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magicalbats · 5 months

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Situational Awareness (Dan Heng x reader)

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 10,928

Warnings: afab!reader, some gendered language, shower sex, intercrural sex, thigh fucking

A/N: I've been working here and there on a few different projects (including my long overdue Kinktober pieces, worry not!) but in terms of standalone fics I figured this one was done so I may as well post it. Am I doing so at six in the morning when no one is awake to see it? Absolutely. lol I'm not a plumber so please don't come at me about the shoddy pipe excuse btw, haha

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The unmistakable evidence of all your fooling around is laying across the floor in the form of hastily dropped, rumpled towels. They’d hit the ground in a disarranged heap after the fall, but were still clean as far as you could tell. Not that you could really ask for more on the off chance that they weren’t considering the fright you’d just given the staff but …

Hanging your head, you make the conscious effort to draw a deep, calming breath and come down from the strange high you’d slipped into. You were sweating rather profusely, you’re a bit surprised to find. What had gotten into you? Hotel devils? Surely that was about as absurd as someone climbing into an oddly inviting but no less strange closet as if they’d been personally summoned into its dark depths by some higher force, and yet that was exactly what you’d done. There must have been something seriously wrong with you.

Perhaps it was the Stellaron inside your body causing problems with the electrical signals in its flesh and blood prison. Or maybe you’d hit your head somewhere along the way and the side effects were only now starting to manifest themselves. Your bet was on the tail end of that showdown with the Doomsday Beast back on the space station.

Either way, you desperately needed to get it together.

Straightening up, you send a wary look at the closet in question. Its doors were still thrust open from where you’d leaped out of its (frustratingly inviting) maw some moments ago and there was no denying the faint tug of invitation you could feel trying to coax you back inside but you refused to heed its call. This wasn’t the time or even really the place. You’d let it get the better of you once and that was already more than enough.

“Relax.” You remind yourself as you inch closer to the closet. Resolutely, you reach out and shut the doors. The compulsion slowly fades to nothing and you’re once again left to your own devices. It comes as a great relief.

A harried sigh escapes you as you bend to retrieve the fallen towels next. Perhaps you should leave a note of apology out for the staff. Who knows what they were saying about you right now, the strange girl who likes to hide in closets and scare the living daylights out of unsuspecting workers. On second thought, though, maybe you should just pretend like nothing at all had even transpired here today. Admitting to your own strange behavior in writing would rob you of any plausible deniability, wouldn’t it?

Turning that over in your head, you carry the small bundle of towels into the attached bathroom. Set them down on the sink and almost walk right back out before realizing that you should probably take a shower before bed. Not only were you covered in a fine sheen of perspiration from your time spent getting all worked up inside the closet but you were also freezing. You hadn’t noticed it when you were still running hot on adrenaline and nerves, but now you were gradually starting to shiver.

Just how long had you been crouched inside the cramped dark like that? You really had no idea, as if that part of your memory were an empty cavernous void. It could have been only a few short minutes for all you could tell, or it could have been an eternity. It was impossible to say.

Pivoting, you reach over the tub and wrench the faucet on. The modestly sized room is instantly consumed by the sound of running water as you step back to shrug out of your jacket and take off your gloves. A moment later you test the temperature with your fingers only to snatch them back with a hiss when you find it still ice cold. That certainly wasn’t going to do.

In total you spend about twenty minutes fiddling with the steel knobs, trying them in this and then that position to no avail. No matter what you did the water never seemed to get any warmer, finally leaving you with no choice but to simply turn the damn thing off. You almost give up right then and there. In fact, you consider it very, very hard.

But what ultimately stops you from crawling into bed with nary another thought to the matter is the shuddering chill that’s fallen over you without any of the fast pumping excitement to keep it at bay. You weren’t just cold in the way curling up with a thick blanket could help with. It felt like you were right on the verge of slipping into hypothermia. The thought of laying awake all night shivering nonstop did not sound like the best start to this Trailblaze expedition so you decide to try your luck next door with March.

She opens up on the third knock, wearing her blue bunny pj’s.

“What are you doing out here at this time of night? I thought you were room service or something!”

“Sorry.” You offer her a weak smile, fighting to stop your teeth from loudly clattering. “I think there’s something wrong with the tub in my room. All I can get to come out is cold water.”

March’s brows take an expeditious trip up to her hairline. “No way, you’re having problems too? I thought it was just me but I didn’t want to be a negative Nelly about it!”

Her arm lashes out like a striking serpent, grabbing you by the wrist and dragging you inside.

The door bangs shut with a certain amount of indignation as she turns to look at you, worry flashing across her expression when she takes in the faint shudder making your shoulders bunch up. Standing this close to her, you can see that her hair is damp.

“Were you able to take a shower?”

“Not a very good one! The hot water only lasted for about fifteen minutes before it started to come out freezing cold!” Huffing, she crosses her arms over her chest. “This place sure does look fancy but I’m so not impressed. What kind of operation do they think they’re running here, huh? Belobog is way too cold for them not to have working hot water tanks!”

You consider that for a brief moment. “Maybe that’s the problem? If a bunch of people are trying to bathe at the same time and using up all the hot water - -“

“Then they should’ve thought of that before they opened up a hotel! I mean, come on. That’s just common sense, right? And more importantly what’s up with you? You’ve been shivering non stop since I opened the door.”

Don’t tell her about the closet. Don’t tell her about your exploits inside the closet. Whatever you do, do not tell her about that damned closet.

“I think the chill is just starting to catch up with me.” You tell her, cool as … erm, ice. “I didn’t notice it too much at first but now I can’t stop shaking. I’d really like to take a hot shower.”

“I bet.” She murmurs. Then, with more enthusiasm, “Come on, let’s see if mine wants to work!”

Taking your hand in hers, March guides you over to her attached bathroom where she flips on the overhead lights. You’re impressed to find it’s an almost identical copy of yours, just mirrored. Actually, they looked like they were directly adjacent to one another and situated along the same wall. But would that in turn mean … they were sharing the same series of pipes? No, that couldn’t be. Such an obvious structural design flaw would have surely raised some questions, wouldn’t it?

Your attention thoughtfully drifts towards March as she bends over the side of the tub and smacks the faucet on. A familiar sense of deja vu comes over you when the gurgling sound of running water rushes in to dominate the air but she doesn’t seem to pay it much mind so neither do you. A few seconds pass before she tests the water, clicks her tongue in annoyance and draws her hand back before trying again just another few seconds later. Truthfully March’s impatience had never been quite so glaring as it is right now.

“Well, isn’t that just ridiculous!” She at last scoffs, evidently deeming the whole endeavor futile and turning the faucet off again. “It wouldn’t be such a big deal if this place wasn’t so cold. How is anyone coming in off the street supposed to get a good night’s rest if they can’t even have a warm shower?”

You ponder that question with the same weight and consideration as the last one she’d posed. “Maybe they don’t get many visitors? Just think about it. How many times have we heard now that Belobog is the ‘last bastion of humanity’? They probably don’t get much in the way of tourism.”

Turning, March pins you with an exceedingly strange look. “I don’t think you’re wrong about that but … wouldn’t that mean they’re mostly just keeping this place running for the sake of it? What a waste of resources.” She gives her head a quick shake. “Wait, that’s not important right now. We need to get you warmed up and safely tucked into bed! Do you want me to go down to the lobby with you to check what’s going on?”

“No, that’s okay.” You quickly wave that off, feeling more than just a little self conscious about causing her any trouble. “It’s already getting late and you need your rest for tomorrow. It wouldn’t make sense to waste so much time helping me with this when you could be sleeping instead.”

“Hey, now. The same goes for all three of us. We’re in this together and you’d better not forget that! I don’t mind lending a hand. We are crewmates after all!

“Thank you, really. But I’m sure I can figure something else out.”

“Fine, if you’re sure … but at least stop by Dan Heng’s room and see if he’s in the same boat as us. If not, maybe he’ll let you use his shower tonight?”

“Oh. That’s a good idea.” Consideringly, you start to turn and March follows hot on your heels as you step back out through the doorway. “He went into the room right across from yours, right? Since they’re on opposite sides, maybe I will have better luck.”

“That’s the spirit! See, you just gotta’ keep your spirits high and everything will work out fine in the end. Isn’t that what they call trusting the process?”

Pausing in front of the door, you pivot to look back at her. “I don’t think that particular saying applies here.”

“Oh, whatever. Just go check in with Dan Heng and if he isn’t having any better luck come grab me again, okay? We’ll go down and talk to the receptionist together if we have to!”

You smile, even though you try very hard not to. “Thanks, March. I really appreciate it.”

Her voice follows after you as you open the door to see yourself out, a cheerful parting of ‘good luck!’ following you out into the hall. Of all the warm welcomes you’d been greeted with upon boarding the Express, hers was easily the warmest of them all. You weren’t sure if you’d ever be able to properly repay her for that but you were certainly going to try.

Out in the long carpeted corridor, you take a measly three steps to cross over to the opposite side and rap at the heavy wooden door. Dan Heng surprises you slightly when he opens up at the very first knock, almost like he’d been waiting just within.

“Is something the matter?”

The stark difference in your two companions' greetings makes something warm flicker to life inside your chest. You’d only known them and the rest of the Astral Express crew for a short while now but it was very much in line with what was quickly becoming comforting and familiar to you. March had been proactive and eager to know what you were doing while Dan Heng seemed to have concluded that something must be wrong if you were coming to his room like this. It was oddly reassuring, in a way.

“This is probably going to sound like a strange question but have you taken a shower yet?”

A vague look of confusion flashes across his face and then camps there. He was far from the most animated character you’d met on your journey thus far, but there’s no mistaking the look he levels on you now.

“I haven’t quite gotten around to it yet.” He says slowly. “I was just jotting down some observational notes in my phone to input in the database later. Why?”

“I don’t have any proof to back it up but I think March may have taken all my hot water. Our bathrooms are right next to each other.”

Dan Heng’s expression shifts and settles into a perplexed scowl. “Is that why you’re shaking? You’d think a place like this would understand the importance of resource allocation …” Sighing, he steps to the side. “Come in. We can check it together.”

Feeling the pitter patter of hope skip across your ribcage, you step inside with him. He closes the door and turns the lock in place (paranoid or overly cautious?) before leading you over to the bathroom. None of these hotel rooms are particularly big and the two of you are soon crowding around the porcelain tub together.

A steady turn of his wrist has the water gushing out, the same scene playing out for the third time in a row. Except it doesn’t take long at all for steam to start rising up from the faucet this go around and you feel like you could just collapse in relief. He still had hot water. You weren’t going to freeze to death after all.

“There,” He murmurs, straightening to his full height again. “Go ahead and take your shower in here. I’ll be in the other room so just give me a shout if you need anything.”

Dan Heng starts to turn, making your eyes go big and round with surprise. “But what about you? I don’t want to take up all of your hot water.”

“It’s fine. I can just grab one after you're done.”

“No, that won’t work.” You insist, reaching over to smack the faucet back off with a little more force than was strictly necessary. “March said she only had about fifteen minutes before the water started coming out cold. I’m not sure how long ago she took hers but when we checked it was still out of hot water.”

“Hmm,” He appears to hesitate at that, his gaze taking on the thoughtfully introspective look you were starting to recognize as the gears in his head turning. “Could it be that they get so few guests staying here that they just closed off some of the hot water pipes to ensure they don’t keep running? It’s not quite cold enough in the city for them to freeze so I don’t think it would hurt anything …”

“Right?” You lift your brows in emphasis. “If Belobog is the only human settlement on this planet then what’s the point in keeping an entire hotel up and running?”

“That’s a good point and I wondered about it as well. Unless this hotel was at one time meant to …” Humming softly under his breath, Dan Heng gives his head a slow shake. “No, there isn’t any point in speculating on that right now. We don’t have enough information to start making inferences. Figuring out what we’re going to do about the current problem should be our priority.”

A quiet beat passes, loud in the absence of running water.

“We could always shower together.”

Dan Heng’s head doesn’t so much as move even a fraction of an inch but his gaze snaps up at you lightning fast. The sharp intensity in his eyes immediately makes you regret saying it. Were you being weird again, despite the absence of the closet to facilitate or otherwise encourage your odd behavior? Or was it really the Stellaron mixing up the radio signals in your brain? You weren’t sure what you would do if you managed to scare him off the same way you’d sent the hotel staff running and screaming.

“Or,” He intones at length. “We could go down to the reception desk and ask them to look into it for us.”

“March said the same thing.”

“But?”

You breathe out a quick huff through your nose. “But that sounds like it might take a while. We’d have to explain what’s going on, have someone come take a look at it and then they’d try to fix it. We already agreed that we’ll have a busy day tomorrow so I don’t want to cause any trouble for either of you. Not if I can help it. This would be the faster solution, right?”

To his credit, Dan Heng’s expression softens in as much as it ever does. Which admittedly isn’t a whole lot, but it’s enough to be noticeable. “You aren’t causing problems for us. Don’t even give it another thought and, please, don’t ever let March hear you say that. I don’t doubt she’d take it upon herself to personally show you just how untrue that really is. That being said though, I can understand the reasoning. Doing it that way would be quicker.”

“But?” You volley it right back at him.

“There’s not actually a ‘but’ here. If you’re sure about it then I suppose I don’t mind going about it this way either. It would certainly get both of us into bed far quicker than any other alternative.”

You don’t exactly understand the eager thump your heart gives at his acquiescence but you allow yourself to smile up at him when the urge suddenly strikes you full force. “Then it’s settled?”

A curt nod. “Yes, although I do hope you actually know what it is we’ve just agreed to. If you change your mind at any point don’t hesitate to tell me and I’ll get right out.”

“Don’t be silly.” You assure him, reaching for the hem of your loose fitted shirt. “I'd never kick you out like that, Dan Heng. Both of us deserve to go to bed nice and warm, and clean.”

He starts to open his mouth — to say what, you’re not sure, because it catches in his throat when you unceremoniously tug your shirt up over your head in one smooth motion. You lose sight of him for a brief moment through the soft knit cotton and by the time you get it pulled completely off he’s pointedly looking elsewhere. Anywhere but at you.

“Is something wrong?” You quietly venture, a soft note of uncertainty creeping into your voice now.

“No, it’s fine. Just … hurry up and get undressed so we can get this over with.” Decisively turning his back to you, he starts to shrug out of his long jacket. You hesitate, looking from him to the shirt balled up in your hands and then down at your own chest. A mild pang of relief comes over you at finding your plain black sports bra very much where it should have been.

So you hadn’t forgotten to put it on. Good. That could have been rather embarrassing for you.

In the same breath you abruptly realize that you were about to take it off and get naked in the same room with Dan Heng who was already working to get all of his clothes pulled off too. He seemed to understand that well enough. Perhaps even more so than you actually did. So why had he reacted like that when you’d taken off your blouse? Surely it wasn’t all that strange for someone to disrobe in front of another … was it?

Pondering this conundrum, you carefully watch Dan Heng fold and set his garments aside on top of the sink one layer and one deliberate motion at a time. His coat and the bracer worn on his right arm make up the bottom of the pile, followed by the lightweight hip guards worn around his waist along with the belt that secured it all. The second skin of his tight black shirt comes off next, revealing a smooth back that flexes powerfully with the overhead motion he uses to get it peeled away. It doesn’t escape your notice that, through it all, he makes a point of not looking at you. All of his attention remains forward and locked on the task at hand, neither uninhibitedly baring himself at you nor stealing any lingering glances in your direction.

It was almost as if in despite of the shared nudity that was inherent in an arrangement like this, he still wanted to give you your privacy. Or as much of it as one could possibly have when bathing with another person.

Was that what it was then? The root cause of his reaction was … reticence on his part? You hadn’t stopped long enough to consider that or any of the other potential implications that came with it but it seemed Dan Heng very much had. If he was behaving this way then you probably should be too.

With that decided, you turn away from him and mimic his actions of neatly folding your top. You don’t have anywhere else to put it though so you have to make do with setting it on top of the toilet lid. The following silence is surprisingly rife with some unnamed tension, interspersed only by the near constant rustle of clothes being removed. Your boots, socks, skirt and underwear are all soon discarded, and you have to try very hard not to look when you hear him shuffle towards the tub again.

“Ready? I’m going to turn the water back on.”

“Go ahead.”

The spout turns with a soft creak and the faucet roars to life, loudly spewing water into the basin. Same as before, and much to your relief, it only takes a few moments for steam to begin wafting up from the noisy deluge and start creeping into your periphery. He quickly smacks the plunger down to redirect the stream to the shower head and the bathroom is suddenly at least two octaves quieter than it was before. You could hear yourself think again. Thank goodness for that.

Silently, Dan Heng steps in first and you quickly scuttle after him. You weren’t keen on losing out on even a single drop of hot water but your refusal to look up from the floor makes actually getting into the shower a bit of an awkward process. You have to feel around with your foot to figure out how close you are and your big toe hits the side of the porcelain a bit too hard, making you hiss through your teeth. Quickly shaking it off though, you lift your leg and blindly step over the rim.

Only to slip when you come down wrong on the other side, the slick surface ripping you off balance with a gut wrenching lurch. You collapse forward, arms flailing, but Dan Heng is quick to grab hold of you before you can hit the floor. Once all I said done, the only thing you’ve succeeded in doing is smacking your knee into the wall.

“Owww …”

“What in the world do you think you’re doing? You could have seriously hurt yourself or broken your neck.” He snaps at you, his tone still as mild as it ever is but there’s no mistaking the sharp bite of reprimand lurking just below the surface. You feel vaguely like a troublesome toddler he’s been tasked with babysitting as he hauls you further into the safety of the tub before reaching up to pull the screen closed with a sound click of his tongue. “I was wondering what was taking you so long to get in but I didn’t expect you to jump without even looking first.”

“I’m sorry,” You murmur, still trying to keep your eyes averted as you carefully work to get your feet situated under you. “I just — I didn’t want to invade your privacy.”

“My privacy?” He echos you, incredulous. “You should have considered that before you suggested us taking a shower together. It’s a little late for it, don’t you think?”

Cautiously slow, you bring your hands up to brace them across his damp chest and gently push. Dan Heng’s hold on you hesitates and then relaxes, letting you pull free so you can take a step back. That his fingers linger at your forearms as if to steady you, or perhaps catch you should you slip and fall again, does not escape your notice, but you decide not to comment on that just yet. Or maybe ever, depending on how the next few minutes played out.

“Sorry.” It’s all you can think to say now.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. While I do appreciate the consideration, there’s no getting around the fact we’re going to see each other naked in a situation like this. It’s okay to look.”

“But?” You whisper into the steady stream of water coming down at his back.

“No ‘but’s. I’d much rather you look than hurt yourself.” His hands shift, adjusting to loosely grasp your elbows. When he gently tugs you in closer to him, you acquiesce without a fuss. You hadn’t noticed how big they were until now and that makes for an unexpectedly convincing argument to encourage your compliance. “Here, get under the shower head. We should make sure you warm up enough before we run out of hot water.”

You can’t exactly argue with that when the rising steam only seems to further highlight just how chilled your skin actually is so you let him get you spun around, trading spots. The steady, hammering rush of warmth hits you all at once as you’re directed into the spray and a violent shudder instantly races up your spine. Whimpering softly, you curl in on yourself as you bring your arms up to wrap them around your upper body. The resulting nudge against painfully hard nipples almost steals the air from your lungs but if Dan Heng notices the way you subtly jolt at the contact he doesn’t show it.

Evidently oblivious, he reaches up to almost casually palm the top of your head. At first you think he’s merely petting you in an uncharacteristic show of doting affection but you quickly realize he’s helping to work the water into your hair, ensuring it’s thoroughly sodden. Still uncharacteristic, or perhaps unprecedented was the better word, but decidedly nice.

Very nice, actually.

“I didn’t take you for the shy sort.” He eventually murmurs, more to himself than to you. No way were you about to pretend you hadn’t heard him though.

“Funny. I was thinking the exact same thing.”

“Me?” His blunt fingers pause in your hair. You can feel him peering down at you through the steamy gloom that encompasses the cramped tub but you were still hesitant to lift your eyes and look. There was no telling what you might accidentally catch a glimpse of.

You really had no idea, truth be told, but given his earlier reaction it seemed like one’s body wasn’t meant to be ogled or stared at. He’d looked away from you for a reason. It only seemed fair if you gave him the same courtesy.

A terse, silent moment passes.

Evidently realizing he wouldn’t be getting any further explanation, Dan Heng exhales a quiet sigh into the thickened air before directing his hands down to your shoulders. “Turn around. I’ll wash your hair for you.”

Not only did that sound like a rare, once in a blue moon offer you were sure to never hear again, it also seemed way safer than facing him the whole time. You were already having trouble keeping your eyes from wandering from the single strip of his bare arm you’d settled on, having had no other choice when you were standing so close to each other.

So you gratefully pivot, giving him your back. Your shoulders start to relax from their defensive hunch now that the warm water is running down your front and slowly seeping into your skin. It seems to feed into the internal temperature of your core as he shifts behind you, reaching around for something out of sight. The next time his hands come up to touch your hair, it’s with a healthy dollop of shampoo coating his palms and fingers.

A soft sigh of contentment slips out of you as he starts to work it into a nice lather over your scalp, keeping your neck tipped back so he could still work without having to deny yourself the comfort of the shower head. He’s as diligent with this as he is everything else, yet so incredibly gentle about it that you almost start to doze right there on your feet. It felt beyond good. It was amazing.

“Gotta’ say I didn’t expect this Trailblaze mission to turn out like this.” He says at length, just when you’re starting to really drift off to la-la land.

Blinking yourself awake, you fix your attention on the ceiling. “Neither did I.”

“And to think, it’s only just started. You’ll have to forgive me if being I’m too rough by the way. I don’t often groom anyone else’s hair besides my own.”

“No, it’s perfect.”

He huffs a quiet laugh but refrains from saying anything further until another minute or two has gone by, and a nice, thick lather has accumulated over the circumference of your skull. “There, that should do it. Turn around again but keep your head tipped back so you don’t get suds in your eyes.”

Obediently, you move to spin around but you seem to have forgotten something rather important in your drowsy state. Namely your close proximity to one another, how very near you were standing to him. But it’s too late by the time you realize your mistake though, and your tits wetly swipe across the lower half of his chest with a sharp burst of fleshy friction. Both of you draw a quick inhale in near perfect unison at the contact and your eyes pop open where they’d started to slide shut again, suddenly wide awake.

For the first time since you’d stepped foot inside the shower, you find yourself looking directly up at Dan Heng. His startled expression must surely mirror yours because for a long time the two of you just stare at one another in mute silence. You aren’t sure what to make of this. Not the situation itself or the twisting knot low in your gut.

You think you should probably take a step back and put some much needed space between the two of you but you don’t get the chance. Unable (or perhaps unwilling?) to find the presence of mind to make your legs move before he reaches up to touch your hair again, you soon find yourself trapped between his arms. He’s got you caged in like this while he dutifully scrubs the shampoo away, evidently too committed to the task at hand to stand down even when a distant note of unmistakable fluster has settled across his normally stoic expression.

And as if Pandora’s Box had been effectively ripped open, like you couldn’t stop yourself now that you’d already looked once, your eyes start to wander. You take in his usually fluffy hair, now waterlogged and heavy across his brow, and the concentrated set of his mouth. Glancing lower, you can make out how well defined his chest and arms are, much more packed with muscle than one would expect from someone who, according to March, spent so much of his time in the databank room aboard the Express. You’d already seen him in action a handful of times though so it doesn’t exactly come as a surprise. He was strong and his firm physique showed that. And even lower than that …

Your eyes widen at the sight of your breasts squished up against him. No wonder you’d felt that brush of skin on skin in such stunning high definition, even for as brief as it had been. What strikes you more than anything though is how soft and pliable your flesh looks shoved up against his. Where Dan Heng was hard with muscle and unrelenting, your chest was soft and invitingly malleable. A distant part of you innately understood that this was the physical difference between man and woman, the biological indicators of sex. It sparks something in the back of your mind and you fumble to grab hold of it, to comprehend what it means.

Your frantic internal grasping is interrupted when Dan Heng roughly clears his throat, prompting you to snap your attention up with a little jolt.

“Just what are you looking at?”

“N - nothing.” You stammer, suddenly embarrassed. You’re not entirely sure why you should feel hot with shame and something else you can’t quite put your finger on but there’s no denying it’s there. You couldn’t tell if you were about to wilt and wither, or bonelessly melt into him.

“I think I may have to take back what I said earlier.” He grumbles. “It might be preferable if you don’t look.”

“Wha - -“

You feel it then. A soft nudge against your lower belly that sends your heartbeat lurching into overdrive and your legs instantly turn limp like overcooked noodles. It’s an entirely instinctive reaction, one you don’t understand anymore than all of the other confusing happenings that have taken place in this hotel bathroom, but when you try to pull away to get a look at what’s tickling your bellybutton, he just clutches at you tighter to keep you in place.

“Please,” His voice is barely more than a hoarse whisper as he bends his head close, wincing even while he presses his damp forehead against yours. “Don’t move. Just … stay there until it goes away.”

His expression is wretched. Dark brows knitted to create a deep wrinkle between them, his eyes so pinched you could barely see the dull blue of his irises through thick lashes. It almost scares you. Almost makes you second guess the wisdom in sharing a shower with someone else. No, that wasn’t quite right.

It was a man you were bathing with and you were … a woman. That was what made this dangerous and ill advised. That was why he’d reacted the way he had at the start of all this. Oh, how terribly you had miscalculated the full scope of the situation.

It’s a struggle to swallow down your jittery nerves and find your voice but you finally manage, somehow. “Does it hurt, Dan Heng?”

“No.” He hisses, contradicting himself and what your eyes were clearly telling you. “This isn’t your fault or your problem. I should have been more cautious, that’s all. It’ll go away in time.”

You don’t think you very much like the sound of that. “But why? Why does it have to just go away if it’s making you uncomfortable? I can help you.”

Dan Heng sucks in such a sharp breath you can feel it rattling around inside his chest where you’re pressed right up against him. “Don’t say that.” He croaks. “You don’t know what it is you’re saying.”

“I can learn. You could teach me.”

“Dammit …!”

He stiffly shifts his weight then, redistributing his balance to the full center of his body. You got the distinct feeling he was trying to angle his pelvis away from you, to pull it out of reach where he could flag and soften without the close proximity of your body heat there to entice him. You rock with the motion though, follow the movement. Stay pressed against him and reach down with one hand to blindly feel for what was causing him such obvious distress.

Your wrist bumps against the stiff flesh jutting out from his body, making him groan very low in his throat. It’s easy to find now that you have a general idea and you carefully wrap your fingers around the width of him, surprised yet delighted to find the skin silky soft and smooth. He twitches in your hold and swells, getting harder. Rapidly filling the rest of the way out while Dan Heng holds himself so tightly that you think he might just shatter and break right before your very eyes. You can’t help it though. Not only was curiosity a very compelling factor here but you also cared about him a great deal. The thought of watching your friend and fellow crewmate suffer in silence right in front of you wrenches at your very heart and makes it hard to think rationally.

And it must be the same for Dan Heng too, because his fingers stay frozen in place as you feel along him. They remain buried in your hair, fervently clutching at your skull, as if you could be the lifeline that would save him but he continues to hold himself back for some reason. It’s hard to say if he’s scared of letting you go for fear of what he himself would do or because he feared what you might do to him with that freedom. He doesn’t try to stop you or pull away though. Just quietly seethes into the scant space separating you as you locate the bulbous head and give it a brief squeeze. That makes a tense shudder work through him, starting in the general vicinity of his hips before racing up to the rest of him. Distantly, you realize that he wants to roll his pelvis forward into the touch, to seek out more and bask in it, but he won’t.

“Why do you fight it, Dan Heng?”

He manages to choke out a mirthless laugh, though not without a good deal of effort. “We only just met not that long ago, for starters. It seems rude to act on such impulses given our brief rapport with one another.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Maybe I do.”

You don’t think you believe that. If he really meant it he would have put an end to it by now, or at least made a greater effort to do so. But he just stands there, softly panting while you follow the length of him down to the base where a thick patch of curls brushes against your knuckles. The weight of him in your hand is surprisingly satisfying and you just can’t seem to stop yourself from exploring him.

Twisting your hand downward, you find even more satiny soft skin waiting just below and you eagerly curl your fingers around that too. It’s incredibly pliant but he sucks in a sharp, gasping breath in response to being handled and your pulse erratically jumps with a start.

“Gentle. Those are — sensitive.”

“I’m sorry.” You murmur softly. “I could be a lot more careful if I could actually see what I was doing though.”

A low rumble starts up in his chest, so faint you almost miss it under the constant spray from the shower head. Your whole body flushes, warming to the point of real discomfort but he doesn’t give you enough time to fully process any of it. Not the unexpected noise or the curling tendril of wanting low in your stomach. Not even the fact that you were currently holding the full weight of his manhood in the palm of your hand.

To your genuine surprise, he starts to pull back. Extricates himself from you with exceedingly stiff motions that leave you fumbling for something to say. Another apology or perhaps a plea. You don’t know which and you never find out, because he grabs you by the shoulders and spins you around. You have no choice but to comply as he guides you forward, pushing you almost right up against the interior wall of the shower and totally disregarding your mouse squeak protests while he does it.

“Stop hogging all the water.”

You open your mouth to snap back in response but all that comes out is a tiny little squawk of surprise when he pulls you back against him, moulding your wet back to the firm planes of his front. His hands drop to your waist then, taking bruising hold of your hips to press your lower body equally flush with his. There’s no mistaking the press of him now, the way it digs up into your lower back and slides into place along the middle seam of your backside like it naturally belonged there. It's as if you’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe when he stiffly rolls his pelvis and grinds into you, somehow hesitant yet eager at the same time, before forcing himself to go still again.

“Sorry,” He says right into your ear, low and hushed, as the warm spray washes over both of you now. “I thought I could control myself better than this …”

“It’s okay.”

“It's not. You only just joined the Astral Express, not to mention you — the way we found you … it feels like I’m taking advantage of the situation but that was never my intention. I swear it.”

You understood what he meant even if he was reluctant to say it in quite so many words. There was a Stellaron inside of you but beyond that your identity was a complete unknown to everyone around you. Even you couldn’t say for sure who you were or who you’d once been, if you’d ever been anyone at all. That didn’t mean you were without your faculties though. You could still make decisions for yourself and take control of your own life. If that weren’t true then Himeko never would have given you the choice to join everyone on board the Express. This you knew to be true.

So you pointedly push back on him, meeting his next stiltedly reluctant thrust. Dan Heng’s fingers bite into the meat of your hips in return, clutching at you so desperately you half expect to find bruises blooming in the same spots later on. That doesn’t really matter right now though. What’s most important is not only helping him, alleviating the discomfort that so obviously pains him, but also proving your own autonomy. To him as much as to yourself.

“It’s okay, Dan Heng. You don’t have to hold back.”

Groaning softly in what you think must be relief, he huddles close and curls in tight against you. Nuzzles at your temple in a coaxing manner that makes you tip your head back towards him. Water runs down your face in heavy rivulets, matting your eyelashes together, but you pay it little mind. You’re much more interested in the way Dan Heng angles his mouth down and slots it against yours in a kiss that is equal parts tentative and demanding. The heightened state of his emotions is blatant in the hard press of his lips, the hungry pull that makes you want to submit and give him everything he could ever need or want. There’s a distant note of domination lurking under the surface of that heated exchange though, like he was innately drawn to claiming what he wanted for himself, but his level headed manners were still keeping him in check. That wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t do at all.

You quickly make your choice and bring your hands up to take firm hold of his blocky wrists, making sure he doesn’t try to escape. Not that you actually thought he would when both of you were already in this deep, haltingly moving in tandem against one another, but you didn’t want his polite niceties to get the better of him. He either doesn’t suspect a thing or he simply doesn’t care though, because he just keeps kissing you even when you go up on your tiptoes to make his cock drag down your ass. The height difference makes it a bit awkward, a bit unrefined, but you manage to successfully raise up enough to leave him nudging at the space between your legs.

And when you come down again, trapping him in the soft squeeze of your thighs, he gasps like you’d just electrocuted him. The sound rattles inside his chest where it’s pressed into your back but, still, he doesn’t fight it. He doesn’t tell you to stop. Rather, he drags his palms lower to grab two big handfuls of your upper legs and press them more tightly together around him. You nearly lose balance and tip over in this unnatural stance but a quick hand slapped against the damp wall steadies you.

“Careful. If you continue to push this much further …”

The warning in his voice is clear as day but you don’t really care. Not when you could feel the faint pulse of him between your thighs and he was lined up so perfectly with the seam of your cunt that you could feel your own internal pressure ratcheting up another notch. This wasn’t exactly familiar territory, this pulse pounding excitement that makes you dizzy with a need you don’t fully understand, but the instinctive urge to nudge your hips back and forth feels much too natural for you to truly question it. So you just do it.

And oh, how you’re rewarded by the simple slide of him along your slit. Hot, blinding sparks flash behind your eyes and you almost swoon right there in his arms, but you know you have to keep moving. Need to chase that pinprick ember of satisfaction just as much as he does, and Dan Heng only reinforces that when he pulls you back to meet the next enthusiastic thrust of his hips.

A gasp catches in your throat at the wet, meaty smack and lodges there as you tip your face down to look at yourself. Some of your hair slips forward with the motion, wet and clinging, but you hardly even notice it with so much of your attention focused on your own body. Your nudity hadn’t felt so stark before, when you were simply focused on bathing and occupying space with him wherein the two of you just so happened to be naked together. It’s so different now looking at it through the hazy lens of intimacy though, the sight of your tits bare and wet stoking the flames within you to even greater heights. Beyond that, over the soft curve of your stomach and lower still, you can just make out the thatch of hair covering the cradle of your pelvis. And beneath that his cock head nudges out from between your legs, blooming for but a brief moment before retreating back into the tight squeeze.

It was enough to nearly make your knees buckle and give out.

“Oohhn,” You hiss into the constant spray, swaying in his hold. “Dan Heng … that feels - -“

“Incredible.”

You let out a soft moan in agreement, rocking in time with his steady thrusts. The height difference was a good thing, actually. It ensured he stayed pressed up tight against you, constantly knocking your cunt with a fleshy jostle whether he was pulling out or pushing in. It was a continuous cycle of pleasurable shockwaves that quickly leaves you panting just as heavily as he is, and you eagerly writhe against him when the pressure just continues to build and build. You felt like you were going to implode in the most literal sense. What exactly had he done to you?

Had he even done anything at all, or was this just a natural result of your own needs mingling with his and feeding into one another? You couldn’t be sure. It was impossible to think straight when your cotton stuffed head was starting to spin alarmingly fast, but you decide that it doesn’t really matter either way. The drag of him against your cunt was enough. His possessive grip on your body was enough. There would be time to figure everything out later, after you’d properly taken care of each other, and you let yourself rock back into him with an accompanying groan that subtly rises in pitch at the tail end, basking in the litany of sensations.

“Can I —“ He suddenly blurts, choking on it. His fingers sink into your flesh so hard it starts to hurt and you let out a faint whimper while he struggles to reorient himself. “Can I … touch you?”

“Nnghn, ah - aren’t you already touching me?”

“More. I’d like to touch more of you, if you’ll permit it.”

You screw your eyes shut, trying to focus on your breathing. He certainly wasn’t making it easy. “Ooh … please, please touch me, Dan Heng. I feel … I feel like I’m - -“

His hands immediately fly up off your hips and greedily latch onto your breasts instead, lifting the weight of them in his palms. You suck in such a haggard breath you feel like you just might pass out on the spot as you arch against him, throwing your head back into his shoulder. Water from the shower head mercilessly pelts against your face now but you can’t be bothered to lobby any complaints about it when he’s cupping your tits as if they were meant to fit right there in his hold. It’s perfect and sublime, and it just ratchets your own excitement up another notch, making you impotently shudder.

This pulse pounding feeling of cresting pleasure may have been foreign to you, but you could already see yourself becoming irreversibly addicted to it. Perhaps this was even more dangerous than you’d first realized.

“Oh! If you do that …”

“Does it hurt?”

“I — I don’t know.”

He noises a faint sound of confusion at your quiet whimper, his hands loosening around your chest. You’re acutely aware of the odd little look he gives you through the swirling steam but can’t quite bring yourself to turn your face away. Whatever this was, whatever it meant in the long run, you wanted more of it. Needed more of him.

“Don’t stop. Please.”

A small frown graces his lips. “But you just said - -“

“I know. But I don’t want you to stop.” Carefully, you lift your hand — the one not currently braced against the wall — and cover one set of Dan Heng’s knuckles with your fingers. They seem dainty resting against his like this. “It feels kind of funny but I don’t think it’s bad. I don’t really understand what it means but … I want you to keep doing it. Please?”

Groaning like you’d just sucker punched him right in the gut, Dan Heng leans further into you until his weight presses you down into a half stooped position. His skin sticks to your back and clings but this too feels good. His body heat bleeds into you, warming you up far more than the shower ever could have, and you eagerly squeeze the muscles in your legs to keep them locked in place. This time when he kneads your breasts it’s much more tentative and slow. He takes his time with it, just savoring the fleshy give, and you keen very softly when he at last nudges one index finger up to brush it over your nipple.

You can feel yourself sinking deeper into that hazy fog as he starts to move again. The restrained power behind his thrusts sends fresh bursts of static energy coursing through your system, further highlighting the sensitivity of your aching teats as you rock with him, luxuriating in the fleshy drag of his stiff length against your cunt.

Pap. Pap. Pap.

He keeps the rhythm slow and even, but so vigorous that it pushes you forward and makes your tits bounce in his hold. You experience everything in stunning high definition from the slick dampness that oozes out of you to smooth the glide of him between your legs right down to the simple sensation of water running across your skin. It’s overwhelming and somehow still not enough. You couldn’t even think straight let alone formulate a semi coherent sentence, your tongue lolling heavily inside your mouth as you shudderingly rear back into him just to feel that delicious friction again. And he takes it in stride, never faltering no matter how wild you get or how hard you shake as the tumultuous waves crest a little bit higher each time. The firm, unyielding planes of his pelvis meeting with your backside, harder, faster. The distant tickle of coarse pubic hair digging into the vulnerably soft flesh of your ass. Even the low, guttural sounds he makes against the side of your face. You were so close to drowning in all of it.

His thick, callous worn fingers curling up to finally pinch at your nipples is what really sends you over the edge though. The sudden jolt of pleasure so intense it rides the line of being painful almost makes you collapse right then and there, and you throw yourself back into him with mindless desperation. Your hips seem to move on their own even as you cry out for him, judderingly grinding yourself down on that rock hard length pressed up into you.

“Ooh, Dan Heng!”

“Please don’t say my name like that.” He quietly wheezes under his breath, still pinching at your breasts. Still pulling and tweaking, using his thumb to brush over them and flick the tightly coiled peaks back and forth. Your body was a livewire just waiting to detonate, and it doesn’t seem to escape his notice. It’s apparent in the way he’s so insistent with his ministrations, encouraging you to keep moving your cunt back and forth, back and forth against him with nothing more than the attention he gives your tits. He takes his time rolling them between the two pads to reward you for your efforts and he gives them a slow, encouraging tug any time your pace falters and you start to slow down.

It’s a vicious cycle that perfectly feeds into itself a hundred times over and keeps you balanced right on the precipice of some great, harrowing free fall. The world could have come to a sudden, fiery end at that very moment and you never would have noticed. All of your attention, your entire being, was for Dan Heng and only Dan Heng in that moment. His hands, his lips brushing your neck and your cheek when he nuzzles into you. The constant motion of his thighs flexing behind you, driving himself unendingly into the hot, damp spot between your legs. His taller, wider frame trembling against yours with all the pent up tension running through it that so perfectly mirrors your own.

You’d never felt anything like it before, and a very small voice in the back of your mind wonders if you’ll ever feel it again. Was this a once in a lifetime experience? A fleeting mercurial high that would disappear in a flash bang of white noise the second you tipped over into the awaiting abyss below?

If that was the case, if you were destined to bask in this dwindling euphoria once and only once in your lifetime, then you were determined to milk every last drop of enjoyment out of it while you could.

So you drop your hands and reach back, grabbing two biting fistfuls of Dan Heng’s narrow hips. Use the leverage to draw him in against you at a quicker pace, forcing him to snap his pelvis into your backside with greater ferocity. He issues a wounded, faltering grunt into the air but he doesn’t fight it. He hasn’t truly fought anything you’ve offered up to him on a silver platter, not once telling you ‘no’ since you first stepped foot into this bathroom together, and that knowledge sparks a simmering ember deep within your gut. It’s the taste of victory. Of conquest and self assured confidence that can only be achieved through the meeting of two compatible bodies.

You’re sure of it. Innately, or perhaps intrinsically, you just know that’s what it is.

“Oh, gods,” He rattles out, gritting through tightly clenched teeth while he fucks himself between your thighs, pistoning in and out of the tight squeeze like a jackhammer. “I’m so close — so close, I - I can’t hold it back anymore.”

