Oswald interrupts, “I have a vague idea,” he finishes drily.

“So what’s the deal?” Harvey pointedly looks at Jim. “Despite you two making me gag, that is.”

“We’re going public,” Jim replies quietly. “No more lies.”

Humming in agreement, Harvey nods. “That might be best. Our colleagues at the precinct were already celebrating your death. They’ll be relieved you teamed up with our honorable mayor.”

Oswald makes a pained noise beside him but still entangles his fingers with his cop. He’s tense, and despite his promise, still not certain going public is the right thing to do; neither is Jim, but the lies, the secrets will eventually drive them apart. Besides, the cop really has to give his ribs a solid break from getting broken.

“Jim, I’m terrified,” he mumbles barely audible and the grasp on Jim’s hand tightens.

The policeman squeezes back. Not caring about their audience, he wraps his arm consolingly around the gangster’s hip and pulls him close.

“I know,” he tells him softly. “But we have all of eternity to figure everything out now,” he reassures while pressing a soft kiss to his temple. The mobster trembles imperceptibly in his grasp and it’s almost enough for Jim to blow it all off. He knows Oswald loves him, would literally die for him, would let him go if requested. It’s just...Jim doesn’t want to go anywhere. He belongs right here: At the Penguin’s side. In Gotham. Forever.

“I’ll make a few calls,” Oswald declares then. “We’ll be gracing the Gazette’s cover by tomorrow, that’s for sure,” he concludes with a dramatic sigh.

Before he can leave the room, Jim holds him back by his sleeve. “Thank you,” he breathes into his ear. Pulling his husband into a tight hug, Jim clings to him as if he’d leave forever.

“Everything for you,” Oswald murmurs back, squeezing Jim’s bicep slightly.

For the first time, the cop truly feels as if they’re having a real chance. Despite being married, their relationship has rather resembled a fleeting affair. But from now on, they’ll act like a team.  

Harvey rolls his eyes when Oswald hobbles clumsily out of the room, but Jim knows his friend long enough to tell he’s happy for them. The silence in the small space stretches, only interrupted by the noise of Selina happily munching a cupcake from the counter. Jim feels guilty for lying to his friend for so long and grateful for him still supporting his decision.

“I take it the birdman is immortal, too,” Harvey states, startling Jim from his musings. The cop purses his mouth before nodding reluctantly.

“Thought so,” Harvey grumbles. “Always knew the little cockroach is indestructible.” Slurping his coffee loudly, he continues, “To be honest, I should lock you two up in Arkham and throw away the keys.” Shaking his head with mock annoyance, he grabs a croissant from the table. “And I wasn't even invited to the wedding,” he grumbles.

“Oh stop it,” Selina sighs, rolling her eyes. “At least you get to blackmail me.”

“What?!” Jim asks in surprise.  

“Selina is my informant now,” Harvey declares smugly. “Else I’d tell Bruce Wayne and Mr. Cobblepot she was willing to let you die.”

Jim sputters. “Oswald would never hurt her.”

“Figured that myself,” Selina answers drily. “Not as long as you are his loverboy,” she adds with a salacious wink.

“Yeah, but the possibility of Bruce Wayne being mad at you did the trick,” Harvey sing-songs victoriously. The little cat merely glares at him.

Jim wants to bury his head in his hands. He’ll never hear the end of this, that’s for certain. Thankfully, Oswald saves him from diving deeper into Bruce Wayne’s love life. Besides, what’s there to say? Selina Kyle is his villain, just as Oswald is his.

The heroes and the rogues in Gotham are inseparably entangled. They have always been. Harvey had Fish. Bruce will forever love Catwoman. And he? He’s lost to the Penguin. They’ll spend eternity with each other, and despite the fact that they’ll fight and even temporarily break up, they’ll never be able to truly stay away from each other. Oswald is his destiny, it’s as simple as that.

Jim still doesn’t know how to feel about living forever, doesn’t know if he can wrap his head around what happened, but he's got enough time now to figure everything out.

