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electricgg · 22 hours ago

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Ancient Dreams In A Modern Land

Chapter 13: All Of My Past, I Tried To Erase It, But Now I See, Would I Even Change It? (Part 1)

Masterlist Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Chapter 13 (Part 1 / Here!) (Part 2) /

Trigger Warnings: Body Image Issues, Eating Issues.

The Kents' apartment smelled of ink and coffee beans.

Even after years of learning to control his strength, Clark still managed to crush pens with his bare hands if he got a bit too into his interview transcripts. Making a mess of ink over his papers and desk, groaning to himself for ruining another nice shirt, and gaining a belly laugh from his wife and the boys when he made his way to the kitchen sink to scrub off his now blue hands.

And if the other three were laughing a bit too much for his liking, the whole apartment would become full of squeals, laughter, and loud stomping. Clark taking his sweet revenge by staining his family and the walls of their home with his handprints.

It usually ended with all of them sprawled on the floor, still giggling and laughing while covered in ink.

On the other hand, Lois was still only to be trusted with the coffee machine in the kitchen. Every morning without fail, the place would smell of her favorite coffee brand, almost serving as an alarm clock for the rest of the family, which was still snoring or slumbering in their rooms.

Lois had tried multiple times to get Conner to like her coffee, already giving up on Clark after so many years of trying and deeming Jon too young to give him a taste. But to her luck, Conner also seemed to inherit Clark’s sweet tooth and blatant dislike for the drink.

Still, he continued to please her by trying her morning coffee despite the nausea and Clark’s pointed stare.

And all of this was part of what Conner deemed as home.

For him, home was Clark’s ink-stained hands and Lois’s morning coffee.

Home was also Ma’s apple pie, the one that she still insists has a magical healing ingredient for when somebody is feeling down. Home is also Pa’s Coke float after a long, hot day of working on the farm. And Jon’s drawings, the ones made with those cheap fruit-scented markers that he keeps in both of his bedrooms on Metropolis and Smallville.

Home wasn’t a place for him.

His family was his home, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

But right now? Conner would trade anything to avoid where this conversation was going.

“Are you sure he’s your only concern?” Lois squinted at him from behind her cup.

Clark gave her a pointed look, fingers coming to a stop from typing on his laptop. His glasses had slipped down his nose, making him look like an old man when he tried to look through the lenses by turning up his nose because he didn’t bother to fix them up.

He didn’t even need the glasses, not around them. But it seemed like he would just forget to drop his act even inside his home.

“I’m sure Tim is just going through a rough time.” The older man suggested, eyes drifting away from his wife and towards Conner, who sat right in front of him on the round dinner table. “If he’s anything like Bruce, I’m sure he’ll be back to normal once their current case is solved.”

“I don’t think it’s about the case, though,” Conner stated, hanging his arm on the back of his chair. His legs were spread out under the table, still wearing his pajama pants with a teddy bear print that Jon had proudly given him as a Christmas gift the previous year.

They were the most comfortable pieces of clothing he had ever gotten, so nobody could judge him for wearing them around the apartment. If someone teased him, they would have to deal with a teary-eyed Jon and an annoyed Conner ready to get them to apologize.

“He’s been, I don’t know,” he sighed, eyebrows creasing. “He is just acting weird.”

Lois snorted, finally taking a seat beside Clark at the table. Her cup clunked against the table as she put it down. “Define weird. No one in that family has any type of normal behavior.”

“Lois.” Clark chided. “That’s not nice.”

She shrugged, crossing her arms and leaning back on the chair. “It’s a fact. I speak only with the facts.”

Conner stayed quiet for a while, looking at the two adults as they bantered. He was already used to this conversation between them when it came to the Wayne family.

It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. Clark had known Bruce and the boys for years, and he had developed a level of trust in them, despite their occasional clashing debates on certain opinions and themes. It was to be expected that he would come to Bruce’s defense when it came to some questionable decisions or actions made by the Dark Knight.

Even if Clark has been having a harder time justifying his friend’s actions lately.