You would’ve voiced your agreement if only you’d had the ability to do so. The breakneck speed at which he ruts into you effectively steals the air from your lungs though and it’s all you can do just to hold on, clutching at his powerfully flexing hips to ground yourself rather than to encourage him. He didn’t need more encouragement anyway. That one little nudge from you was more than enough and now he couldn’t quite seem to remember to be polite and gentle with you.

The wet smack of his pelvis slamming into your ass is now loud, almost defeaning, and it comes in rapid fire succession to damn near down out even the constant spray of the shower head. It just amplifies the already searing friction against your cunt until it seems to blur into a single, persistent tingle that just grows and grows to the point of delirium. He can’t help himself and neither can you. Not anymore.

“Dan Heng - -“

A truly bestial snarl snakes out of him. His fingers falter, slipping and sliding against your wet teats before adjusting to latch onto the bouncing meat of your breasts instead. What little bit of control he’d still been clinging to dissipates like dust in the wind, and he clings to you so hard it brings tears to your eyes. The demanding press of his fingers sinking into your flesh sends you over the edge with a sudden, lurching jolt as your pussy clenches up and squeezes uncontrollably against his length. Even when you wail out in high strung relief, trembling violently in the throes of your release, he just keeps humping into you like he’d die if he doesn’t chase his own pleasure quickly enough. That continuous drag over your slit just draws out your own involuntary spasms and you can’t help but cry out in oversensitized bliss even as you somewhat awkwardly twist in his arms to look down at yourself.

Numbly, you watch his flushed glans appear between the fleshy press of your legs, quickly disappear and then immediately reappear again just a split second later. He’s pounding into you so fast and so hard that the resulting shockwaves make your thighs jiggle slightly under the force. It’s incredibly fascinating to witness though and you stare at it in a trancelike stupor, barely even registering the pitchy moan he lets out right against your temple.

The next time his cock appears it’s with an eruption of creamy white discharge that shoots out to splatter across the floor and the wall, some of it smearing over the skin where the two of you are connected. Hissing like his soul is actively trying to leave his body, Dan Heng haltingly slows to a stiff roll of his hips that makes his length nudge back and forth just enough to drain the rest of his explosive release. Another healthy spurt rushes out of him and then a savory dribble quickly follows, thickly oozing from the tip to drip onto the floor between your feet. It’s over, just like that, and you blink rather owlishly down at the evidence of your illicit encounter as he heaves a deeply satisfied sigh of pleasure.

It’s a little hard to wrap your mind around what had just transpired, especially when you were still floating in the afterglow and well satiated, but you snap back into the moment when he carefully starts to straighten up. You hadn’t even realized he’d dropped into a partial crouch to better accommodate the height difference, and you turn in his hold to look back at him.

“Dan Heng … are you - -“

“We need to get out.” He cuts across you, back to being the same mild and polite Dan Heng you were used to, but at the questioning lift of your brows he sheepishly glances away. “The water is beginning to turn cold so we need to get out before you start shivering again. Otherwise that would completely defeat the purpose of doing this in the first place.”

Oh. You hadn’t even noticed, truth be told, but you shift to the side when he reaches around you to smack the faucet off. The room goes suddenly quiet, save the dull drip of water droplets running from the spout and two sets of deep breaths coming from you and him. You’d been so caught up in the moment that you hadn’t noticed that either but your heart was indeed pounding a wild rhythm against your chest, and you reach up to idly touch over your pulse. Wild and erratic, just like you’d felt leading up to that mind numbing crescendo.

What the hell had all that been?

“Let me get you a towel.” You hear him say, and you bring your head up in time to watch him flick the screen open with a sluggish motion.

“What about you? You didn’t even get to wash your hair.”

Dan Heng looses a soft bark of laughter as he steps out onto the waiting mat, giving you your first real look at his nude body. He’s all lean and svelte with a perfectly tapered waist and broad shoulders, and — he abruptly turns to face you without warning. You’re suddenly looking right at him. The cut lines of his pelvis and the perfect little bellybutton stamped right in the center of it; the damp mess of dark, dark hair crowning his softened cock and the unmistakable weight of it …

Blood rushes to your face so fast you feel vaguely faint even as you smack a hand up to your mouth and quickly look away in embarrassment. You’d never seen one before. Or at least, you’re pretty sure you haven’t. That doesn’t exactly stop your body from reacting to it though and your knees turn instantly wobbly again to accompany the instinctive urge to touch him, taste him. To feel him moving inside of you with the same keen ferocity he’d shown your thighs. Gods, you were like some kind of pervert!

“After all that you’re finally getting shy?” He laughs, bemused, but you can’t quite bring yourself to lift your gaze again. The risk of jumping his bones seemed far too great for you to take that chance right now. But luckily for you, Dan Heng is much too conscientious to hold it over your head and you soon catch the sound of him shuffling for a towel just another moment later. “I’ll cover up if that will make you feel better but don’t think you’re going to get out of this without having a talk with me first. I meant it when I said I had no intention of taking advantage of you. This isn’t something we can just pretend never happened, you know.”

Cautiously slow, you peek over at him from the corner of your eye just in time to get one last good look at his tight backside before a towel slides into place around his waist. You may not have been able to see it anymore but that certainly wasn’t going to stop you from thinking about it well into the foreseeable future. Curse him and his gorgeous body. “Are you … upset that we did that?”

“Not at all. I only want to check in with you and find out what you want.”

Now that manages to throw you for a loop. “What do you mean? I wasn’t expecting anything in return.”

Sighing softly, Dan Heng pivots back around to face you again. “That’s precisely why. You obviously have no expectations in place and some men would probably try to take advantage of that to use you for sex. I’m not like that though. If you want to do this the right way then I would likewise be amenable to that possibility. If you want to keep things casual that’s fine too. And if you never want to see my face again … well, I couldn’t exactly blame you for that I suppose.”

Confusion marches rampant through your mind until the lightbulb abruptly clicks on. He was talking about taking responsibility for his actions. Of giving you the proper respect and courtesy of having a choice. Dan Heng clearly had no desire to withhold an actual relationship from you if that was what you wanted but he also wasn’t going to force it on you either. How interesting. How very — chivalrous of him.

Your heart gives a tiny little thump against your ribcage, and you smile over at him. Eager and pleased by this revelation, but a bit nervous too. Whoever would’ve thought something as benign as sharing a shower together out of necessity would end with talks of a potential future together.

“Is everyone on the Express as old fashioned as you are?”

He smiles back, gracing you with a small but no less frustratingly charming grin. “In this aspect, I’m afraid it’s just me. Think you're up for it?”

“Yeah, I think I might be.”

⭐

Crossposted: here

#star rail #dan heng #dan heng x reader #self insert bullshit

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extralively · 5 months

Text

School Stories: In the Closet

Gojo Satoru/Original Female Character Pre-Relationship, Bickering, Teenage Shenanigans, Baby Panda Plays Matchmaker 1,806 words Also posted on AO3 Summary: Yura was just trying to get her chores done at the end of the school day, too bad that a young Panda suddenly decided to take matters into his own hands regarding a certain matter involving her and Gojo...

Hey everyone! I bring you another work in the Satoru/Yura series, and this time I actually plan to make School Stories a series of its own with quick oneshots set during their school days! There'll probably be no plot-related stuff here, mostly just slice of life and early SatoYura shenanigans, because that's fun to revisit every now and then, hehe.

If you just got here and haven't read any of the previous installments of this series, and all you want is some Gojo/OC slice of life shenanigans, then you should be able to read this as standalone! All you need to know is that Yura and Gojo are in the same year, and he was a massive asshole to her at beginning lol. They've since come to a sort of understanding and become friends, but they still bicker a lot.

“Who put the mop behind everything?” Gojo asked, and Yura only crossed her arms with an impatient sigh.

“Hurry up,” she called, watching the white-haired teenager rummage through the supply closet. It was the end of the school day, and they were supposed to clean up their classroom—Yura and Gojo were on mopping the floor and wiping surfaces duties, while Shoko and Geto were left to take out the trash and tidy everything up. However, Yura couldn’t even get started on her own chores until they were able to fetch all the supplies from this closet, which Gojo was taking forever to do.

“I’m trying,” he called, immediately tossing an empty bucket out of the supply storage, and Yura scowled at him making a mess. “But someone decided to bury all the supplies behind a bunch of junk.”

Yura tapped her foot in irritation, unable to help and hurry things up as the closet was way too cramped for two people.

As Yura was about to shoot another retort, a flash of black and white passed by her peripheral vision, and she turned her head to look. It was Panda, peering at them from behind the corner.

“Panda,” Yura greeted him. “Didn’t know you were stopping by today.”

The small, not-quite-a-panda creature would occasionally visit the school with Yaga, and Yura had long since become acquainted with him. She still wasn’t sure of all the details regarding Panda’s existence—something of a mutated cursed corpse created by Yaga that could function on his own, and that had apparently gotten Yaga into a lot of trouble back in the day—but Yura ended up deciding not to worry too much about it and simply view the small panda as Yaga’s sort-of son. He was pretty cute, as Shoko would repeatedly say as she’d try to squish the small-sized not-a-panda in a hug, and surprisingly smart for what was technically a five year old child.

So it was a little weird when Panda didn’t answer her, only stared. He could talk—and sometimes he would talk a lot—but for some reason he only stared at them with his eyebrows-area furrowed in concentration.

“Panda?” Yura called again, as Gojo still fumbled with all the stuff inside the supply closet.

Without a word, Panda suddenly marched up to them, halting his steps right next to her. And he stared.

“Wakatsuki,” Gojo suddenly called from inside the closet. “Don’t just stand there.”

“We can’t both fit in there,” she replied, tearing her eyes away from the small, furry creature to shoot another scowl in Gojo’s direction. “...Mr. Special Grade that can’t even get a mop out of the closet.”

She heard Gojo huff, disgruntled. She bit back a grin.

“Here,” he suddenly called out, briefly pulling back to hand her a mop. “Here’s that damn mop, now I just need to get the other stuff.”

Yura stepped closer to grab the offered item, and that was when the closet door suddenly swung closed, pushing her into the small, cramped space.

A garbled cry of surprise escaped her mouth as she stumbled forward, her hands scrambling to grasp at anything in front of her. Anything turned out to be a warm, not-that-soft body, her own body immediately colliding against Gojo’s as she fell into him.

“Wakatsuki, what the hell—” he let out, and she felt an arm wrap around her waist to keep her from falling further and, especially, face-first into the closet’s wall. However, something was pulled from the higher shelves with the movement, a pile of (thankfully) not too heavy stuff immediately falling onto them and pushing them closer together.

And in the middle of it all, there was the distinct click of the lock behind them, and what she could only describe as giggling fading away into the distance.

“Panda!” she called, the only possible culprit for quite literally pushing them into this situation. But it was too late, and there was only silence outside. “Shit...”

Yura’s hands tried to find purchase somewhere, anywhere, but the only solid surface she could find was Gojo himself.

And he was too close.

Yura let out a series of expletives as her feet couldn’t find solid ground, too much junk scattered around their legs for her to actually find somewhere to step. “Stop—Stop that,” Gojo said as she kept struggling.

“You stop—” Her fingers tightened on Gojo’s uniform as her efforts only made her slip further, her weight dropping against him. His arm around her was the only thing keeping her from fully falling on top of the scattered junk.

He grunted. “Quit moving—” he said, and she felt his arm suddenly tighten around her. That did make her more secure in place... but that also brought her even closer.

Closer—way too close.

Yura froze.

For a long moment, all she could hear was her breathing in the small, dark space. Well, her breathing, and his. And not just hear, but feel—her chest was pressed against Gojo’s, so she could feel every time it heaved up and down along with hers. And it was like her mind slowly took stock of every single spot their bodies touched—which was almost everywhere. One of his legs was pushed up between hers, hitching higher every time she scrambled for purchase, his arm firm around her waist and keeping her there.

“...Uh...” Gojo let out. His breath puffed over her face.

Was it getting hotter in here, or...?

“...Door,” she suddenly called. It was dark, but she thought she could see his brows furrowing. “Get the door,” she explained.

Gojo was quiet for a moment, and then he suddenly moved. Yura briefly realized his weight had been leaning against the wall as his upper body surged forward, taking her with him—but she supposed this was nothing for him with his ridiculous strength. She was able to find a little bit of purchase on the ground as he straightened them both up, but not enough, and as his arm unwrapped itself from around her to reach for the door, she was forced to hold on to him tighter.

“...It’s locked,” he said, the sound of a jiggling doorknob filling the closet.

She grunted. “Fucking—"

Gojo let out a huff. “Did Panda really lock us in here?”

Yura also let out a huff. “Yep.”

“I’m gonna tell Yaga that his little experiment is turning into quite the little shit,” he grumbled.

And Yura couldn’t help herself. “...Well, you’re one to talk,” she half mumbled.

Gojo huffed again, turning to look down at her face... and then immediately looking away as they were still too close.

Yura let out a breath as she too looked off to the side. “Now what?” she asked. She was pretty sure she had left her phone back in the classroom with her things, but maybe Gojo still had his so they could call someone to get them out of there. If not... “Do we scream for help or something?”

“I mean, I can teleport.”

Ah. Right.

But then she narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you dare teleport away and leave me here all alone.”

She heard him bark out a laugh. “Scared of the dark, Wakatsuki?”

Yura turned her head to him with a scowl, about to retort—and then her nose bumped his chin and she quickly turned away again. “Just get us out of here.”

Yura almost felt relieved at the feeling of Gojo’s teleporting encasing them, the cramped-up space giving way to some actual room to move around. Darkness turned into light, and Yura’s feet finally found their footing, but then she looked to the side and immediately locked eyes with Shoko’s questioning gaze.

...Hold on.

Yura was frozen for a moment, her brain still trying to make sense of the sudden change of scenery. Gojo had teleported them both out of the closet—straight into the classroom they had been using. The one where Shoko and Geto were.

“...Satoru,” she heard Geto’s voice suddenly drawl out, and her eyes shifted to look at him. His lips were tilted up in a sly smile aimed straight at her and Gojo. “You guys been having fun?”

Yura blinked. And her brain suddenly processed the fact that they hadn’t actually moved after teleporting so Gojo still had his arms around her... with their bodies still pressed together.

Something snapped inside of her.

“G-Get off!” she suddenly exclaimed, pushing Gojo away as hard as she could. It seemed to have sent him stumbling backwards, but Yura was too busy to congratulate herself for catching him off guard when her cheeks felt like they were bursting into flames.

“Ow, Wakatsuki, what the hell...” Gojo grumbled.

Yura eventually raised her gaze, meeting Shoko’s eyes again. Unfortunately, Yura did not like the look she found on the other girl’s face.

“You two were supposed to be fetching the supplies,” Shoko said, amusement hiding behind her impassive tone. “Not cozying up together.”

Yura’s cheeks were still burning, and she refused to look in Gojo’s direction. “That’s not—!”

“No!” a different voice suddenly yelled from the doorway. It was the culprit himself—Panda—standing there in shock.“You weren’t supposed to be out so soon!” He paused. “Go back!”

Gojo snapped his head towards the doorway, his eyes shooting glares at the mutated cursed corpse even from behind his glasses. “You pulling pranks now, you little furball?” he gritted out. He took one step towards the young not-panda, who seemed to have sensed what was to come and immediately bolted. “I’ll get ya and teach you a lesson, come back here!”

As Gojo ran off chasing after Panda, the other three students were left alone in the classroom, and Yura tried to get her flushed cheeks back in control. And in the meantime, she refused to make eye contact with neither Shoko nor Geto... who had turned his gaze to her, amused.

“So...” Shoko eventually started. “What just happened?”

Honestly, Yura had no idea.

Bonus:

“You locked them in a closet?” Yaga asked, his face incredulous as he stared at his small creation.

Panda only nodded, eyes big and wide and with seemingly no regrets.

Yaga let out a sigh. “...Why?”

Panda didn’t miss a beat. “They need to kiss.”

Yaga raised an eyebrow high up. “They need to what?” he asked.

“Kiss,” Panda replied. “They gotta kiss.”

Now, where the hell had Panda gotten this idea from, Yaga had no idea.

He sighed, rubbing his face with a hand.

“Masamichi,” Panda called, and Yaga peered down through his fingers. There was more? “You need to try it sometime.”

“Try it? Try what?”

Panda nodded. “Locking them in a closet,” he stated. His small face became thoughtful. “Just have to make sure Satoru can’t teleport...”

End notes: My personal headcanon is that Panda is an unusually perceptive person, and hey, it's actual canon that he likes to play matchmaker!! So let's say he started early, echoing the thoughts of a lot of commenters in this series saying they wish they could lock Yura and Satoru in a closet to sort things out lmao. Too bad Satoru can teleport...

(Basically I wrote a mention of Panda locking them in a closet in one of the main story's chapters and I felt like I had to actually write out the incident lol)

Anyway, thank you for reading, and let me go back to writing the main story now ᕕ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )ᕗ

#gojo satoru #jjk fic #gojo x oc #gojo fluff #gojo satoru fic #my fics #satoyura #here's some fluff to tide you guys over until the next chapter of the main fic!

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worldoftom · 2 years

Text

Balcony High Club [18+]

words » 10.7k

verse » Fantasy & Putts [18+]

pairing » roommate fwb actor Tom x fem reader

warnings » all smut, explicit warnings under the cut

disclaimer » this story is 18+ ; unsuitable for minors

b’s note » can be read as a standalone as long as you fully understand that fv!Tom has been begging for this since day one :D

fantasyverse masterpost | main masterlist

explicit warnings » sex on a balcony with a couple of mentions to the neighbors watching, but we don’t know for sure if they are, teasing, dry humping, dick licking, kitten kink (ish), the return of the Third Belt™, unprotected piv intercourse (don’t try that at home!), Tom gets a little rough but nothing extreme, there’s a slut or two, creampie + cum play (hi it me :D), and I think that's it!

~ ⛳️ ~

Today is a big day.

You are officially moving out of the flat that has been your home for almost a couple of years.

By now, there are only a few things left to move to the new house. There’s a last moving truck that one of the twins will be picking up after lunch to sort it out. After that, it will be time to settle into a whole new place.

You’re excited about this move. The people will be pretty much the same, except more, and thankfully Tom communicated a clever decision regarding your and his accommodation that has left everybody thrilled about it too. He decided to save the full bed and bath suite on the upper floor of the house for yourselves.

Tom also told you the initial idea had been that you would move into that part of the house. It’s separated from the other rooms, where the boys would stay, Tom included. An idea that you had refused to listen to because you were angry at everything and nothing. A million apologies would never soothe the ache in your chest whenever you think about what you should have listened to that fateful morning.

Water under the bridge, he called it before he placed a soft peck on the corner of your mouth, but not to you. Not yet at least.

For now, the thought of having a bit more privacy sounds good. For you and Tom, but also for every other roommate. It should be pretty great. Especially considering the limitless sex drive you seem to share.

Giggling softly at the thought, you stop in the middle of what used to be your bedroom and stare at the only piece of furniture left to transport out of here. Okay, there’s a couple of bags in it with a few clothes you left for last, but that’s it. It has been sitting in the corner of the room for a while now, practically forgotten, but now that you’re faced with it and with the truth it hides, you prop your hands on your hips and consider its future in your life.

There are steps in the hallway outside, and soon Harrison’s voice asks, “Need help with anything in here? Oh, I suppose not.”

“Yeah, there’s just… this,” you trail off in response, still analyzing every detail. Harrison mumbles something imperceptible and seems to move away, so you say, “It doesn’t look too bad, does it?”

“What doesn’t?”

You point at the piece of furniture in front of you. “Your chair.”

Harrison walks in and stands next to you. You can sense the rigidness of his muscles from where he is despite the slight distance. His eyes follow yours, but he immediately looks back at you. “No.”

“What?” You laugh. “I just said it doesn’t look too bad,” you say, leaning in to smooth a hand on the pretty fabric of the seat. You remember Tom sending it to a restoration store in town to get the cover replaced by something new, clean and prettier. But when it came back and you placed it in the usual spot by the glass window in the living room, Harrison barricaded your bedroom door with it and added a note that read, No thanks. Ew. At the time, you thought he was overreacting, but kept it just the same. Tom bought him a new one the next day, which is now waiting for Harrison in the new house with a big bow and a proper apology.

“The stain is gone, nobody will even know what—”

“But I know the truth,” Harrison practically hisses. “That’s my problem.”

“Well, maybe this’ll teach you to leave my condoms alone.” When you look back at him, his face makes you laugh. It holds a funny slash disgusted slash horrified expression. “Unless you want to throw away every piece of furniture in this flat.”

“What?” He widens his eyes at you. “Please, please tell me you’re joking.”

With another laugh, you pat his shoulder condescendingly. “You don’t wanna know.”

“Fuck you,” he says. Still he grabs the two bags from the chair and offers to take them to the living room, adding, “Consider this chair a peace offer. Use this one and leave every single other chair in the house pristine clean, all right? No hairy butts.”

“Deal, no hairy butts,” you accept his offer, extending your hand so you can shake on it. He can’t return it obviously, so you grab his wrist instead and give it a symbolic flick. “But knees are okay, right, like doggy style?”

“Fuck no, are you kidding me?” he shouts in disgust and twirls on his heels. “Tell Tom to keep it in his panties.”

“C’mon, Harry, as if you’ve never fucked anyone in this chair…”

He stops in his tracks. You wiggle your eyebrows in an amused way when he turns his head to chastise you. Except he never does. He keeps his mouth shut, the guilt in his gaze telling you enough.

“You sure you don’t wanna keep it? Surely that’s a good memory,” you insist.

Harrison chuckles and shakes his head. “No, thanks. Keep it. Your stain must have been way bigger. Tom blabbers, y’know?” Your mouth drops open. “Way too much for my liking.”

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“Who?” Tom’s voice comes out of nowhere. Soon his figure appears in the doorway too.

Harrison walks by him on his way out, gesturing with his head towards you. “Good luck, mate.”

“You’ve gotta stop bragging about your dickings, mate,” you tell Tom as soon as his best friend is out of sight. Tom treks closer to you with a grin and a skip in his step, looking almighty in his prance.

“Then you’ve gotta stop taking it so good,” he says in a gracious voice, pointing at the chair, most likely asking you if it should be taken to the living room as well. You nod at him. Though he stops mid-step and turns to you instead. “No, wait, I take that back.”

You laugh. “Figures.”

“I’d rather keep dicking you so good until you start bragging about it yourself.”

“Then you’d better work on your moves, champ.”

Tom gasps. “You did not.”

With a click of your tongue, you peck the corner of his mouth and grab the chair to take it to the living room. This is the last moment it will spend in your bedroom. To be fair, now it’s just an empty room.

You look around, holding the chair in your hands, smiling at the naked bed and the closet with the mirror on the door, and relive a few of the amazing moments you had in here. With or without Tom, recording stuff for your channel, with the van girls when they helped you choose an outfit. There’s tons of circumstances you don’t want to erase from your memory.

“It was a good time,” you muse, mostly to yourself and the room. “Thanks for a good time.”

“You’re welcome,” Tom goads, chest inflated with pride.

“I was talking to the room.”

“Pfft, this room would be nothing without me.”

You want to laugh and slap his shoulder for that comment, but you can’t and okay, fine. In a way, it’s sort of true. Most of the best moments in here were with him, you can’t deny that.

As you stroll into the living room to place the chair with every other item that’s going in the moving truck later, you hear the boys chatting and laughing in the kitchen. It’s the last meal in this flat, you might as well join them now that you’re finished organizing your stuff.

However, you stop for a second once your hands are free. Standing by the double sliding doors, the curtains open and the late summertime sun warming up the room, you glance around and take in your surroundings.

Not much of what was in here is leaving the flat. Tom and Harrison made a deal with the landlord to leave a few items behind that wouldn’t fit the new house, like the couch and the tv cupboard, rugs and others. It’s still a completely different room, though. Feels empty, devoid of life. The memories will stay, and things can sometimes tell stories based on their condition, but at the moment you barely recognize them around you.

In a few hours, it will be someone else’s flat. New memories will fill in the place, give it a new life. That sense of renovation inspires you, as well. You had a good time, hardly any complaints, and you gained more than in any other place before. Friends and a purpose and a boyfriend, and so much more that’s intangible and undescribable. Some good, some bad, but this feeling of leaving it behind and starting afresh somewhere else makes you complete. Change can suck, but for once you’re satisfied with this one.

And there’s no better way to leave a place where you were happy than with a hell of a bang.

The idea starts to form when you turn to gaze outside, the street and view you’ve come to know so well, but there is one thing you have left to achieve in here. Just one. And you happen to know someone who would agree with you on that.

“Hey,” Tom says behind you as he approaches from the kitchen.

And the main star has just arrived.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes, just, y’know, looking around one last time,” you say mysteriously. When you turn to face him, the sunlight reflects on his smile and turns his features more delicate than ever. “What time did you say the landlord told us to leave?”

“Seven o’clock,” he says, taking a hold of your hand. It’s something of a new habit for him. You don’t mind it at all. “Why do you ask?”

“'Cause I was thinking.”

He waits a few seconds as you gaze outside, but asks, “About…”

“About you actually,” you say with a giggle, squeezing his hand and patting the back of his with the other. “There’s no balcony in the other house, is there?”

“No,” Tom smirks, eyes peering through the window sort of longingly. “Why?”

“Because there’s something we kinda still owe each other.”

“We do?” He looks positively confused by now.

“Of course we do,” you tell him, sort of laughing at his lost puppy expression.

“I mean, I know what you’re talking about, uh, obviously, hello, but— but you don’t owe it to me,” he says in a reassuring tone. “And I certainly can’t imagine what I owe you…”

You grace him with a humorous smile, leaning into him in case someone is within earshot. “You did reject me a blowjob out there the other day.”

“Ohhhh, that.”

“Yeah. I loved our talk about it,” you decide to comfort him, fingers intertwined with his now. His forgiving smile is just as comforting. “But I still want you to have it, dammit. If I’m doing this, we’re getting the whole shebang.”

“I like the way you think.” Tom seems to agree as you know he would.

“So what do you say? Shall we bless the only room in the house we never stained with your cum?”

Tom laughs wholeheartedly. His smile is off the charts, and as usual he looks incredibly beautiful.

“Though now that I’ve found out that you brag about our sex life to your friends, I’m slightly worried Harrison might know too much about, um, some things like, y’know, his mirror…”

“Nah, don’t worry,” Tom says, this time comforting you. “I would never. Not that night. You looked— mmmm, stunning, luscious, downright fuckable. And some things I do keep to myself.”

You kiss him, straight on the mouth with a little tongue in the mix, thinking back to that night. It started as a joke after a round of golf, a silly exchange of sex ventures you had discussed but never actually saw to life, and the idea of having sex in Harrison’s room came up again. He was gone for a few days, and the opportunity was perfect.

So you grabbed an old sheet and covered his desk chair with it, sitting Tom down on it buck naked with you on his lap wearing nothing but his golf cap, his glove, and Tom’s fingers as nipple clamps. Tom was relentless and insatiable that night. Sat you on his cock and rubbed your clit until you came twice in a row, fucked you from underneath until he nearly passed out from pleasure, and to top it all off fingered you and rubbed you and pressed onto your spot until you gushed out fluids all over him and yourself and Harrison’s mirror. You’d never done anything like that, but the haze in your mind was absolutely unforgettable. You couldn’t wait to try again. Maybe in your and Tom’s new room though. Where no one could be harassed by your mess.

“It was a good night,” you say in a hum, licking your lips as the memory fades. “A little risky and crazy, and somewhat disrespectful—”

“Fuck no!” Tom dismisses your claims. “We disinfected the whole thing, it’s fine. And what Harrison doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”

You stop for a second and glance over Tom’s shoulder, examining every corner of the empty room.

“What?”

“Just making sure he isn’t around,” you giggle. “Harrison tends to always be there when we’re discussing something we don’t want him to know.”

Tom chuckles into another kiss. “I guess we’re safe for now.”

“Are you two eating lunch or not?” Harrison shouts from the other side of the room.

“Told ya,” you mumble. Tom closes his eyes in an amusing way.

“We’ll be right there, Harry,” you tell your friend, swatting at Tom’s hands where he has them at the level of his chest making a very obscene gesture.

“You guys are unbelievable,” Harrison scoffs, turning around and mumbling on the way back to the kitchen. “Can’t leave them alone for two seconds, for fuck’s sake.”

“So, now,” Tom says a few moments later once he’s made sure that Harrison isn’t behind him anymore. “You and me, young lady. We have a few loose ends to tie up, don’t we?”

“I believe we do, yes.”

“Wanna do it right now? Everybody’s busy with lunch,” he clearly jokes, though he reaches for the doors on your left and slides one open a little.

“No way,” you laugh, sliding the door closed again. “Sam’s picking up the moving truck in thirty minutes. Unlike you, I do not have an exhibitionist kink, mate.”

Tom chuckles and presses his mouth against yours. “And yet you loved sleeping in my room,” he mutters onto your lips, collecting them into a quick kiss. “The only one with no blinds or curtains on the window, am I right?”

“I liked it because it smelled like you, you idiot,” you giggle.

“Sure you did.” He pinches your side. You pinch him right back. Twice for his insolence.

“Let’s eat something quick and come up with a plan, come on.”

“I already have the perfect plan for our balcony fantasy, love.”

“Your—” you cut him off. “Your balcony fantasy.”

“Of course. My bad,” Tom says with yet another chuckle. He’s been in an incredibly good mood the whole day, and you figure it’s only about to get even better after what you promised him.

“C’mon, we have to tell the boys.”

“What?!” you exclaim, grabbing his wrist as soon as he starts to turn around. “We’re not telling them anything!”

“Relax. I have a plan,” Tom tries to soothe your worries, but it’s worthless because he doesn’t say anything else. He just drags you into the kitchen with a smug grin hanging on his face, eyes twinkling with mischief every time he glances back at you, wiggling his eyebrows in his witty ways.

Once you get to the door to the kitchen, Tom fetches his phone from his pocket and speaks to the whole room. “Do you reckon we can get everything sorted out by four?”

Harrison and the twins blink at his question.

“The landlord said at seven…” Harrison says.

“He did, I know, but he just rang me and asked if we could expedite things and vacate the flat by four o’clock instead,” Tom clarifies. Or rather, lies, but the boys don’t have to know that. It will be better for them this way.

You try not to react too much when you say, “I told him it was a little tight, but y’know…” They all look at you, three of them still puzzled by the sudden change of plans, the other completely elated by how easy you played along with his idea. “Nothing is impossible, right? We only have a few more things to load up into the truck anyway.”

“Sure,” Harrison says. “I think it’s mostly my things than anything else, so sure. We’ll be out by four.”

“Awesome. I’ll text him then,” Tom wraps up, twirling his phone in his hands before he taps on the screen as if he’s typing.

Your phone buzzes on the table shortly after. You tense up before picking it up, but the boys seem unbothered by the coincidental timing. If only they looked up from their food and saw that stupid grin on Tom’s face. Sometimes you swear he’s the worst actor of all time. At least when it comes to hiding his emotions about your intimacy.

“There’s something wrong with you…” you joke with him after lunch. You both stayed behind to clean up the kitchen and pack up the remaining supplies.

“What did I do now?” Tom asks with an eye-roll.

“Uh, this.” You show him your phone that’s still open in the messaging app he used to text you before lunch.

Dick therapy. Balcony. 1600. Don’t wear knickers.

“Sounds like an important appointment. You shouldn’t miss it, love.”

You roll your eyes exasperatedly at him. “How about that stupid happy horny grin you couldn’t wipe off your face the whole time we were eating lunch,” you chastise him, shaking your head at his cheekiness.

“I’m just happy, so what.”

You reply only with a scoff. “Unbelievable.”

“Me?” he puts in. “I’m unbelievable?” You ‘mhmm’ in response as you wrap up a few cutleries and drop them into the corresponding cardboard box. “How about you and this hot bum of yours?”

He slaps you once. You kick his in return. “You’re one to talk.”

“Yeah, but at least I’m damn proud of mine.” He grins. “Oh. And you started this, remember? I was fine moving on from the balcony, but you brought it up. So you can’t blame this one on me.”

You want to chide back and lecture him for this brazen attitude, but you can’t. Not when he’s smiling at you like that. All dazzling and electrified. Like you’ve just turned moving day into fantasy day. Which, well, you sort of did, so you really can’t say it’s his fault. You’ll gladly take the blame for this one. And you’re just as excited of course. He gets incredibly jaunty and smug and hot when he’s like this. And nothing beats the look on his face when you experiment with this kind of thrill. Together. You’re like a drug to him, the same way he is to you.

That’s why you don’t regret any of it.

In fact, as you’re hiding the two bags of your clothes strategically behind the couch so you’ll have a reason to stay behind, a lightbulb lights up in your mind. The afternoon will be pretty damn special, and you need to ensure that the rest of the hours in the flat will be filled with unbearable anticipation for Tom. After all, it’s his fucking fantasy. It should be thoroughly unforgettable. You want him bubbling with excitement all the way until four o’clock because that will make everything even more amazing.

Any time you spend packing up stuff and carrying boxes to the moving truck, you make sure to sway your hips more, to touch his exposed arms when he makes any sort of jokes, to swipe a hand over the small of his back when he has to lean forward to organize the back of the truck and his t-shirt rides up. You send him taunting gazes when he thinks you aren’t looking, and bend over instead of crouching to pick up boxes, and pull your shorts up on purpose to uncover more of your thighs so he’ll tug them back down in front of his friends. You run through all of the clichés, watchful of how the skip in Tom’s step becomes cheekier.

Once you even dip your fingers into an open jar of jam and gasp as though it was an accident, then proceed to lick your hand clean because ‘accidentally’ there’s no dish towel at your disposal.

“Funny,” Tom says before he leaves the kitchen with another box. He sends you a devouring side look on his way out.

By four o’clock, the flat is officially empty save for the five of you and a pack of beers that you’re just about to finish drinking in celebration of having moved out everything on time.

The boys are on their way to the front door when you tell them you’re just going to take a last look around the room, to check if nothing is left behind. Tom stays by the door to the kitchen, bouncing his heel nervously on the floor.

“Oh no,” you fake-gasp with an annoyed click of your tongue.

“What, did you forget something?” Tom asks. The other boys don’t react in a way that you can hear, but you can imagine that they’re standing by the door and looking back to wait for you.

“I left these two bags, I’ll be right back, will check the bedrooms just in case.”

As you move towards the hallway, mostly for the act since you’ve already been there and they were empty, Tom tells his friends, “You go ahead, mates, y/n seems to have forgotten something.”

“Of course she did.”

“Yeah, forgot we have functioning brains.”

“Four o’clock my ass.” Clearly that’s Harry, if the dry tone is any indicator. “Fucking fiends, mate.”

Grumbling to themselves, the boys leave and bang the door on their way out.

“That wasn’t as inconspicuous as we thought, babe,” Tom says with a chuckle. He isn’t wrong.

“Oh well. Maybe next time we’ll tell them what we’ll be doing, see if they like that approach more.”

Tom laughs heartily. “I doubt it. Now, you, young lady. Get your tight ass on that balcony, c’mon.”

“Easy, Tiger,” you chuckle. “I still need to get ready. Why don’t you go wait outside?”

“No, I wanna watch,” he states, moving towards the couch and leaning into the back, arms crossed over his chest.

“Suit yourself,” you shrug. Stretching a hand into one of your bags, you get a skirt that has a bit of flow to it and step out of the shorts you’ve been wearing all day. You put it on normally, Tom’s gaze hot on your legs, then turn your back to him and tug your knickers down your legs.

“As per instructions,” you remind him, glancing at him over the side of your body. His eyes are transfixed by it, by the curve of your ass, his hands squeezing his biceps where they’re bulging out of his sleeves.

Tom giggles, but swallows it down in silence when you straighten back up, a palm running over your ass and lifting your skirt over the cheek, rearranging the fabric right after to leave it brushing your thighs.

“Are you ready,” you ask, turning back to face him. “Or are you gonna be wearing all that?”

He’s wearing a pair of navy blue trousers and a red t-shirt with a logo printed on the chest, which he removes and drapes over the couch in a single, quick motion. “Fucking ready.”

“Awesome. Go wait outside, then.”

“What?!” he gruffs.

“Do it, c’monnnn.”

With a reluctant eye-roll, Tom says, “Yes, ma’am,” but bolts to the double sliding doors just the same.

You wait for a short second, adjusting your skirt and wiggling out of your bra and your socks, and finally take a deep breath. As you peek outside and see Tom settled on a lounge chair, legs crossed at the ankles, hands folded on his belly and his ravenous eyes on you, you follow him out there.

“Hello, sir.”

“Hello, beautiful,” he greets with a grin. One of his hands moves to your leg as he speaks, crawling up the outer side of your thigh with tenderness. Which conflicts with his eyes, famished for something a lot less innocent.

Once his hand reaches your hip and only the wrist is visible under the edge of your skirt, you move out of reach and step further onto the balcony, saying, “Wow, look at this view.”

“Impressed?”

“It’s… stunning,” you say, grabbing the railing with both hands. You study the sight in front of you, the several other tall buildings around, dozens of other balconies just like this, some empty, some filled with plants, so few of them with actual people on them. There’s a particular shadow standing in the building across from you that worries you, but only a little bit. It’s still too far to get any distinct scrutiny over what will soon be happening on this one.

Behind you, Tom says, “I love the view from out here. You can see literally everything.”

It’s not difficult to guess what he means. Through the corner of your eyes, you can tell he’s looking at everything but the city around him. His eyes seem to have frozen on your ass, which is perfectly perceivable under the skirt.

“Oh yeah, I can tell,” you grin at him over your shoulder. “And it’s such a lovely day.”

“Love days like these,” he adds, shuffling where he is. “The sun warms your skin, makes it a little damp. It’s perfect.”

“I feel the same way,” you say, turning around but leaving your hands on the railing, leaning back against it. Your legs are fully on display and you cross them at the ankles to mimic the way Tom is lying on the chair. “Perfect day for an adventure.”

“Would you like to go on an adventure with me, sexy?”

“I would love to, sir,” you reply, voice cracked from the intensity of his gaze as it goes down from your face to your chest all the way down to your middle.

Tom grins and says, “C’mere then,” extending a hand to invite you closer. “Come sit on my lap.”

You bite your lip sheepishly, but nod and approach him with slow steps, your hands behind your back almost in reverence before his figure. This moment feels like an act you didn’t plot but that you’re still putting up together, and it fits in an odd way.

When you reach your destination, you straddle his thighs and lay your hands on his forearms where he has them relaxed on either side of him. Slowly you move upwards to settle on his hips, calculating every inch so you’re centered with his crotch, and immediately start rotating over him.

“Damn, you’re so greedy already.”

“Yeah… curiosity makes me greedy,” you say, a false modesty in your voice. “And I’ve never been on a ride ‘round here, so…”

“So I bet you’re fairly curious about what goes on out here, are you not?”

“Very curious, sir. I’m dying to know.”

“Mmmm, well I might just show you in that case,” he says. Tom lifts a hand to your face and caresses your lips with a thumb, tracing their shape softly as you straighten your shoulders and hum into his hand. “You’re so fucking pretty, baby girl. Can I kiss you?”

You nod slowly and lean forward when he cranes his neck closer. Your tongue rolls over his lips first, waiting for the poke of his to surrender into his mouth, but when it comes, he pulls you into him and takes you into his arms, grabbing you around the waist. Teeth come into play within the kiss, extracting little moans, almost shy, from both you and him while his clutch around your body guides your hips in a deliberate orbit against his crotch. His cock hardening and twitching under your doing.

His hand crawls up under your t-shirt and you pull back with a gasp at the cold dribble of his fingertips. The mischief in his eyes is clear, full of resolve, and so is the lick he gives your hard nipples where they’re poking through the fabric.

“Let me see you,” he whispers. The breath that escapes his nose tickles on your skin.

You stay silent, letting him furl your shirt upwards in a slow, sensual movement. When it’s high enough, you take your time to push it over your head. It’s on purpose so Tom will have a full view of your breasts as you pretend to struggle with the fabric, arms lifted high and your hands out of the way too. He avenges your plan by suckling one nipple into his mouth and sinking his teeth around it. Your hips swirl backwards, chest presses closer into the sting of his bite.

Tom caresses the sides of your torso as he rolls his tongue over your nub in a silent apology, moaning around it as treatment. When you leave the t-shirt on the floor and reach for the hem of the skirt, he lifts his eyes from your chest and says, “No.” Kissing between your breasts, he adds, “Keep the skirt on and touch yourself for me.”

Nodding at his request, you start with your face and your jaw, cradling them sensually, dragging fingernails over the skin to see how it reacts, then descend to your chest, molding each of your breasts once and again, first with one hand, the other and switching them next, spiraling your hard nipples between two fingers until it hurts. Your hips buck forward when his cock twitches hard under them.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful, baby,” he compliments gently.