When Oswald returns, he looks pale yet also relieved and determined. His announcement to the Gazette must have gone well. Out of habit, he scowls at Harvey and Selina before focusing on  Jim.

“No turning back now,” he jokes with more bravado than he possesses. Jim has to admit, he’s afraid, too. Gotham will for sure be after them. This city won’t make it easy on them and their enemies know their weaknesses now. Yet, should anyone ever be as stupid as to consider taking his man from him, Jim will make sure hell looks like a spa-resort in comparison. And vice-versa.

“I love you,” Jim tells him earnestly, desperately almost, when finally all is said and done. His little Penguin nods.

“When I made the call,” he starts, rummaging through his pockets, “I found something.” Oswald pauses as Jim holds his breath. The earnest expression on his face speaks volumes and Jim wouldn’t dare to interrupt now.

“Before my mother and my father broke up for good, he gave her a ring. My mother kept it all those years. She never had another man.” He gulps, stares at the floor before bravely carrying on. ”There was never another man for me too,” he whispers. Trying to get down on one knee, Oswald asks Jim a question the man can hardly process. Harvey gasps beside him, for sure being hardpressed to keep his coffee in. Jim couldn’t care less.

Of course, there’s only one answer to Oswald’s question. Of course, they’ll renew their vows.

Before the scrawny gagster can damage his shattered knee any further on the cold, hard tiles, Jim catches him and wraps him safely up in his arms. Harvey might throw up all he wants, he’ll need to get used to this. He hardly notes Selina’s excited squee when accepting the ring from his husbands' hands.

He only knows they’ll make it. They’ll be happy - forever. Or at least until Oswald realizes Harvey is going to be Jim’s best man.

[riddlemethisbatboy]

Hi!!! Could you maybe write a Music Meister x Soprano!reader with kind of a phantom of the opera vibe? I’m an opera vocalist learning Queen of the Night’s aria and I absolutely adore Meister!! :)

The Song In My Head Music Meister x Soprano Singer!ReaderI myself have had a few years of vocal training, I hope you do exceedingly well in your training love. It thrills me to the bone to know that someone I might possibly see on a stage one day is about to read a story of mine. I really hope you enjoy this, babydoll. This one’s all for you. Happy reading!!)

It was possibly the slowest day in your entire week, yet you’d still found yourself attached to the stage. Singing was more than a passion, it was the blood in your veins and the culmination of your soul that poured out each time. Not many knew this fact, though you were omnipresent in your local community’s theatre program. The Phantom of the Opera was going to be directed by a local director, you’d been doing your best to solidify the role of Emmy Rossum’s character Christine. It seemed that out of all the auditioners your voice fit the bill nearly perfectly. Nearly.

As the others left, the director herself came up to you, “(Y/N), dear.” You feared the worst, until she continued, her kinky curly hair like a halo crowning her head in the stage lighting. “You’re exactly what I need for the part. I just would like to see you get a bit of extra training. Even at your tone, it couldn’t help to improve.”

You sighed in relief, “Anything for you miss Keyes. You really liked my audition?”

“Did you not see me trying not to skip everyone else,” she was deadpan in her expression as she spoke pure honesty. “I have to do callbacks on Wednesday. Please show up at 1:15, no sooner or later.”

With that you parted ways, promising to come back a little later in the week. Sure enough, upon arrival, she’d been setting up a piano backstage. It was one of those on-the-go pieces, the kind that the legs fold in on. When you sat down your bag, there she was knocking the front left then right ones into place. Cat-like senses told her of your presence without a word from you. She looked to you and greeted, her almond brown eyes glimmering like amber beneath the lights.

After the second round of auditions, callbacks, you were solidified in your position as Christine, a role you’d only dreamt of procuring earlier in your life. The cast and crew were gathered upon the stage and the first of many pep talks was given. Lara Keyes was not a hard woman to please. She asked for cooperation and listening, then promised to give the same in return. Where others would place tons of rules she only had one; Get Along.

“I’ll be making sure you lot are fed, my wife’s a caterer,” she spoke dignified and clear. “You just have to show up, be nice and perform. When the production is finished I’ll compensate everyone of you for your time. Are there any questions?”