Lois, on the other hand, had a very different opinion of Bruce Wayne. And she wasn’t shy about letting it be known. Because, despite all the good things that man has done for his city, both inside and outside his suit, Lois Lane refuses to ignore Bruce’s actions and behavior toward his children.

More specifically, towards his daughter.

Conner didn’t know all the details about it, but from what he gathered from past comments and overheard conversations, Lois had been present at the Wayne girl’s first public appearance.

And from what he had gathered, that event had been a disaster that continued to make Lois’ blood boil.

It was curious to him. It was curious how everything seemed to be circling back towards her.

How in Tim’s mindless mutters, her name was the one to get his attention amongst the mess of words his friend spouted. How, despite listening to Barbara’s warnings, his mind could just picture her sharp grin and long curls that refused to stay still for a single moment. How her blunt words and quick glances made such a big impression on him, no matter how short and fast their first meeting had been.

He couldn’t even forget the sound-

“I recognize that look anywhere.” Lois's smug voice snapped him out of his thoughts, his head facing towards the two adults.

Clark looked at him with a raised eyebrow, the corner of his mouth rising very slowly, while Lois had a triumphant expression on her face and taking a sip from her coffee. Then, she leaned a bit forward, her index finger pointed right at Conner’s face.

It put him on the edge, feeling all his danger alarms blaring in the back of his head.

Because when Lois caught onto something, there was no way of escaping.

“Absent from conversations. Longing sighs. And most importantly, that dreamy, far-away look that can only belong to a Kent.” She mentioned, eyes sharpening while Clark coughed behind his fist. Conner could only sink deeper into his seat, feeling his face turn warm as Lois rose from her chair with a laugh.

“Can’t say I’m surprised! You’re a teenager, after all. It was bound to happen at some point.” She teased, going around the table to ruffle his hair as he groaned while covering his now bright red face. Which got a chuckle out of Clark and coos from Lois.

Conner tried to move her hands away, but she simply laughed and hugged him from behind while he pouted at Clark, offended that the man wasn’t doing anything to stop her.

“Who are they? Are they a friend of yours? Maybe Tim’s?” Clark asked, closing his laptop and taking off his glasses.

“They’re obviously from Gotham, or Kon wouldn’t be so insistent on visiting so often,” Lois added. “Are they close to the Wayne family? Are they a boy or a girl? How long have you known each other?”

As Clark and Lois continued to ask more questions, Conner could only hope to pass away out of pure embarrassment and shame.

There goes his sense of privacy. It was nice while it lasted.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

“It stinks like ass in there.”

“If that was the ladies' bathroom,” Bobby sighed, shoving his uniform deep into his bag. “Imagine ours. It could count as a biohazard weapon.”

Maximoff grunted, closing the door of the truck after throwing her bag in the backseat, which hit a half-asleep Warren. He glared at her through the back window before slipping his eyes closed and grumbling to himself, crossing his arms and leaning his head back against the seat.

It had been easy sneaking out of the academy grounds. Their classes were cut short to finish up the preparations for the recital. It was apparently a big deal for the student body, and they took it very seriously. So seriously, that plenty of arguments and near fist fights over the order of turns had broken out when the list had been revealed earlier in the week. It was hard to understand why everyone was so stressed over it until Warren gave some insight.

The recital wasn’t exactly just some silly talent show for the school, but another way for college scouts to find candidates for their programs.

It worked similarly to college coaches recruiting athletes for their teams, but mostly focused on the arts. Gotham Academy had the resources and contacts to bring prestige Universities to this recital, like Juilliard, The Curtis Institute, Berklee, etc.

And that was just the big price because the journey to get it was even more brutal.

To be part of the recital, you had to go through a series of auditions. You couldn’t just sign up and do your act; you had to fight for your spot against your classmates, and then hope for the best at the recital.

Warren wasn’t exactly passionate about music; all of his plans revolved around his father’s company and inheritance. He would go to Gotham University, study finances, marry whoever his father approved, and then grow bald while sitting on his ass for the rest of his life in his father’s fancy office.

…Well, that’s how Warren explained it.

But Wayne had other plans with him. She had seen Warren practice the violin by himself one day after school and dragged him to the auditions while claiming them to be a musical duo from that day on. He had refused at first, but then the famous deal was made, and he had no choice but to agree to it.