“As are you, sir.”

He shows you a big smile and tweaks your nipples, pinches and twists and squeezes them as he pleases. You nuzzle into his touch and keep winding your hips over him, his erection growing larger at your caress.

“You’re making me so hard, darling,” he says. He reads your mind so many times that you wouldn’t even call this a coincidence. “Can you come like this?”

You shake your head no and laugh a little, saying, “Sorry,” but continue to gyrate your hips in a movement that grows in speed and purpose. He twitches beneath you, skin ridden with a shiver, and that’s the most exciting reaction.

With a smirk, he says, “What a shame. Would have loved to see that while you rub yourself on me like an animal in heat.”

You moan at his tone more than at his words, it crawls up and down your spine inspiring you to dig your nails deep into the hard flesh of his pecs as your hips roll in every direction you can think of. You change them at random to surprise him as much as you can, but it’s clear that it’s working because Tom moans your name on repeat. His eyes are wide and hungry, and one of his hands flies to your waist, the other to your chest where he squeezes your nipples until they pang and the pain spreads through your whole body.

A tug of pleasure in your gut jolts you forwards and you jerk around, pinning your feet to the floor until you half collapse on top of him. He doesn’t let you, however. His strong hands wrap around your arms and he straightens you up on his lap, thumbing hard at the crook of your elbow until you look into his eyes.

“Be a good girl and take these trousers off of me. After—”

You start working on your task right away, eager to lick and sit and cream on his cock, but Tom stops you with a hand around your wrist. “Listen to me first.”

You nod and moan in the back of your throat at his strained voice. His gaze fills with vicious intent as he holds your face with a hand so you’re staring into his eyes. “Say you’re sorry.”

“Sorry.”

“Say it like you fucking mean it, girl,” he repeats in a colder tone, squeezing your jaw between his index finger and thumb.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Good girl. Here’s what you’re gonna do.” You nod and swallow a comeback quip you had in your mind to tell him, appreciating his slightly dominating stance. “You’re gonna take off my trousers. And afterwards I’m sinking my cock down your throat like you wanted. As far as it will fucking go, you hear me?” You nod again and blink to refocus on his hardened gaze. He sounds stupidly hot when he talks like this, or perhaps you’re just stupidly horny for him in general.

He adds, “You said I owed you and fair is fair. And you deserve it anyway.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome. Now pull out my cock.”

You undo the button on his trousers and drag down the zipper, as slowly as his breathing. His dick peeks for attention in the v of his clothes, still under his briefs. You admire its shape and stroke it with your palm, tugging the flimsy material of his underwear downward with your motions. The head is full pink and large and gorgeous when it pokes out, weeping densely at the tip.

“Fuck, see what you do to me, I’m already leaking, darling.”

“Wanna lick it off you so bad—” you say tentatively, but Tom doesn’t seem to disagree.

“What are you waiting for?”

“—but not like this.”

“Then how?” he asks, but you’re already on the move. You crawl out from the chair and kneel on the floor next to it, keeping both legs together and your hands on your thighs. Waiting for him to get the hint. It doesn’t take him long of course. He caresses your cheek and strolls a thumb across your lips, tugging the bottom one lightly until the beginning of a smile forms on the corner of your mouth.

“You want me to stand up,” he states what he thinks you want. You confirm with a nod, eyes trained on him. “All right, if I’m gonna stand—” he trails off with mystery, getting up on his feet and moving around you from behind.

It’s against the railing that he stops, right in the middle of the balcony, his butt pressed against the metal in a position obvious that anyone curious enough could see.

“If I’m standing, it’ll be right here,” he adds, clearing his throat and pointing a hand at his feet. “C’mon, sexy, kneel for me. Right there.”

When you look down, Tom is barefoot and the big toe on his right foot is on top of the other toes like it’s a nervous tick of his. You’ve never noticed and don’t feel like questioning it right now. Rather than, you drag your feet across the floor to kneel where he still has his finger pointed at. Your face hits his hand because he refuses to move, as though he wants you to know exactly where you should stay and not place your body a single inch to the side.

When you look up, a smirk is teasing Tom’s lips and he says, “Say meow.”

You smirk and hum sensually, then without hesitation obey his last order in a drawled out voice. “Meow.”

“Such a pretty kitten,” he says as he toys with your lips, eyes lit up in pure mischief. “But there’s something missing.”

With a hand under your chin, Tom moves your head around and inspects your features, but his gaze suggests he knows pretty well what he plans to do next. First, he positions your head so your eyes will lock into his. Second, lets a string of spit fall from his mouth, watching it fall on the right of your nose. You blink at his actions, but make no other move, waiting for his patience to wear off. Finally, he leans in and drags his tongue across your face, licking it all over until he finds your mouth.

“Gorgeous,” he spews out like a backwards insult, sucking a little more on your lips. You just kneel there and let him take the reigns. There’s nothing else to do anyway. This is his moment, and you’re willing to let him spit on you and lap it up as much as he wants.

“I just figured it out,” he says with a wide smirk, straightening back up on his feet. He smears the remnants of his spit around your mouth, making you wish he would spit into it all over again, just from the intensity of his hungry gaze.

“You need a collar,” he practically purrs. “A pretty collar for a pretty kitten.”

“Meow.”

“Good pussy,” he chuckles, then lets go of your face. His hands move to his belt and he tugs until it slips from the belt loops, wrapping it around your neck without hesitation. “C’mon, you’re wasting daylight.”

You rub your face against his crotch, mouth around the tip where it sits still under the fabric, then yank his trousers down to the middle of his thighs and move his briefs out of your way. As soon as he’s exposed in full, root to tip, you start with kitten licks to stay on topic, but soon take him into your mouth.

Tom sighs happily, almost relieved. You hum around him and suck on the tip, bobbing your head slowly at first to get used to the girth. You’ve done this more times than you can count, and you love sucking Tom’s cock, it’s so fucking pretty and just the right size that your teeth don’t get in the way and the head hits the roof of your mouth when you tilt at certain angles. Not to mention his noises, fuck, they get so eager and keen, those little ah’s and oh’s that leave you soaked between the legs in a matter of seconds.

He groans in the back of his throat, and you watch his hands grip the metal behind him until his knuckles are stressed and the veins pop out on his forearms. He’s only humming, however, so you rub your tongue softly and wetly under the head until he full-on moans, head tipped forward. “Fuck, that’s so good.”

Using little tugs on the belt so your head will bob back and forth, Tom leads the way of this blowjob. All you do is keep your mouth slack and suck on him where you can, relaxing your tongue and your throat and moaning in between to intensify the sensation. He squeezes the belt snugger around your neck and you gag around him, pressing forward because he’s pulling you closer, using a thumb to unbuckle the belt then tighten it even more until the prong slips into the next hole.

Fuck, that’s a little tight, but fuck him if he thinks you’re going to complain. You swallow and take it like a big girl, hollowing your cheeks and using suction on every bob.

“Is this comfortable, darling?” he asks, a hand cradling your jaw almost sweetly. You glance up at him so he’ll read in your eyes that you wouldn’t have this any differently.

The edge of the leather digs into your skin and you’re sure you’ll be struggling for breath soon, but it’s fine. It’s good. You can tell from the wetness that pools between your legs and from the way you’re trembling in anticipation. In fact, you expect him to tighten it even more, almost wish that he would. He doesn’t, but you moan impatiently anyway. Tom makes a clicking noise with his tongue against his teeth, tugging harder on the belt and pulling faster, hips meeting you halfway as you warble around him with a delighted moan.

“Do you think there are neighbors watching?” You roll your eyes in response because first he shoves his dick in your mouth, and then he asks questions and demands answers from you. “Tell me baby, do you think someone’s watching?”

You nod, thinking it’s what he wants to hear. Why else would he be obsessed with sex on the balcony and at the golf course, and why would he sleep with no fucking blinds on his bedroom window? He loves being watched. His career of choice says it all.

“Yeah? I think so too,” he says, observing you diligently as you bob your head at your own pace now. Your tongue rolls around his shaft and you pull every trick in the book to get him closer to the edge, glancing up at him with the doe-est look you can muster.

How the fuck he’s holding it together, you have no idea, but the little fucker continues talking, knowing that tone right on the cutting edge of elation and despair turns you on immensely. “Anyone would have to be fucking stupid to miss out on this view. The city behind me, the glare of the sun in your yearning eyes. That bum of yours in the air like that. Fuck, it’s so pretty. Give it a slap for me, baby, c’mon.”

It’s a struggle because the angle of your neck and shoulders blocks some of your best moves, but you outstretch an arm and smack your butt cheek on the side and on the back, Tom emitting a grunt on the second strike. Fingers trickling down your cleft until you feel the first wet spots of your pulsating pussy. Your eyes roll to the back of your head by instinct when your throat clamps around his cockhead and a string of drool hoards and drips from the corner of your mouth.

“Good girl, good girl,” Tom croons, patting the top of your head. You nuzzle into his touch and hum around him like his good kitten. “Though I’m glad they can’t see this, fuck. You know what I’m seeing, baby?”

You can only moan and shake your head no despite the difficulty. With a hand holding his hip, you bob your head faster as his fingers clasp around the belt, giving it tiny tugs to drive you forward just a little further. He wipes the spit from your mouth and when you glance up, he’s licking his thumb clean with his greedy eyes on you.

“You,” he moans, the sound making you close your eyes. When Tom lifts a finger in a gesture you’ve agreed on to mean ‘focus on me’, you drop both hands to the floor and tuck your shoulders downward to hold steady.

Tom then yanks on the leash around your neck and forces you to tilt upwards, his face crumpled between pleasure and torture as he adds, “I’m seeing you on the fucking door, reflected back at me. It’s so. Fucking. Perfect. Your cunt is all wet and shiny from the sunlight.”

In response, you hum and roll your hips sensually, his eyes following the movement on your reflection.

“Touch yourself for me, darling,” he requests and you obey. “Oh yeah, that’s fucking beautiful. Pretend it’s my mouth, baby. Licking you so good you get all puffy and swollen.”

As you roll two fingers around your clit, Tom hauls you forward until your forehead smacks on his hipbone. You gasp and try to reel back, but he keeps a strong pull on the belt and you can only swallow around him and inhale through your nose the musky smell of his skin. Lungs burning, the base of your fingers massacring your clit, humming like crazy at every tight sensation that courses through you right now.

Tom keeps tugging back and forth until you shut your eyes and shout at the pressure, but he eases back immediately. But you don’t pull away. You just stay there sucking on his head, tongue swirling around the hood, while your chest recovers from the pain.

“You good?” he asks, honestly concerned. His hand on your face and his thumb on your cheek tell you just so. You nod and hum and lick the vein on his shaft to let him know you’re doing okay. “Wanna go again?”

This question is clearly a tease, so you nod and wait patiently for his pull, grasping his hips to brace yourself but letting him do it all over again. It turns you on, there’s no denying it. Your pussy is all wet and clenched around air, stomach churning just as much in its wish to be filled with his cum.

First, Tom pulls on the belt just once, then a second time. You barely move so you smirk around his cock, cheeks hollowed and applying suction, not expecting Tom to fuck hard into your mouth until you’re gagging with it. The sounds and gurgles you emit roll your eyes back into your head and you relinquish what little control you still had over the scene.

His moans getting frantic and wild are impossible to ignore. “That mouth, fuck, it’s so, ugh. Fucking divine. Yeah, gimme your tongue, baby. Fuck, fuck yeah.”

Tom thrusts into your throat a couple more times, snatching the belt so that your nose will press against his crotch. It smells of sweat and pleasure and him, a combination that liquefies your insides and makes them trickle down your quivering legs.

When you pull back for breath, gasping around his cock and nearly biting into the head, Tom holds you in place and nuzzles his palm against the crown of your head. He’s gasping for air, of that you have no doubt, and when you look up he’s crumbling and panting, open-mouthed and wide-eyed.

“That was,” he wheezes, “fuck,” struggling for breath as though it was him with a dick clogging his airways. “That was so beautiful, baby. I was so fucking close.”

“Thank you, sir,” you try to say, but it’s faint around your mouthful of cock as it rests on your tongue.

“But—”

He coughs out a moan and pulls out, dick dangling against the underside of your chin.

“Fuck,” Tom says in a coarse voice, straightening up and taking you with him, though you stay on your knees with the belt tight around your neck connecting you to his hand. When he finally faces you again, chest still heaving from the effort of holding it in, you believe, Tom concludes, “That’s not where I wanna fill you up. I want your pussy.”

He nearly spits all over you on that last word, capturing your mouth into a rough kiss. “My pussy’s pussy.”

“Meow,” you tease. Tom smirks, looping his thumb on your bottom lip and kissing you there.

“Turn around for me, baby.”

You retreat from his touch with a cold shiver and move on your knees until your ass is turned to him and you can see the reflection he was talking about in the glass of the double doors. You look a proper mess, ass in the air when you crawl forward to fit before him on all fours, the skirt all askew, your mouth coated in spit and pre-cum, crooked to the side from the shape of his cock.

“Hold on,” he says with a hand splayed on your back. “Should I get a condom?”

You bite on your lip to consider it. You didn’t do any math, and you’re sure it wouldn’t be right, but there are bigger problems in the world. Safety is a concern, but Tom’s been your partner for a long time now. There were never any issues and you absolutely trust him with this, so you say, “I packed the eggs from the tv cupboard into my bag earlier, but honestly?” You turn your head to gaze at him. He blinks back. “I don’t give a fuck today.”

It’s a special occasion anyway.

The smirk dancing on his lips is gratifying enough to tell you this was the right choice. Last case scenario, you’ll monitor your cycle a little closer this month, but it’s not a worry just yet. Not when you’re naked and on display on the fucking balcony that’s soon not going to be yours anymore.

You don’t really have time to worry.

Your back arches when Tom fucks two fingers into you out of nowhere, totally in silence, crooking them against your spot. Tiny sparkles form under your eyelids when you shut them closed. And you’re so fucking stimulated from before that you almost come on the spot.

When you open your eyes, you can see him in the reflection kneeling behind you, pressing his hips against yours to replace the fingers he draws out. His cock dangling in front of him and smudging through your slit and over your clit when he bucks his hips forward. Dragging back and forth like a test drive.

“You want my cock?” he asks. As if there isn’t only one right answer.

“Yeah,” you croak nonetheless, moving along with the rhythm of his body.

“How bad do you want it, kitten?”

Tom holds the tip right at your entrance, pressed so close that you can feel the ridges of his fist where he’s holding himself up.

“Pussy’s starving for it, fuck.”

“Mhmm what a sweet girl. We can’t have that now can we,” he asks, but it’s purely rhetorical.

You wouldn’t have time to answer anyway. Tom slips inside in slow motion, so delicate but with so much intent that he slides up to the hilt in a matter of seconds. The fact that you’re wet all over doesn’t deter him. He’s jammed against your back, hips on hips, skin on clammy skin, starting to thrust little by little.

On the glass, you see his mouth drop open in an obscene ‘oh’ and his eyes are closed, so you know he won’t see your next move coming. You fuck back into him the way he’s always liked. His reaction is as expected. A moan so loud it reverberates through you.

You watch through squinted eyes as his hands hold on to the railing, first one, soon followed by the other, and he stays there kneeling on the floor with his arms wide open in prayer as you fuck his cock, riding it like you’re in charge of his pleasure.

“Fuck that’s a good pussy,” he croaks before a louder moan, and you close your eyes with his cock persistent against your spot. Especially when his hand drapes over the small of your back and he starts rutting into you, multiplying every sensation by a million.

You crumble onto your forearms and glance over one shoulder, wondering how much Tom can see of himself piercing in and out between your thighs.

“I can see everything, oh my god,” he says. Did you say that out loud? It’s possible. After all, your mind is starting to fog and your vision is blurred, imaginary drops of rain clouding it all. “Pussy so tight, holy fuck.”

“Fuck me, sir.”

“What was that?” In his reflection, Tom has placed a hand behind his ear like he hasn’t heard right, hips never still.

“Fuck me, sir,” you grunt louder when he picks up speed, gasping and moaning as relentless as the jabs into your body. Your legs spread open, ass up high, wetness dripping down your thighs and clapping between your crotches.

“You’re a slut for me, aren’t you,” Tom goads. His eyes are closed in bliss, the brutality of his thrusts making you moan and arch your spine and hit your forehead on the ground, taking the blows. “My fucking beautiful kitty slut.”

“For you only, sir, argh, fuuuck.”

“Let’s see if you can fucking take me then,” he growls and grabs you by the shoulders.

Tom pulls out and rolls the belt around one hand and manhandles you with expertise, slamming you face down over one of the lounge chairs and smacking your butt so hard it hurts and your skin feels scorched from the sun.

As for you, despite the position with your side to the door, seeing the summer umbrella on the balcony of a neighbor building, if you glance to your right you still have a view of his reflection, now his profile, and he looks freaking scrumptious. The muscles of his thighs all clamped and tense as he settles behind you, never letting go of your hair.

It hurts a little and the pain hisses behind your teeth, but you gulp it down with bravery and repletion. Feeling Tom fuck his thumb into your pussy, then his index, and when he gets to his middle finger, you’re desperate, wordlessly begging for more because one digit at a time makes you feel absolutely nothing.

He tugs on the belt until your back arches, neck tipped backwards, then jabs two fingers into you all at once, shutter speed controlling his movements. You moan and squirm and almost fucking lose it, but you make the mistake of telling him, “Close.”

And he stops.

With a whine, you slump over the chair. Tom repositions himself and drills his cock into you without remorse, holding your hips with a hand, the other pulling on your makeshift leash. It chokes you so hard your moans become distorted grumbles.

This is it, you feel. This is how you’re going to die. From pleasure and rapture and true happiness if nothing else.

Tom loses his rhythm somehow and his cock slips out of you unexpectedly. You moan in displeasure, jerking back to seek him again, but it takes him a few seconds to recompose and reconnect. But when he does, oh god, the stretch of his length into your walls enrages a fire inside of you and you hump back, mound scraping on the cushion beneath you. It lights you up even further, and you move your hips, fuck back into his cock, grind down and clench around him, the pressure in your gut deepening and coiling up into a lump.

You try to warn him, but there are no words. You come right on the spot. Throat clogged with pleasure, you gasp and shudder violently before all your limbs give out.

“Ugh,” Tom tries to speak too, but gives up just as you did. He fucks into you with greed, moaning and grunting out your name the way you like to hear it. Stuck in his throat, in his hoarse voice, lost in his bliss as your walls encase his cock.

“Squeeze me so tight, love, fuck,” he pants into your ear. Tugging harder on the belt until you arch back into his chest. You croak out what’s supposed to be his name but ends up being a mere yelp of loose letters. “Gonna make me cum, oh, fucking yeah.”

The skin slaps loudly, his against yours, fluids stuck in between and impossible to not distinguish what they mean. If anyone’s watching or listening, sex is the only valid answer.

“Ready?” he gasps, along with little ah ah ah’s of ugly desperation, followed by a guttural moan.

You whine in response, “Yeah yeah yeah, harder, Tom, fuck.”

And he gives it to you. Thrusts like rapid fire. You slumped on the chair, skin chafing on the surface from the sway of his motions. Head fucking spinning around a single image: Tom all curled in on himself, muscles and tendons pulsating on his skin, neck stretched impossibly hot, his whole self yielding as he shouts and shakes and caves, hips uneven but never losing sight of your pleasure spot.

He slumps over you, caressing your skin and calling you love and darling, saying, “Freaking love how you’re just a desperate little hole for me.”

You keep rocking back onto him until he tells you to stop and holds you there, hands on your arms where you have them against your sides. Thighs stuck to the back of yours. Cock buried to the hilt, keeping his fluids inside.

“Always,” he gasps, breathing out a tired laugh. “Always better than the last.”

“Meow,” you say in a meek voice to perpetuate the night’s theme.

Tom chuckles and his chest rattles with it against your back. “What a good fucking pussy. My pussy.”

“Yeah. Yours.”

Tom nods, but neither of you moves for a few minutes apart from his hand that unclasps the belt from your neck. You stop him, enjoying the feeling of having it there. You hand him the leash instead, letting him yank it a couple of times. He may be testing you and you stay put, you don’t protest, all you do is meow, voice coated in exhausted bliss.

“Good kitten.” You purr a hum as you exhale, earning yourself a kiss from Tom in the middle of your back.

Eventually his skin stops stirring and he moves away. Your eyes open to study the slope of his body on the glass as he straightens back up on his knees, hips still on yours, and looks down at your middles. Thumb tracing the edges of your crack. When he presses on the underside of your stretched hole, you slant into the movement and his cock twitches inside.

“And now for the best part…”

You chuckle because you were expecting this. His two fantasies crammed into one, that’s got to be fantastic. Glancing around, you see the quiet balconies all around, the urban murmur in the background, and wonder how his heart is feeling right now. A grin grows on your face with no control. You rest your cheek on the chair so you can see him, either through the corner of your eye or on the glass.

“Drumroll please.”

Obeying yet another of his silly requests, you drizzle your fingers rhythmically on one of the legs of the chair, inhaling loudly when his body draws away. He slips out of you with a hiss.

First you shove your knees together the best you can and tilt your butt in the air so he’ll have a good view. You must look utterly ridiculous if seen from the outside, yet his delighted, nervous hum suggests otherwise. And if he likes what he’s seeing, you’re not allowed to disagree. You’re just not. Not when it’s his fantasy.

Both his hands spread your cheeks and he sniffles in concentration. The warmth on your skin might be from the sun as much as from his focused gaze. You don’t question it at all. Namely because you get interrupted by a thumb, his thumb, that distracts you in its soft back and forth on your butt cheek.

With a clench of your muscles, you try to expel whatever’s inside you out of your body and gasp, vigorously, when he shoves a finger back into you.

“Did that hurt?” he asks, voice tender and smooth like the cum you felt dribble out of you.

You shake your head in response, but realize that you can’t really due to your position. So you wipe your dry lips with a hot tongue and say, “No, just unexpected.”

“Sorry, love.”

You both smile at his softness, eyes meeting on the glass. Tom looks down again and squeezes your cheeks together. “Do that again.”

You push and from his inhale, you know what he’s seeing. You rest at last when his thumb caresses your lower lips, spreading hot cum around the sensitive skin.

“Again but slower,” he says, which doesn't make sense, but you try anyway. Try to apply less pressure on your next push.

“Stop stop stop,” he begs with a hiss, and you stop altogether, looking over your shoulder and admiring the view. He’s leaned over you, licking between your thighs over your pussy and across your butt, the white of his cum obvious on his tongue. He laps it up off your ass and crawls over you to feed it into your mouth, tongue draping over your teeth in cocky exhibition.

“Fucking delicious, ugh?” he claims with an ecstatic hum. You smile with your eyes closed at his warm voice.

Next, he moves back to the floor and sticks his thumb dryly into you, saying, “Lie on your back, love, please.”

You obey of course, even though it’s hard because of his thumb and the belt and the sweat on your skin that makes everything more slippery. When you’ve lied on your back, Tom helps you move your leg over his arm to the other side of him so that his finger won’t slip out from where it’s nestled at your entrance, keeping every bit of fluid inside. He settles your thighs to the width he desires, his face right in the middle smirking at you with a cheeky gaze in his eyes.

“Hey, beautiful.”

“Hi.” You grin. He smiles like in a prank and pulls his finger out with a wet noise.

You don’t feel much and you can’t see anything from where you are. Propping a foot on the chair, you try to analyze his expression, but it’s elated all over and you don’t see any differences that allow you to distinguish exactly what’s happening.

“Tell me,” you request with a whine. Tom glances up, then back between your legs, hand clasped around your thigh to keep you spread open and exposed for him. “Please tell me what you see, sir.”

He smiles his intricate smile and speaks slowly, like he’s ruminating on every word, weighing it, embracing its meaning and its flavor. He says, “There’s this beautiful ball of cum right at your entrance that’s just starting to drip down and it’s. So. Fucking. Ughnnnn.”

Tom bites into his lip. The hand on your knee squeezes around the bone.

There’s a breeze in the air and you clench inadvertently, feeling the wet slide down to your ass.

“There it goes, fuck it’s so beautiful,” he grins. With his cockhead, he collects it and pushes it back inside, settling in you and crawling over your body. He lies on top of you, his chest on your belly, leaving you clamped around his intrusion, almost delirious, on the verge of climax like only he could do.

“What are you doing?” you inquire, honestly curious at his reaction.

“Keeping you full of cum just for a little while,” he says, and you know he’s bragging from the tentative little thrusts of his hips that he grunts into you. Eyes closed in painful bliss.

You could swear you have a tiny orgasm on the spot. It’s barely noticeable, but there’s a shiver that surges through you, from your hole to your clit and all the way up. You grab on to Tom’s biceps and moan his name, clutching your thighs around him as the feeling tumbles through your belly and your chest. It dissolves there around your hammering heart.

Holding his weight above you with both hands on the chair, caging the sides of your torso, he pulls out again and rests his cock on the cleft of your thigh. It twitches a couple of times, coated in white.

“See what you do to me?” he says, looking up into your eyes. You nod and smile proudly. He responds in the same way, but moves upward to drop sweet kisses on your mouth.

“Thank you,” he purrs in nothing but pure delight. There’s no better word for the expression on his face. It radiates positive energy, self-realization, and gratification.

You caress his head with a gentle hand. “Who’s a good kitten now?”

Tom chuckles, his tummy trembling over yours where he lies on top of you, then he hums and purrs, “Meow.”

The giggle escapes you before you can stop it. He’s adorable. He just is. Especially in moments of euphoria such as these. With a kiss on his lips, you contemplate the shift of emotion in his face as he says, “I am so buying you that camcorder.”

You grin at his suggestion of moving on to one of your fantasies.

“And toys. I’m gonna buy so many fucking toys, I’ll shower you in them. Just tell me whatever you want,” Tom giggles. He freaking giggles at his own words. “I also remember you asking for a reprise of that fingering fest we had months ago, remember? So name your place, I’ll bring my fingers. It’ll be perfect.”

“We should do the penthouse again.”

Tom gasps at your suggestion. “Brilliant idea. I know just the place.” He leans in for a kiss, but he stops and perks up. “Oh, and I’ll bring the feathers and the wax, deal?”

You laugh at his sudden eagerness. “Deal.”

“‘Cause you deserve the fucking world, darlin’.”

“Nah, just you,” you reassure him with a kiss. Tom melts into it and slithers his tongue into your mouth.

The light wind of the fading afternoon whistles in your ear as Tom rests on you, your middles united as his cock deflates over your wet mound and he sighs with delicate content.

~ ⛳️ ~

fantasyverse masterpost « · » main masterlist

#mfl #tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #fantasyverse #holland #b writes

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noteguk · 4 years

Note

bro bad influence! jk and reader are 100% the type of couple to argue mid-sex i love this culture

They are!!!!

Taglist: @ft-multi @cryinginmypromdress @kooafraid @kissestothesky @dianaaviny @ggukkieland

[ ! ] this drabble is for “bad influence” — it can, however, be read as a standalone.

— words; 1.8k

— contents and warnings; hmmm smut, semi-public sex, oral (m rec and mention of f rec), unprotected sex, dirty talk, mention of cum play, playfully “arguing” mid-sex, the endless adventures of bad boy!jk x good girl! reader

“I can’t believe you, Jungkook,” your voice came out as an irritated murmur against the warm skin of his neck, barely interrupted by a soft whimper. “We’re gonna be late for class.”

His hand grew tighter around your thigh, pushing your leg higher up. Jungkook was buried deep between your folds, filling you up in every way that you loved, and yet you were a bit too paranoid to fully dive into those sensations. “Hmmm don’t care,” he groaned, the slaps of his skin against yours filling that small cabinet in a rhythmic symphony. Twice already, a broom had fallen on top of you, knocking you right on the forehead, and so you refused to let it go. That entire scene was ridiculous. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he moaned.

You rolled your eyes, amazed at how he managed to ignore everything else but the feeling of your walls clenching around him. The fact that you two were having a quickie in the janitor’s closet, exactly fifteen minutes before your most important class, was bad enough as it was. Your escapade was far from heavenly, with the stiff air impregnated by the nauseating aroma of a hundred different chemical products, the annoyingly flickering lightbulb over you, and, as stated, the paraphernalia that was knocked over every time Jungkook’s thrusts got a little too rough.

“God, why are you like this?” you complained.

He hummed, his fingers digging into your flesh. You could tell that Jungkook was starting to lose himself in you, for the roll of his hips started to get slower, less coordinated, as they always did when he was trying to prolong his pleasure. “Like what?” He breathed out.

You leaned your head back against the wall, looking at those devilish eyes of his. Jungkook’s hair was a mess, exploding around his head like a failed scientific experiment, and you knew that one look was all it took to know that it was sex hair. “Why do you always have to pick the worst time to do this stuff?” you clarified.

He scoffed. “Excuse me, princess, I think it was you who locked us in here,” he said. He wasn’t wrong, but, to be fair, you weren’t expecting that your make-out session would escalate to that. Then again, you were often naive when it came to his antics. “Now stay quiet or people are going to hear you.”

“Fuck off,” you whispered — whispered, because he was right. You had been controlling your moans and whimpers fairly well, but your normal speaking voice wasn’t a good idea either. There was no way to lock the room from the inside, and anyone could open that door at any given second.

Jungkook smirked like he knew what you were thinking about — that fucked-out, greek god smirk that had your knees weak for a second. His face was bathed by the golden light from the bulb, dripping in shadows and lustful gazes. “Wrong answer,” he teased. “You were supposed to say ‘Oh, Jungkook, I can’t keep quiet when you’re fucking me so well’.”

As if to prove his claim, Jungkook placed his face on the crook of your neck and pressed himself even deeper inside you. The feeling of his cock stretching you open was intoxicating, and the timid moan you let out was enough to make him throb inside you, gasping against the sweet scent of your hair.

Still, you wouldn’t bulge. “Gooood, shut up, please,” you whined, interlacing your fingers in his hair. There was a thin layer of sweat on his nape, the expected result from fucking in a hot, closed-off enviroment. “Are you close?”

“Yeah, almost there,” he moaned, picking his pace back up. You had to bite your lip to suppress a particularly loud moan after one of his hands slithered up your abdomen and grabbed your clothed breast, playing with it as he continued to seek his own high. His other hand still had its iron grip on your thigh, keeping your leg up as he continued to pound himself in and out of your wet heat. “Fuck, I love these skirts you wear. Easy access.”

“You’re such a caveman,” you said. Jungkook was breathing heavy against your ear, fighting for air as he mumbled sweet nothings just for you. You were almost overtaken by him — the pounding of his cock inside your pussy, his delicious moans and curses, the praises that he threw your way for being so good for him. Almost. “Don’t cum inside.”

Jungkook visibly tensed up at your request. You could tell that some part of his primitive brain was thinking of repeating one of his past endeavours — one that he came inside you, and made you walk around campus with his cum in you for the rest of the day. It was really hard to keep an upper hand when Jungkook was always knowingly smirking at you from across the room, loving the way that only the two of you knew of that little nasty secret.

(Miraculously, it was one of the few times that he didn’t feel slightly jealous when he saw you talking to other guys, but you didn’t have to know that).

Still, you weren't wearing pants that day, so the whole ordeal wouldn’t be so easy to hide.

A small whimper left his throat as he leaned forward, placing a wet kiss against your lips. You were looking at him with those big, doll-like eyes of yours, and he couldn’t refuse your request even if he wanted to fill you up so bad. “Awn, you’re so mean,” he whined, forehead touching yours. Every shove of his cock inside you had you bouncing up and down against the wall, that stupid broom threatening to tilt once again. “Can I cum in your mouth, baby?”

You hummed, trying to torture him with a fake thinking session. “Don’t know…” You hesitated. Jungkook cursed against your shoulder, his cock throbbing inside you once again. “Do you have gum?”

“Jesus, woman,” he complained, almost choking on his own pleasure. “Yeah, I have gum. Can I do it?”

You smiled. “Suit yourself.” You had to use all the force inside you to place your hands on his shoulders and push him away. Jungkook almost sobbed when he pulled himself out of your heat, his cock glistening with your wetness, swollen and reddened. “And cum quickly or I’ll kill you.”

You got to your knees before Jungkook had the chance to respond, your hand wrapping around his base and pumping him tentatively. He bucked his hips towards you, hissing at the sensitivity. “Listen, I’m really fucking close,” he told you, “and I don’t think you’d fancy a facial right now, so stop with that teasing.”

You chuckled at his comment, fumbling closer to him. “You know me too well.”

With that, you wrapped your lips around his tip, sinking his member inside your mouth until it almost reached your throat. Jungkook cried out in delight, louder than he had the entire time, and you were sure any passing strangers had heard him.

Yet your paranoia was forgotten when he started talking.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he moaned, placing his hand on the back of your head and tugging at your hair. Jungkook guided your movements with little force, watching as you had your fun around his cock — sucking and slurping him like it was the best thing in the world, the tears that accumulated at the corners of your eyes looking like a divine gift to him. “God, I love when you suck my cock, fuck—“

You moaned around him, the vibrations feeling like heaven to the boy. With a few more pumps of your mouth around him, Jungkook was coming undone with a loud hiss and a desperate buckle of his hips, calling out your name as he released his cum inside you. “Swallow everything,” his voice was hoarse as he told you that, meeting your watery eyes as you fought to drink every drop of his cum that you could. Jungkook smirked at your efforts, fingers caressing your scalp as you finished cleaning him up. “Good girl.”

You sighed happily at his praise, taking his hand as he helped you back on your feet. You could only hope that your knees wouldn’t be red by the time that you arrived at your classroom.

“Love watching you with my cock in your mouth, baby.” Jungkook leaned closer to you, wrapping his arms on your lower back. He gifted you with a quick peck on the lips, still breathing hard against your mouth. “I hate that you don’t let me snap a picture.”

You laughed at that, running one hand through his messy hair in an attempt to save it a bit. In the end, you decided it would be better if he just pushed it back. “I’m not an idiot, believe it or not.” You smiled. “Gum?”

Jungkook nodded and reached for his jacket’s pocket. “Here you go.” He handed you the small colorful wrapping. You promptly threw a piece in your mouth, humming at the sweet taste. He pouted. “You’re going to class like this? You didn’t cum, baby.”

“I’m aware,” you told him, fixing your panties and skirt. Jungkook didn’t seem to worry about the state of his pants, though, because he didn’t follow your movements. “But I’m not gonna be late to this class, today’s topic is half of what’s gonna be on the test. Pick me up after the lesson and maybe you can deal with my delayed orgasm situation. If I’m feeling nice.”

Jungkook smirked, pulling your body closer to his. “Hmmm, love when you boss me around.”

He kissed you again and, when the kiss started to get a bit too long for your liking, you pushed him away. “Jungkook, listen, I have two fucking minutes—“

“Okay, okay, go.” He rolled his eyes, noticing that his attempts at prolonging your little escapade wouldn’t be fruitful. Jungkook stepped back so he could tug himself back inside his underwear, and you turned around to open the door. As your fingers were curling around the handle, he made sure to add, “Don’t exhaust your wrist with all those notes, princess, you’re gonna need it later.”

And of course he smacked your ass when you walked out.

Thirty minutes after your class was over, Jungkook was happy to have his face buried between your thighs, eating you out on the backseat of his car. Suddenly, it seemed as if you weren’t so worried about being caught, because he never heard you moan so loud.

He made a mental note to do that more often.

BAD INFLUENCE COLLECTION

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anika-ann · 4 years

Text

Attached: Words We Don’t Mean

(...and Those We Do)

Type: series, modern-college-professor Steve AU… aka the wrong attachment AU ;)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 7950 👀

Summary: Your parents decide to visit for Thanksgiving, which alone is a trial.

The fact that they haven’t met Steve yet and they have no clue who he is… yeah, you better brace yourself for a storm.

A/N: Attached: Words We Don’t Mean (and Those We Do) is a one-shot to the Attached series. Technically, you can read it as a standalone.

A/N: In the Stockings fic, I mentioned that no one in their household talked about (last) Thanksgiving. Here’s why. Also: I named the parents Paul and Jane, it’s enough of a mess to work around with nameless reader; if that offends you, sorry, feel free to move on from this fic.

Warnings: angst, parents-daughter fight, mention of sexual relationhips and of using one’s body to earn money (negative view), mild flashback, emotional H/C, swearing, sprinkles of fluff and Disney

Story masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

“Sweetheart, please, sit down for just a second,” Steve requested gently; however, there was no mistaking the drop of amusement in his voice.

You hummed in acknowledgement of his words and continued scrubbing the bathtub clean.

Everything had to be perfect. Had to be. You bought the tinniest of the giant turkeys yesterday – just so you wouldn’t have to eat leftovers for a month –, ingredients for the stuffing, potatoes and cranberry sauce. Your mum had promised to stop by somewhere to get four slices of a pumpkin pie. But cooking was on your list later today; first you needed to make sure that the apartment would shine with cleanness.

Not that you considered yourself a neat freak, thank you very much… maybe occasionally. And Steve? Yeah, he was more of a neat freak than you were and now he was telling you to rest and take it easy? Uh-huh, nope.

Nope, because… your parents -- gosh, your parents.

“Honey-“

Your head snapped to him as he bounced off of the doorframe, soft steps leading him right to you.

“Did you just call me honey?” you asked incredulously.

Not that you didn’t like it, it was just-- you were Steve’s sweetheart, his babygirl, his good girl… now honey? That was new and frankly, it might have freaked you out a bit.

Also, your heart skipped a frantic beat upon looking at him.

Damn, you forgot again about what he had done yesterday and it always startled you to see him like that. Too unusual – not bad-looking by any means, just… unusual.

Steve chuckled as he crouched to you, dropping a kiss to the top of your head and cupping your mildly sweaty cheek. He grimaced a bit at your surprised tone.

“Not a fan?”

“I mean, yeah, sure, hun, it’s just that… it’s a bit ominous, the change.”

One corner of his lips rose at your choice of a petname. “That’s because you’re freaking out and I need you to calm down a bit, sweetheart.”

Your eyebrows shot up and you scoffed, rather offended. Mostly because he was right – but also because he was being a damn hypocrite.

“Oh, am I? Me? Did I spend about an hour in front of the mirror yesterday, trying and almost failing to solve the dilemma whether I should or shouldn’t shave off my beard?”

Steve’s face turned entirely sour at your snarky remark.

“Don’t be mean, it’s a valid concern to-- I don’t want them to hate me,” he murmured and dropped his gaze in shame along with his hand, seemingly shrinking into himself, his insecurity returning.

You sighed and mentally cursed yourself for bringing it up again.

You dropped the brush to the tub with a thud and lost one of your gloves, wiping the ew feeling onto your old sweats before you tried to smoothen the worried wrinkle between his eyebrows.

“They’re gonna love you, Steve,” you assured him again, letting you fingers travel over his clean-shaved jaw, lightly pulling at his cheek to make him smile again. “I miss the beard, not gonna lie, but you do have an extremely sweet boy-next-door look now, you are my handsome, funny, smart as hell guy, who’s somehow all grown up and has life stuff figured out and you’re making me happy. You’re the epitome of the guy a girl wants to bring home to meet her parents.”

Despite slightly panting from exertion, you took care to sound as convincing as possible, pushing away your own worries for a bit.

Steve was your perfect guy, perfection incarnated; you weren’t worried about him not making an impression… except for the fact that Steve did have a few years on you and worked at the uni and—well.

Yet, you couldn’t but dread the moment your parents realized that you were everything but perfect since they let you loose on the world. You had never been the daughter to show off like the epitome of everything good and wholesome, but you always tried your best to please them…. Now though? Darting your professor? Even if he wasn’t exactly your professor?

Yeah, you didn’t think that a spotless apartment could make up for that, but it helped to ease your anxiety when you kept lying to yourself that it just might.

Steve grasped your palm in his, planting a tiny kiss there – a gesture to warm your heart, always – his lips once again curled up a fraction as his gaze met yours, his mesmerizing blues kind and hopeful.

“You really think so?”

“Of course.”

And with the way he was looking at you – you finally figured it out. Just a fleeting thought and an answer to an unspoken question you had been failing to grasp at since yesterday; it escaped your lips before you could stop yourself.

“Gosh, you look like a Disney prince!”

Steve’s eyes went comically wide, laughter erupting from his throat and he pulled you to him in one swift motion, falling on his ass with you in his arms in the process and nearly getting crushed by you. Clearly, he did not care one bit as he shook with laughter, kissing your nose, your cheeks and finally your lips despite your protests that you were gross.

“That’s golden! Oh babygirl, you’re the-”

“Tell me I’m Cinderella, I dare you,” you grumbled, but Steve just shook his head and kissed you breathless, fingers of one hand curled around your nape to guide you closer, to breathe you in, while his other hand stayed wrapped around your waist.

You tried your best not to touch him with your gloved hand, having it ridiculously stretched out to nowhere in order not to spot his clothes, but your free hand clutched at his t-shirt with enthusiasm.