No one asked anything, all just content with their new roles. The slender, athletic director passed out extra copies of the script and schedules she’d no doubt hand printed for everyone. It was a decent one, not too many or too few opportunities to practice. She’d even taken the liberty to schedule workshops for things like operatic singing and characterization methodologies. There were stars in your eyes and butterflies in your stomach, things couldn’t have gone any better.

The next meeting for rehearsal was the following day and sure enough, there was food backstage. A plethora of party items and even specially made things for those with intolerances and allergies. The woman serving lunch was a petite, soft spoken woman with long jet hair tucked into a neat bun. The costume designers were huddled around a laptop watching the original Phantom of the Opera for inspiration, those with major parts were to warm up their voices. All cogs in the drama machine were working simultaneously towards the same goal: Perfection.

From the darkened background, a shadowy man watched as piece by piece a performance was built. It was very much his forté to see such beauty as this. For weeks into the production this phantom would leave gifts, unlike the one of the film and musical. He sought to help in any way he could, all-the-while keeping his sacred anonymity. Among those gifts was the actual dress from the very first broadway production of the musical. Once, during rehearsal, the cloaked man actually saved you. While you and others practiced, what must’ve been the hundredth time, your voice began to crackle. Expertly he swung down with a bottle of water, making sure it didn’t hit you as he dropped it before catching himself on the catwalk above the stage. The rest of the day was cancelled. Only those who chose to stay of their own free will remained. You were the only one.

The headlines read “Phantom of the Opera Attracts it’s own Phantom”. There was a photograph on the front page of you and your partner in the middle of practice. You wondered how many people had read it, had your helper himself read the article? The week before your performance was excruciatingly filled with late nights dressed to the teeth and caked up with makeup like there was no tomorrow. It was a humid hot in the theatre, the floor was sticky and no one understood why. To the rescue came the old, worn out AC unit, it tried its best to cool off the masses. The paper coined “Phantom” had other plans, however.

Atop the catwallks, where the heat tried to escape, he noticed a large fan unplugged. The black cord was simply dangling beside what must’ve been the world’s oldest electrical outlet. He did exactly what was needed, turned on the fan. Cool air rushed down and sputtered as the blades spun to life and the soft humming of it seemed lost to those performing at the top of their lungs. A wisp of the cold wind caressed your cheek and then rushed past to kiss the next needing performer. That night, you knew you were destined to meet the unknown helper. The very one who’d been keeping his secrets locked up tighter than a banker’s fist around a dollar.

“Miss Keyes may I borrow the backstage exit key,” your request was met with a gentle kindness.

The woman gladly handed over the key as long as you promised to give it back the following evening. She left after that, not before noting that your extra effort was something she was grateful for. Now alone with a piano and a dimly lit stage you sat, fingers against the ivories. The theme song was the first you practiced, the life of you spilling into the air with every word you’d rehearsed hundreds of times throughout your lifetime. After a few minutes, too into the singing to keep your attention to the music, the shady man showed himself. Tunes equipped and blasting like you’d heard in your head.

A purple suit, lime tie, and a matching purple top hat with blue blockers. Not what you’d expected to see. He held a battery powered stereo in his white knuckles and tried his best not to sing along with you. It was peaceful until you rose from your seat and stopped singing. That’s when he began to panic, dropping his boombox like cinderella’s slipper and taking off he wasn’t seen or heard from again. Not until the actual performance did the meistro decide to grace the cast and crew.

“Excuse me,” he’d spoke up after the director gave her ‘you-can-do-it’ speech. “It has been the light of my life watching this whole thing come together.” From the shadows he monologued on, “Like watching a child grow up and marry. I do not often grow attached to casts or stages, though this set has stolen my heart.” He was safe upon the catwalks, shrouded in darkness like he’d always been. “If anyone is more qualified for these roles, I do not know them.”

One of the extras, a curly redhead, looked up to the sky and gratefully shouted, “Thanks opera god!”

You knew in your heart it was him, the phantom of the opera himself come to grace your play. Little did anyone know, any song you’d sang was the song in his head.