His lips left yours only when the world started spinning and your mind turned blank besides the thought of Steve’s mouth being on yours and how much you loved it when he stole all the breath from your lungs – and how much you always missed him when he withdrew.

You stared at him, dumbstruck, as he watched you like you were the eighth wonder of the world, your messy self in baggy clothes, your heart growing three times its size, your insides positively tingly from the heated make-out session.

Steve was smiling again too at last, brushing your nose with his and planting one last soft kiss on your lips.

“Okay, babygirl, now hand over the brush.”

You had to blink several times, your oh so lazy brain taking its time to realize what he said. Huh? Also, did he just said it as if he was asking you were a robber holding a hostage on gunpoint and he was asking you to lay down your weapon?

The thought made you internally snort.

“Why?” you demanded, suspicious.

“Because I’m taking over.”

You instantly shook your head. “No-“

“Yes. I promise I’ll make sure it’s spotless-“

Okay, yeah, that was one of our arguments against him doing the clean-up. However, there was one more. “But you still have papers to grade and lessons to prepare!”

“And you want to cook too and then we’ll have to clean up the kitchen. And you’ll want to take a shower and and and. Papers can wait. Gimme the brush.”

“You make it sound like it’s a weapon of mass destruction… or I am,” you muttered, but you kissed his cheek – such a strange feeling, you truly missed the sensation of his beard scraping your lips – and climbed out of his lap with a meek and cautious thank you. He cackled at your antics, but quickly fished out a new pair of gloves from the bathroom drawer and started working.

You swallowed your smart remark about him being the Cinderella now. Mostly because his gesture was one of the sweetest things and really – seeing Steve scrubbing the bathtub might not be the sexiest thing in the world… but it kinda was.

It pulled at your heartstrings as you imagined that this might be how it would always be; you and Steve, settling together, taking care of the household, then cuddling on the couch—the domesticity you hadn’t always been sure you craved.

Now you were certain of it; but to get to that, you had to survive your parents’ visit first.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

You had somewhat stayed in touch with your parents, mostly with your mum; you two had been calling on a so-so regular basis, sometimes with video, and both her and your father were obviously aware that you had a boyfriend (gee, that sounded kinda trivial, a boyfriend). In fact, Steve played a huge role in them deciding to purchase their plane tickets… besides wanting to see New York City… and you.

The thing was… you had managed to keep Steve’s identity secret so far; you never used a videocall when he was around, so your mum only had heard his voice, sweet and polite in the most Steve fashion possible, you sort-of danced around his age and his job. Yeah, you found it strange as well that you kept it up so long, a divine intervention even; or maybe your mum simply had a good idea of your dirty secret all along and purposely didn’t probe.

Now, with your parents in the apartment, your dad’s eyes more on Steve than on you (your mum’s eyes wandered too, you noticed, but she had enough decency to show you she missed you first), you felt dread fill every cell in your body. Your heart was pounding in your chest with too much ferocity, your temples pulsing, your palms uncharacteristically sweaty and if it wasn’t for Steve’s warm hand on your lower back, its weight oh so comforting, you might spontaneously combust because of your nerves.

You were suddenly entirely grateful that Steve had shaved off his beard, was giving less of a an incredibly hot (and still very young, thank you very much) professor vibe and looked--- well, kinda like he could be your classmate.

But of course, of course the subject came up. Inevitably, after the small talk about your parents’ flight, about how their job was going and if they picked up a new hobby (…or heard some gossip), you and Steve became the centre of attention.

First, things went smoothly enough; you talked a bit about school, about Penny and some of your classmates and professors, about your part-time job. Steve had been subtly drawing small comforting circles on your thigh whenever he wasn’t eating and he in fact succeeded in lowering your heartbeat so much that you might appear even calm.

And then it oh so predictably went to shit.

Because apparently, your materialistic father had to ask Steve what he was studying and what his plan for his future career was.

“I actually finished my studies,” Steve admitted in an admirably dispassionate manner.

Meanwhile, your own heart started racing again, sending you to the verge of a cardiac arrest; your father’s eyes narrowed slightly, but a hint of a smile played in the corners of his lips in effort to remain polite… for now.

“Oh? Was that recently?”

You deflected that question by bringing up the pie and snatching Steve with you to bring it to the table since you two were the hosts.

The question forgotten, your mum – god bless her, she had caught up enough to know you did not want to discuss Steve’s age, even if it wasn’t that bad – asked about Steve’s field of study.

“History, minoring in pedagogics.”

“Oh? So you are a history teacher?” your dad chimed in and you swallowed as Steve confirmed that claim, walking straight into a death trap. You had seen it coming, you had, but you still winced when your father’s icy tone cut the almost festive atmosphere. “And it wouldn’t be that you’re more of a university professor, would it?”

His hand balled into a fist on the table, your mother’s lightly covering it as she whispered his name; the gesture of comfort, a silent plea for him to stay calm, didn’t quite work.

Steve, to his benefit, looked only a bit sheepish, meeting your dad’s eye with bravery worth of the Disney prince you had called him earlier that day. Also, with the same honesty… why hadn’t you agreed on lying to them again?

“It would, sir.”

“Oh. I don’t suppose then that it is a coincidence that you two met in school?” your dad continued and you sighed, your breathing progressively turning into a more and more of a difficult task with the anticipation of a storm.

“It is not, sir,” Steve replied calmly and you honestly didn’t know whether you should kiss him or punch him, unsure if his attitude made your father madder or not. “However-“

Your father’s gaze snapped to you, sharp and enraged; you felt yourself sink into your chair involuntarily, your mind travelling years back to the moments when he wasn’t pleased with you at all, yelled and sputtered words tasting of venom.

“Do you have any explanation for this inappropriate joke?” you father hissed, not caring he interrupted whatever Steve was about to say to your defence.

Your chest grew heavy, edges of your vision blurring subtly; your eyes burned and suddenly, you weren’t only remembering. You were reliving a memory, feeling like your child-self, like your teenage-self, being scolded for every imperfection; and there had been generous amount of those as you had been growing up.

Steve’s hand somehow slid under the table again, squeezing yours, a gentle wave of attempted comfort washing over you.

But it took one glance at him and you understood that silent support was not the only goal of his when he sought your touch.

His jaw was set tight, his grip a little too strong; he was trying to maintain composure, while not at all impressed with the tone your father was speaking with you.

Yet, Steve’s gesture did provide you with something you hadn’t had whenever you faced your father before; strength and true support, the essential reminder that you had done nothing wrong.

“Dad, this is not a joke,” you said, your voice shaking only slightly as you squeezed Steve’s hand back, “Steve and I are dating. Yes, he is teaching at the same college I study, but-“

A fist hit the table, causing the remaining tableware clank with the force behind the blow and you winced in fright, all muscles tensing in an instant.

“There is no ‘but’ applicable in this case!” your father spitted out, the anger in his voice making your guts twist, the sting in your eyes intensifying. “We help you to pay for school so you could study, not sleep around!”

Several things happened at once; your mother admonished your father, a level-headed whisper of his name. Your voice, too quiet as always when your father reprimanded you, tried to protest, to defend yourself. And Steve’s patience ran out, his outrage at your father’s demeanour showing.

“Paul-“

“That’s not what’s-“

“Don’t talk to her like that!“

“You keep your mouth shut now,” you father snapped at Steve, pointing a finger at him accusingly before turning his rage towards you again, the deep disappointment in his eyes somehow more hurtful than the anger. “Is it that bad with your grades that you have to—to--- Jesus Christ.“

The world stopped for several frantic beats of your heart, everything else in standstill. Multiple sharp breaths were drawn in, but you didn’t think either of them was yours.

Your father’s unfinished sentence echoed in your ears as if from a terrible distance and just like that—just like that, you were thrown several months back to the days before your graduation.

Rogers’ whore

Bet she’ll get the highest score

The icy feeling that froze your bones and crystalized the blood in your veins made for a stark contrast to the few hot tears you were distantly aware of that were running down your cheeks.

Many had thought of you that you were a set of holes to fill for the professor in exchange for passing an exam or two, which was disgusting, deeply insulting and obviously wrong. But those people didn’t know you- they weren’t your blood.

Your own father was now seconds from calling you a whore. The dinner turned into a stone in your stomach as the verbal punch knocked all air from your lungs.

“Paul!” you heard a swift reproach, quickly followed by Steve’s voice, dangerously low in a threat. “I’m sorry, what did you just imply about her?”

“You zip it-“

“Paul!”

It felt like a fucking elephant stomped on your chest, the spiral of pity and despair, mocking voices swirling wildly, tossing you around with a quickening speed as the circles got smaller and smaller, as if you were circling down the drain, your breaths coming shorter and shorter too-

And yet your father still continued, ignorant to all warnings and your inner turmoil.

“That’s over, my dear. I refuse to support such disgusting thing. And you, I don’t see how it’s possible that you still have your job-“

“DAD!” a loud cry cut off the monologue and it took you a moment to realize that it was you who just snapped and yelled, despite the unmistakable addressing.

Your father stared at you in mute shock as you dared to interrupt him; and frankly, with the world spinning, your stomach twisted and your chest constricted with anxiety, you were shocked by your actions too.

It was the fact that he doubted Steve’s position at the uni, flashed through your mind, the way he insulted the man you loved and who deserved all the good things. Or maybe it was his fucking attitude towards Steve and you in general and you just finally reached your limit. You weren’t sure; but shit, this ended now.

The silence that fell on the room granted you a few moments to breathe and calm your frantic mind.

“He is not using me like some f-“ -fuckdoll- “-fling or whatever. And he’s not even my professor, he’s-“

“Like it matters!” you father snapped from his trance, spitting the words, a vein on his temple visibly popping up as he rose to his feet swiftly, nearly sending the chair flying to the ground.

You stared up at him, the coil of despair and rage in your gut burning hot as he literally looked down on you.

You hadn’t been ready for this. You hadn’t been ready for your father to despise you for being in a relationship with a great man, to judge you so harshly without being able to listen for a damn second.

“It DOES. But even if he was-“ you tried to explain again, losing patience and the ground under your feet too as Steve’s hand started practically crushing the bones of yours.

You could physically feel Steve trying to hold back and slowly succumb to his not so nice emotions no doubt swirling in him just like in you.

“How can you not see that’s he’s only looking to get his---” your father gestured wildly towards Steve and rather low and you could hear Steve’s teeth grinding at the implication. Your blood reached the boiling point. How dared he to- “-that he’s only seeking a physical thing-“

“That’s not what this is. I love your daughter-“ Steve emphasized, expression fiery, voice surprisingly measured for a man who you believed was one moment from punching your father.

“Sure you do, son, until something with long legs and tall heels walks by-“

Steve’s chair scrapped against the floor and you quickly laid a palm over his chest to stop him from jumping to his feet and succumb to his righteous anger.

“Steve-“ you whispered soothingly, seeing the light tremble to his hands, tendons dancing under his shirt with the effort to hold back.

“Paul, that’s enough,” your mother interjected, grabbing her husband’s wrist to keep him back as well.

“I do love your daughter, I respect her and I fully intend-“

Steve closed his eyes as he inhaled shakily to compose himself. In the very back of your mind, you spared a single thought to what he was going to say before he shook his head and looked your father dead in the eye again.

“-I am serious about her and I want to and will be with her as long as she’ll have me.”

You had two full seconds to sink into the gentle sentiment behind his words, to cherish how much he did respect your choices and strangely, how he still doubted he could be enough for you, before your father scoffed dismissively.

“Well, I hope you are serious, because if she comes crawling back in few weeks, the door and the account will be closed.” He shot you one disdainful look that made your heart stop before twisting his arm from your mother’s hold and stepping away from the table. “We’re leaving.”

Your eyes slipped shut, a fresh wave of hot tears painting your cheeks, all strength leaving your body, darkness enveloping your mind.

He was cutting you off. He was going to disown you no doubt; that much of a disappointment you were to him.

Your own father hated you.

Dull ringing filled your ears, muffling your mother’s low voice.

“I’m so sorry for his behaviour.” She sounded truly regretful, her voice quivering a bit, you thought. “I’ll talk to him about what he said. Thank you for the dinner, baby. It was nice to meet you, Steve, truly.”

“You too, ma’am,” Steve responded firmly, his voice the only solid thing in the room. “I’ll—I’ll walk you out.”

“That’s not necessary, Steve. But thank you. I’ll call you, sweetheart.”

A low whisper about a promise fell from her lips next as she brushed your shoulder, but you couldn’t hope to understand what she was saying, the buzz of blood in your ears growing louder.

And then you knew she was gone along with your father. You knew because a warm hand touched yours, another gently wiping way the endless waterfall of your tears and then you were pulled to your feet and practically dragged to the couch in Steve’s protective embrace.

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You wouldn’t be able to tell how long you were drenching Steve’s shirt in tears, sobbing into his chest as he held you firmly and yet tenderly, whispering sweet nothings, words of comfort empty and yet so meaningful.

You couldn’t tell how long it took for the tremble subdue, for the sobs to turn into sniffles and then die out entirely.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so so sorry,” Steve whispered to your hair, caressing your scalp, your back the next, dropping a kiss to the top of your head.

“I know,” you creaked back, gripping the fabric of his shirt for one last time before you gathered your breath and courage to face him; you had to. You might be a mess, but it was vital that he heard you say this: “It’s not your fault.”

You withdrew slightly, meeting his eyes, so big and regretful, a bit watery as if he was the one crying. The corners of his lips, apparently having been turned down the whole time, twitched, his whole face twisting in a grimace; little sad, little defiant, but he didn’t protest even though you were certain that he wanted to.

Perhaps it was a testimony of how well you two fit, how your thoughts worked on the same wavelengths; you understood what he must have been thinking. If you were dating literally anybody else, this wouldn’t have happened.

So you had to assure him that you didn’t blame him; even if he did so himself. You didn’t have the energy to be angry with him for such thing. Mostly because that in a way, there was a tiny bit of truth in him thinking so.

“Don’t do that to yourself. I chose you. Yes, this relationship is on both of us… but we knew the risks and went for it anyway. And—it’s worth it, it’s just… fuck, this is so fucked up. I’m in such a mess now,” you whispered, your voice breaking as fresh tears burned in your eyes.

Steve’s fingers were quick to dry your cheeks, gently stroking, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“We are, babygirl. We’re in this together. What’s mine is yours,” Steve said, determined. You couldn’t find yourself sharing his optimism, but his eyes locked onto yours, serious as his words. “We’ll figure it out. Find ways of saving more. Hell, if it comes to that, I’ll try to find a job that pays better-”

Your palms landed on his chest, pushing away, putting some distance between you; his hand dropped from your face.

Say WHAT?

“Absolutely not!” you protested instantly, sobering from your despair and letting indignation take over, ignoring entirely the voice in your head sweetly nudging you with the idea of what Steve was willing to give up for you. “I’ll drop off college before I let you give up being a professor, Steve-- you are made-“

“Not an option, sweetheart,” he shot back instantly, expression turning strict. “You leaving college is off the table.”

Mentally, you threw your hands up in the air, growing confused and frustrated by the minute.

“Why? How is that different from you finding a new job, giving up something you worked for so hard?”

“The difference is,” Steve raised his voice slightly, speaking slowly as if he wanted you to remember every word, “-that the chances are that I could come back at some point, that I might only lose a few years. You dropping off, on the other hand, would affect your whole future.”

The same exasperation you felt burned in his eyes now and you gulped, realization hitting you that… yeah, okay, that was a good point. But you hated it anyway.

“…okay, that’s a fair point. But I rather work three jobs and didn’t sleep at all than seeing you leave the university.”

“And work yourself to the ground? I don’t think so, babygirl,” Steve shook his head, just a smidge of patronizing which stung more than you would expect.

Obviously, he was presenting you with more of a feasible option, but you had a feeling that the primal instinct to be the provider played a role in his attitude too – and at any given moment besides this one you would like that; you were completely fine with him wanting to ensure you were secured, taking the larger portion of the burden on his shoulders.

Except now it reminded you of your father in the worst possible way despite knowing that the sentiment was nothing but sweet, no malice in his intentions. It chased tears into your eyes.

Steve’s expression instantly melted, panic flashing in his eyes as he must have figured out that this was not the right thing to say… or not the right way.

His hands were quick to frame you face, tender but unwavering, forcing you to look him straight in the eye.

“Hey, hey, no. It’s just… we’ll work it out, somehow, okay? We can even move out and share an apartment with someone else if we need to. Though you’re forgetting I used to pay this rent and bills on my own.”

Your lower lip quivered, your heart fluttering in fondness for this incredible man, your chest constricted at the idea of taking anything away from him, even if it was comfort. God, the distance he was willing to walk…

“You were living on school cafeteria food and ramen,” you mumbled, corners of your lips twitching upwards for the shortest moment.

Steve’s smile, on the other hand, was almost blinding, tight-lipped but honest, thumbs sweeping at the tears that appeared yet again.

“See, another possibility to save money. Don’t cry, my pretty girl…” he pleaded lowly, kissing your nose before shaking his head lightly. “Or cry if you need to. I’m here, sweetheart, okay? Whatever you need.”

Shit, your heart couldn’t hope to contain this amount of love-

How could anyone ever doubt Steve was the right man for you? The best man? The most wonderful loving human being? How did your father think he was just looking for a mindless fuck?

“I love you,” you whispered hoarsely, smiling through your tears. “Fuck my father. He can’t bully me into being his perfect daughter by cutting me off, can’t make me behave. There’s nothing wrong with me loving you.”

“Or me loving you.”

There was no questioning his honesty; it was written all over his features, his irises bright with emotion. And yet, you worried your teeth over your lower lip, insecurity, your old friend, crawling into your head.

“You do, really? Even with my asshole of a dad?”

You didn’t mean it. Entirely. Though momentarily, your dad was being an asshole, not for the first time.

“Yeah, sweetheart. You’re my everything,” Steve promised, releasing your face in order to tuck messy loose strands of your hair behind your ears.

“That’s the sweetest thing to say, but you can’t exactly sell me to put food to your mouth-“ Oh. Even though… maybe that would be an option? “Well, technically-“

All the gentle warmth radiating from Steve’s expression turned ice cold, smile dropping so fast it startled you.

“Don’t you even-“

“Hey, why not, I mean how much do you think-“

“Stop that right now!” Steve’s voice cut you off, razor sharp voice as if cutting into your skin.

You flinched at the mental blow on instinct, air stuck in your throat, muscles in your back straightening enough to inflict a sharp pounding in your head.

Steve closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling painstakingly slow, as if he got punched in his gut too. His fists on your sides clenched and unclenched, Adam’s apple bobbing. When he looked at you again, it was obvious he realized he had scared you – and that he regretted not keeping his anger in check.

“I’m sorry, babygirl, I didn’t mean for it to come out this harsh.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, focusing on nothing but your breathing and keeping yourself from sobbing again as you were reminded of your father’s yelling. With each long second, you could see Steve’s face twisting and his body sinking into the couch in shame.

Well. As much as you hated him snapping at you, you had to give it to him – it sobered you up. Frankly, you didn’t blame him for being so harsh.

But you were also aware that Steve was a painfully kind and gentle soul and he never wanted to be rough with you… well, except under certain very consensual special circumstances.

“I know,” you forced an unconvincing smile, laying your palm on his cheek, affection Steve was quick to lean into with a sigh – probably both relieved and content. “I’m sorry for talking stupid.”

He covered your hand with his, carefully manipulating it so he could brush his lips over your palm.

“You’re not, not really. Our heads are a mess, rightfully so. I know people still do that, some purely by choice, but—I don’t want that for you, ever. That’s the same level on a will-never-happen scale like you not continuing your masters. Not an option for me. You’re my girl and if someone’s gonna change their habits, it’s gonna be me first.”

The surge of affection at his words filled your stomach with butterflies, wrapping around you like the softest and warmest comforter.

Great, now you wanted to cry for a whole different reason.

“I don’t deserve you,” spilled from your lips before you could think twice. Steve’s sweet smile made its return.

“Other way around, babygirl. Other way around…. Now how does a bath and a bed sound?”

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Steve hadn’t planned on you and him having a bath when making the suggestion. He found a bath-bomb even and few candles so the light wouldn’t have to be on and hurt your previously teary eyes.

But then you looked at him with wide eyes, pleading and so vulnerable, a single look so heartfelt that it would make the devil’s black heart break and the angels weep – and he was done for, sinking into the bath with you even if the bathtub was not meant for more than one person, especially when one of them was of Steve’s built.

He couldn’t tell you no. Less so after the shitstorm the dinner had turned into.

Yes, Steve’s own emotions were running high, anger, disappointment and self-hatred he knew he couldn’t confess to, certainly not at the moment, but you. You were the priority here because he had a feeling that no matter how overwhelmed he felt, he had nothing on you.

The ceramics of the tub was hard against his back and against his knees at the side, but you fit into his arms and between his legs so perfectly and contentedly that he wouldn’t dare to complain. Head in the crook of his neck, your back to his chest, you melted into him, eyes closed, fingers absently and yet affectionately running over his forearms above water, sometimes along his calves.

You didn’t talk much, mostly repeating that it wasn’t his fault, that you loved him – something he found himself echoing every time – and it slipped through your lips too that while you would never change the fact that you picked him… you were sorry for being a disappointment to your father.

At that, something in Steve’s chest cracked and he swore to himself – that he would never ever be the cause of you feeling like a disappointment. And why would he – you were his perfect girl, his best girl. As much as he regretted that he indirectly did have a hand in making you feel like this now, he wouldn’t change who you were to each other and who you were had he had the chance. Never.

What he could do was to hold you tighter after your admission and whisper more sweet nonsense that made perfect sense to him to your ear.

By the time the water got cold, you were practically asleep, completely groggy, pliant. Somehow, you both climbed from the tub without sustaining any injury. He might have been holding you upright a bit as you both brushed your teeth and pulled on a pyjama.

You fell asleep almost instantly, face hidden in Steve’s chest, few stray tears dampening his sleepshirt as you mumbled one more love confession into the fabric.

“I love you, Steve... I’m sorry… you have to put up with such bullshit…” Your words slurred but Steve didn’t need to hear them to understand what you were saying.

He dropped a kiss to the top of your head, pulling you closer to his side, ignoring the sting of guilt in his gut.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he whispered, earning a hum that might have been a sign of contentment… or you being entirely drained. “Let’s go to sleep now. Clearer head in the morning.”

Another hum and then nothing but your deep slow breathing, the last remnants of tension leaving your body.

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Steve didn’t think he would follow you to the dreamland anytime soon, too agitated, thoughts swirling wildly in his head, but he caught himself snapping back to consciousness at some point, unsure when he fell asleep – and what woke him up.

An intrusive buzzing on your nightstand provided him with the answer, your phone lit up.

Steve spared you one glance as you stirred only to nuzzle deeper into his frame, sighing.

As carefully as he could so he wouldn’t wake you, he stretched over you and checked who was calling.

Blood crystalized in his veins, heart sent into frenzy as he read a simple short word.

Mom.

He squeezed the side button, silencing the vibration as he pondered what to do; and yet, even as his heart jumped to his throat – as if he was a teenager about to face his girlfriend’s parents after he took her virginity – he had already made a decision, accepting the call as you sank into the cushions without him as a pillow.

He slipped from the room as silently and quickly as possible, announcing himself before you mother could say something not meant for his ears.

“Oh. Hello, Steve,” your mother greeted him, clearly surprised – but much to Steve’s relief, not angry.

He could do this, he could talk to your mother even with the lump in his throat; could have been much worse. Could have been your father and Steve wasn’t so sure if he would manage him. For one, he would hate to be reminded, once again, of what the numerous hate letters had told him about being a total perv; for two, Steve feared he might exchange words with your father that couldn’t have been taken back and would seal the damage done to the relationship with your parents .

“I’m sorry, ma’am. She fell asleep and—I can wake her, of course, but-“ He stumbled over his words and was immensely grateful when your mother saved him from his misery; more se when she said what she did.

“-but she had a rough night. We all did. I’m okay to talk to you, Steve.”

“Alright… how can I help, ma’am?”

“Tell me how bad she is, Steve? She stopped crying before she falling asleep?” the woman on the other side asked softly, causing Steve’s heart to squeeze in a painful memory of his own kind mother, God bless her soul.

And perhaps it was that very memory that encouraged him to speak openly, the genuine worry of a mother who cared deeply for her child, her heart full of love.

How such woman could end up with such an asshole and stay with him was beyond Steve’s understanding, but he certainly wasn’t in position to judge the choices of the women in your family – after all, he was your choice and there was a long line of people who looked at the two with disdain.

“For a while,” Steve admitted with a sigh, his gaze automatically flickering towards the bedroom. “She’s—she feels like she disappointed you in a way, she’s scared of the what’s next, but she’s angry too, because she doesn’t think she did anything wrong by being with me.”

And Steve thought the same… to a point. Didn’t matter that sometimes he would find himself in a dark place where he simply awaited the moment you’d change your mind and left him; for someone your age, with better looks, someone smarted, someone funnier, someone who didn’t have to shave off his beard just so your parents made it through the front door without yelling.

Such gloomy images always left him more desperate than he was comfortable admitting and with searing jealousy in his gut.

He needed you. Yes, he’d survive if you left – but he was certain that you’d take his heart with him, leaving him unable to fall in love ever again… or to feel whole, for that matter.

“She wouldn’t leave you to get her financial support back, Steve,” sounded gently on the other end of the line and Steve’s heart skipped a beat in alarm, brief wonder if he had said any of his latest thoughts out loud.

He supposed he didn’t – your mother was just too intuitive, just like his used to be. He gulped against his dry throat, suddenly guilty for – in a way – forcing you to leave them.

“…I suppose not… I’m sorry if-- it was never my intention to steal your daughter from you, but I’m- I’m not gonna pretend I mind that she would rather be with me than had her money.”

“This is not your doing, Steve, don’t you think I don’t know that,” she continued, a subtle smile in her voice, Steve thought. “And it’s good that she’s willing to make this choice. We wouldn’t want the bride to get cold feet, after all.”

Steve’s heart stopped altogether, he was sure of it. Colour him mortified.

How the hell—but- she couldn’t--- he hadn’t proposed yet and he- what?

His stomach twisted in a tight knot. He couldn’t but ask, voice barely above whisper.

“…how did you know?”

“You stopped yourself mid-sentence, Steve. And as cliché as it sounds, you had fire in your eyes, defending my daughter. It is clear to me that you are serious about her, that you love her, and from the little I heard about you, you are the kind of man who would put a ring on it to seal the deal.”

You mother was definitely smiling now and Steve found himself doing the same, even if the lift of his lips turned sour.

“I would have asked for parents’ blessings, but…”

“I give it,” she was quick to assure him and Steve’s breath hitched, his chest puffing with pride, filling with endless relief and joy. Your mother approved of him. Even knowing who he was, how old he was, how—she was willing to give him her blessing! “You seem like a good man, Steve.”

Steve was both embarrassed and ridiculously proud when he realized he was blinking against tears gathering in his eyes, enormous weight falling from his shoulders.

“That, uhm—that means a lot, truly,” he choked out, swiftly clearing his throat, the embarrassment definitely winning now. He had to get it together before he gave out how weak he could be in front of your mother… she had given her blessing; she could easily take it back.

“I like you, Steve. You’re a good blend of an old-fashioned and modern man. Don’t mess it up and keep my daughter happy.”

“I will try my best, ma’am,” he declared in an instant, meaning every word.

A sigh sounded from the speaker. “That’s all I ask for… now the less happy reason to call. I talked to Paul, but he… I’m sorry, Steve, as for now, he still isn’t fond of you.” That didn’t surprise Steve, but it hurt nonetheless. Then again, he was grateful that your mother tried to put in a good word for him; that meant a lot too. “He only agreed to pay for three more months.”

Steve’s free hand balled into fist, the other clutching the phone considerably tighter as hot surge of anger flooded his veins.

Three more payments. As if the relationship with your family was a damn job contract and this was the notice period.

Steve was sure he was going to be sick.

“Thank you. That’s… we appreciate it,” he managed to grit through his teeth, trying his damnest to remember that he wasn’t mad at the sweet woman – only at her husband.

“You really are a good man, Steve. You’re good for her. I’m glad she found you.”

Steve would once again be entirely joyful at being at least your mother’s favour, but he heard you call out his name from the bedroom, low, hoarse and utterly confused and all he could focus on was the idea of you, red-rimmed eyes and messy hair and still adorable, looking for him in the dark room with a pout to your lips.

“Steve?” your mother called out unsurely and Steve snapped from his reverie.

“Sorry, uhm, she’s awake-- do you want me to hand you over or-“ he blurted out swiftly, hoping the answer would be no as he couldn’t wait to crawl back to bed with you.

“No, just tell her I called. I believe you two have things to talk about. Take care of my daughter, Steve. I’ll be in touch.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Jane, Steve,” she offered kindly just as Steve heard the soft patting on your fluffy socks on the floor.

“Yes, Jane,” he corrected himself then, unable to contain the satisfaction as he tested the name on his tongue. “Thank you, really. Goodnight.”

He ended the call as you emerged from the bedroom, squinting to the low light, your eyes instantly finding him – he automatically smiled for you, unsubtly splaying his arms wide. You didn’t hesitate, aiming straight into his embrace even if it was at snail pace.

It was funny and strange and wonderful how Steve still loved simply holding you, his heart calmer the moment he found you melting into his frame. Christ, he loved you… and clearly, your mother noticed; he was so obvious, that-

“You were gone,” you muttered into his chest discontentedly, nuzzling into him and Steve automatically cradled you to him tighter.

“Sorry, sweetheart. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” you admitted bluntly, propping your chin on his torso to look up at him, eyes growing wide and surprisingly soft with emotion. “More so because I was talking stupid and crying into your shirt instead of comforting you after my dad accused you of the things that--- those things that aren’t right.”

Steve felt the painful nudge to his consciousness, because he knew there always would be some truth to ‘those’ words; but you were here to dilute the pain and make it all better. Your care for his well-being served like a shield for the sticks and stones for now at least, when you were the priority. You had it worse at the moment, no matter what his former colleague had accused him of in those hate letters – and now your father.

“Hey, no. Don’t worry about me now.”

You gazed into his eyes, pushing on your tiptoes to peck his lips and the small gesture of affection was like a balm to his soul, much like your words.

“But I do. Always. I love you, Steve… I’m sorry we can’t catch a break… but we’ll… somehow, we’ll push through, right?” you whispered, hopeful and wistfully determined and Steve could only nod, feeling the corners of his lips rising.

“Absolutely, sweetheart. You’re my girl.”

“And you’re my guy. My prince charming,” you hummed, cradling his unusually smooth cheek, irises full of wonder, the sensation was as foreign to you as it was to him. But it was your babble that made him chuckle, the nickname that seemed to catch on; you were too cute for words. “Guess I am Cinderella after all and somehow you accidentally fell in love with me.”

“Damn right I did,” he confirmed, brushing your forehead with his lips before tugging you back to the bedroom. “Not all that glitters is gold.”

“True. Though you might have some glitter from the bathbomb on you.”

“Cheeky girl.”

He didn’t bother pretending to be offended or grumpy; he was simply too happy to see some of your snarky teasing side making its return, that was always a good sign.

“I try… but really, are you okay?”

Steve didn’t respond at first, climbing to the bed, manoeuvring you to his arms where you belonged and fit so naturally. Only when the lights were out and you were both comfortable, he replied, truthfully.

“I will be. I have you. Plus, your mum seems to be okay with me.”

More than okay, apparently.

Steve’s heart fluttered with a bit of nerves as his mind wandered to the ring he kept in the very room you fell asleep every night.

“As she should,” you hummed, sounding very pleased. “She has a nose for good people. And you’re the best.”

“After you at least.”

“Best man, then,” you argued playfully and Steve was perfectly content to have you think that. It would play in his favour when he would finally find the courage to sink to one knee in front of you.

“Well, I’m certainly a lucky one… I have the best woman.”

“Uh-huh. Sure you do. Love you,” you whispered, kissing his chest over the fabric of his sleepshirt and sighing blissfully. “Goodnight, Steve.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you too.”

If you only knew how much…

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S.R.masterlist

Attached masterlist

Stockings (next in timeline)

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Wink wink. I once again stretched this quite a bit, but hopefully you reached this very end without skipping something ;)

Thank you for reading and extra thanks if you happen to like, reblog and/or comment. Stay safe and happy!

(Also, to American friends: I hope you'll have better Thanksgiving than this ;) )

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Text

Paul Higgs: Baby Daze

Tomorrow I will return you to your regularly scheduled whump programming. Today... this is what wanted to be written.

CW: Teen pregnancy, some crass language surrounding said pregnancy, brief gun reference, some organized crime references

Approximately eighteen years before Tristan Higgs became another casualty of WRU…

"Well, look who’s here! Billy Higgs’s boy, come to see us after school, then?" Sean Malley claps him on the back and Paul nearly stumbles forward, just barely catching himself as he crosses the threshold from the sun-warmed walkway with straggly weeds growing stubbornly up through the cracks into the chilly shadowed warehouse. His sneakers scrape along the ground, but he stays standing.

He's hardly even as big as a stick compared to his dad's work buddies, all older guys with thick muscled forearms and sleeves rolled up to their elbows. He’s never had much muscle on him at all, but then his dad didn’t have much in old photos either. Maybe he’d get some as he got older, if he worked here. If they let him. "How’s things, hm? Keeping your grades up?”

Paul smiles, a slightly strained expression. The smile is automatic, it’s what everyone expects with small talk. At school he mostly doesn’t even bother with it, but with his dad’s friends… well, a smile’s polite. Right? Friendly.

He tries to look more friendly. He needs them to say yes to what he’s about to ask for.

“They’re fine,” He says, squinting as his eyes adjust to the change in light. “Same as always, A’s and B’s.”

Mostly B’s, but they don’t need to know that.

“Good, good.” Sean slides an arm around his shoulders, jovial as always. Paul tries not to be visibly uncomfortable at the touch. Everyone is always touchy, in the world, and he’s never liked it much. Except with Ronnie, but… that’s different. “So, talk to us, Paulie. What's got Billy’s boy mucking around here at the Garden with the old-timers?"

It's not actually much of a garden, unless you count the dandelions in the sidewalks and the bits of scraggly grass along the edges of the pavement as your rows of plants. Instead, the big warehouse stretches wider than two Walmarts, chopped off into pieces by the standalone temporary walls inside that don't reach the ceiling.

The ‘Garden’ is a place where things happen that no one with a badge is ever supposed to see. There's shouting, good-natured calling out of sums and figures and code words Paul doesn't know, bouncing and echoing in a constant chaos of sound. Metal scrapes, an odd clicking Paul vaguely recognizes but can’t quite place until he thinks of his dad cleaning his guns now and then at night, carefully putting them back together once he’s done.

All that noise lays heavy like a blanket over his skin. He pushes past it - he's got a reason to be here, and he won't let Ronnie down. He can’t let her down.

"I'm here to work," He says, going for strong and loud. He doesn't change expression when the men around him laugh.

He doesn't think their laughter is meant to be unkind, and besides, he doesn't really care if it is. These men have all known him since he was born - if anyone’s going to give him what he needs, it’ll be them. "My dad told me I could pick up some shifts this weekend as a lookout, that you pay cash at the end of the shift, right away. That I could get a couple hundred if I’m good at it, maybe five if I do some running, too.”

"Oh he said that, did he?" Sean meets eyes with Cilly, whose real name Paul has never learned. He isn’t entirely sure anyone here has ever given him their real legal name. Not even Sean. "Will might've let the family know first before he sent his boy here, hm?

"Well, it's. It's important I get cash. Um. Fast. I just spoke to him, probably he'll call you in a bit thinking he's giving you a warning." Paul tries for another smile, and hopes it's warm enough. A bit of coppery strawberry blond hair falls over his green eyes as he looks hopefully from man to man.

He's not even eighteen yet, but really, isn't that even better for a lookout? He knows where they do their business, he knows who to watch for, and he doesn’t look like he’s one of them at all. He's paid attention, sat up at night making maps of where they work and what they do. He knows they’ve gotten into business with WRU, even, the big Facility up in Berras has been sending people down here now and then. He’s good at this sort of thing. He knows he can do this. He’s going to make a living at this one day, and everyone starts somewhere.

He just… has to convince them. These men aren't unreasonable, and they're family. Well, sort of. In a way. In that they all commit crimes with his dad. And some of them actually are real family, although he’s not always sure exactly who.

"What d'you need cash for that can't wait for your parents to come back from Florida, then?" That's Cilly, scratching idly at a red spot on his face, sipping a mug of hot tea like they're at a kitchen counter and not a fold-out table by a warehouse door. The others all have takeout coffee cups, but not Cilly.

Paul's mom buys him new mugs on all her vacations. A gentleman among thieves, she said once.

Nah, Paul's dad had said. Just a thief. But he puts on airs for you.

All the more reason to show him my appreciation, Bill.

The mug he’s drinking from now was one of Paul’s mom’s presents to him. It has a little palmetto tree on the side and Nothin’ Could Be Finer written in swirling script. It came from a trip to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina when Paul was seven.

He hated that trip. He never liked sand. Or the ocean. Or the noise of all the people everywhere in the street. He would have been happy with a book on the couch in the condo if they’d have let him stay there.

"They're not in-"

"Think they're in Georgia," Conor pipes up, the oldest with hair gone nearly gray, cousins to the real boss, a man Paul has met maybe three times and knows only as Mr. Sondheim - which isn’t even a little bit his actual name.

Conor makes Paul’s skin prickle, the way he thinks maybe a cat feels when it sees a mean-looking dog across the street. Paul's dad came home once with blood he had to wash off his hands and a shirt he had to throw out. When Paul asked, he said only, Conor's temper is going to get someone who matters killed one day. Too bad his grandson's as bad as he is. "Aren't they?"

"Nah," Sean says, shaking his head. "Florida. Definitely Florida."

"Actually," Paul starts. "They're in-"

"I thought Texas," Cilly says, almost thoughtful. He interrupts Paul thoughtlessly, and Paul’s face colors a little with embarrassment. He feels like the odd man out in a conversation meant to be about him.

"They went to Alabama," Paul finally says, soft. Thinking no one’s listening, but they all look at him then. That's worse than when they weren't paying attention at all. He never meets any one person's eyes, instead focusing on Sean Malley's forehead, a spot that'll look like eye contact without having to be it. He's never liked having to look too many people in the eye.

Or anyone, actually.

"Ah, all right then. Alabama. Well. What couldn't wait for them to get back from Alabama, Paulie-Wol?"

No one's called him Paulie-Wol since he was eleven - and he hated it then. He blushes even darker. He's always been easy to make blush, and they laugh again. It's a little meaner this time. He has to not care. It’s important not to care, so they’ll let him work.

Paul Higgs straightens his narrow shoulders and pulls a crumpled but of paper, shiny on one side, out from his back pocket. "This is why. I need money. Fast. For this."

He can't help how his voice dips, hushed, almost in awe. Sean is the first to take the little piece of paper, eyes widening in surprise at what he sees, before he hands it to Conor, who whistles through his teeth. Cilly takes it next, with a soft exhalation that's either curse or prayer.

With this group, it could be either. Or both. Paul’s dad always says God doesn’t care overmuch about the difference.

"You're a bit young, aren't you? To need money for this?" Sean asks, and he's… concerned, Paul thinks, and he tries to square himself up even taller. “What’re you, Paulie, fifteen?”

"S-seventeen. It’s-... we didn’t plan on it, Sean, it just happened." This time when his face stays red, heat burning under the smattering of freckles across his cheeks and nose, they don't laugh. All their smiles are gone, too.

They've gone serious, these men who aren't quite blood but might as well be. They aren't laughing at or with or because of him. They look worried about him.

"Paulie," Conor says, shaking his head. "Paulie, you know better than this. Don't they teach you how to make sure this shit don't just happen? Thought we’d stop having teenagers knocking each other up once we got past the eighties.”

"They did. I had a whole health class where we-... but it doesn’t matter, it still. Happened, okay?" The absolute last thing he wants to do is talk to these old guys about Ronnie, and why, and when. If they ask him he’ll melt into the floor, and die, and just be dead right here and now.

“So, when you say you need money… Are you looking to drive her up to Berras?”

“No, that’s not... We talked about it, but she said she already thought about it and made her decision. This isn’t… Don’t look at me like that. I like her decision. I’m happy.”

“You are?” Sean blinks, surprised.

“Yes! I'm happy, so don't tell me I fucked up, because I did. I know I did, but… but I talked to Ronnie, and we have a whole plan and I need money for my plan. And just. Look at it.”

Sean glances back down, taking the paper back, smoothing it out. Shiny on one side, it's a printed black and white image, a smeary blur of monochrome shades. Unmistakable in its center, more or less, is a gently rounded blob of white, topped with another and with other little blobs coming off its sides. Labeled along the top is Baby Botham, 14 weeks 3 days.

“Botham?” Sean asks, head cocked to one side.

“That’s… that’s Ronnie’s last name. She, uh. She didn’t tell them… Because we’re not married.” Paul squares himself up again. “Yet. We’re not married yet.”

He tries not to think about Ronnie crying on his shoulder about how her parents and her sister had screamed at her when she told them, that no one was talking to her and they might throw her out, like this. His throat will close up if he does, in hurt for her, and in anger.

His own parents he’d just told on the phone today, heard the long silence on the other end. Whispers that didn’t quite carry through the line. Then his mother had said, brisk and no-nonsense as always, So what does Ronnie want to do? We’ll help however we can. Will she need somewhere to stay?

“You’re not married yet,” Cilly repeats, not with derision, just with a kind of flat uncertainty. “You’re seventeen, Paulie. Little young to be talking marriage, don’t you think?”

“Well, we’re talking it, anyway,” Paul says firmly. “And don’t tell me it’s stupid. We already made our minds up.”

“Well, far be it for me to question your judgement,” Sean deadpans. “Since you’re clearly making excellent decisions already-”

“I got married at sixteen,” Conor points out. “Wife and I been married forty-two years this December, too. Sometimes it works out.”

“Different world, different times,” Cilly counters, and Conor has to nod in agreement to that. “Lots of those didn’t work out either, now did they? Besides, kids got options now we didn’t have back then.”

“Ronnie doesn’t want those other options,” Paul says, forcing his voice to be loud enough to carry, surprising all three men, who give him a new kind of look. Maybe even seeing him as nearly a man and not a kid, just for the moment. “She doesn’t. I never told her to do or not do anything, we talked about it, and she knows what she wants to do, and I agree with her. Ronnie and I want to get married, and we’ll need somewhere we can live when-... when the baby comes. So I need to start making money. And I want-... I need some fast, this weekend.”

Cilly’s expression goes cold. “Don’t tell me your folks are making you find a place that fast. I’ll take Billy to the woodshed myself if he’d be such a bastard to his own kid when things get tough-”

“He’s not,” Paul says quickly. “They’re not. Mom and Dad aren’t-... but they get it, they’re helping us. It’s not for an apartment, not yet. It’s so I can buy her some stuff.”

"This is a serious thing," Sean says, and he rubs his thumb over what Paul is pretty sure is his baby's head. The blobs are all sort of odd to look at, but… he's pretty sure that one's the head. It’s where he would put the head, if he were designing a person, anyway. "But I can see you’re quite the serious young man, now. What sort of stuff are you lookin’ to buy, Paulie?"

Paul swallows, nervously rubbing his palms along the seems on the outside of his pants. “I… I don’t know. What do you buy someone who’s pregnant? I thought, like, baby clothes? Or a crib?”

“No, no, no.” Sean shakes his head. “You can’t just get her baby stuff, not this early. You are not starting with a crib, Paulie. You got nowhere to even put one yet.”

“Then… what do I buy?” Paul looks from man to man. “I’ve never known a pregnant person before, not anyone I cared about.”

“You were around for my wife’s last pregnancy,” Sean says, mildly offended.

Paul shrugs.

The three older men look at each other, and then sigh nearly as one. Someone pushes out the fourth chair from the fold-up table and Paul sits, each of the other men sitting in turn. Sean picks up his phone and dials. “Hey, Don. Let everybody know we’re off-limits for the next couple hours, ‘til lunch. Yeah, Billy Higgs’s boy stopped by. He’s sniffing around for some lookout work this weekend. Find him some decent jobs for me, will you?”

Paul starts to smile, and it’s genuine this time. Sean hands him back the little picture of the blob that will become a baby, his and Ronnie’s baby, and he tries not to crumble it fully in his hands, worried his sweat will smear the ink. She’ll get another one in a few weeks, said her doctor told her it’ll look more like a person, then. Less like a weird frog. Or like a really, really bad painting.

“Thanks, I’ll owe you.” Sean hangs up the phone and grins, leaning on his elbows on the wobbly little table. The sun shines warmly through the open warehouse doors on Paul’s back. “All right. Between the three of us, we’ve got, what, ten kids?”

“Yeah, but five of those are all Cilly’s,” Conor points out. “And mine stopped bein’ kids decades ago.”

“Yeah, but babies don’t change, and they don’t need much. You need a pen and paper to write things down, Paulie?”

“Write… write what down?”

“What you’re gonna spend your money on, for your girlfriend. You don’t just show up with baby clothes, kid, you gotta go all out. Let’s talk date, let’s talk gifts for this Ronnie, let’s talk it all out.”

“What to Expect When You’re Expecting,” Cilly says. “They all get that book, right? Isn’t that the one?”

Sean snorts, derisive. “Don’t get her that, not this early. That damn book had my wife in fucking tears telling her everything that could go wrong. We need to think of a happier book than that.”

“Well, call your wife and ask her what she’d want, then.”

“Maybe I will.”

“You should!”

“She’s liable to start planning a damn baby shower if I do. You know how Christa is about little ones.”

Cilly grins. “Think she’ll make those deviled eggs I like for the shower?”

“Cilly, for God’s sake, we found out about this five minutes ago.”

“Right, but... deviled eggs.”

Paul takes a deep breath, and sits back in his chair. “I’ll remember, whatever you say. I promise. I don’t need to write it down. Just tell me what I should get her, what I should do.”

“Right. Well, then.” Sean spreads his hands. “Let’s talk gifts.”

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump , @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @vickytokio @whumpiary @orchidscript @moose-teeth @nonsensical-whump

#original fiction #chris the strawberry blond romantic #paul higgs #ronnie higgs #the past #a very special flashback episode #teen pregnancy tw #mob stuff #brief gun reference #fluff #honestly I just wanted to explore Paul as a character because you don't see much inside his head or get much of a feel for him #writing #writeblr #whumpblr #bbu #box boy universe

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oftenderweapons · 4 years

Text

Steamy waters — Hoseok

Pairing: Hoseok x reader (nicknamed Giggles)

Wordcount: 7.8k

Genre: smut, pwp, fluff, mini tiny angst; established relationship, idol!AU

Rating: 18+

Hello teddy bears! I was supposed to take a small break today, but I decided that I wanted to keep working on Steamy Waters since it was Hobi’s turn and it could be an awesome chance to gift this job to an incredible writer who I’m getting to know these days. It was her birthday recently and I thought that I could offer her this small thing as a two-day-late birthday gift. Happy birthday, @xjoonchildx !

As most fics I write, this can be read as a standalone, however, just to find the right vibe (*haha foreshadowing is a lovely thing*) I decided to ideally set it after The Studio.

For those who haven’t read it, I’ll run a quick recap.

Giggles has moved into Hoseok’s apartment, but unfortunately he couldn’t help her since he’s been incredibly busy working on a new project. Giggles was very angry and visited his studio. Since he feels horrible, he asks her what he needs to do for her to forgive him. Giggles states her conditions and decides to proceed with the plan that brought her to his studio, tying him up to his chair and toying around with sensation play before giving him head, their reunion culminating in very emotional and heartfelt fucking (it exists, look it up in the dictionary).

Now, as Hoseok drives her back to their home, he can’t stop thinking of how she took the reins, but also he can’t wait to make her pay for the incredible amount of torturing she put him through. Plus, he’s still thinking about the content of her totebag… As soon as they get home he decides to hit the shower, the water clearing up his mind and helping him organise all his ideas into a plan. That is, if Giggles doesn’t play her wildcard first.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Swearing. Master!Hoseok, sub!reader; Bondage (rope and manacles), mentions of tickler, riding crop, flogger, mentions of squirting; mentions of angst related to Hoseok being busy with his job and not supporting his girlfriend as she moves in his apartment; ben-wa balls; massage oil; grinding and masturbation (male and female receiving); very brief oral (female receiving); multiple cumshots and cumplay in general, mentions of cum eating; a very fancy riding crop; sensation play; tickle play; overstimulation; laugh fetish, crying (from overstimulation); and finally vibrating cockring and multiple orgasms. Have I ever mentioned Hoseok likes changing positions a lot? Well, anyways, suit yourself.

[Ana, if any of this stuff triggers you I am extremely sorry and you are allowed to request a refund for this messy, unedited gift, and I’ll make sure I can offer you a wholesome, cuddly Hoseok taking reader on a cute date and spoiling her rotten with love and affection 😅😊]

Here is my masterlist :)

Enjoy this (for now unedited) mess ✨💜

——————————————————————

Hoseok’s eyes kept wandering between the red traffic light in front of him and the cotton tote at your feet as you sat on the passenger seat of his car, headed to your apartment.

Your shared apartment.

Your home.

He was still trying to understand how you had found the courage to turn his toys against him, to play a role he’d never imagined you in.

You and your pretty eyes and your cute smile and your lovely hair, and your delicate, tiny hands, teasing him with the tails of his flogger, pushing it against his face, making him guess with a blindfold covering his eyes.

He shut his eyes shaking his head energetically as he focused on driving, starting the car once he saw the car before him starting to move forward.

You were laying with your head against the headrest, eyes closed, peaceful while he drove.

He was the best driver in the universe and being in a car with him felt relaxing. You felt safe. Which is pretty rare to you while being in a car with anyone else.

Once you reached the parking lot under his building, you opened you eyes, blinking a couple times. He bent to your forehead, placing a gentle kiss between your eyebrows. “We’re home, sweetie.” He whispered, unlatching your seatbelt.

“Already here?”

“You fell asleep for a bit.” He said, caressing your hair off your face and cupping your cheek. “Let’s head upstairs, Giggles.” He said, undoing his seatbelt and exiting the car.

You laid one more second before opening your door, getting ready to exit just as he appeared before you, offering you his hand.

You took it and climbed off his suv, shortly before he bent forward and took your bag, closing down the car. He placed his arm behind your back, around your waist, pulling you into his side as you stood in the lift. “Are you sleepy?” He asked, poking your cheek and smiling tenderly at you.

You thought about it. Yes, you were a bit sleepy, especially after how he had used you in his studio, and the strong emotions that had possessed you there, however you could perceive his energy, like the humming, crackling sound of static, which made you impatient and oversensitive. You could almost hear his brain plotting and you felt at a few seconds away from snapping at him and tell him to do it already.

“Not that much.” You replied.

You reached the front door and he unlocked it, walking in and taking off his sandals, placing your bag by the door, and extracting its content.

Rope. Flogger. Riding crop. Tickler. More rope. Another bundle. How did you intend to use all that rope, he asked himself as he frowned, headed to the bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed and put the rope on the box he kept under his side of the bed, resembling a small container to store away clothes but actually containing bundles and bundles of rope in different colours, and other smaller boxes. He looked specifically for one, extracting it and placing it over his bedside table.

You didn’t speak as you saw him extract a small bag with toy cleanser and a rag, the other three toys laying at his side as he sat on the bed with his legs spread wide, holding the rag with his right hand and spraying the cleanser with the left one, putting the bottle down before he grabbed the flogger and started to wipe the damp fabric over the leather.

You stood at the door, leaning against the doorjamb, staring at his hands as he used his left one to hold all the tails but one, which he caught with the rag and wiped clean. Moving it aside, he proceeded with another one, his strong and slender fingers stretching to keep the two groups separated.

Those beautiful hands.

You walked closer, around the bed, climbing up behind him and placing your mouth against his neck. “Your hands are so pretty.” You whispered, staring at his digits skillfully handling the toy.

He smiled. “You have mentioned liking them, a couple times.” He replied before chuckling.

“Will I have them inside me again before tomorrow comes?” You asked, mouthing at his ear.

He shrinked, trying to run away from the tickling touch of your tongue. “I thought I had already fed you, hungry little monster.” He said, finally done with the twelve tails and wiping the handle before he bent down to put the flogger into its longer box, wrapping the tails loosely around the handle.

“You were fucked out, almost into dreamland five minutes ago.” He commented, spraying some more cleanser and wiping the wet cloth over the riding crop. You parted your legs wide as you sat on your heels, trying to push your hips against his back for some friction.

“That was five minutes ago.” You replied, your hands skimming down his arms and stopping at his wrists, wrapping around them. “Before I saw these.”

Hoseok had his hottest looks. When he was on stage rapping. When he was sweaty on top of you. When he grinned and licked his lip before biting it, with that specific cocky smirk after making you cum. When getting ready to wreck you. When getting his toys ready to wreck you.

And the fact that he always double cleaned his toys — before and after use — created this sort of vicious circle where you couldn’t understand whether he was done with you or simply getting ready to start again.

Your life was like a pendulum swinging to and fro between arousal and pleasure — to incorrectly quote Schopenhauer. And as much as he was your sweet boyfriend, taking you on picnics and covering you in gifts and letting you pet all the dogs you met on your walks, he was you greatest source of pain and pleasure, in the most addictive, perfect mix of the two.

In this moment he embodied that, precisely. Because, no matter how spent you had been twenty minutes ago, you were once more ready and craving.

“Stop rubbing your sweet, soft pussy against me, little bird.” He murmured, placing down the crop in another box and placing the lid on it.

“Please, master.” You called in your most tantalising voice.

He cleaned the handle of the tickler, spraying some cleanser in the air before letting it fall over the feather, flicking it a couple time with strong snaps of his wrist.

And that’s why you loved him with a flogger.

He placed down the tickler in a third box, where laid another fancy stick culminating in a small rectangle of fur.

You stretched your neck to stare at it longingly before he closed the lid and zipped the large box closed, placing the cleanser inside and throwing the cloth on the floor.

“Go shower, little bird. You’re still messy from earlier and you need a nap.” He said, shortly before noticing your pout. “What is it?”

“I want your fingers. And the tickler. The furry one.” You said, lacing your fingers with his and feeling his strong knuckles.

He stood up and turned to face you, your arms getting tangled up together. He tugged at you, bringing you closer to the edge of the bed before freeing his arms, pushing your wrists together and grabbing your chin.

“I said: go shower.” He chastised, his voice so, so serious.

You frowned at him. “What if I don’t?”

“What’s gotten into you?” He asked, swatting at your mouth in scolding, but at the same time with infinite care. He wasn’t the type to hit someone’s face, even though in moments like this he really wanted to.

You had never been a brat. Of course you had bratty moments, but he never had to discipline you like that. You are his sweet baby, his little bird, delicate and obeying. Why would you challenge him like that.

You turned your face away from him as he studied your warmongering stare.

“Little bird. Go shower. I’ll join you in a bit.” He said, his eyes perusing your lineaments.

You stood up and walked to the en suite bathroom, making sure that he was staring at you as you stood on the corridor and took off your clothes in quick, angry movements, your trousers coming off together with your panties, then loudly and indignantly you walked your way into the bathroom.

Hoseok stared at your scene, quite ignoring what made you snap, but pretty sure about how to ease your temper. Quickly he re-opened the box and extracted two sets of manacles, studying his bed before realising how he could possibly fix that.

Nodding at himself, he took out a smaller bundle of rope, starting a hook around two bars in the middle of the headboard.

Staring at the layout, he changed his mind again, undoing the knot at the headboard and moving it down, at the feet of the bed, lifting the mattress and looping the rope around the bed stave closest to the corner of the mattress and placing the rope neatly on top of the bed, the two tails perfectly parallel to each other, without overlapping.

He repeated the gesture on the other corner, meanwhile thinking about what knot he could possibly use to embellish your ankles.

Next, he secured one band of each manacle set to the sturdy columns at each corner of the headboard, opening both loose bands and preparing them to welcome your wrists.

Moving to your end of the bed, he searched for your box, finding it just behind the edge of the mattress. He lifted the lid and looked inside, observing the content with an eyebrow raised, face completely impassible. Spotting a familiar tool, he picked it up in his palm, trying to think of how he could use it. Giving up on the idea — a shower scene allowed poor lubrication — he considered another option.

He chuckled to himself and looped his finger through a small ringlet, extracting a series of silver balls attached by a silicon string. “Hell, yes.” He murmured, closing the box, already savouring how sensitive you would be after having those inside you, and how incredibly responsive your cunt would be to his fingers once he pulled the spheres out of you. He fixed your box back in place, ready to reach you in the shower when he took a couple steps back, looking at his own box again, sucking at his lower lip.

Fuck it. He bent down and found a smaller box, substituting the one on top of his bedside table and placing his furred riding crop in a handy position, but at the same time out of your sight. Laying it on the small bench at the feet of the bed, he placed the pillows on top, baring the bed and making sure that the mattress was covered in waterproof bedding, just in case.

Satisfied with the layout, he took off his sweater and jeans, collecting your clothes too and leaving all of those in the small chest with the dirty laundry.

Now he was ready to follow your furious warpath.

Standing at the door in the bathroom, he stared at you, your eyes closed as you rinsed your shampoo out of your hair, all the suds rolling gently down your body.

You looked majestic. And so gracious.

He toyed with the metal spheres in his hand, rattling them a little to signal his arrival.

You spotted him and turned away.

Took you long enough, you thought, ignoring his presence. And next thing your knew, his right hand appeared at your waist, sliding down to your belly button.

“Do you want me?” He asked, pressing his mouth below your ear, his hips getting closer to you.

You were still feeling a bit petty. But also very horny.

He simply hugged your back to his front, waiting for your approval before touching you between your legs, his fingers tiptoeing around the imaginary line connecting one hipcrest to the other.

“Do you want me, though?” You asked tensely.

He kissed down the muscle of your neck, moving toward your collarbone. “Of course.”

“I’m sorry I’m so angsty.” You said, turning around and hiding into his slim chest.

“It’s okay, little bird.” He said, relieved that his loving girl was back. “I woke you from your nap in the car. You’ve had a stressful week and I was away.” He ran his free hand down your spine, caressing it with the very tips of his fingers. “You were needy and I bet you didn’t even have the time to take care of yourself.” He bent down to your ear. “And if I’m not mistaken it’s been two weeks since you last had your period.” He tutted and cooed as he drew his nose down your sensitive neck. “You must be so needy.”

You felt like collapsing. It was so good to be his. “I love you.” You replied, appreciating all those small considerations he was making, trying to understand you.

“I love you too, Giggles.” He said, joining your lips chastely, placing butterfly kisses over your lower lip, his brow furrowing as you gave small kisses in return. “Giggles.” He murmured on your mouth, his breath hot on your lips.

“Hobi.” You murmured back.

“Want your lips.” He said, his hand climbing up and sliding into your hair, blocking your head and trapping your lower lip between his teeth.

You moaned as he started sucking, his teeth dragging sublimely against the tender skin of your mouth.

“I’m not putting my hand between your legs unless you tell me to.” He said, letting go of your sensitive flesh.

“Please, do.” You murmured, trying to rub yourself against him, offering some pleasure too once your belly pressed against his length.

“I want your consent, little bird.” He clarified, his hand drawing innocent patterns at the middle of your back.

“You have it.” You answered, your hand stretching across his asscheek, trying to draw him closer.

“I have these, if you’re interested.” He said, removing his arm dangling from your shoulder and laying along your back, opening his fist and showing you the ben-wa balls.

“Yes.” You said, opening your mouth wide and rolling your tongue out, waiting for him to place the toy inside for you to lubricate it.

He grinned, proud. “Perfect.” And like that, the spheres were in your mouth, the small ring still hooked to his finger as he pulled the string out, your lips loose against the toy to avoid removing the drool covering them.

Once every ball was out, you turned and bent over.

“Smart girl.” He praised you rubbing your ass with one hand while the other pushed the first ball in. Then the second.

“Master, please.”

“I’m here, little bird. Only three missing, my love.” He reassured you while you felt the cool metal roll against your hot walls. “There. Another one. I’ll make you feel so good, my little dove.” His left hand slid to your front, between your breasts, until it landed on your face, curling around your jaw. “You can take it, baby. Only two left.”

You felt heavy and full, your inner walls clenching, tightening to sustain the weight of the spheres. Another ball slid in, wider than the one before, and smaller than the next.

“There you go, Giggles. You’re gonna be so tight after this. So sensitive.” He thought out loud.

“Only for you, master.” You moaned as you felt his fingers accommodate the last sphere, your inner muscles locking into a tight grip.

“Such a good girl you are. Can you stand up already, dove?” He asked, wrapping his arm one around your chest, and one around your waist.

“Yes, master.” You replied obediently as he helped you raise your torso, your eyes closing as you felt the toy move around and settle inside you as you reached your new position.

He cupped your cheeks and kissed you softly. “Excellent, little bird.” He rewarded you. “Have you already washed yourself?” He asked.

You nodded.

“Sorry I took so long to arrive.” He said. He was usually the one washing you when you showered together. “Guess you’ll have to turn around, then.” He announced, stretching to reach his body-wash, pouring some in his hands and foaming it up, rubbing it against his front while you turned and looked at him from over your shoulder.

“Curious, little bird?” He asked you, smirking and smiling devilishly.

You bit your lip and nodded shyly.

He moved forward so that his cock rested between your asscheeks and thrusted against you tentatively, frowning once after two strokes he already felt too much friction.

“Stay there.” He said, exiting the shower and looking into the cabinet, immediately spotting his target, deciding on taking it with him in the shower.

“Here or the floor?” He asked once you made eye contact.

You considered your options, throwing a towel on the floor and kneeling down on it, crossing your arms under your head to pillow it. “Here.” You said, looking at him standing tall over you.

“Oh, Giggles.” He said, chuckling. “You’re adorable.”

He moved behind you, your gaze focused on the floor as you heard him close the tap to the shower.

“I’m kneeling behind you, little bird.” He described exactly how he was moving, so that you wouldn’t feel overwhelmed by the situation. “I’m going to cover your cute little bum in massage oil, pretty thing.” He said. “Yes or no?”

“Yes, master.” You replied, staying perfectly still even as you felt the first drop of oil fall on your left ass cheek.

“I know it’s cold, ____. It’ll be warm soon, I promise.” He said, pouring some more on the other side.

The sweet scent of almonds filled the room, intensified by the steam still coming out of the shower.

You felt the sound of the bottle connecting with the floor.

“Here. Let’s make it warm.” He said, placing his hands on your ass and beginning to spread the oil. “Does it feel good, little bird?” He murmured, cackling as you squirmed once his thumbs pressed your labia close together, blood filling the soft, plump tissue, already aroused by the movements of the spheres inside you.

“Yes, master. It feels good, master.” You replied obediently, already pushing your crotch towards his hands. Next he pushed his thumbs from your labia to the skin just behind your hole, the ben-wa balls moving slightly as he pressed from the outside, drawing small circles around the sensitive skin of your entrance, looking as your nectar oozed out from your slick hole once he pulled your labia apart, bending down to lick at your arousal.

You moaned his name slowly, the final ‘k’ getting lost as your breath stumbled a few times in your lungs, drawing in a series of quick, shallow gasps before releasing a low exhale through your puckered lips.

“You’ve been eating fruit, mh?” He asked, noticing the exceptional sweetness of your juices.

“I like fruit.” You replied, trying to sound as coherent as possible.

Still, he chuckled, the sound vibrating against your sensitive crotch while the tip of his tongue tapped against your clit a couple times.

“Master.” You called with a shrill whimper.

He removed his face from between your thighs.

“Yes, little bird?” He replied, standing on his knees behind you.

“Please, use me for your pleasure, master.” You begged, trying to push your butt against his hard on.

His hands kept spreading the oil on your behind, exploring every curve, feeling the soft texture of your flesh. “That’s very generous of you, ____. What do you think if we help each other with this? I could lend you a hand and you let me cum all over your sweet peach here.” He suggested.

“Please do. I want you to cum on me.” You said, turning to look at him, the tip of his tongue appearing at the corner of his mouth while his eyelids hung low, looking at your face.

“I won’t make you wait then.” He said, bending over you, his mouth immediately connecting with the small crevasse between your shoulderblades.

His hips slid against your skin easily this time, the feeling his palms squishing your asscheeks together as he thrusted back and forth, moaning and panting so close to your ear. His movements ricocheted inside you just as his palm slid forward, pressing against your belly in a kneading motion that made the spheres shift endlessly inside you.

“Oh, god.” You gasped, just as he changed direction, the tip of his middle finger reaching your hole, massaging the ring of muscles there before sliding down to your clit, drawing a few teasing circles before his palm moved back to the kneading motion aimed straight at the inner muscles of your vagina, the balls shifting against your g-spot with a pressure too gentle to resemble Hoseok’s attentive fingertips when he made you gush your release all over his hand.

“I’m close,” he said, his pace quickening, his target changing as he separated his hips from yours and bent his cock downwards, toward your belly. Using his left hand for leverage, he placed it on the carpet, his right hand covering his tip as he started chasing his pleasure with wicked strokes against your belly, his front parting from your spine as his hand pushed your lower back down, making you arch almost painfully while his pelvis hit your labia at every thurst, his length teased your clit and his tip poked your belly, making the spheres move, his hand pressing his erection to your skin and helping him reach his climax.

And it gloriously arrived, silent at first, and then exploding in a loud groan, as two and then free spurts hit your chest and your stomach messily.

You were close, so close, but your pleasure felt miles away, like your edge was nothing but an immense plain preceded by a steep but brief climb.

“Master, I’m not—”

He blinked a couple times as his high receded, his ears tuning in on the lack of noise, on you not crying his name, moaning and whining and whimpering with pleasure.

“Giggles?” He called, letting go of his softening cock.

“Please, master.” You repeated.

“Aren’t you done yet?” He asked kindly. “Do you still need me, love?”

“Wanna cum, please.” You wailed, trying to grind against any surface connecting with your pelvis. His palm used the oil left on his skin and the cum he had spilled on your navel to massage your belly, his other hand getting to work on your clit, your high becoming more and more real as you murmured on and on ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and ‘there’.

“It’s okay, little bird. Let go.” He said, needing to bend to your ear and kiss you but deciding upon not messing up the angle now that you were close.

Your breath started coming out in messy hiccups. “Hobi, I— Please, it’s— Uh!”

He took in every small sign he could get as you rode his fingers, completely silent in your climax, even your breathing stopping completely while you focused on the mind-blowing feeling of the balls massaging your inner walls as they rolled inside you at every contraction of your muscles.

“There she is.” He called, diminishing his ministration, reducing the pressure of each touch until you opened your eyes and looked for his feverishly. “I’m here, love.” He helped your hips down, turning you around on the big towel and hovering on top of you warmly, fussing over you. “Are you okay, my precious dove?”

He longed to touch your face but his hands were messy and he limited himself to tender kisses to your face.

“Yes, I’m okay. It was just very intense.” You replied, closing your eyes.

“Quick, back in the shower, love. I have plans for us.” He said, raising himself of his knees before standing up. You followed him in slow motion, walking to the shower and closing your eyes as he rinsed his cum and the almond oil from your body.

“Are you sleepy now, my dove?” He asked, rubbing your booty and hugging you in the process.

“No. I want you.” You said, kissing his lips, nibbling at the thick vein of his neck.

“It’s your what… Third orgasm?”

You frowned and nodded. “I think so?”

“Okay. Let’s move to the bedroom.” He said, “You gave a special request, didn’t you?”

You tilted your head and he smiled beautifully, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I love you.” You murmured, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

With a fresh towel he dried you and then quickly dabbed at his own skin, leaving the bathroom messy, but knowing that he would come back once you were asleep.

“Go on.” He said, motioning at the door with his chin, directing you.

He walked behind you as you reached the bedroom and stood before the bed.

“I wanna tie you up. Play with you.” He said, skimming your sides with his fingertips. “If you’re interested.”

“Front or back?” You asked, figuring out how he wanted you to lay down.

“On your back.” He replied.

“Is the fur crop in the game?” You asked, observing the scene.

“Maybe.” He replied.

“That’d better be a yes.” You replied, climbing the bed.

“Rope and manacles?” Your asked, studying the layout.

“Yes. Manacles for wrists. Rope for feet, so you can hide those better. Or I could wrap something around your skin so it doesn’t chafe—”

“No need. A loose triple column should be enough. Hopefully I won’t tug.” You said, laying down and taking rough measurements of your placement. “I don’t think I’ll need a wrap.”

“Are you sure? We can bandage, you know it.” Hoseok sat at the corner of the bed, catching your ankle and making you bend your knee slightly before placing a kiss to your leg.

“I’m good.” You said.

“You will be tied up at the bed, wrist and ankles. I will tease you slightly first. I want you to relax. Once you’re all loose and soft, we’ll see where this will take us, yes?” He kept things vague, so to avoid ruining the anticipation, but also to keep you from feeling pressured into any procedure. “Do you agree with being tied up and undergoing sensation play?” he asked formally.

“I agree, master.” Etiquette is important. Formality gives importance to what you’re about to do. It makes you feel how dangerous it can be the moment you forget safety and responsibility.

“Which are your safewords, ____?”

“Yellow to slow down. Red to stop.” You replied, looking at him.

“Excellent. I’ll start with your left ankle, little bird.” He adjusted your legs, bending your knees about twenty centimetres off the bed, leaving a meter between your feet.

You stayed perfectly still as he caressed your foot and placed two fingers against your skin, beginning to loop the double rope around your leg and his fingers, without dragging it against your skin, but rather letting it caress it softly. Next he neatly hooked both tails under the loops on your ankle, bringing them up and tying them in a knot, tugging at it. The loops tightened slightly, but from the inside he wiggled his fingers, making sure that there was some extra space and that the knot could slide and give more rope, in case it got too tight. He set it a bit loose, not worrying about it slipping it off since the heel of your foot would block it.

He repeated the procedure on the other side, your legs secured to the bed.

You stared at his skilled fingers looping the rope tidily and precisely, knowing how order and cleanliness could help the moment he needed to undo those.

Next, he crawled up, towards your hips, straddling them.

He was already hard again.

You stared at his sleek, long shaft, how well it matched his lithe, sinewy body, how pretty it looked with the slight upward curve. So perfectly pink, matching his glossy lips and the tip the precise colour of his tongue.

He strapped in your left wrist without you even realising. “I see you’re distracted,” he commented, moving to your other wrist. He hooked one finger in the cuff before tightening it, making sure that even your wrist had enough space for wiggling and tugging without you getting hurt.

“Are you safe, little bird?” He checked on you, intertwining your fingers and placing a kiss on your forehead.

You rolled your ankles a few times, next your wrists, then wiggled your fingers. “Yes, master.” You replied obediently.

“Let’s put our scissors here,” He said, standing up and moving his bedside table closer to the feet of the bed, where he could possibly need to quickly cut the rope. After that, he extracted the safety scissors from the drawer in his bedside table and placed them on the table.

“Tonight I received a special request.” He said, completely comfortable in circling the bed naked, your eyes locked with his as he kept walking around, from side to side, like a predator, making anticipation grow, making you squirm and get worked up, waiting for him to pounce.

“My little bird said she was interested with a special toy. For special occasions.” He said, standing at the feet of the bed.

As he stared at your slit, you had the sudden realisation that the ben-wa balls were still located in your womb, the squeezing of your kegels heightening your awareness.

“And isn’t it a special occasion.” He leaned against the mattress, your neck straining as you stared at him, his eyebrows low on his dark, minaciously sensual gaze, his wet hair shading his ebony irises. “I’ll fuck you in our house. For the first time. On our bed.” He clicked his tongue a couple times. “Not like I didn’t fuck you in this bed before.” He chuckled. “I’ve fucked you plenty.” He smirked, and lounged for your calf, playfully biting it before running away, just in time to make you squirm and contract your inner muscles, making a moan bloom on your lips. “It’s just that it was my bed before. My house. And now it’s ours.”

He dug his hand under the pillows, extracting a stick from beneath the white beddings. A riding crop.

The riding crop. Your eyes zeroed in on the furred tip. And on the leather counterpart.

“It’s your friend, little bird.” He said, caressing his palm with the soft side. “Would you like to remind me how it works?” He asked.

“Yes, master.” You looked at him as he sat at the free space at your side, between your extended arm and your side. “The toy has a double tip. One is made of fur. The other is made of leather. The furred part caresses, the leather part slaps. Master.” You added, for good measure.

He touched your face. “Exactly, little bird. So, shall we celebrate?” He asked, suddenly feeling that his nakedness was jeopardising his power, taking a few steps to the chair in the corner of the room and wearing a loose silken robe, tying it around his waist with a lovely bow.

You were fully mesmerised as once more he started circling the bed. His first target was your ribcage, where he dragged the gentle tip against your skin, making you squirm and arch away from the tickling sensation.

“Ticklish, little bird?”

Bastard. He knew you were ticklish as hell. “A little, master.” You replied, your breath hitching as a small, helpless smile appeared on your face, as he toyed with your nipples.

He cocked his head to the side and smirked as he rubbed your nipples, stealing a small squeal from your lips.

“Just a little?” He asked again, moving to the other side.

“A bit more than a little, master.” You conceded, curving your torso out of reach.

He snorted out a laugh, arching an eyebrow and stretching his lips in a thin line as he sucked them between his teeth.

“Shall we test how much?” He asked, drawing a winding pattern on your belly, spiraling around your belly button. Your abs twitched uncomfortably as you squeaked with a hiccup, your quadriceps suddenly flexing with an involuntary reflex. And of course the spheres moved. Again. Hoseok spotted the precise moment your kegels engaged.

“Are those little balls inside you making you feel funny, little bird?” He asked, the tip of the riding crop travelling up, toward your neck, making your body toss as you tried to escape the sweet torture.

“Answer me, little bird.” He scolded you.

“I— God!” You shouted as he quickly took the crop away and slapped the leather bit against your nipple.

“It’s Hoseok or Master. No god can save you, princess.” He looked at you with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

You closed your eyes as you felt the heaviest sphere lay against your cervix. It was impressive that after half an hour you had such awareness of similar details. All the sex and the arousal and his lovingly wicked tortures will kill you someday.

“How is your tight, sweet pussy feeling, little bird? I won’t ask again.” He asked commandingly.

“It’s sensitive.” You replied. “They move and my walls move and they move some more.”

“That’s how I want you, ____. Sensitive. I want you to drench the sheets in sweat and then in cum, my darling girl.” He said, walking toward the feet of the bed and flicking the furred tip behind your knee, your leg flexing, trying to protect the weak spot by sticking it to the sheets.

He cocked his eyebrow and tilted his head in surprise. “Oh, not there?” He said. You didn’t realise you had just uncovered an even weaker spot. The crop moved like lightning, immediately reaching the sole of your foot and skimming the arch of it.

“Hoseok! No! Please! No!” You started tugging at the ropes, pressing the plant of your foot to the mattress but exposing the back of your knee in the process.

Giggles bubbled out of your mouth as your brow creased in discomfort, struggling at Hoseok’s game as he dashed from one spot to the other while you wiggled and tried to protect both, miserably failing. His eyes were trained on your leg, like a cat toying with a led light; he kept chasing your weak spot as it appeared on your toes then disappeared, suddenly surfacing at your thigh, only to disappear again and travel back and forth. And as you kept wiggling, fighting, tossing and turning, he expanded his battlefield on the other leg too, giving you no rest nor reprieve.

“Master, please!” A laugh broke your plea. “I’m sorry, master. Please I— Ah! I’ll— I’ll— No!” Another fit of giggles echoed through your abs, making you even wetter, your arousal sliding uncomfortably along your slit, back between your thighs and asscheeks. “I’ll behave— No! Please, I’m sorry— Stop!”

You tugged at your wrists, more laughs coming to your mouth and completely stealing any oxygen left in your lungs.

You were breathless.

“You know your words, little bird.” He said, seriously at your feet.

“Master!” You called in a weak prayer, barely a whisper, tears rolling down your cheeks, not knowing whether they were from the laughter or the helplessness.

“Your words, ____.” He said, still slowing down as he realised you were refusing to fight anymore.

“Master.” You cried out, lip wobbling.

He placed the riding crop at the feet of the bed, his body curling up in a tight ball as he sat on his heels and ran two fingers under each of the knots at your ankles, making sure that they loosened. But not undoing them yet.

“I’ll let you catch you breath, love.” He said, taking hold of the crop once more. After all, you hadn’t used your safeword. That means he can go on.

He skimmed it down his own chest, a pleasurable shiver coursing down his spine.

Next he turned his head, left and right, the movement resulting in a thick popping sound.

He walked close to your face, his lips forming a downward curve as he spotted your tears.

Gently he dried them with the furred tip, cooing at you.

“Poor little bird. Master made you cry?” He asked, touching your face with the toy.

You only nodded in return. He placed the softer bit against your mouth. “Come on, kiss and make up.” He said, staring at the small gesture.

First domination lesson: if your sub doesn’t kiss or lick anything you put before their mouth, then you haven’t trained them well.

Your lips puckered and disclosed with a small click of your lips.

“Good girl, Giggles. Very good.” He praised you.

He turned the toy around, offering you the other tip.

You looked him in the eye.

“You need to forgive it in advance, little bird.” He said, cocking an eyebrow and licking his lips. He was breathing heavily through his mouth, which had made his lips dry up too fast.

You gave it a kittenish lick before delivering a silent peck on it.

“Good, good girl, ____. Resist a little more for master.” He said, walking again to the feet of the bed. “Hold tight.” He announced before the crop snapped forward, hitting you straight on your swollen labia with unspeakable strength.

Your whole body jerked in the aftermath, trying to curl up in defense.

“Oh, Giggles. Did it hurt?” He asked, actual compassion in his voice.

“The spheres.” You said, your face twitching with the incredible pressure rushing through your whole body.

“I want one last thing.” He said, delivering light pats to your clit. “Just one.”

And just like that the riding crop twisted once more, going back to the furred head and beginning to dart between your thighs.

Again you tugged at the ropes, hoping they would allow you to close your legs. In vain.

The more you tugged, the more you realised you were completely at his mercy, laughters erupting from your lips in an open mouthed expression, your brow and nose scrunched up in helplessness. “No!” You shrieked, your face hiding against your arm as the fleeting touch of the crop brought new tears to your eyes and new giggles to your mouth.

“Master! Mercy! Please! I’m— Hos— Hobi! No! I’m— I’m a good girl...” You pleaded desperately. “I’m a good—” You spoke weakly. “Yellow.” You called, sobbing in earnest now that you felt afraid and frustrated, the spheres inside you something too difficult to handle for your tired and sensitive body.

Hoseok was trained on hearing your safewords. You had spent hours training with ropes and reflexes and responses. He had spent a whole night sitting on a chair, telling you to talk about your day and randomly insert your safewords in the conversation, jumping up each time you spoke one, then sitting again and tuning his ears to your small talk, ready to jump up at the next.

Therefore, when he heard your whispered ‘yellow’, he immediately stood up and threw the crop to the floor, out of the way, sliding his fingers under one of his knots and tugging at it composedly, watching as the loops loosened and slipped past your heel, off your foot. He moved to the next leg, this time acting even faster.

“The spheres. Yellow.” You sobbed again.

“I’m here, ____. I’m here for you, Giggles. You called your yellow, baby, I’m taking them out.” He explained, kneeling between your legs and tugging at the ring, the first coming out quickly, coated in your wetness; same for the next. The last three were almost imperceptible.

“There you go, Giggles.” He laid on top of you, keeping his weight from your body by propping himself up on his elbows. “Baby.”

“I’m so sensitive.” You cried out. “Please. Make it good.” You begged, eyes watering again.

“No, no, no, baby bird. Look at me.” He called, catching your chin between his index and thumb. “I’ll make it good. So good, love.” He murmured, feeding you small kisses. “So, so good, my tiny, precious Giggles. Do you trust master?” He asked, rubbing his thumb back and forth against your cheekbone.

You nodded.

“Then we’ll use this.” He said, sitting up and stretching to the bedside table, opening the small box he had placed there. He dove his finger in, fishing out a small rubber ring with a thick bullet attached. He brought it close to your eyes. You stared, mesmerised before nodding furiously. “But on a low setting. I’m very, very sensitive right now.” You said, worried.

“Of course, baby.” He said, quickly taking off his robe, parting his legs and biting his lower lip as he slipped the tight rubber cockring around his shaft and down to his base.

“Do you need your wrists free, dove?” He asked you, with an affectionate caress to your outer thigh.

“I can keep them.” You said, determined.

He spread your legs further.

“I’m gonna slide in, _____. Can I?” He asked.

“Yes, master.” You said, reassuring him yourself, stretching to watch him penetrate you.

The moment his tip rested inside you, you mewled in relief, the burning sensation barely there as he slid out, staring at the head of his cock coated in your thick, creamy arousal.

“You’re so good in here, love.” He said, sliding in again and bottoming out in one smooth thrust.

Your mouth stayed open as you finally felt the fullness of his sex fill your inner walls, brushing them in a way the spheres couldn’t, with their rolling and their complete lack of stiffness in length.

“Switch it on, please, master!” You begged with your most gentle voice, trying to conceal your command.

He obeyed you nonetheless. He wanted nothing but to see you spent on the sheets, with a beatific smile, clinging to him as sleep caught you in its motherly arms.

He pushed the small button controlling the bullet, even the lowest setting affecting him as the vibrations ricocheted to his balls, the tightness of the rubber postponing his release.

You reached your high in minutes as he slid discreetly, slowly, lazily in and out of you, focusing on a calm, steady pattern that could allow him to touch your face and caress your hair away from your forehead, to rub your lower lip with his thumb and place soft pecks on your temples and cheeks and jaw.

Your high welcomed you with open arms, like a dive from a cliff in the Mediterranean, the soothing blue embracing your body and cradling it, filling you with the energy of that calm, marine giant until you emerged again, drifting on the flat surface of the water, the sun warming your face, creating a complete sense of balance and peace with the fresh, cool sensation at your back.

Once Hoseok saw your eyes flutter open, he smiled, still driving his hips into you with tiny, controlled movements that he rarely offered you, and that fit the missionary position you were in.

He looked at you expectantly. You waited a couple more seconds before you noticed his hips faltering, one of your eyebrows arching. “Please.” He moaned.

You waited another couple seconds, watching his brow furrow, his lips pucker, his jaw clench before his mouth opened. “Please.” He repeated.

“Fuck me up.” You said, with saccharine voice.

A millisecond later, he was kneeling, your legs joined together and thrown over his shoulder, your ass hanging midair as he hammered into you with a speed you didn’t deem human.

“So sweet. Tight. Fuck!” He growled, moaning, his voice getting higher and higher in pitch until you felt him snap, his hips buckling forward.

And as his high bloomed you felt yours grow again, the reckless drive of his hips making your own pelvis undulate to meet his ruthless thrusts.

“Another?” He asked, his cock still painfully hard as he twisted the ring around and made sure that the bullet would meet your clit as he threw both your legs on the bed, your body rolling on your side while he picked up your knee and bent it to your chest. He adjusted the ring and once he felt your chirping whimpers intensify, he left it in place, hammering into you like a man possessed.

“Yes, Hoseok, yes! Keep going—” You spurred him on. “I love you so much, Hobi, I swear, please, if you— Yes!”

You both came undone, your body exploding like fireworks, your wetness pouring out of you endlessly, while he kept pushing, like he was trying to penetrate into the very soul of you.

And then he let your leg go, making your body roll back into the mattress, sliding forward and stretching his legs from underneath his body, his fingers fumbling with the vibrator and switching it off before laying on top of you, this time letting his weight fall on your body.

“Sex so good.” Hoseok murmured. “Never had it in my whole life.” He murmured, mouthing at your chest innocently, looking for reassurance and tenderness and cuddles.

“Hoseok, baby, I need you to undo the cuffs, love.” You said with a sheepish smile.

“Sure.” He said, suddenly awakening and stretching to reach the left cuff, then the right, unlatching them in record time.

Another part of his training.

Kneeling between your legs once more, he stared at you and rose to his knees, towering over you. With gritted teeth he started slipping off the cockring, more of his semen pouring out in small drops now that the tight rubber band was milking him of what he had left. You stared at the scene, at the focused, strained lines of his face, at the way his hair, now almost dry in soft little waves, eclipsed his gaze entirely.

He stared at your mound marked in his seed, before meeting your eyes captivated by the vision.

“I claimed my girl. In our house.”

“Way to christen the new flatmate.” You giggled as he laid down and nuzzled against you, not even worried about his cum staining him too.

“It’s our home.”

You nodded and caressed his hair. “Welcome home, love.” You said, happy that you could finally speak the words you’ve been dying to say since you had moved in.

“Welcome home.” He repeated, kissing your heart and closing his eyes, waiting for you to fall asleep before he stood up and fixed the mess the two of you had made.

#hoseok smut #jhope smut #hoseok x reader #jhopex reader #hoseok x y/n #jhope x reader #bts smut #bts blog #bangtan smut

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redex-writes · 4 years

Note

I don’t know if it’ a extreme but Elemental powers au(Ether fic or headcannons)? Leo having Fire powers and Vincent having ice abilities? Can be any setting. Or just comparing the two the above mentioned elements would be fine.

I ended up writing a lot with this, so much that most of it didn’t even make it into this oneshot. Like, there’s a plot in my brain now. I might come back to this idea later on and expand on it with some more standalones, but for now, I hope you like this! Thank you for the adorable idea.

In which law enforcer Vincent has an Ice Element, and tries to protect his rival/secret lover Leo, a vigilante with a Fire Element.

Injury, hurt/comfort

The knock came while Leo was tending his wounds. He looked up, startled, then looked back down at the bandage he’d been trying to wrap around his arm. With a sigh, he dropped the bandage and stood, padding over to the door and taking a cursory glance through the peephole before opening it and letting the visitor in.

“You didn’t tell me you’d be coming over tonight.”

He avoided Vincent’s eyes while he spoke, pretending to fiddle with the lock. Vincent huffed, clearly unimpressed.

“You didn’t tell me that you were planning to jump off a goddamn building, but here we are.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Leo protested, spinning around with a glare. Vincent raised an eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest.

“Okay,” Leo amended, “so I did do it on purpose. But I wouldn’t have had to if things had gone according to plan.”

“And by ‘according to plan,’ you mean ‘get out of the guy’s house with a bag of priceless items and hope that no one notices’?” Vincent’s voice was coloured with agitation, and Leo grit his teeth.

“Do you assholes do your research before taking cases?” He pushed past Vincent into the kitchen, talking all the while. “That guy was a scumbag. He’s been ripping off people for years, taking advantage of everyone he comes across, and the ‘authorities’ didn’t do shit about it!”

“So, what?” Vincent had followed him without being asked, leaning against the door frame and watching as Leo grabbed a glass of wine and poured a generous amount into a glass. “You decided to take advantage of your element to commit a pointless theft? Do you have any idea how much the city owes in damages thanks to the little fireball stunt you pulled before you jumped out the window?”

Leo just took a deep swig of his wine, answering with a deliberate middle finger in Vincent’s direction.

“Mature,” Vincent deadpanned.

“Look,” Leo said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “I did it in self-defense. It was either go out the window or get shot, so I just…” he snapped his fingers, a small flame sparking to life between them, smirking at Vincent.

Vincent’s eyes narrowed. He reached out before Leo could react, pinching the flame between his fingers, snuffing it out instantly. When he pulled his hand back his fingers were wet, the ice crystals that had formed on the tips melted by the heat.

“I can’t believe you’re risking your freedom--no, your life--to pull off all of these stupid stunts.”

“He deserved it!”

“That isn’t your call to make, Leo!”

“Yeah?” Leo provoked, face twisted into a challenging sneer. “Why don’t you turn me in, then?”

They glared daggers at each other for a few long moments. After what seemed like an eternity, Vincent averted his gaze with a sharp tch.

“You’re impossible.” His voice was quieter now, and Leo had to swallow down a twinge of guilt.

“Yeah well--ow.”

He winced as the pain in his arm made itself known again. Vincent looked up, seemingly noticing for the first time the bloody stain below Leo’s shoulder.

“You’re hurt.”

Leo snorted. “No shit.”

He set his glass down on the counter and retreated back to the living room, not waiting for Vincent to follow.

The first aid kit was laying on the floor, its contents spilled haphazardly around it. Leo picked up the roll of bandages again, taking a seat on the couch and rolling up his sleeve with a quiet hiss.

“What are you doing?”

He looked up. Vincent was standing a few feet away, brow furrowed. He raised an eyebrow.

“Fishing. What does it look like?”

“You need to clean that.” Vincent stepped into his space, taking the roll of bandages and setting it aside on the couch. He leaned closer to inspect the wound--a deep gash from where a shard of the window had cut into Leo’s arm earlier in the day.

“I thought about cauterizing it,” he said, feeling slightly awkward at being observed so closely, “but I, uh...I remembered what you said last time, about infections and shit.”

Maybe it was Leo’s imagination, but he thought he saw him stiffen slightly. Before he could think much of it, Vincent was straightening up and leaving the room.

He came back moments later holding a cup of water, and set it on the table while he knelt down beside the couch. Leo watched as he took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, then dipped his fingers in the water and held them up.

“Hold still, okay?”

The first icy touch made him suck in a breath through his teeth, but he managed to keep from flinching as Vincent began to meticulously clean the wound. After a while, he realized that the ice crystals he was forming with the water felt nice against the pain, and he was relaxing into the cushions of the couch when Vincent pressed a towel to the wound.

Suddenly, a sharp sting shot through his arm, and he jumped. “What the hell?!”

“Calm down,” Vincent said, sounding annoyed. “I have to disinfect this now.”

Leo grit his teeth, but he knew that arguing wouldn’t do any good, so he bit his tongue and waited for Vincent to be finished.

Finally, with the cut clean and dry, Vincent started to carefully wrap the bandage around his arm. It was a tender action, and by the time he finished and tied the bandage off, Leo was looking up at him with a small smile on his face.

Vincent met his eyes, expression turning confused. “What?”

Leo didn’t answer; instead, he reached up with his good arm and hooked it around the back of Vincent’s neck, pulling him into a kiss.

His lower lip caught on Vincent’s when they parted, and he grinned at the slightly-dazed look in his eyes.

“What was that for?”

Leo shrugged, skin heating a little, but still smiling. “I’m just...really glad you came.”

Vincent looked at him like he’d said something baffling. “Of course I did. I watched you jump out of a burning building today; why wouldn’t I make sure you were alright?”

The way he said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world made Leo feel warm in a way that had nothing to do with his element. He slid over on the couch, making room for Vincent to sit.

They sat in silence for a few moments, with Leo curled up against Vincent’s side. The contrast of his cool skin soothed his own heat, and his eyes slid shut in relaxation.

The silence was broken when Vincent sighed.

“I just…” his arm around Leo’s shoulders tightened, and he felt the brush of lips against the top of his head. “I just don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” Leo promised. He craned his neck to look up at him, a lopsided smile on his face. “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

“I’m holding you to that, you know,” Vincent said. The fondness in his voice made Leo’s skin tingle, made his heart beat a little faster. He grinned, reaching up to peck him on the lips.

“You better.”

#leo caruso #vincent moretti #vinceo #fanfic #oneshot #vincent/leo #alternate universe

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capricornus-rex · 5 years

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Imagine Prompt: Jealous Reader

Photo picked up from @darthvronton

Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: Greez finally takes the crew to Takodana—keeping the promise that he made not too long ago about laying off once everything was over.

Notes: I originally planned this as a sequel to Inseparable Dyad, I tried writing some parts to be ambiguous to its connection with Inseparable Dyad, but I think it works well as a standalone fic too. Either way works anyway, that’s why I made it ambiguous ;)

Masterlist

The Mantis entered the Takodana system via jump to hyperspace. You and Cal have been long awake after your nap, you’ve taken your places in the cockpit—Cal at shotgun, you on the seat opposite Cere.

The off-planet view of Takodana could be seen and appreciated from the Mantis’s windshield. Greez cranks the steering lever forward, you buckled to your seat as the vessel enters the atmosphere; soon enough, the turbulence went away and the crew could sit back and relax. The captain looks for a suitable place to land, not far from the castle but hidden well enough from prying, suspicious eyes.

“Okay, like I promised—Takodana!” Greez exclaimed, almost celebratory in tone.

As soon as you’ve set foot on the cushiony soil of the planet, a strong waft of petrichor invaded your sense of smell. The air was so fresh and clean. Everything about the planet reminded you of Bogano—of home. Unconsciously, you smile at the vast green horizon behind the castle; Cal turned his head to you, stared at you and your infectious smile caught on to him. He smiles to himself.

“Come on, I’ll show you newbies what a real Bloody Rancor tastes like!”

“I’ve never tasted a bleeding Rancor before,” a clueless Merrin blurted.

“No, no. That’s just a beverage name, not a real Rancor bleeding to death!” you explained whilst finding Merrin’s cluelessness somewhat endearing.

Greez was the tour guide for today. After all, he said that the whole crew deserves a day off after that long, exhausting quest and everything else that followed. He led you to the castle’s walls. Upon nearing the high arch that leads to the main door, you looked up high and saw flags flying their colors in the wild wind—there were so many of them that you could no longer see the part of wall where they’re stuck to, because the flags were clustered closely to one another, either way it mesmerized you.

Through the main door, the inside of the castle was like any other cantina—albeit the wider space and more seating areas. The entrance of the Mantis crew caused some curious heads to turn but they quickly looked back away. The last thing you need is more attention.

“Greez!” the voice of a middle-aged female calls from across the room.

“Hey, Maz!” Greez returned the greeting.

“Took you long enough to visit!”

The cantina keeper emerges from the dense crowd of patrons. An orange creature nearly in equal height with Greez appeared. She donned a pair of large glasses which may have made her eyes look slightly bigger than actual. Her voice was wise as it was feisty and lively, there is no doubt she is the castle’s owner. Aside from her appearance, you and Cal could sense something strong coming from Maz—you immediately distinguished that she was a Force-sensitive.

When the niceties and quick catch-up finished between Greez and Maz, he introduced each of you to her, afterwards Maz gave a polite bow to acknowledge all of you. Neither of you may have spoken, but Maz could already sense that you were thinking about her—curious about her, she could almost hear the questions in your head.

In a little while. Maz thought to herself, hoping that you would pick up the hint.

“Welcome to my castle, feel free to go about as you please. Help yourself to some drinks at the bar, put it on Greez’s tab if you like,” she said half-jokingly.

“Aww come on, don’t be like that, Maz! Say we split 50-50?”

Maz didn’t verbally respond, she just chuckled and dismissively waved at the group before walking up to a group she was initially speaking with prior to your arrival. Merrin decided to look around and order later, Cere wanted to sit down already and relax.

“I’ll have whatever you guys are having,” Cere said before going to look for a seat.

All that’s left is you, Cal, and Greez. The three of you sat by the bar, the bartender was a teal, female Twi’lek. As soon as Cal takes his seat on the barstool, she slowed down in wiping the glass in her hand.

“Hey there, delicious,” the Twi’lek spoke in a suggestive hushed tone, when that caught your and Cal’s attention, she continued on with the act. “Anything I could get for you?”

Cal was evidently taken aback by the display, he subtly pulled mere inches away from the Twi’lek while slowly raising his eyebrow at her. You propped your chin on your fist, a look that screamed “What did she just say?” plastered all over your face.

“Uh yeah, five Bloody Rancors, maybe?”

“I’ll get right on it,” she flashed a coy smile before turning around to work on your drinks.

You and Cal shot looks at one another, shrugging shoulders and throwing raised eyebrows back and forth with each other. Your free hand gestured to the Twi’lek, your body language echoing “Is she for real?”

Suppressing your growing irritation made you eerily silent and withdrawn. Greez calls the bartender and tells her to just serve it on their table, she acknowledged the request but kept her eyes on Cal. The Twi’lek was exuding so much attraction to Cal that she’s practically reeking of it.

The three of you immediately left the bar and searched for Cere and Merrin. The flow of the conversation was natural but you were unconsciously out of it, you barely interacted with the crew; Cal sensed the jealousy from the start, he put his arm around you to comfort you and you gradually picked up the conversation. The Twi’lek bartender served the drinks to your table, she noticed Cal’s arm over your shoulder, she maintained eye contact on Cal but you had eyes on her too. Your gaze pierced the Twi’lek, her seductive smirk reduces to a poker face and then leaves. Cal noticed your silence in her presence until she was gone and so he slightly tightens his grip on you.

The Bloody Rancor was apparently a one-hit wonder among the Mantis crew, even Merrin liked it! The chatter and the stories mingled with the patrons’, you decided to explore the rest of the castle and you hurriedly dismissed yourself, making up the excuse of forgetting something back in the ship. Cal waited for a few more paces before following you. He saw you heading back to the ship.

Cal waited a few more minutes before entering the Mantis. He heard the sparking of the soldering iron, the clinking of tools, and the crunching of screws and bolts being wrenched in. He followed the sound and found you in your lonesome by the workbench.

“Hey,” he called.

You glanced over your shoulder, repeated the word, and promptly returned to your handicraft.

“Something wrong?”

“No, not really. I just suddenly found the castle too… crowded,” you muttered and had a dry follow-up. “You should get back there, the bartender might miss you.”

Cal stepped forward, filling up the tiny space beside you by the workbench. He leans his waist against the edge of the table, crossed his arms against his chest, and simply watched you tweak on your gadgets. He knew that you were deliberately trying to avoid eye contact with him; surprisingly, his presence made you a little shaky, you weren’t holding your tools firmly as you should until you accidentally nipped yourself with wire cutters.

“Ow!” You hissed.

Cal immediately took your hand. You didn’t cut yourself luckily, but you nipped yourself hard enough for the base of your pointer finger to get swollen.

“It’s nothing,” you dismissed.

“No, you’re hurt,”

His thumb softly ran across your wound, you gently attempt to pull it away but his grip felt too secure albeit gentle, and then your fingers curled and encased his fingers. Cal slowly closes in on you with your hand held close to his heart.

“I’m fine really, you should go back, they’re probably looking for you,” you continue to dismissively mutter but Cal isn’t budging.

“I don’t think they’ll mind,” his voice was now only a whisper to you.

“Won’t they now?” you muttered.

“Stop talking,”

The gap between you two has vanished, he pulled himself towards you, and then the next thing you knew he has his lips locked onto yours. He dips his tongue into your mouth and a chill ran swiftly down your spine, your heart skipped a beat, failing to conceal your surprise. He gently lets go of your hand, cups your jaw with both hands and intensifies his kiss—causing you to throw your arms around his shoulder, pressing him closer to you whilst you rake his hair with your slender fingers until you gently gripped it.

You felt his smile in the middle of the kiss, you smiled too. His thumb ran across your jaw, his fingers were slowly sinking into the flesh of your neck—in response, you prodded your tongue which caught him by surprise this time. When you pulled away from the kiss, he followed up with another kiss on your forehead and then his lips trail down to the tip of your nose. Suggestive smiles beamed at one another as soon as you found each other’s eyes. Cal playfully pinched your cheek and added another kiss, a quick peck on the lips.

“We should really get back there,” you giggled.

Cal playfully made a pensive expression, squinting his eyes and smacking his lips.

“Yeah, I think we can stay a little bit longer,” he concluded.

You insisted to go back inside, with the half-joke that your drinks are getting warm. You grabbed both of his hands and led him out of the Mantis, the pair of you head back into the castle hand-in-hand. Along the way, he pulled you to him until he could lock his arms around your waist and embrace you, bury his nose on your shoulder and then sneak little kisses on your ear. Your giggles echoed on the outer foyer of the castle until you got back inside and rejoined to catch up with the crew and Maz.

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aion-rsa · 4 years

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Power Rangers Beast Morphers Season 2 Episode 22 Review: Evox Unleashed

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

This POWER RANGERS BEAST MORPHERS review contains spoilers.

In the end this is how it was always going to be. For as excited as I was after last weeks triumphant Power Rangers Beast Morphers episode, there was no way this episode could live up to it. ‘Evox Unleashed’ is good but it’s not great and much of that can be put down to the mandate that has held back Beast Morphers from living up to its true potential.

As I’ve mentioned many times before but bares repeating now, when Senior Vice President of Power Rangers Franchise Development and Production Brian Casentini left the franchise he left us with this revealing quote.

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“I am a big fan of serialized storytelling, but most broadcasters across the globe want more episodic storytelling for scheduling ease.”

Knowing this was a limitation helped me understand the series more and review it under the proper context. It improved many episodes knowing the plot line wouldn’t continue and I could appreciate what they did in such a short time. It hurt others when they didn’t use the standalone story to give us more insight into the characters or even tell a proper one and done lesson. Standalone doesn’t mean it has to be completely disposable.

Casentini went on to say in that same interview that, “I think we found a really great balance (between serialized and episodic) with Power Rangers Beast Morphers.” To give the show credit, many of the serialized episodes did work. The problem was that they more often felt like glimpses into a fully serialized show than proper serialized stories in of themselves. Something felt off about them even when they were good.

That’s not to say only the serialized stories had merit. Some episodic plots were fairly fun and a few were great. Most of them though weren’t used to develop the characters in a meaningful way. Without that the serialized moments the show was able to have couldn’t land. Without character arcs even the biggest of plot moves feel empty.

So it’s no wonder that when we get to the finale we get a lot of great moments that are kneecapped by a lack of development from earlier in the series. The start of the finale is great. It’s tense, we get a tearful moment between Zoey and her mom, and there’s an incredible sequence of the Rangers busting out old weapons. I still wish they had put more time into explaining how the Ranger Vault came to be but it was genuinely clever to have them use old weapons to get around Evox’s ability to absorb their own. Great way to have fan service but still impact the story.

We also get some good callbacks to last episode when Nate says, “I made you, Evox, but today we’re gonna destroy you. As a team!” Perfect way to cement the lesson he learned. Evox later saying, “it’s been a long time since I’ve taken out a civilization” was an excellent RPM callback.

Steel’s sacrifice was also powerful and devastating. More than anyone else we’ve gotten to know and love Steel over these two seasons and he’s always been a delight. Seeing him sacrifice everything was a huge shock but very effective. It gave the rest of the episode more weight. The problem is that while the solution the team comes up with is a good one (combining their human DNA with Morph-X) it’s rooted in the message that the team is strong because they’re human. That’s… true, I guess? But the finale acts like this is something that’s been building up the entire show. It hasn’t. Outside of Steel’s desires to be human this was never built up as a central theme. This wasn’t a constant problem the characters had to deal with in their episodic adventures. I guess you could stretch and say Ravi felt like a bit of a robot when he had to ignore his feelings for Roxy and his love of art but that’s being generous.

Far more effective would have been the very simply message of you don’t have to solve your problems alone. That would have tied into pretty much everyone’s stories in the series. Devon needed to take advice from his dad but refused to listen. Zoey was determined to solve big problems but often tried to do it all on her own. Ravi hid away his feelings and suffered alone. Nate felt isolated from the world and had to build a brother to find friendship. Hell, that would have been a great way to bring in Ben and Betty who while bumbling have always worked together.

And making the ultimate theme of the show, “you’re strong because you’re human” is even more head scratching when you remember the Beast Bots. Are they not strong because they’re robots? Are they only strong because they have human best friends? Is Steel only strong because he’s half human? It’s an odd message with some alarming undertones if you sit there and analyze it. Just looking at on the surface it boils down to ALL MACHINES ARE BAD… when the show did a lot of work to make the Beast Bots sympathetic.

Much of the weight of the start of the episode was able to establish is lost in this confusion and in Steel coming back to life as a human. It’s cute that he finally gets what he always wanted but it robs the show of a more powerful ending. I can understand not wanting to kill a Ranger even if he is a robot but if there were anytime they could get away with killing a Ranger, it’d be here. The human ending is also strange because they add Steel’s voice to his human version. I get why they did it and it was okay in the body swap episode but here it felt too silly. Just give him a regular voice. It would help sell the scene instead of distracting the audience with unintentional comedy.

We then cut to one year later and the montage of scenes is mixed. It’s incredible that Mason Effin’ Truman comes back for a small cameo that also ties off Scrozzle. It subtly does some world building (Corinth and Grid Battleforce are in more contact) and it allows Ben and Betty to finally get some development. Anytime Power Rangers uses James Gaylyn it gets an extra point.

Devon suddenly being a commander doesn’t really work. He moved up in the ranks that quickly? After one year? That’s a little far fetched. Was he even officially enlisted in Grid Battleforce? No one can go from being a recruit to a commander in one year. If he was a commander-in-training I could believe that. This, not so much. Did he even express a desire to be a commander? If this was rooted in an episodic outing earlier in the series it might have been a little easier to buy.

Zoey and Nate working on clean energy was nice though and a good reminder of the franchise’s progressive history. I’m glad they took the time to explain how the city moved away from Morph-X to something that’s attainable in the real world. Power Rangers loves a good message and this was a small but needed one.

General Shaw (love this promotion!) painting with Ravi was cute although it just reminded me how human Roxy was barely in this show. Same with the very bizarre bit with Steel becoming an actor and Blaze being his stunt man. Uh, that came out of nowhere? Steel being an actor, okay, he’s a wacky guy and I can buy that. But Blaze being a stunt man? Yeah he did karate a few times but nothing in the previous episodes set that up. That would have made a nice episodic story that could have reminded us Blaze existed!

The series closes out with the team throwing Steel a birthday and they sing ‘It’s Great to be Human” cementing it as the very odd theme of the show.

Parts of the finale do work, especially the first half, but without any buildup of the shows central themes or the character arcs it all feels flimsy by the end. Its competent but the episodic mandates on the show as a whole crippled its chances. This could have worked with more planning on how the episodic stories could have supported a larger theme but that wasn’t allowed or simply wasn’t done. It makes the finale feel like a slapdash ending that wants to be big and grand but can only manage the trappings of it. The human DNA mixed with Morph-X was a great solution to destroying Evox but rooting it in “it’s great to be human” just made it fall flat. It’s a decent finale but one that will sadly be more known for finally wrapping up the Venjix cliffhanger from RPM than wrapping up Beast Morphers’ story.

This leaves Beast Morphers in a middle ground in the history of Power Rangers. It was a decent series with a lot of potential but ultimately couldn’t deliver on most of it and felt aimless for much of its run. There were genuine moments of quality throughout and you could see a great show in it. Sadly the episodic stories were not up to a high enough quality to sustain the series between the serialized ones, where the show seemed to spend much of its energy. This was Beast Morphers‘ biggest mistake.

Those standalone stories could have been structured in a way to still be episodic while forming a backbone to the show that let those serialized stories thrive. Without that backbone the attempts at serialization just felt like reminders of wasted potential instead of solid stories in their own right.

I’m very interested to see where Power Rangers goes from here. Simon Bennett is one of the more experienced show runners to join the franchise so his influence on the show could be a positive one. Hasbro has also gotten out of the training wheel phase with Power Rangers and could have a better idea of what they want out of the franchise. I hope they take the lessons learned from Beast Morphers and use them to find the best way to work within their mandates to make Power Rangers the best show it can be. It has the potential, Beast Morphers showed that. Let’s hope they can live up to it.

The post Power Rangers Beast Morphers Season 2 Episode 22 Review: Evox Unleashed appeared first on Den of Geek.

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#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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pinknerdpanda · 6 years

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Clarence Returns

Word Count: 1791 Characters: Castiel x Reader Warnings: Flangst - more fluff than angst, but it’s there. Betas: @wheresthekillswitch & @hannahindie Requested by: @musiclovinchic93 - kinda. I know this isn’t the exact direction you’d probably intended it to go, but it’s where the story went for me.

A/N: This is a continuation of a Drabble I wrote last year called Clarence that I would suggest you read before this, however it can be read as a standalone. Though Clarence is one of my favorite things I’ve written...so...ya know. You do you.

Clarence Returns

“Look, Daddy. Teacher says, every time a bell rings an angel gets his wings.”

I sigh, wistful and teary eyed as the last seconds of my favorite Christmas movie play out across the screen. Christmas has always been a season of magic and love, but for some reason this year, I just haven’t been feeling it. Watching George Bailey reunite with his family and learn the value of life has helped, but I’m still feeling somewhat hollow.

This year has been rough - too much loss and grief, not just for me, but all over the world. The world feels so lost and broken and I guess that’s about how I feel, too.

“That's right, that's right. Attaboy, Clarence.”

My thoughts reel back to this time last year, meeting my very own Clarence on a frigid sidewalk downtown. He’d seemed that way too - lost and broken. But even as we’d stood gazing at shop windows, talking and admiring their displays, there was a warmth to him; as though, despite his downtrodden state, he was still hopeful.

We’d spent the next hour down the street, discussing everything and nothing while enjoying a cup of coffee in an otherwise empty diner. I’ve thought of Clarence often in the months since that cold night. I wish there was more I could have done or something better I could have said, but what’s done is done now. I only hope that wherever he is now, that he’s safe and he’s warm.

“Take care, Clarence. Hope you’re ok, buddy,” I murmur aloud, drawing a judging look from my cat, Shadow, across the room.

I groan, flipping the soft, fuzzy blanket from my lap and ambling to my feet. I stretch, sticking my tongue out at my feline companion.

“Alright, you. It’s time for bed.”

I unplug the Christmas tree lights and fold my blanket, tossing it on the back of the couch. Shadow stretches too, her claws peeking out briefly before retracting again. She follows me as I pad to the kitchen, filling her food dish and getting a glass of water.

I yawn, turning to head to my room when there’s a knock at the door. Pausing, I frown, glancing at my watch and noting the late hour. Shadow meows a warning as I slink quietly to the front door. There’s no harm in checking to see who’s at my door; that’s what peepholes are for, right?

Sucking in a breath, I stand up on tippy-toes and peer through the small hole. It’s a man. His head is down as though he’s inspecting his shoes, so I can only make out his dark, slightly messy hair and what appears to be a tan coat. He knocks again, gently, this time looking up and I gasp. It’s been a while, but I recognize those wide, sapphire eyes immediately. Clarence.

I probably should have been worried that this man - this stranger - knows where I live and that he’s at my doorstep at such a late hour. However, there’s an inexplicable wave of relief that washes over me as I gaze at him from behind the door. Shadow brushes against my legs, meowing again.

Undoing the locks, I turn the handle, my stomach leaping into my chest as our eyes meet.

“Hello, y/n.” His voice is as low and rich as I remember. He looks as though his hardship from a year ago is but a distant memory. He’s wearing a suit and tie under a trenchcoat and his face is clean shaven.

“Clarence,” I nearly whisper.

“I apologize for my presence at such a late hour,” he almost blushes, pressing his lips together.

“What are you doing here?”

“I, um,” he looks away, shoving his hands in his pockets, “it’s difficult to explain. Would it be inappropriate to ask if I could come in?”

Shadow meows again and I glance down to see her brushing against his legs. I smile, stepping back and ushering him in. If she trusts him, he can’t be all bad. Right?

We make our way to the living room and he sits across from me, placing his elbows on his knees. He smiles, his gaze lingering on the now darkened tree. I wish I hadn’t unplugged it. It would have been magical to see the twinkling lights reflected in his eyes.

“You are disappointed,” he says without question. I look up to find him studying me carefully.

“No,” I lie, “I’m just so surprised to see you. I was, uh,” I hedge awkwardly, “just thinking about you actually.” I snort at my own candid admission, looking away.

“I know.”

I blink a few times, the silence washing over me until his words really click. What the hell?

“Wait. What?” I gape at him uncertainly.

He frowns, his eyebrows creasing in consideration.

“Y/n, my name is not Clarence.” He pauses, opening his mouth to speak but pausing again. There’s some sort of inner battle being waged here, and though I want to press him for information, I wait, letting him work his way through whatever this is.

After a few more seconds, he speaks again. “My name is Castiel.”

“Ok.” I bite my bottom lip. “Why did you tell me your name was Clarence? How did you find me?”

“I heard your prayer.” His eyes are large and round as he stares at me, expectantly. When I merely blink at him, he continues. “You prayed to me earlier, in a way. I heard you.”

Now it’s my turn to open and close my mouth a few times like a damn fish. I didn’t...pray? Did I?

“How about we start over again? My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord.”

At this point, I’m almost positive I’ll start growing gills, right? I don’t know what to say, but my mouth hasn’t gotten the memo yet, so it keeps trying to do its thing. Finally I manage to spit out one word.

“Angel?”

He smiles sadly, his gaze dropping to the floor again. “Yes. Angel.”

“Angels aren’t real,” I snort incredulously. “What the hell kind of game are you playing here, buddy?”

“I can assure you I am not playing any sort of game. And yes, we are.”

I stand, confusion, exhaustion and disappointment building to a crescendo. “I think you need to leave.”

He tips his head to one side, his face full of sadness and regret.

“I don’t wish to cause you any sort of harm or grief. I just heard you earlier, telling me to take care,” his words are bathed in sincerity. “I realized I’d never been able to thank you for the kindness you showed me last year. When I heard your prayer, I wanted to let you know how much that night meant to me and apologize for not having done so before.”

“Angels have wings and harps,” I sigh, exasperated. “If you’re an angel, why were you living on the street last year?”

That last bit struck a chord, I’m afraid. He looks so sad and lost and I wish I could take it back.

“I’m sorry, I just,” I plop back down on the couch. “I don’t understand.”

“I’ve seen the rise and fall of more nations than you can comprehend. I observed in silent reverence as humankind grew from single-celled, innocuous beings into the masters of technology and intellect you are today. All that time, I’d always watched from a place of detached piety, assuming humans’ needs to be negligible casualties of man’s fall from grace. But then we fell - the angels, my brothers and sisters - we all fell from heaven. My own grace was ripped away from me and I was forced to face the reality of human need in a way I’d never considered before. I’d never experienced lack on any plane of existence, and yet there I was, lacking in every way possible.”

I hold my breath as his eyes dart back and forth like the words he’s speaking are printed on the carpet.

“And just when I felt like I had no chance of redemption or reason for living,” his eyes jerk up to meet mine, “I met you. On a cold, snowy night, when few people would have even chanced to look in my direction, you spoke to me. You reminded me that despite all of humanity’s flaws and faults, there is beauty and there is good. You showed me that grace is more than a source of internal power and strength; it’s an outward expression of love that only humans are capable of experiencing.”

He smiles, the warmth of the expression making the hairs on my neck stand on end.

“Thank you.”

My mind is reeling - part of me still trying to fully absorb everything he’s just said.

“So,” I’m surprised to find that, somehow, my mouth is forming actual words with sound and meaning. “No harps and wings?”

Clarence, or Castiel, or whatever grins, his eyes sparkling again.

“Harps? No. Wings?” He stands and rolls his shoulders. A light from some unknown source flickers and for the briefest of seconds I can see the outline of a shadow on the wall behind him.

The shadow looks distinctly like what I would guess angel wings would look like, but also wrong somehow. It was as if they’d once been majestic and terrifying but time and tragedy have splintered and stripped them of their former splendor with brutal force. The sight is beautiful and heartbreaking, until I meet his gaze again. Where I would have expected to see sorrow and shame, I find hope and a sense of pride. This man - or angel, I guess - had had everything he’d ever known to be truth ripped away from him, and yet he is able to find peace in the ashes of his own collapse.

I don’t know why, but I believe him. I believe every word. It doesn’t make sense or have any hard evidence to prove it as fact, but I do.

Without another word, I stand, approaching him hesitantly. He smiles at me as I wrap my arms around him. I don’t know if it’s for his benefit or mine - if it’s a thank you or a you’re welcome - but we stand there embracing each other as old friends.

I pull back, surprised to find my cheeks wet with tears I hadn’t known I was crying. He brushes his knuckles across my cheek, sweeping the tears away as he smiles down at me.

“Well, Castiel or whatever your name is, if that doesn’t put a person in the Christmas spirit, I don’t know what will.”

He tips his head to one side, his eyes narrowing. “I’ve heard fruitcake and eggnog have proven effective, as well.”

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ongnable · 6 years

Photo

à la nuit

They smell floral. Heady. Familiar. It’s jammy sweetness, and rich as wine.

He’s a freshly laundered linen, clean bedsheets, and cotton woods type of guy. His mother always called him a shower on a summer’s night.

Not this. Whatever this was. It rubbed him in all the wrong ways. Grated at his nerves, and messed with his senses terribly. But he couldn’t get enough. Can’t get enough.

He knows the scent. But from where?

{ supernatural au } kdn | bjy | pwj | osw | hmh | hsw

a/n: vampire ong for my soulmate/supernatural verse. can be read as standalone; but skimming daniel’s for context is recommended. dubious consent-ish. mildy mature (it’s all… implied).

More than hunger, what he feels is almost akin to need… and hunger. There’s not really an accurate way to describe it. Apart from the fact that there was a yearning separating it from being a physical desire.

He thinks it’s his soul’s own way of desperately missing a part of him. The burning inside is painfully reminiscent of sunlight exposure. Sending signal for him to find them while his body moves on its own. Dazed. And his mind is dulled by the toll of daylight.

Whoever he’s searching for... they feel like a lullaby even when he’s sleeping.

It’s opulent and rich in an entirely opposite way to the plush leather and carpets that he trudges through with closed lids. Carnal in the barest sense of the word.

Perhaps in the day it would be play out differently. Yet, in his drunken state there is nothing standing in his way to blindly follow.

Close enough to make out her form - she smells creamier in person, less pungent and charring. Instead of permeating through the still night air, she envelops the whole area. He registers it as a floral note - something his mother would plant in the gardens, night blooming and vining along walls, entwining and protecting the grounds.

Seeing her wrapped tightly, unmoving, he’d probably be angry in the morning if he remembers this… To think that while he’s suffering night after night, she’s resting calmly without worry.

Each stride he takes, his hand lifts a bit more. Reaching for her. Seongwu kneels at the side of the low bed as he takes in the feel of being surrounded by the addictive thickness in the air – pressure pushing against his chest with each breath.

Murmuring intangible words on soft fragrant skin, muskier and saltier than the blood running warm underneath, he rolls a strand of hair along the pads of his fingers. He let it wrap around his hand, enjoying the feel of dark strands gliding from his hold.

It’d be so easy.

He moved closer. There was no flinching at his touch as she chose to inch closer with closed eyes and wet lashes. No movement to wake, as he nuzzles at the crook of her neck, the pulse beating in steady staccato.

It’s only when she reaches for him, hands in wanton search for that cool touch under the thick covers, clutching at the hand that left too fleetingly - that he blinks. Eyes wide open as they drink in alien surroundings, taking in the foreign touch and flinching away in a flurry of lost embarrassment.

‘What am I doing?’

Shutting the translated book, Seongwu stretched his arms up in attempt to lessen the ache beginning to develop at the back of his shoulders. His sleeping patterns these days seemed to have a mind of its own, so he’d turned to reading to try and take his mind off things.

One book led to another, and before long, he’d ploughed through all the vampire fiction available in the school library, a part of the non-magical studies corner.

It had been amusing at first when Daniel suggested the idea - ‘don’t you want to know what the humans think of you?’- and being a lover of books and poetry, a no brainer as a way to take his mind off things.

But soon, he found himself falling deep into the rabbit hole and wondering when vampire fiction had begun to stray further and further from the truth.

Dracula started the craze; and it was admittedly truthful – at least, it was at the time it was written – though a little too dark for his taste personally, and he’d side-eyed Minhyun for having it readily available in their room.

Interview with a Vampire was of his parent’s generation. Romantic at heart, and so unapologetically gothic. Yet, it wasn’t until the recent years that he learned to appreciate this gem.

Because, contrary to popular belief, vampires did age (at least… up until a certain point, at which, growth was drastically abated); and being a child of the 90s, he grew up at the cusp of Buffy the Vampire Slayer ending, with a new trump on the scene.

Twilight. That was the commercial poster success of vampire fiction for kids his age.

Sparkly creatures. As if a fairy had cut off its wings and been fed the same bloody diet. He wondered how Yoonmi-ssaem would feel about letting him babysit her first-born. A sanguivorous diet may not be all that bad… Kids needed a lot of protein.

While much of what was known about them was subject to the seasoning of human authors, Seongwu couldn’t understand how little was accurate when the humans had been so alarmingly accurate in the olden days.

Was it due to the rise of more magical species of similar abilities misleading them? The lack of clear governance between the realms? Or precisely because there was so much on them – both fact and fiction – that the truth had become lost somewhere in the middle?

The boy was just grateful that the successful franchises always left one thing untouched – his race was consistently gorgeous.

Sinfully good-looking night dwellers. Of course, it was a marketing technique to make money. He’s seen his share of ugly uncles. But it doesn’t mean that the humans needed to know.

Tilting his head to the side in attempt to relieve the strain from another sleepless night, he let his gaze fall to the side, dark lashes catching the last remnants of sunlight reflected off the window.

He knew his instincts would never lie to him. Not when the sun was drowning at dusk.

Seongwu sighed.

“Just come out.” Eyes downcast, tired and lax figure making him seem as if he’s napping, if not for his words. Lips curling into a smirk as he confirms earlier suspicions. “I can smell you.”

His senses were dimmed during the day, his sight limited to a few meters in front, and his hearing annoyingly selective, worse of all – his sense of taste and smell – dulled to near naught – barely in existence. But at night… Everything he gives up for comes back at once.

Vampires were the perfect example of magical energy exchange – as with all energy, nothing ever lost. Only transferred and exchanged. And always in balance. Day and Night. Good and Evil. Yin and Yang.

Taking off his glasses, Seongwu rubbed his temples in mock annoyance when he hears the sharp intake of breath, but no movement. Still frozen at the same spot. He’d wanted to sound hostile, dubious, but he’s not quite sure it’s worked given how he can’t sense any fear. Something about the hidden figure is affecting him.

They smell floral. Heady. Familiar. It’s jammy sweetness, and rich as wine. All at once.

He’s a freshly laundered linen, clean bedsheets, and cotton woods type of guy. His mother always called him a shower on a summer’s night.

Not this. Whatever this was.

It rubbed him in all the wrong ways. Grated at his nerves, and messed with his senses terribly. But he couldn’t get enough. Can’t get enough.

He knows the scent. But from where?

You held your breath. It’s obvious that there was no point hiding, but the fluorescent lights should mean that - unless you were a step too slow – he shouldn’t have seen you.

Turning to peek at the vampire, he didn’t seem angry or annoyed. But he did seem curious as to why you were currently hiding - if the tilt of his head your way was anything to go by.

It’d be a lie to say that you hadn’t been looking at him. Mind embarrassingly blank at the sight of him. Given how often you see him, you really shouldn’t be affected, but you still are.

Seongwu’s handsome, and his tall body is all lean muscle and taut lines, but from where you were, you couldn’t help but notice how small he manages to make himself, hunched over whatever he’s focused on. The way he’s able to put all his focus on something.

And he looks different too. Never have you seen Seongwu – neat, put-together, pretty-much-royalty, comma haired, and tight-uniform-immaculately-in-place-everyday-Seongwu look like this. Hair slightly mussed up from the way his hands have been threading through it, playing with the dark un-styled strands, his lips glistening a little - wet from absent-minded nibbling – hiding his fangs.

Pivoting around so that your back was no longer leant against the bookshelf – you straightened the papers in hand and walked to where he sat. Printer-warmed sheets now stale to the touch.

Knees buckling slightly - walking on such loosely tufted wool carpeting after having stood so stiffly made it hard to balance - and you fidgeted with the edges of the sheets to distract yourself, straightening the edges to line in perfection.

“You weren’t in class today. Cheetah-ssaem said to pass these on to you.” The cat demon was known to have a soft spot for him, so it came to no one’s surprise that she’d rather someone hand him notes instead of asking him to drop by her office if he was feeling unwell.

Or ‘seemingly unwell’.

Because upon closer inspection- he looked to be fine. If maybe a tad bit tired. But who wasn’t at this point of the year? Tousled hair and dark circles on pale skin. You weren’t even sure if it really was tiredness, or if it was just the normal traits of his kind.

“Thanks.”

“Welcome,” dropping the notes on the table, you scan over the vampire fiction skeptically.

Maybe reading human fiction about his kind gave him a sense of ironic humour? Perhaps he really was ill?

“Are you feeling any better?”

“I’m alright. Could be better.” He turns his body towards you, and up close, the dark circles do seem more prominent – almost hollowed bruising under the shadows of his eye bags. In contrast - making his eyes shine even more brilliantly under the dim light.

“Thanks for asking though. And…” You looked down to avoid the way he scanned over you. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah?” Blinking in surprise, you supposed you were. Was any reason to his worry? Did you look particularly drained? Was he even worried? The workload must’ve finally taken its toll on you as well.

“Good.” He nods to himself more than anything. As if he’d simply been confirming a fact he’d already known… or looking for an anomaly.

I really must be tired… He’s just asking out of politeness.

Seongwu was known to need time to warm up to people. The way he carries himself … Aloof and careful down the hallways, but cracking up in toothy (or is it fanged?) smiles and loud chuckles near his (equally famous) dormmates. There was no reason for him to suddenly be interested in your well-being.

“Is it the moon cycle?” If it was, what a bother it must be. Your race wasn’t really affected by such things, but you knew vampires rarely had trouble seeking out sleep. “Is that why you’ve been missing classes?”

Seongwu pursed his lips as he looks up at you from where’s he sat. Tutting, fingers drumming over the hard cover.

“Is it obvious?” He asked, hating to think that it was now taking a physical toll on him. If there was one thing he took pride in, it was his appearance.

“Well, yeah. You’re probably the only person I know who hasn’t drowsed off in that chair.” The old armchair was notorious for being the worst seat if one had to study. Cursed by some old senior when they fell asleep on it and missed an exam. Misery loved company.

“Is that all?” Seongwu’s vaguely amused, as if thinking that no weak cursed chair could affect him anyway. To each their own – you weren’t lining up to give it a try. Especially not after what happened at your last curse breaking exam.

“I guess you look different in a way as well?” Like he needs a good snuggle. “Like… you’re kinda drowning in your current sweater-“

You gesture at the soft knit. Much more comfortable looking than your own uniform. A great deal more casual than anything you’ve ever seen Seongwu in. Less stiff. Less militant.

It doesn’t cross your mind to say that it’s different because he’s wearing something that doesn’t remind others of his rank.

“And you’ve been blinking really hard. Like your eyes are strained. And your face…” Seongwu’s head cocked slightly to the side. Blinking as if to make a point. Like a kitten.

Cute.

The kind of cute that he shouldn’t be allowed to exude because Seongwu carried himself like he’s one of the demigods, when in truth he was just another pompous blue-blood, but he’s just-

Really soft.

Your mind fails you momentarily. Blushing when he stares back unashamedly. Waiting for you.

”It’s slightly puffy.” Your hands fly up to the sides of your face to try and imitate what you think ‘puffy’ might look like. No point hiding what he already knew.

On a more serious note…

“You look tired.”

The words spill out as a garbled mess. You hope he doesn’t mind, your diction isn’t normally so embarrassing. And you knew that a few of the older clans had pet peeves for these things.

“Thanks.” He snorted at the serious look on your face. Seongwu rolls his eyes, but he did feel better, to think that you noticed these things.

And the scent – he could grudgingly admit - was comforting. The strings that had tied around his head so tightly – loosened, strangely dampened at your closer distance despite how it had stung at him earlier.

“I mean- you still look good though! Very good! Don’t worry! Kinda messy, but like - purposefully. Like you just rolled out of bed!”

That was a compliment, right? That was surely the look that people that take bed selcas went for. And Seongwu took them! You’ve seen his Instagram!

“You’re not going to keep going?”

“Your ego doesn’t need to hear anymore!”

If he kept leading you to talk, it’d almost seem like he wanted to keep you around.

Noticing the chesire grin on his face - you pout, a look that he mockingly imitates – so you squint, and he squints back.

But Seongwu’s still smiling, so he just looks funny, which causes you to laugh too; and the next thing you know, you’re tumbling. Doubling down, Seongwu pulling you over.

Ha, Seongwu could’ve cackled – full on 90’s kids-superhero-movie-villain type of cackled - at how easy it’d been to verify his theory.

He didn’t really want to think about the repercussions if he were to be misguided, but he’d been half prepared to start groveling and apologizing and blaming his current state of craziness on some exotic vampire illness if he’d got the wrong person.

But what he felt was right. Whatever had hold around his head loosened, and the pressing over his ears were gone.

It felt good to have you close. Close enough that he could almost taste the sweetness under your skin. Everything feels real. As if nothing did before. Everything’s clearer. Less cluttered.

He wonders if he’s experiencing a sensory overload.

“But I want to hear more.”

He says, but all you hear is the wild beating of your heart. It’s going so quick, you can feel it knocking at your ribs, the tingling of blood rushing up to your face ticklish as your breathing slows.

Maybe it’s the sudden wash of oxygen, but you feel slightly lightheaded. Floating and drifting.

You’re normally good with words. Never not having anything to say. It should be easy. Yet it wasn’t. Because he was messing with everything.

There’s no way Seongwu doesn’t know what he’s doing to you.

Leaning back from his hold, you search for any signs of the sugar-rush delirium you’re feeling. But he looks perfectly at home with the current turn of events. In fact, Seongwu looks overly comfortable, slightly smug, and amused while playing with the ends of his bangs.

Your hands kinda, maybe, really want to wipe that smirk off his face.

“You don’t always get what you want.”

There isn’t even time to be proud of your comeback (at least, you’d intended it to be), since it applied to you too.

If anything, the boy looks even more determined to keep on bothering you, tongue tracing the edges of his fangs as if to remind you that – hey, I have fangs, so if you punch my very good-looking, statue-like face you might scratch your hand – and that, he did have a very very good-looking face. Damn him.

A buzz resounds from the table that traps you against Seongwu in a weird, contorted angle, and you turn – extorting maximum amount of effort from your poor back - to look at his abandoned phone – about to say something. Anything else would be better than the awkward silence that’s settled.

But instead all that comes out is an even more awkward ‘uuhhh’ when he starts smiling at the slip up. All kitten lips and twinkly eyes and nose crinkles (what is actually going on???).

There’s no slow motion and sparkling background like the dramas and webtoons… it’s just awkward since Seongwu is still just staring (but also smiling now) – as if this is the funniest thing he’s seen since nuguseyo, and the constant pause-and-buzz action going on behind you does nothing to help relieve the situation.

You should really be creeped out and also, maybe mildly offended. Because wow, you’ve totally fallen for that “handsome-guy does douchey things but gets away with it because he’s handsome” troupe – but you can’t even bring yourself to be annoyed since Seongwu looks freakishly happy for some reason.

He just seemed… content.

And seeing him look happier also makes you feel good. And warm inside.

But that isn’t the point. Point was - he’s already sick (or tired? Very very tired. Just not well enough to attend classes), and you were being nice because of that. And he wasn’t doing more than hugging you? Half hugging?

Maybe he was just stressed, and all the poor guy needed was a hug.

If he’d looked like a sad kitten stuck in the rain earlier, now he looks like a kitten that’s been fed warm milk and just wants a nap. Sated. And, oh - look how dark it is outside - you really, probably, should stop with the kitten comparisons before you start melting into a pile of mush- -

By now, you’re making a conscious effort to let your eyes drift anywhere but him. rubbing your lips together to spread what remains of your lip balm when the phone buzzes again. More messages coming in.

It was almost curfew. His dorm was probably looking for him before the maglocks activated.

“Ignore it.”

Seongwu says to get your attention back at him. Stretching his neck to nuzzle at the palm of the hand you raised to point at the phone. Senses dull and awake in response to the fragrant warmth.

Taking your hand back, your fists clenched, willing shudders to subside as you slip in the hole that formed between his arms and the table, opting to support yourself on the chair.

“Okay.”

Vampires were instinctively predators. Maybe Seongwu is also the type that lets go when prey stops struggling. (You wish your heart would also stop struggling to keep a steady pace too).

“Is this alright?”

“Is this… what?”

“Is this alright? Can we stay like this for a moment?” Seongwu closes his eyes, inhaling. “Just a moment.”

Nodding, you let your arms rest on either side of him, elbows digging into the couch to keep you from falling flush against him.

It was obvious that as strange as this was, he was in no state to hurt you, and whatever Seongwu was suffering from seemed to have found temporary relief.

Feeling you lean in, pulse steadying, eyes flashing the same shade of dark red to match his own - a clear sign that the strings of fate were somehow involved between the two of you. He hasn’t quite grasped why you’re putting up with him. How long would you let him stay this way? To what extent?

Does she feel the same?

If he’d known how soft hearted you were, he’d have to keep an eye out for you earlier. Seongwu let his eyes drift from the sharp chin and ruddy lips up to the dark lashes, thick enough to form a curtain over her eyes… It wasn’t too late to start now…

Echoes of the magically enhanced curtains shutting from the end of the hall cause you to look away distractedly whilst more lights and candles begin to flicker and flutter.

“Do you usually like to read?”

“Reading’s okay. I like poetry though.”

“I-“

“Like painting. I saw your watercolours the other day.” He thinks of the girl so intent on mixing the right shades of aqua and gray that she wastes half the lesson before starting to paint - while he sticks doodling black lines on paper.

“I was going to say that I like reading, as long as it’s not part of the curriculum.”

When he’s not busy pretending to be the most important person in the room, you guess Seongwu was nice. There’s an easy-going streak to him. And despite having pegged him as the type to enjoy dark humour and sarcasm, it seems like slapstick and hyperbolic parodies were more of his turf.

Then in a true case of awkward timing - a yawn escapes to break the supine pattern of low mumbles and slow breaths, the comfortable conversation you’d fallen into – as if reminding the two of you that the locks were definitely going to be switched on soon; and you’d have laughed at Seongwu’s instantaneous reaction to throw you off him if not for the worry evident over his handsome features while you try to re-balance yourself.

Your hands fly to the nearest offer of support – which in this case – end up being Seongwu’s shoulders (kinda bony, you make note of absently), as his hands come around your waist help to lift you off. Settling you on the ground again.

Huh? From being haughty to friendly, cuddling to leaving, everything seemed to be going at his designated pace.

“Shall I walk you back?” Collecting the papers, he looks to the entrance, books floating back to their original spaces on the shelf as his gaze narrows at the darkening sky.

“Uh… No. No. I’ll be fine to go back myself. I think.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you? It’s getting dark and your place is far.”

It doesn’t strike you to think how Seongwu knows where you stay. Nor does Seongwu seem to think too much of how he knows. All you notice is the almost guilty look on his face. Wearing his features down further. And when he blinks – again – as if readjusting his sight. It’s like he’s straining.

In truth, you think, Seongwu’s the one you should be walking back in that state.

“I’ll be fine. You go back and have an early night. See you in class tomorrow?”

“I’ll try to make it.”

He doesn’t.

It’s clearer that night, as if mist had cleared amidst the dawn’s arrival, Seongwu supposes it has in a way; and it’s with knowledge of his destination that he heads out, more aware of his surroundings and the security cameras at every turn. Mind is only half awake, body taking the reins once again.

His consciousness is very much present, and he wills himself to travel faster, stealthily drift towards the figure that kept haunting him at night. Body remembering its way as it drifts through the halls.

This time, however, he pauses at the door.

Takes his time to pick up the whoosh of air escaping your pillow, of the duvet sliding off your limp body, and the barely-there sighs of slumber as you toss and turn.

Seongwu blames this stupid primary-school-stalking-his-crush behaviour on natural instincts. And the watching-her-sleep part largely on reading Twilight.

It’s strikingly familiar regressing the room, once again occupied by the young winter’s first breaths of midnight chill. A cause for the soft duvets and blackened-wick candles spread atop the coffee table he’d neglected to noticed on previous visits.

Seongwu isn’t even able to muster surprise when he finally sees his sleeping beauty for the first time.

It’s her. Of course, it’s her.

He’d known the moment you stepped out the library that night. There was no way you could’ve seemed so familiar. Intimate.

You’d been more effective than valium, and more addictive than opium. Becoming this form of cacoethes to bother him night after sleepless night.

Just one taste.

Pliant and trusting, leaning towards his warmth as he sat by your side - he could picture it – how easy it’d be to mark you. Behind each nibble of flesh under his teeth, a bud of pink would bloom. Then if you let him, he’d indulge in more – and each bite would blossom fragrant petals of red.

Seongwu’s biting so damn hard on his own lips - just to hold back from biting something else - that its strange to think that he isn’t bleeding when its usually so easy to draw blood with a scrape of his fangs.

One taste. And it’ll all stop.

Rubbing his sideburns now, really making an effort to not lose concentration, dragging it up with his fingertips until he feels the slight burn, he’s sure that whatever control he has won’t last any longer –

Seongwu widens his jaw carefully, the slow motion usually causing his jaw bone to crack as he widens his mouth to let his fangs fully form. Letting the cool ivory graze upon the pulse point. He could already tell that it’d be delicious from the scent.

The fangs are cool metal on warm skin, and from the way you squirm away slightly, he can tell that your neck’s ticklish. How cute.

When the first signs of red begin to leak from the small incision he’s made, Seongwu tentatively laps at the blood. Sweet and fragrant don’t even begin to describe it after so many nights. This was the blood he’s been looking for.

Shifting to the side to try and rid of the ticklish sensation, you seem to be having the strangest dream. There’s trickling water down your neck and a dark shadow by your side. Yet despite their hidden silhouette and presence, you don’t feel fear.

Just the need to see them. Know them.

In the dim light of your room, your blurry eyes seem to have painted a mop of black hair and pale skin, a smattering of colour over his lips, with thin wrists and beautiful hands… ones you recognize.

“… Seongwu?” Your dreams seem to have formed a constellation in his image. “Is that you?”

“... y/n?” Pulling away, his hands remained between your head and the pillow.

“Why are you here?”

Was it fair to ask a figment of your imagination why they were there? One who wore Seongwu’s face because your mind unconsciously wanted it so? To listen to words you wanted to hear spoken by Seongwu’s images? And hope to hear that he was here for you?

Proof that he also felt the same pull you did.

Seongwu stood in place, studying the dazed look in your eyes. You certainly seemed to be awake instead of sleep talking, but too calm to think him a threat despite the drawn blood.

He’s the one that wants an explanation. A reason for you to keep on bothering his thoughts, but not while you’re still in a state of confusion. Subtly intoxicated with vampire venom.

“Your blood called me.” He whispers. Raspy. His throat is dry. Thirsting for more.

Draping his hand over your eyes, Seongwu closes his fingers over your temple firmly, another hand supporting the back of your neck to lay you back on the bed. Willing for control and power as his hands begin to glow.

For now, he’d lay you down on a throne of pillows, make you feel like royalty. Seongwu hoped that in the future, perhaps you’d find it in your graces to allow him another taste.

“Forget the night.”

Dorm arrest is fun, Seongwu mused, now with a proper reason to stay away from classes.

But it’d be a lot more tolerable if the others stopped making fun said dorm arrest.

And if they alone in his misery instead of bringing their lunches over because Minhyun was going to murder him if any crumbs fell on their carpet.

“What was it again? You felt her or something? That’s how you know she’s your soulmate.?”

Not feel, but more like – sensed. Some type of magnetic forcefield sci-fi shit he couldn’t explain. But that sound too corny, so Seongwu changed his approach-

“I just seem to smell her everywhere.”

“Normal people tend to say that they see them everywhere when they like someone, hyung.” Guanlin offered, gently, as if trying to gauge whether it was a cultural difference thing. But nevertheless, worried about his senior. “Is it the lack of sleep? Do you want me to ask Daehwi to brew you a sleeping draught?”

“Don’t worry so much.” Sungwoon laughed at the scandalized look on Seongwu’s face after hearing what the maknae had to say. “Ongcheongie isn’t exactly normal.”

“Love makes you blind, hyung.” Woojin adds in between mouthfuls of food while Jihoon nods absently, already used to simply agreeing with whatever his same aged friend had to say whenever they had (loud) group discussions as long as it didn’t affect him and the fried chicken in front of him. “Maybe that’s why you smell her.”

For members of a four-legged race in the pack, it was norm to primarily locate mates through their scents. Was there a point in worrying over something like this? Once again, Seongwu was overreacting.

“Ongie-hyung’s as blind as a bat!” Daniel adds cheekily, prodding fun at his similarly blood-feeding friends, before bursting out in laughter over his own joke. Repeating the word ‘bat’ at himself and giggling each time, only pausing in between his laughs to take a bite of his burger.

“At least I’m not a big puppy that likes to pretend to be a cat!”

“Yah!”

Sulking, Seongwu folded his arms in front of him to lean on, pushing his chin onto his wrist until his lips formed a pout. “And I’m not in love.”

“Right.” Guanlin nodded in disbelief, evaluating the current situation. For such a hopeless romantic, he’d thought that Seongwu would be happier finding his soulmate. “Is she giving you a hard time? Does she not like you back?”

“Uhhh….”

‘Did she not like him back?’

Who wouldn’t like him back? Seongwu paused, thinking of the best way to explain without making him seem like an idiot.

“I might’ve tried to wipe out her memories.”

“HYUNG!” The lower classmen shout at him in chorus while he defends himself.

There were so many reasons why he had to do that!

For one, he could’ve got expelled for sneaking into the girl’s dorms (Daniel snickered at that); and two, if he wasn’t expelled for that – he could’ve been stuck with a permanent record if he suddenly lost control of his appetite and fed too gluttonously (‘But you didn’t, and I know you won’t,’ Sungwoon reassures).

“The fact that you’re Minhyun-hyung’s second-in-command makes me worry about the future.”

“Ahhh, hyung!” Even the maknae looked disappointed in him.

“You’re on your own.” Jihoon decides halfway through his chicken (and by proxy, his explanation). “I’m not involving myself in some idiot-hyung’s love life., or lack of.” He took one last bite to finish off his meal, reminding Seongwu of his own – untouched – food. “It might give me indigestion.”

“Demon!”

The demon only raises an eyebrow, pretty face hiding his evil intentions (evil evil eeeevvvvviiiiilll, Seongwu chants). “Was I supposed to be offended?”

“And I already said I’m not in love!” He sighed. Burying his head under his arms now. “I’m just. Maybe. In like or something.”

“In like.” Daniel repeats, nose scrunching in attempt to hold back his laughter.

He loved his hyung. Really, he did. Ride or die, brothers under oath, travel all three realms and back type of thing, but the things that came out of his mouth sometimes-

Daniel scrunched his nose.

“Don’t.” Ong warned. “Don’t laugh.”

“Too late.” Sungwoon bursts out in laughter with the rest of the table following. “So what do you plan to do now? It’s not like you can get those memories back after wiping them off.”

Seongwu opened his mouth, but closed it again when he realizes that – yes, indeed – while doable, it was risky considering he had no reigns over the amount of time he could give back to you.

Spots of memory were even more dangerous than a clean slate. Especially when you were in the advantageous state for memory manipulation, being half-awake.

“And you’re under dorm arrest now that you were caught outside after dark.” Woojin pointed out. Unhelpfully, might Seongwu add. “So, no more midnight stalker visits to knock her off her feet, maybe you should-”

Ears twitching at the sound of someone else about to enter the dorm with food, Woojin and Daniel stood abruptly to race each other to the door, ignoring Seongwu’s cries of ‘so what should I doooooo?’

When the door opens, it’s not who you expect.

You’d expected Ong Seongwu whose been bothering your dreams ever since that night in the library. Ong Seongwu whose hands gently comb through the knots of your hair, fingers sweeping along your neck in those dreams. And Ong Seongwu who made your heart race whenever the thought of him enters your mind.

But instead of the vampire, it’s crown prince, Hwang Minhyun looking down at you blankly.

Not ‘looking down’ as if you were a peasant (even though, that’s exactly how Hwang Minhyun – and by extension, Seongwu had initially made you feel), but because you kind of shrink into their front carpet under his calculating gaze. As if he’s looking for a third eye or something.

You knew that Seongwu shared a room with the gumiho since it was one of the many strange conditions the royal family had set for ‘security reasons’ in order to keep the general and advisor close to the future emperor; but whilst seeing Seongwu out of uniform made you want to take care and coddle him – seeing Minhyun in his casual wear made you want to cower away.

It wasn’t the way the carried themselves, or the glowing aura that always seemed to exude from the dorm 101 boys… but just a feeling, inside. None of the comfortable familiarity you found synonymous Seongwu is there.

“If you’re looking for Seongwu, he’s not in.”

“But he’s ill!”

He shouldn’t be going out in his state… Peeking through the door, you can see that it’s indeed dark in the room.

“Yes. Seongwu’s very ill.” The fox repeats in the empty room.

“I brought some iron tablets with me and the notes from today’s lesson. He’ll need them since they’re probably gonna show up in the test-“ next Saturday, you want to say. But catch yourself when you notice the amused look Minhyun is wearing.

There was no reason you had to explain to him when it was Seongwu you wanted to speak to!

“You should come back tomorrow.”

Nodding, you’re about to ask to pass the things over him instead, but quickly catch yourself before you make any more attempts to ask a member of the monarch for favours.

“I mean… If I may bother you again so….”

Minhyun laughs at this point, unable to hold the poker face any further when he sees how uncomfortable you look.

“Don’t worry, I probably won’t be in since I have a full day tomorrow.”

He looks to your right as if signalling for you to make a move on, and as you’re making your turn, the door shuts as abruptly as it opened. Lock loudly clicking in place.

“Ongie!”

Ongie! You blushed, hearing such a cute nickname, while your jaw dropped with the knowledge that he was inside. Liars!

“You can’t just hide at the back of the room. It’s not going to fix anything.”

“Nothing will fix it! Unless-” Seongwu whined, last words mumbled into the pillow he was beating in annoyance. “You don’t understand!”

“Evidently.” Rolling his eyes, Minhyun slid the pillow out of Seongwu’s grasp.

“But I can’t even control it. We’ve locked everything and even put a shifting charm on this place. You know I can’t risk altering the room too much in case we catch their attention.”

“Just speak to her. I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“How~?” He dragged the syllable out, wrapping the duvet over himself now that the pillow was gone. “Hi, it’s Seongwu, and hypothetically I may have been visiting you at night. You also seemed to like me the last time we met but you just don’t remember it?”

“Be serious.” Minhyun chided. Knowing that Seongwu defense mechanism was sarcasm when cornered.

“Should I just keep wiping out her memory?”

“I think the idea is to stop doing that.”

Summoning your strength, you grab the door handle and force it open, feeling the mechanics loosen under your touch momentarily. Authority be damned.

Neither of the boys looking too surprised at your entrance.

“Stop what?”

What did you say you’d been doing?

“Why are you still here?” Seongwu asks as if that’s the only thing on his mind when he should – in your opinion – be a lot more worried depending on how he answers your question.

Now was not the time for him to be curious.

“Go.” Minhyun says, and you note that there’s definitely something different in his tone from before. The authority, the latent power from his royal blood affecting the magic that runs in your veins.

Seongwu’s unmoving. Eyes shifting from Minhyun to you.

“No, you two were talking about me. I have no reason to leave. Not unless Seongwu comes with me.”

You needed answers.

The gumiho stands between the both of you, tension pulling back and forth, shaking his head as he takes leave.

But not before looking back at Seongwu as if asking for silent confirmation that he can handle this- you- as if you were some form of political coup practice question, while Seongwu and you stand in stalemate.

You don’t know whether to be honoured or offended.

“What have you done to me?”

Why do I dream of you, Ong Seongwu?

“Nothing.”

lies lies lies lies lies

Why has he taken over your mind, and made your blood boil in anticipation... for what you don’t know - if there’s nothing?

“You should stay away from me.”

One step.

Two steps.

Three steps.

For someone whose been so adamant of avoiding you, despite what he says, he’s not doing much to stop you from getting closer.

“Why?” You challenge, he may be able to use that haughty tone of his easily around here, but not with you. “Under the Peace Treaty you can’t do anything to me during the day.”

Or more accurately. Between daybreak and sundown.

The more powerful the race, the stricter the regulations and restrictions, and the harsher the punishments.

As a vampire - Seongwu wouldn’t even be able to lay a finger on you while the sun is up, lest he accidentally cut skin. Drawing blood without the donor’s consent was prohibited. Punishable by expulsion. And a record.

Seongwu glanced back into his room, well aware of the law, as the umbrage of the autumn foliage masks shadows in his room.

Internally, he gave himself a pat on the back for good timing as a smirk creeps onto his face – damn him and his good-looking face –

“But we’ve only seen each other after sun-down, haven’t we?”

Heat rose to your face – as Seongwu reaches to touch, his skin cold against yours.

“What-?“

Stroking the side of your cheek, he can feel every movement of blood that rushes to meet his touch. And he’s mesmerised by his image reflected in your eyes. The way you look straight at him.

Stupid girl, he thought. So trusting, so unprotected. Guess he’ll just have to be the one taking care of you now till you find someone better.

Which you won’t. Because he’ll make sure to treat you the best. Cherish you until the only things between the two of you were warm promises and pretty tones. The only mistreatment he’d let you suffer was him holding your hand too tight. And maybe some neck nibbles.

Seongwu resisted the urge to bare his fangs, body remembering the taste it craved.

“Your blood called me.”

“How do you know about…”

It wasn’t a dream?

Seongwu cocked his head to the side, reminiscent of the time you met in the library.

“Question is. How do you remember?”

Was it the effects of you being his soulmate? Did it mean that his abilities didn’t work on you?

He must feel as nervous as you. You can feel the nervousness coming off as waves through you while your gaze traces the movement of his adam’s apple swallowing down the tension.

“You’re not scared?”

And you are. You’re scared of the connection you feel to him. The need to stay close and claim him as yours, the thought of smelling his shampoo in your bathroom and seeing his toothbrush next to yours. It scares you because you’re not usually fond of physical gestures – and yet, you want his arms wrapped around you.

You’re scared. But not of him.

“No. Should I be?”

“Very.” His hands wander up your sides, stilling behind your neck. Cradling. Pulling you towards him. “You taste too good.”

“And you wanna drink?” You ask. Knowing full well the answer. You’ve suffered too much thinking you’ve gone crazy with the amount of times you see him in your supposed ‘dreams’ lusting over your blood.

Locking your arms around him too. You lean close with the knowledge that he was nowise less attracted to you than you to him.

Two can play a game.

“Wanna do more than drink,” he mirrors, mumbling on your neck, addicted; eyes tightly shut, retreating into your warmth, drowning out his senses as the beating pulse calls out to him.

Lifting your hand - you slap him on his forehead, and his eyes snap open abruptly.

“What was that for?!”

“I expect payment if I’m going to be your blood bank.”

“You’re not-“ Seongwu pulls back, appalled that you’d refer to yourself as such. “You’re not my blood bank!”

“Well, technically. I’m not your anything yet.”

“What do you want?” He snaps. Hurriedly. Absently. He’s just saying things without thinking now. Too distracted by the sight of you becoming clearer in front of him as the night begins to cover the room in darker shades.

“What do I want? Are you sure you can give me anything I ask for?”

Yes, he can. If he can’t – he’ll find a way - so that he can. Anything for you.

“Yes!”

You didn’t expect the vampire to be… so placate. Seongwu just stands there accepting everything you had to say with a nod. Almost like a pet being reprimanded. Even you can’t deny the pull in you towards him, but a soul-bond shouldn’t affect him that much.

It’s kind of endearing seeing him lose control so completely.

“I don’t have anything I want right now.”

Seongwu has his thinking face on. The one you’ve marvelled over countless times upon during class whenever he attends. A hint of the lack of patience from before remains, but his craftiness has definitely been amped up.

Seems like sunset does apparently mean that he’s a lot more in control of himself…

“Then you’ll have me until you know what you want.”

{ epilogue }

“What are you doing tonight?”

Now more than ever, Seongwu loathes that they’re only allowed to feed without fear of being caught in the brief bracket between dinner and lights-out. Why were the dorms so freaking far apart?

It helped that his urge to feed had been satiated these last few days, but vampires were nocturnal creatures, and he’d much rather spend the night by your side.

He was well aware that there’s been an assignment you’ve been working on too. Which meant – in the words of Woojin - no midnight stalker visits, even though Daehwi could technically organize a portal for him, he shan’t bother you while you were working.

Such was his sad fate. Dating but alone. He sighed.

“I dunno. Sleeping. Maybe.”

“Shame.”

You’d just handed in your assignment earlier and saw that Seongwu had neglected coming into class again, and decided to indulge in just a little teasing.

Your cool response does nothing to placate him. If anything, it urges him to seek for your attention even more as his hands rest at your side, leaning in, and you let his fangs sweep along your nape.

“I thought - we might be seeing each other tonight.”

“Oh?” He pulls back, wide smile creeping onto his face, eyebrows wagging. Expression all too cocky for you to willingly cooperate.

Rolling your eyes, you lift up two fingers to flick his forehead away from your neck.

“In your dreams.” But despite the joking you do fall into his embrace easily, letting him breath in your scent, hands creeping from waist to the small of his back, pulling him flush.

Up close, you can see that his eyes are half lidded, pupils blown wide catching streaks of light; his lips slightly rosy from your lip gloss, and it really shouldn’t be allowed for him to look at you like this.

Sliding his lips against yours, Seongwu kisses as if trying the take the air from your lungs. Demanding as always. He kisses with arrogance because he knows he’s good.

There’s no reason he wouldn’t be when he’s already fallen so deep, and Seongwu only wants to fall deeper and deeper until there’s no return back to reality.

The way you make those small squeaks of surprise, but continue letting him hold you and pull him closer only makes him want more. To lose his mind to desire. As if you’re letting him whatever he wants, moving to accommodate the growing greed in him to keep you close.

And it’s maddening. It shouldn’t be allowed because Seongwu’s going crazy.

Gods, he thinks he can hear you holding back on whines. The gods were really out there playing with him, huh?

You’re clawing at him to bring him closer and panting under him, and for what? Seongwu’s already driven crazy just from your presence. Strung tight and overwrought. And so so crazy.

He shuddered at the noises you made. Noises you normally wouldn’t let him hear until sundown because they’re so faint and he wants to tell you to stop before he loses control even further, but there’s words dying at the tip of his tongue.

Why should you have to do anything else to push his senses into overdrive?

He wants you. Wants you so much he could monopolize everything and let his manipulative streak take over if need be.

Seongwu wants to devour and be devoured all at once. He wants everything.

“y/n?” Seongwu searched for your eyes; wanting to look at you. His equal. The one person that can calm the sunlight burning of his cold blood and relight it with fire. Wonders how he has it so perfect. How he managed to live so long without you.

“Hmm?”

“I’m glad it’s you.”

Sniffing the air, Minhyun sighed as he paced around the palace grounds, enjoying the lilting breeze characteristic of this time of the year.

Leaving the institute for the holiday was perhaps the most appropriate choice. He’d had enough of Seongwu’s pining to last a few decades. There was no need to surrender himself into listening to his roommate’s poetry-writing process for the ‘love of his immortal life’ if he could avoid it.

His roommate and confidante fancied himself to have a keen nose, yet it was nothing when compared to one of the four-legged clan’s.

None of the werewolves or fellow gumihos were going to let the vampire live when they smelt the new marking. He remembers scoffing at Seongwu’s plan to pretend to not know that the girl was still outside their door.

Speaking of scents… how strange it was that the peach blossoms trees were all pushed into full bloom…

masterlist

#ong seongwu #ong seongwoo #wanna one #wanna one writing #wanna one fic #wanna one scenario #wanna one imagine #ong seongwu fic #wanna one text #wannaone scenario #kpop fic #kpop writing #ong seongwu x reader #8.2k oh dear lord #supernatural au #things i learnt in the dorms: sleep with the windows closed and door locked #features some 95-line softness ongniel science and maknae line savageness.#jas writes

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ghostmartyr · 7 years

Text

Fic: A Terrible Idea [7/?]

Fandom: Attack on Titan Title: A Terrible Idea Author: Immi Rating: PG-13 Summary: Ymir’s pursuit of the hot cheerleader was meant to stay strictly lustful. But it’s a high school AU with a ship tag, so you know, fuck that. Notes: Hey, so if you’re just seeing evidence of this fic now thanks to the Galliard ship tags, this is a yumikuri fic, but this chapter is in Galliard’s pov, and so his romantic woes are unavoidable and awkward. And hopefully entertaining. Obviously it’s not meant as a standalone, but it probably can be read as one for the sake of ship feels.

Segment summary: Porco is a bi disaster.

I II III IV V VI

This wasn’t happening.

Mr. Smith had a standing policy. Help out cleaning his classroom at the end of the week, get extra credit as judged by the custodian. Porco did not need the extra credit, Ymir could fuck right off with that, but he wasn’t going to turn it down. Kenny’d had them fighting for Levi’s approval through chores since second grade. He knew how to clean a room.

For anyone who cared to know, that meant he was easy to find on Friday afternoons, scraping gum off desks with Connie and Sasha (who did need the extra credit).

Reiner Braun was not supposed to care.

He wasn’t supposed to be sitting on a desk Porco had just cleaned, pretending to be cool, while people who did care were prepping for practice like the coaching staff told them to. Good to know this was the work ethic that kept him off the team.

“Hi,” he’d said, smiling that toothpaste commercial grin Porco’s way, stepping into the history room like he belonged there.

He didn’t. He had history with Mr. Dok. Reiner had no reason at all to be sitting on a desk in Mr. Smith’s classroom, shooting finger guns at Connie and breathing so deeply that the buttons on his polo shirt were straining to keep his oversized muscles from bursting free.

That wasn’t some kind of accident.

Marcel joked that Reiner was too swol for things like clothes. Marcel, being a normal person, didn’t get it. Porco had survived a year of PE with Reiner before. Mr. Quarterback Superstar had a thing for flexing in front of mirrors. He would come to school shirtless every day if he could. Wearing clothes that barely fit, showing off the body that everyone fell over themselves to praise every time his team scored him a touchdown, was as close as he could get.

Ymir said he was too much of a square to use steroids. He was, but there was no natural reason for someone’s arms to be that big. Marcel was ten times the athlete Reiner was, and he still looked like a person, not a teenage bodybuilder.

“I was looking to hit you up, and Marcel said you’d be here,” Reiner had said, propping his sculpted ass on top of Porco’s hard work. Yeah sure, Levi wouldn’t notice that at all.

Now Reiner was looking at him like Porco had anything to do with this conversation. It wasn’t even a conversation. Reiner just decided to walk in and ruin his day, and since that couldn’t be enough, he was trying to turn it into a group project.

Did he somehow not remember what those went like? Those five weeks of third grade where they were paired in art were the longest of their short lives, Kenny getting called in three separate times—culminating in him being permanently barred from PTA thanks to Reiner’s mother (what was her problem)—and last Porco had stepped in that room, the air conditioning vent was still clogged with papier-mâché.

Not to mention last year’s English mess. It was like he lived to tear down Porco’s grade point average.

Cluing in a little in the stony silence, Reiner got to the point.

“Your sister’s friends with Historia Reiss, right?”

The point was that this was actually fucking happening.

“She is not my sister,” Porco said, sourly.

Reiner barely had eyebrows, but what was there knit together. “Ymir?” he said, like Porco couldn’t figure out who they were talking about on his own. “Marcel said you guys were family.”

There was something sick about Reiner using Marcel’s good nature as a weapon. Porco glowered at the concerned pouting thing his lips were doing. He hoped Reiner knew it made him look stupid.

Porco cleared his throat. The words weren’t showing up the first try. “She’s Ymir. What do you care?”

Reiner perked up. Like, his whole body bounced like a spring. “You know how homecoming’s next week?”

No, really? That thing the student council had thrown away their budget for to get banners covering every other hallway? That was happening? Who could have guessed.

Porco nodded obediently, jaw clenched. Ymir had dragged him into enough school plays for him to know when he was supposed to be following a script. Not that Reiner would care. He had his pep talk face on. Sunshine confidence was leaking out of his pores. He was impossible to talk to when he got like this. He was impossible most of the time anyway, but it was somehow worse when he had that sparkle in his eyes to go with his teeth.

“I,” Reiner announced, “want to ask Historia to the dance.”

Porco’s concept of a just and fair world crumbled.

“What.”

“Yeah,” Reiner said, somehow not hearing the blood-curdling scream resounding in Porco’s chest. “It seems like the thing to do, you know? Every school has a power couple. Doesn’t hurt that she’s some kind of saint. She raised more money for the cheerleaders’ fundraiser than they’ve had in years, and—”

And what, he didn’t get enough pretty blond when he looked in the mirror? Blood pumped loudly in Porco’s ears. Reiner’s visage blurred.

Perfect logic. No, let’s not date someone we know, and maybe like for reasons that aren’t total crap, let’s go with the person who matches some absurd popularity scale that neither one of us really deserves. Such sense. Much thought. Wow.

Where did he get off, anyway, thinking about asking someone out on such short notice? Asking someone out he clearly didn’t know anything about, and dragging Porco into it because he wouldn’t know tact if it bit him on his perfect ass, and holy fuck, Historia Reiss?

Really?

Connie and Sasha were scrubbing windows. The squeaking matched his grinding teeth.

Was taste just not a thing? Did he miss something? Was walking around like an alien abductee in now?

Reiner had never even talked to her, if he had he wouldn’t need a damn proxy to hold his behemoth hand.

He was talking to Porco just fine—he was still fucking talking, so clearly conversational skills gave him some kind of buzz—but sure, no, go for the opposite of that. Treating each other like equal human beings who didn’t need stilts to be at eye level was way too conventional and un-creepy for the undisputed lord of the school.

“—pretty, too—”

Porco saw red.

“Fuck off, she’s already dating my sister!”

…

The windows stopped squeaking.

Reiner’s mouth stayed open, without sound, and that was so damn preferable Porco was going to kill something, hopefully him. The pressure in his head let off, and a crisp twinge of satisfaction took its place.

For the five seconds of peace he had before his brain caught up.

“Oh,” Reiner said.

Connie and Sasha were both staring, looking like summer break had come back early.

Oh, Porco thought.

Oh no.

“I guess that doesn’t work, then.”

Reiner lifted himself off the desk, arms flexing for pure show. The creases in his ill-fitting shirt said his abs were doing all the work, and Porco didn’t know why that mattered, but he was in hell now, and some of that meant watching Reiner-the-human-specimen getting to his feet in slow motion while flames crept up Porco’s face.

This was not happening.

“They aren’t public about it,” Porco blurted. Dawning horror made his voice come out echoey. He made as much eye contact with Reiner as he could stand. “Don’t go—they aren’t… Don’t spread it around.”

Reiner’s face melted into compassionate understanding. Awful look for him. “No problem. I wouldn’t—hey,” his hand was on Porco’s shoulder and he wanted to bite it off, “I know how it can be.” What did that mean. “Don’t worry about a thing, man. I’ve got your back. And theirs.”

He was smiling. Why was he smiling. Porco needed him to stop.

“You should let Ymir know they’re a really cute couple.”

They weren’t, and there was no way Reiner had ever had that thought until five seconds ago.

He gave Porco’s shoulder an extra pat. “I’ll catch you at practice.”

The silence left in Reiner’s wake when he exited the classroom was how most horror movies started.

Porco looked at Connie.

Connie looked at Sasha.

Sasha looked delighted.

“Ymir finally has a girlfriend?”

Hell.

----

Staying in Mr. Smith’s room until every other human being in the school was gone was not going to work out. Ymir would find him and laugh at him. Then maybe never speak to him again. Marcel would find him and want to know what was wrong. Levi would find him, ignore him, and tell Kenny something was wrong.

Pieck would find him, and be so wonderful he’d want to tell her what was wrong.

Pieck did find him.

She stood in the doorway, leaning too heavily against it. Her arms hated going a full week with crutches. Ymir usually made good on playing pack mule for her backpack, but there was a limit to how much they could help. It sucked.

Pieck smiled through the shadows under her eyes. “It’s not like you to take so long with the cleaning, Pock.”

There were days when that smile was all Porco needed to love life. Today was one of them before Reiner showed up and got him to ruin everything. Porco stopped viciously scrubbing his desk with a paper towel. “Pieck,” he said, “have you ever done something really stupid.”

“No, never,” was the real answer to that. Pieck was the only person he had ever met who was immune to bad decisions. He’d known her since they were five. She was just gifted like that. Even Marcel had his screw-ups. Like being friends with quarterbacks.

Pieck rested her chin on top of her crutch. “Oh dear, what have you done?”

He frowned at his abused paper towel. Cleanser and force had torn a hole in it.

“Reiner wanted to ask Historia out to the homecoming dance.” And that was still the most fucking irritating thing to think, forget saying it out loud. If these people wanted a blonde, short, emotionless girl to rip their hearts out of their chests, they should hit up Annie. All the same stupid kinks, none of the delusion that there was something real there.

He’d told Ymir that and she told him to shut his whore mouth.

Pieck cocked her head. “He hasn’t heard? She’s not going.”

…

Well fuck that, too. Historia Reiss was some kind of cursed object designed to fuck with his life. Days after talking to Reiner weren’t supposed to get worse. Before Ymir and her stupid crush that he wasn’t allowed to call a crush without her whining, him alone in a room with Reiner was peak misery.

He sucked the injustice up and glowered at his desk. His stomach wouldn’t stop squirming. “I told Reiner Ymir’s dating Historia,” he said.

He could hear Pieck’s brain humming in the empty space of a thousand missing comments about how tactless and idiotic that combination of words was. And he’d said it in front of Connie. Sasha could remember when not to gossip. Her best friend knowing the gossip and giggling with her in study hall helped with that. Connie could not keep his mouth shut. That was how he kept losing the stashes of weed he tried to hide around school. He told people about them. Regularly.

Porco’s fingers flexed.

Ymir was never going to forgive him.

It was over her sex life—which she didn’t even have, it didn’t matter how many times she called it that—so what’d he care, but.

“Less accurate things have been said,” Pieck said. Her crutches thumped across Mr. Smith’s floor.

Porco moodily ripped his paper towel into smaller pieces. “Yeah, dating isn’t really what she’s after.”

“Isn’t it?”

Porco gave Pieck a look. It melted in the face of her smile. It was a lot closer than the doorway now, and proximity upped its powers to reincarnation levels of healing. He probably didn’t deserve that right now. Fucking Reiner. He murdered the butterflies and focused on the much easier target of Ymir being a horrible person. “You’ve had to listen to her just as much as I have. I don’t think she knows what romance is.”

And if she did, she definitely didn’t care about it. He knew enough about Historia now to feel like a pervert by association.

Pieck sat down on the desk next to his. She twirled one of her crutches. “And we all know that people never evade their feelings by telling themselves it’s something else.”

Porco snorted. “Are you kidding me? No one really does that.”

Especially not Ymir. He could almost say he liked that about her, when she wasn’t making her main mission in life having sex with a girl she barely knew. If Historia turned out to be a serial killer, she had the money and family lawyers to get away with it. They’d already sprung one family member out of jail. It wasn’t like he and Marcel and Kenny could back up the legal fees to bring someone like that to justice. He wouldn’t even get a chance to say I told you so.

“Well,” Pieck said, after a delayed pause, “you would know your sister best.”

“Not my sister.” His mouth got tired of saying that over and over again, and it was doubly annoying with people who knew what was up, but Pieck just smiled at him, sending rainbow cotton candy fluff to fuzz up his brain.

“She won’t hate you, Pock.”

Porco rolled his eyes. Mr. Smith needed to do something about his air conditioning. He was overheating.

“She won’t,” Pieck repeated. Her calloused hand stroked the back of his before cupping it warmly. “She knows how important Reiner is to you—”

“Pieck.”

She squeezed his hand. “And even if she didn’t,” Pieck continued, like she wasn’t leaving him scarred for life by making his heart swoop through the air and crash into a brick wall at the same time, “she will be delighted to have something to hold over your head. You are now the horrible person who started the rumor that she’s interested in feelings. You’re going to be doing her chores for weeks.”

Hurrah. He could hear all about how badly he was folding the sheets she planned to defile her not-girlfriend on. “Are you trying to make me feel worse?”

Pieck patted him compassionately on the head. “Never.”

Porco scoffed and looked out the window.

Stupid air conditioning.

Fucking Ymir.

#gallirei #gallipieck #yumikuri #shingeki no fanfic #fic #mine

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annoyingcatwolf · 4 years

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Best Mail Apps for Mac: macOS High Sierra Edition

Love it or hate it, unless you choose to live a quiet, unconnected life, we all have to deal with email. For most of us, managing email, especially with multiple accounts from various providers, can be a real pain. Fortunately there is a handful of apps that are making great strides towards easing that pain. Take a look below at some of the mail apps for Mac to help you keep your inbox under control.

If we missed any of your favorites, please let us know in the comments so we can give them a try!

Editor’s Note: this list is a constantly evolving as new apps are released or as old apps are updated. Today, we’re looking at a handful of apps that work well with Apple’s new macOS High Sierra.

Price: Free

Named one of the best of Mac by Apple itself in 2016, Spark is still one of the most popular, user-friendly, and best overall email clients for Mac. With a focus on keeping you inbox free of chaos, Spark lets you organize everything into easy to find (and hide) categories and subsections. You can schedule emails, set selective alerts, and search through your mailboxes easily. Convenience and a sleek look are the name of the game with Spark.

Price: $9.99

AirMail 3, whose iOS counterpart made our list of 5 Best Mail Apps for iPhone/iPad, is a long-running contender in the email management landscape. Though it has been around for a while, the app developers have done an excellent job of keeping it fresh, clean and powerful. The iOS and Mac versions of AirMail provide a uniform experience with its folders and labeling system and overall design of the app. Many of the features you would come to expect from an email client are included, but there are also some that are unique. An example would be the minimal view which is perfect for users like me who are in their email all day. With the minimal view, your inbox is displayed as a one-column timeline like you would see in something like the Mac Twitter app. Some users are frustrated with the complications they have when trying to move emails into different folders (the drag and drop apparently isn't as easy as proposed). However, it seems that for users who need some help, AirMail's superior customer support is available via web chat. Way to go, Mark and Sarah!

Price: Free

Polymail is easy to use and has a beautiful interface, making it one of the best mail apps for Mac. It offers numerous features to make your life easier, like snoozing emails to read them later, scheduling emails to automatically be sent later. You also get unlimited per-recipient email tracking, to keep you in the know about when and by whom your messages are read. Works with Mac and iOS, and the fact that it's free doesn't hurt.

Price: Free

Hey, who says the stock mail app can't make the list? Especially since it was specifically designed to take advantage of macOS High Sierra, Apple Mail is one of the best mail apps for Mac users. If you've been a Mac user for any amount of time, you're likely familiar with the core functionality, but there are some new features to take note of. Tabs are now used more widely throughout macOS Sierra, and Mail is no exception. With the addition of tabs, you can have all of your inboxes from different accounts open at once and just flip back and forth — pretty convenient. I should say, though, that many users, myself included, aren't thrilled with how convoluted the process is to get additional tabs. There is no simple + to be found. Hopefully Apple will address this in an update. Besides tabs, you'll also find full support for Siri, so you can compose new messages, read emails, set reminders, find specific emails and more via voice command. If Apple Mail becomes your preferred app, this is incredibly handy.

Free Mail App For Mac Download

Price: $5.99

For day-to-day email, Inbox by Gmail has become my go-to. Ever since its release in 2014, I have favored the quick management of email messages to Inbox's bigger brother Gmail. Boxy is a standalone email client for Inbox that brings the service outside of your browser and adds a bit more customization and features, making it one of the best mail apps for Mac. Once you're inside the app, you'll immediately notice the familiar design that looks almost exactly like Inbox. However, if you want to switch things up, you have multiple themes to choose from as well as the option for different font sizes. As you'd expect, you will find all of the features of Inbox by Gmail that you've grown to love such as the inbox bundles, the ability to snooze emails, pin messages and more. The app isn't perfect though. Many users find the file attachment process slightly frustrating. With the omission of a browse-for-file option, you're required to attach your files by dragging and dropping. Sometimes, if your desktop or Finder windows are covered, that requires some fishing and cuts down on your efficiency.

Price: $19.99

Canary is a simple and easy-to-use email app that promises efficiency and security. Every email you send will have end-to-end encryption, so you never have to worry about privacy or security. That will always happen automatically, so you never need to double check that you've enabled encryption. With natural language search, smart filters, algorithmic bulk cleaner, and intelligent typography enhancements, Canary focuses on keeping things organized and easy to find. At $19.99, it's definitely worth it, and it easily earns a spot on this list.

Price: Free

Inky is the only Mac email app on this that isn't available from the App store, but it is still worthy of its place here. It seems like every other day, there is a major news headline that deals with someone's account being hacked or a security breach at large corporations. If this has motivated you to seek out more online security, Inky is definitely something you should check out. Every email sent through the Inky client is encrypted end-to-end, so the contents of your email cannot be read by anyone else besides the intended recipient. Additionally, you can send digitally-signed emails with Inky, so the person on the other end can be sure the email came from you. Outside of the security features, Inky comes with other features that help manage your email. You'll find built-in mailboxes similar to what Inbox offers to automatically group incoming messages, and you can also tag new emails for later sorting.

Price: $49.99/year

Newton Mail, like AirMail, found itself on our list of the 5 Best Mail Apps for iPhone/iPad and also reigns supreme as one of the best mail apps for Mac. Just like what you'll find in the iOS counterpart, Newton Mail for Mac comes with a handful of what it calls superchargers to help you master your inbox. Some of the more notable superchargers include read receipts, handoff functionality so you can start an email on iPhone, then finish on your Mac, and the ability to connect your inbox to major productivity services like Evernote, OneNote, Pocket, Trello, and more. Newton Mail has a beautiful interface that honestly makes email a tiny bit more enjoyable. But I have to break it to you: if you want to commit to using Newton Mail as your daily driver, prepare yourself for the $49.99 per year subscription fee. This is among the most expensive email clients, so soak up that free 14-day trial!

Bonus picks

Price: Free

What Boxy is to Inbox, Kiwi is to Gmail. Kiwi is an email client for Gmail that allows you to use the email service as a native app. With Kiwi, you'll find a familiar, nearly identical experience to what you get with Google's flagship email service, but you'll get a few additional features that you might find handy. Probably the most convenient feature is the global shortcuts that allow you to start a new email from anywhere at anytime. If you're like me, and have windows open on top of other windows at all time, a quick keyboard shortcut can save a lot of time. Another feature that lends itself to convenience and productivity, is the dropdown manager from the macOS menu bar. Clicking on the Kiwi icon in the menu bar, drops down a list of all of your inboxes so you can jump directly to the messages you need, or compose a new message from the appropriate inbox. And it's currently free.

Price: $129.99

Microsoft Outlook finds itself a spot in our bonus picks because it really is more than just an email client. Outlook still holds a place near and dear to the hearts of businesses large and small because it offers a complete suite of productivity tools in one place. Whether you love or hate the experience, it's hard to deny the handiness of having full access to your calendar, tasks and notes all within the same app. The Microsoft Outlook app was recently updated to bring a more friendly, modern design. This update was welcome, to say the least, but it didn't quite solve the issue of the app being quite overwhelming with the number of icons, menus and tabs you will find scattered throughout. If you're an average user who is looking for a way to better manage your own inbox, the $129.99 price tag is hard to justify, but for businesses, this tool, or suite of tools, really, is something to consider. And check out your other options with the full office suite.

We all have to deal with email in some way or another. The question is, what app is going to make your experience a little bit easier/more productive? Will you prioritize encryption and opt for Canary, or go with a simplistic, modern experience like AirMail? Or will you stick with something more tried and true, but maybe a little less pretty like Microsoft Outlook?

What would you say are the mail apps for Mac? Let us know in the comments below!

Macbook 2016 (12-inch) review

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May—04—2018 12:00AM EDT

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parabataisarah · 7 years

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Horrible Day (AU)

This is just a little fic dedicated to @toxicsanders (Thank you darling. Also helped me pick the pairing), @treblegirl and @dani-the-flower-bab as these wonderful people helped me when I was at my lowest x Thanks again loves x Also @romananalogicality as their page is wonderful and I cry x

This is a standalone and has no affiliation with anyone’s work :) (This has been sitting in my drafts for a long ass time ((Which is also a lie, as I added way more and edited it recently sooo))

Ship - Poly - Logan/Roman/Patton/Virgil

Caution/Warnings: Slurs, bullying, a*buse (none relationship wise) swearing, brief mention of blood (Nose bleed), brief mentions of a hospital. Nothing else that I can think of, but if I’m wrong, feel free to tell me x

Any and all errors are mine x

Word Count - 6005 (holy bloody hell. 15 pages)

Headcanon that Logic is really into playing sports.

Human and Werewolf type idea from Teen Wolf, all credits in that department go to TW creators.

Okay, I apologize. Enough rambling and on with the fic.

Summary - ‘It seemed to be that the world can hate one person. Good thing that Logan has his pack to chase it away.’

Logan woke with a groan as he felt the start of what was a beautiful migraine. “Fucking hell…” He muttered, eyes still firmly shut, burying his head under the pillow and reveling in the added darkness the pillow gave. Seconds later, his father knocked loudly, “C'mon Wolverine. Time to get up!” The older man yelled through the wooden door and his heavy footsteps could be heard as he made his way downstairs.

He steeled himself as he removed the pillow, softly moaning as he opened his eyes and they made contact with the light streaming in from the window. He got up from the bed in one movement, thanking that his clothes were hanging up after the mess he found them in after his regular study session with his boyfriends and grabbed his signature black shirt, blue tie and black jeans. He slowly made his way over to the bathroom and then the medicine cupboard, looking for some type of Ibuprofen, but found nothing.

Cursing under his breath, Logan undressed as he turned the shower on. Waiting until the room was filled with steam, he finally got into the shower and stood under the hot spray, letting it work its magic, if only temporary. After standing there for a while, he started to clean himself up; taking extra care as to not jerk his head. Once he had finished in the bathroom, dried his short hair and gotten dressed, he walked down to the kitchen, “Dad, do you know if we have any headache tablets?” The logical male’s father looked up at his son and quickly took in his pale, clammy face and stood up, “Not that I know of son,” he paused as he appraised Logan once again.

“Why don’t you stay home today? You can just sleep all day and try to get rid of what I’m guessing is a migraine?” He lowered his voice as he made his way over to his son, placing a hand on his shoulder, attempting to turn him back towards the stairs. “I can’t dad. I’d love to, but I can’t. Coach says if I miss a day of training this far in the year, then I’m off the team for the rest of this season and next season; and I can’t have that happen this late into the year. I also have two big tests that I have to ace and the pack is apparently meeting after school, although I only found out last night.” Logan shrugged at his father as he leant against the kitchen counter.

Sighing, his father slowly massaged the back of his son’s neck, alleviating some of the pain for a few seconds, “Okay, alright, Lo. Go to school and do what you have to, but just remember, as soon as it gets somewhere near your previous ones, you call me and I’ll get you out, okay?” He made an affirmative sound and smiled softly as his dad pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “Alright. And with that, I have to go. Good luck today.” He picked up his car keys and left.

Standing in the middle of the kitchen, Logan took a deep breath and made his way to the fridge. Once he opened the door, he squatted so he could see what they had. Quickly grabbing the margarine and strawberry jam, he stood but knocked his head on the upper part of the fridge that opened up to the freezer. Letting out a string of curses as his migraine was kick started into full gear, he whimpered softly and put the items back into the fridge, suddenly losing his appetite. He walked back upstairs breathing deeply through his nose, digging his nails into his palm hard enough to draw small drops of blood and grabbed his backpack.

Walking over to his nightstand, he turned his charger off and grabbed his phone, seeing he had a message from Roman.

From King 👑: 'Hey Smartacus. Don’t worry about coming around to mine to pick me up. Mum isn’t feeling so good, so I am going to be taking the day off to look after her. See you at the pack meeting nerd. I love you x’

The logical being sent a small thanks to whatever deity that was listening, thankful that today of all days he didn’t have to put up with Roman’s loud and happy rambling and his singing of Disney songs; because Logan, Patton and Virgil; as well as everyone that knew of Roman, believed him to be the embodiment of royalty, with the way he acts; hence the alias in his phone 'King 👑’, once he started talking about something he was passionate about, it was as if a switch had been flipped on. Logan loved the boisterous male, he truly did, but today, there was only a small amount he was sure he was going to be able to take.

Nonetheless, he sighed as he made his way back down the stairs and out to his Jeep, knowing that he was going to miss his boyfriend while he was at school.

'Awh. That is upsetting to hear, Ro. Give your darling mother my love and such. I’ll come around after with a home cooked meal for her once the group is finished. See ya later, Pumpkin King ;) I love you too x’

He sent off the message and pocketed the phone, getting into the drivers’ seat and drove to school, groaning at each pothole and bump he came across; no matter how hard he tried to avoid them.

Pulling into a free parking space near the front of the building, Logan took a deep breath in, and grabbed his water bottle from his satchel bag, taking a swig but spitting it out on the other seat and throwing the bottle away as soon as he felt how warm the water was, “Oh, so gross…” He muttered, dragging a hand across half of his face and got out. Once he had locked the Jeep, he was suddenly turned around by a jock wannabe, Carter Leighton.

'Oh fucking great.’ Logan thought as he raised an unimpressed eyebrow at the other male, despite feeling like his head was being attacked by a jackhammer and had a kangaroo bouncing on his brain. Carter sneered at him, shoving him back against the Jeep’s door, “Just because Thomas and Roman have started being nice to you, doesn’t mean we have to be, you stupid, polygamous fag.”

“Wow. I’m surprised someone like you knew that big word, let alone how to pronounce it.”

Silently cursing for not shutting his mouth, Logan froze as Carter visibly bristled. Looking at the two males behind his tormentor, he failed to see the other male motion for them to go forward. The two people standing slightly behind Carter moved towards him, the bigger of the two pinning Logan’s arms above him while the other punched him in the stomach, each side and then his back; before switching positions and repeating the process, “Alright lads, you’ve had your fun,” Carter chuckled, “now it’s my turn.” He smiled sweetly at Logan as he lifted his hand up, grabbing fiercely into the brunets’ hair; the usually pleasurable stimulus bringing him nothing but pain. Logan’s eyes quickly shifted from person to person, quickly closing them as he felt his head being brought forward, only to have it jerked back instantaneously, smashing his head into his car door. Logan grit his teeth, vowing not to give Carter the satisfaction of hearing him in pain.

“We’ll see you at practice, fag.” Carter’s two cronies released him as soon as he rag dolled in their arms and Logan heard them laugh at him as they walked away.

“Real original boys. Real original.” He muttered, spitting as the taste of copper filled his mouth. “Just fucking great. Perhaps I should just go home. I fail to see the point in being at school today. It’s been a shitty day from the word go.” Despite whining, he pulled himself up and grabbed his bag once again, slinging it onto his shoulder. He quickly maneuvered himself into his home room and sat down in the back of the room, ignoring the burning pain in his torso and back, resting his head onto his arms, biting his lip to muffle any sounds that might have tried to escape.

He tightly shut his eyes as the bell sounded and the sounds of all of the other kids ambling inside the room reached his ears; thankful that none of his overprotective and overly aware boyfriends were in his home room. Logan buried his head under his arms, only making a barely loud enough 'here’ when the teacher started marking the roll. For the next ten minutes, he made no sounds and didn’t dare to move in worry that he’d aggravate his migraine and the pain caused by Carter and his lackeys.

Once the second bell had gone, Logan waited until the room was cleared and then made his way out into the hall. He stuck to the walls and walked towards his AP English class.

Walking past the Home Econ room, the door quickly sprung open and hit Logan, sending him to floor, the unmissable feel of 'owowowowpainhurtsfuck’ and blood coming out of his nose.

He started to laugh softly, trying to stop the urge to scream, cry and punch whoever had unintentionally done this. Pulling himself up, he looked at the person who had opened the door, “Sharp. You okay?” He heard his coach ask him, placing a hand on his shoulder, steading him, only just realizing he was slightly shaking.

“Y-Yeah, Coach, I’m fine. Just a bit banged up,” Logan said, gesturing to his nose and tilting his head forward, pinching his nose shut in an attempt to stop the blood flow and stop it from reaching his mouth. He breathily laughed as the rugby coach swore, “Alright, off to the school nurse, we go.” He left his hand on Logan’s shoulder and steered him to the nurse’s office.

Opening the door, his coach grabbed a few tissues for Logan and then went to find the nurse, “Just sit down on the bed. I’ll be back.” Evans said as he walked deeper into the room. A minute later the nurse came over to him, “Alright, my dear boy, lie down for me. What happened?” Logan went to open his mouth to explain, but the fluorescent lights were suddenly just too bright and he vaguely noticed a small, furry caterpillar like thing in his eyesight, blurring small sections of his sight.

Noticing his star player was taking a bit too long to respond, Evans gave the nurse a brief summary of what happened and then patted his calf. “You don’t have to worry about today’s practice. I’m giving you today off and I won’t be afraid to bench you if you show up, Sharp.” Logan made a soft affirmative sound as he scrunched his eyes closed tightly, the light starting to get to him.

He heard Coach Evans’ heavy steps leave the room, “Okay, sweets. I need you to open your eyes for me. Can you do that?” The nurse’s soothing voice filled Logan’s ears, causing him to minutely flinch, but he obeyed nonetheless. “Alright, I’m going to shine my pen light into your eyes and then move it side to side to check for a concussion, okay?” She stated as she flicked the light on and checked his pupil’s reactions and then fixing a small bandage over his nose after setting it back in place and wiping away the drying blood. Deeming him fine, if not a bit banged up and bruised, she went to leave him to his own devices, drawing the curtain to a side so she could leave. “Excuse me,” Logan whispered, frightened if he spoke normally, he would further aggravate his pain, but the nurse managed to hear him. “Yes?”

Logan sighed, “I have two questions and one confession…” He paused and took a deep breath as he saw her wave her hand in the 'go on’ motion, “Okay, number one is I was wondering if it’s possible for you to turn the lights in here off? Number two is could you possibly tell me where Thomas Sanders, Patton Rogers and Virgil Thompson are?” He held back the confession as he allowed the nurse time to answer, “Alright, I’ll see what I can do about finding out where those three students are, but why do you want the lights off?”

Logan quietly told her why and was eternally grateful when the nurse walked off and the lights turned off. Seconds later the nurse coming back a minute later with two Ibuprofen, a glass of water and a wet face washer. “The tablets won’t do much now, but either way, thank you.” Logan praised her before taking the tablets and placed the wet wash cloth on his forehead.

“And your 'confession’ is?” The nurse softly prodded, “I’m purposely leaving out names and anything incriminating as I don’t need this to get any worse, okay?” He continued as she nodded, “Well this morning, something happened and let’s just say some fists met my torso, sides, back and then my head was pushed back so it hit the door of my car. This 'hit’... Could say it aggravated my migraine to no end and it hurts if I breathe too much too fast and hurts to move.”

Logan once again closed his eyes and let the nurse instruct him in what to do in order for her to check him out and wheezed slightly as she wrapped bandages around his midsection as a precaution. “Alright, my love. It seems like you’ve had a rough start to the day so I’m going to let you stay in here all day, but the moment you feel well enough to go to class or need to go to the toilet, I’ll let you leave the room, other than that, try to sleep.”

After half an hour passed of near silence, the only sound in the room apart from his soft breathing, was the soft tapping of a keyboard. The nurse came back, pulling the curtain open just enough for her to step inside, “Alright, to answer your second question, Virgil hasn’t shown up to school today, no doubt skipping school. Thomas is marked as sick and Patton has an off-site excursion for his Child Studies class.” Logan thanked her and silently huffed at the fact that none of the pack was at school, even though Thomas should be considering the Werewolf can’t get sick.

In that moment; he would reflect later that he was being overdramatic, he felt his world slightly crumble. All he wanted was some type of contact, be it Patton’s worries and cuddles, Roman’s soft singing, Thomas’ humor and crude jokes as an attempt to lighten the mood or Virgil’s fond teasing while rubbing his thumb over Logan’s knuckles as their hands interlocked, he just wanted someone.

With a small whimper of distress, he fell into a restless sleep.

Coming to a few hours later with a start, as the nurse softly shook his leg, Logan whined as his sudden movement made it way to his head. He raised an eyebrow in askance as he looked at the nurse. “The bell is going to go in about ten minutes, so I thought it’d be best for you to leave before it goes off and the rush of students overpower your head again. I’ve rung your father and he agrees with me, so you’ve already been signed out. All you’re going to have to do when you take your bandages; is check for any pain apart from the bruises, and if there is any pain, you’ll need to rewrap yourself. Take care, Logan.”

“Thank you.” He quietly mumbled as the nurse patted his shoulder, smiling at her quick apology as he flinched and handed his bag to him as he meandered his way past her and into the hallway, blinking quickly to get used to the light change. He quickly made his way to his Jeep and slipped inside, sighing and resting his head back on the head rest. Reaching out blindly, he managed to put his key in the ignition and start the Jeep up before his phone beeped. “Okay, what siren song are you going to sing to me today?” Logan muttered as he unlocked his phone and went into his messages. New message: 'My Heart 💖 - Pack meeting is still going to be on. The time hasn’t changed. It’s still after school. Be there or my teeth will meet your throat, and not in the nice way ;) I love you x’

Logan whined again and chucked his phone onto the passenger’s seat; taking off the bandage the nurse placed on his nose, 'resetting his nose’ be damned, wishing the day was already over. He put his car into gear and waited for the dull sound of the bell. Once the car park was clear, he sighed again and drove off to Patton’s trying to make himself seem happy as to not alert the werewolves he was going to be stuck in a house with for the next few hours.

Reaching the beginning of Patton’s immense land, the Jeep started to stutter and a minute later the car came to a halt. Despite the migraine raging on in his head, Logan yelled, slamming his fists down on the steering wheel and got out of the car, grabbing his bag and phone and walked to the newly renovated house. Upon the house coming into view, he quietly cheered and then slightly jumped as Roman appeared in front of him, crooked smile and arms open for a hug which Logan gratefully reciprocated, softly smiling as Roman pressed a soft kiss to the crown of his head. When he tightened the hug, Logan whimpered and Roman immediately pulled back, “Darling, whatever is wrong?”

“Promise to keep this secret for now?” Roman raised an eyebrow but nodded either way; feeling the distress and pain roll off the other’s body in waves, and Logan lifted his shirt, feeling a small warmth erupt in his stomach as Roman’s face contorted angrily and met Logan’s eyes, his eyes a deep red. “Who?” Logan averted his gaze from Roman’s. “Carter…” He mumbled as Roman bristled beside him, his hands clenching. “Baby, I know I haven’t asked this in a long time but… Carry me? Please, I hurt.” Logan whimpered and held his arms out. Roman turned around and informed Logan to wrap his arms gently around his neck and jump on, never able to say no to his boyfriend, especially when he sounded so vulnerable.

Logan did as he was told and rested his head in the crook of Roman’s neck, “So, what happened today?” Logan groaned slightly and told him what had transpired that day, informing him of the migraine, hitting his head on the fridge, Carter, the broken nose, needing comfort, and just having an overall shitty day. “By Odin’s eyepatch! I am so sorry, Lo, for not being at school today. Although, I am as confused as you are as to the fact of why the others; besides Patt, weren’t at school.” Logan made a soft agreeing sound as Roman started to make his way back towards the Roger’s house, feeling himself tire out, covered in warmth from his heater of a boyfriend.

“I know, sweetheart, but I cannot blame you. Your mother was ill, and you did the right thing staying at home looking after her.” He pressed a kiss onto his boyfriend’s neck as the other male quietly growled.

When Roman came up to the front door, Virgil appeared, face clean of his usual makeup and laughed, “Awh, is Logan such a baby he needs to be carried? How sad is the poor human?” Normally, he would be all for the normal sarcastic banter with his boyfriend, but he couldn’t muster up any response and closed his eyes, hoping Virgil would sense his pain, blindly handing him his glasses. “Got no response? Pathetic.” Logan could hear the normal rebellion in his voice as well as slight concern, but he didn’t care. The pain was getting worse with each passing moment. “Virgil, baby boy, as much as I love you baby, please fuck off.” Virgil made a startled noise and went to place his hand on Logan’s back but suddenly stopped as Roman growled protectively at him, moving so he was facing the other male instead of Logan.

Logan softly patted Roman’s chest in a placating motion, “Good boy, but he’s not a threat and you know that. I understand that you’re protecting me, but that’s no means for you to be rude to Anx. Apologize.” Roman huffed, “I’m sorry, baby.” Roman quickly kissed Virgil, “But at this point in time, my main focus is you, Logan. You’re hurt and I don’t want you hurt more.” He made his way inside, Virgil on his heels. Walking over to the lounge room, Roman carefully put him down on one end of the many couches, sat down and gently pulled Logan down to rest his head on his lap, softly carding his fingers through his soft hair.

A collective shadow fell upon Roman and Logan, causing them to remember the rest of the pack was there. Looking at Patton, Logan groaned as the dominance of Patton’s werewolf personality made its presence known. “What’s going on?” Patton growled; his heart slowly rising into his throat at the sight of his wounded boyfriend, the younger male’s hurt radiating off of his body, “Shhh, heart, you’re too loud and the lights are too bright.” Logan turned around and pushed his face into Roman’s stomach, leaving the explanation to his princely counterpart.

Softly sighing, and shaking his head at the other male’s actions, Roman placed his free hand onto Logan’s shoulder, taking away some of the pain. “Logan has a migraine, got beaten up by Carter and his friends, got a broken nose from Coach,” He paused as growls and snarls were heard throughout the room, “It was purely accidental, my dears.” He added in a placating manner. “Oh and his Jeep broke down, so once of us need to go out and get that later.” Roman finished with a soft smile as he heard Logan’s soft snores. “I’ll get it once we figure out what to do.” Thomas spoke up as he pointed at himself.

“Who is this 'Carter’ you speak of? He go to school with us?” Thomas continued as he sat down on the arm of the couch, adjusting his hair. “C'mon, kiddo. I wish you’d actually sit on the couch. I don’t want you to do any damage to it.” Patton gave him a semi-stern look which failed as he started to giggle at Thomas’ fake offence.

“Anyway, to answer your question, yes. Yes he does. He’s in the rugby team with Lo.”

Patton’s eyes went wide and he turned around to face the others. “Has this ever happened before?”

Roman carefully maneuvered his way away from Logan, making sure he was still asleep. He walked over to the moral man and placed his hand on the other’s shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I believe he’s come to all of us, at least once.” He paused, wrapping the silently fuming male into a hug, “W-Why didn’t he come to me? I’m h-here for all of you.”

Roman’s hand moved up into his hair, slowly grazing his nails against the back of the emotional man’s head. “Oh, sweet sun, he knows that you’re here for him, as do we. He just didn’t want to worry you. He always sai-”

“I didn’t come to you, Patton, as it is your last year in that hell hole, and I didn’t want to get in the way of you enjoying your last year with all your friends.” Logan interjected, surprising all the werewolves in the room; Patton moving back from Roman’s embrace. “So much for you guys being more observant than me.” He sighed as he stood, his eyes closed. “Patton, my heart. Please make this less embarrassing for me, and c'mere, please.” Logan lifted his arms in the universal sign for a hug.

Motioning for Thomas to shut the curtains, Patton brought the familiar body to his, holding the younger male close. “Please, beloved, tell me these things. I want to be there to protect you.”

Wiping away a few tears, Logan sniffled and moved back from Patton’s embrace, content to resting his back on the older male; gratefully taking his glasses from Roman’s outstretched hand, “If you must know.” He pointed in the direction he knew Virgil to be as he put his glasses back on. “Darkness over there can start the emotional roadshow.”

Rolling his eyes fondly at the nickname, Virgil groaned playfully and sat next to Thomas, “If I must. Well, when Logan came to me for the first time, it was well before we started dating, and so I couldn’t do as much as I can now, but nonetheless. The most memorable occasion was when he appeared in my room, looking completely disheveled and his shirt was slightly bloody, ripped and seriously dirty. All I did was hold him as he cried. The next morning, the only explanation I received was something along the lines of 'Carter seriously doesn’t like me, does he?’ and then Logan just thanked me for allowing him to cry on me, and left with the promise of a new hoodie as a way of thanks.” Scoffing at the disbelieving looks, he breathily chuckled, “What? It’s true!” Logan laughed at the response, “Don’t worry, it is a true guys.”

“Sir Sing a Lot, you’re up next.”

“Must you call me that?” Roman sounded exasperated, but the laughter was evident in his voice as he sat at Virgil’s feet. “Well, apart from earlier today, Sherlock over there as only come to me with Carter related injuries or hurt feelings because of him, a small handful of times. In keeping with the most memorable occasion trend that Virgil started, I guess it’d have to be literally the night before we became werewolves.”

Holding up a hand to silence Patton from the beginnings of his tirade, Roman continued, “Instead of going to a goddamn hospital, the bespectacled idiot actually came to my house. Thank heavens that my parents weren’t home, but still. So much for being the smart one… Anyway, I digress. He came to me with a broken arm. Yeah, I was not happy about that one little bit.” Roman rolled his eyes as he saw Logan looking at him with a shit-eating grin. “After I set his arm in place; thankful that I had taken first-aid courses, I wrapped it up and cuddled with him and we fell asleep. He was gone when I awoke, but he had left a letter.”

Thomas gaped at Logan, “That’s why you were in the cast? Gosh darn. I truly believed your cover story. Looking back at it, and realizing who one of your boyfriends are, I seriously should’ve noticed this. Well then, I guess it’s my turn then?”

Nodding as the others chorused “yes”, Thomas cracked his knuckles. “Well he’s only come to me about twice so? Anyway, the more important occasion was after he had an anxiety attack at school because Carter shoved him into his own locker for a good hour or so. I only found him in there because he was taking me home that day. He was a mess when I got him out and I was so ready to kill this jerk, but Logan assured me he had it under control, so I admit to letting it slide. Thinking back, I really shouldn’t have. My deepest apologies Wolverine.”

Shaking his head at the nickname, Logan stood up straight and stretched, feeling the bandages move. “Ah… I have just one thing to ask of you, Thomas.” He walked over and grabbed then male’s hand, dragging him into the kitchen. Sticking his head back around into the lounge room, Logan made eye contact with all three of his boyfriends. “Not to sound like a cliché for the stereotype of werewolves being dogs, but stay.” His soft laugh could be heard as he walked into the kitchen.

“What'cha need me for, Lo?” Thomas asked him as he hauled himself up onto the counter, poking his tongue out at the other man’s look. “I think it’s better if I show you. Ro already knows as I showed him, so I’m just going to show you, okay?” He waited for Thomas to nod before pulling his shirt off.

“And before the question arises as to why I’m getting you to change my bandages is because,” Logan paused, making sure he had Thomas’ full attention, patting his shoulder as the other males fingers flittered over the bandages that wrapped around his torso.

“I need you to know that I mean no offense by this, but out of everyone, you’re the least emotionally invested as although you are a part of the pack, you are not a part of the romantic relationship between us. You are the somewhat neutral party in this.” Squatting down, he grabbed new bandages from the first-aid kit from under the sink. “Mhh, I also meant to ask. How’s your migraine?” Thomas said as he got off the counter. Fondness could be heard in Logan’s voice as he muttered, “Fucking werewolves and their pain sucking powers…”

Laughing, Thomas’ hands found the clips holding the bandages up. “Alright, I’m going to take them off. Breathe in for me, yeah?” He instructed the younger male. Logan took a deep breath in, and Thomas quickly removed the old bandages and froze as he saw the bruised expanse of Logan’s torso. “Holy… I’m sorry for this Logic.” “What could you-” Logan’s question was cut off by Thomas’ shouts of 'Roman! Virgil! Patton!’

“Oh. That’s why you’re sorry.” Logan muttered as he heard his boyfriends rushed and heavy footsteps. “What’s the pro- HOLY FUCKING HELL LOGAN? WHAT THE FRESH HELL?” Logan flinched slightly at Virgil’s uncharacteristic shout. “I-I told you about this.” He whispered, worried he was going to say the wrong thing and further upset his boyfriend.

“Argh, baby. I’m sorry for yelling. I know you told us; well more Roman than us, but the way it was said was so nonchalant. I,” Virgil paused and looked at Roman and Patton, “We didn’t expect it to be like this.” He stepped towards the other man, carefully holding him as he fell into his arms, the events of today finally catching up with him.

Virgil moved his hands so they rested in the middle of Logan’s thighs and hoists him up, Logan instinctively wrapped his legs around his waist, hugging him like a koala.

Sniffling into Virgil’s shoulder, Logan laughed as he felt himself be enveloped in warmth from all sides as Patton, Roman and Thomas joined in on the hug, all whispering promises of comfort, love and protection; as well as taking some of Logan’s pain away.

“V-Virg?” He hiccupped. “Hmm, what is it baby?” Feeling warmth on his neck from Logan’s blush, he smiled. “Baby?” Lifting his head up, he yawned and rubbed his eyes under his glasses. Logan smiled at the people surrounding him, “M'sleepy. Is it too early to go to bed?”

Patton laughed and placed a warm hand on his shoulder. “Sweets, after the day you’ve had, you can go to bed whenever you want.” Patton leaned in to kiss Logan. It was slow and soft, comforting in ways that words would never be. His hand rested below his ear, Patton’s thumb caressing his cheek as their breaths mingled. He pulled back with a soft smile and then Roman was in front of him. “My darling mind. I love you so much.” Roman covered Logan’s lips with his own, kissing him slowly. It’s soft and gentle and chaste. It’s a wave of warmth that fills Logan up, spilling out from his heart and the warmth of Roman’s lips on his and rushing to every corner of his body.

“You’ll be fine, Lo. We will make sure of it.” Thomas had a small smile on his face. He leant forward, pressing a soft kiss onto the drowsy man’s cheek, the warmth flooding his body.

He was surrounded by love.

Virgil walked up the stairs, a peacefully dozing Logan in his arms. “We all love you, and we always will, dear genius. Please, promise me you’ll never forget this.” He leaned down and pressed a loving kiss on the logical male’s head, placing Logan down and then laying down next to him in the middle of the sizeable bed Patton had sourced from Amazon.

“It’s big enough for pack cuddles, guys! We have to get it.”

“I won’t forget that Virg… S'long as you promise the same too…” Logan shifted so he was positioned with his head under Virgil’s chin, wrapping his arms around the male’s midriff. “I promise, wholeheartedly.”

Smiling into the soft and sleepy kiss Logan pressed to his lips, Virgil pulled one of the multitudes of blankets, comforters and quilts that were roughly shoved down to the end of the bed, over them, “Go to sleep, darling. We’ll deal with Carter tomorrow together. As a pack.” Logan smiled into the hollow of his boyfriend’s neck, “Thank you.”

“Anytime, love.” He drew small patterns on his back with his fingers as the others’ breath evened out.

It wasn’t that long of a wait for Virgil before his other boyfriends trickled into the room. Patton on Virgil’s side, Roman next to Logan. “Where’s Thomas?” Virgil whispered, looking around for their pack mate and friend. “Shhh, Emo Nightmare, he’s perfectly fine. We just went and brought Logan’s Jeep here and now he’s just downstairs watching some Steven Universe. He’ll come join the pack pile soon enough. If you need further reassurance, just listen for his heartbeat.” Roman answered, his hot breath fanning the top of Virgil’s head. Silencing the rest of his senses, Virgil focused on the sound of heartbeats, hearing four steady heartbeats around him and one steady one, further away.

He closed his eyes, “Goodnight Patt, Goodnight Ro. I love you.” He smiled at the soft chorus of, “Goodnight, Virg. I love you too.”

“Oh, by the way. What are we going to do with Carter?” Virgil hummed happily as Patton pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. “Well, Virgil,” Roman whispered, a small snort escaping him.

“Ask the Dragon witch. She knows the drill.”

#logan sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #thomas sanders #poly #I actually wrote this??#i'm sorry #what even is this

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