But all of those efforts had been thrown out the window by the very bizarre situation they had on their hands at the moment.

With the recital out of their plans, now exchanged with sneaking into probably the most dangerous place in the whole city, the teens had embraced their new target with plenty of questions about how the hell they were going to be able to pull it off.

The first stage was easy: sneaking out of the academy.

Since there was pure chaos when the last bell rang, all three of them (plus an invisible ghost to the normal eye) had slipped away to the parking lot and took off in Bobby’s truck. The only obstacle they faced was avoiding Mr. Logan’s sharp eyes while going through the halls. It was almost as if he had known they were up to something. But they hid in the corners and walked with small crowds of students until they made it outside, successfully evading the teacher.

(Or so they thought.)

The second stage was where they were currently stuck: Changing their uniforms at the closest gas station to the Trigate Bridge and fueling up (Both the truck and their stomachs).

Finding out that the asylum was outside on a completely different island, on the city limits, had put their previous plan on shaky ground. If it were on the mainland, they could have just snuck into the building without getting noticed with Maximoff’s speed (which was a shitty plan because she has little to no control over her speed yet, the security cameras and the fact that none of them knew how to hack or some bullshit like that).

But Arkham Asylum was located on Mercey Island, an island that was filled with security, and the only way of getting in was with an authorized visit permit.

And, of course, since she was a minor, it had to be signed by an adult and accompanied by them.

Asking Bruce for the permit was clearly out of the question, or anyone in the family. Maximoff already didn’t trust them, and the whole letter fiasco left it pretty clear that the man would go to far-off lengths to keep her away from Harvey Dent.

(It also chilled her to the bone being around him lately. She didn’t like how his stare lingered on her the whole time she wandered into a room or hall.)

Alfred was also out; she didn’t want to get the poor man in trouble. He had done plenty for her by bringing her meals to her room, so she didn’t have to talk to anyone else, and also letting her know when everyone was out of the manor. Asking him for help in this was a bit too much to ask of him.

There was the option of asking Barbara, whom she had been texting in the past week, but she didn’t know her well enough to ask her something like that. Plus, the fact that Richard was her boyfriend didn’t exactly help out in thrusting her right out of the gate.

And just like that, they were stumped with their choices.

No permit. No supervising adult. And no way to get into Arkham.

The door of the gas station buzzed as Bobby and Maximoff made their way inside. There were only two employees, one at the cashier and the other trying to fix the slushy machine, and a red-headed customer looking at the fridges. Bobby went directly to the bored-looking cashier to pay for some gas, while she went straight to the snack aisle.

She looked at the overfilled shelves, quickly taking the mini sugar donut packages and plenty of potato chip bags. It wasn’t long until her arms were completely occupied with the brightly colored bags.

Her stomach grumbled loudly, letting her know that it was time to either eat once again or face the consequences.

That had also been a bother lately. Eating.

The pangs of hunger had multiplied to an abnormal amount during the week. Every half an hour, her stomach would cause a riot for food until her eyes teared up in pain from the earth-shattering headache that sprouted from the back of her head.

It was quite disorienting the first time she got that headache. She almost fell right on her face while running on the track if it weren’t for Mr. Logan’s quick reflexes.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

“That’s enough for today.” He growled out, helping her sit up on the bench. Her face was pale and sweaty, her mouth dry and panting.

Mr. Logan gently guided her head down, positioning it between her knees so she could take deeper breaths. The boys hadn’t made it to the field yet, still wrapped up in their practices, so it was up to the teacher to deal with this situation by himself.

Maximoff didn’t know when she had closed her eyes, but she snapped them open when a cold, wet towel was put over the back of her neck. Hissing and cursing at the sudden sensation until it brought a bit of relief. Then, a water bottle was pressed against her lips, instantly taking big gulps from it.

“Easy, bub. It’s not going anywhere.” He muttered, a heavy but warm hand patting gently her shoulder, until she finished the bottle.

When she tried to talk, her words sounded slurred and heavy. But he hushed her and shoved one of his snack bars into her hands, the plastic package already opened by him. She didn’t hesitate to take a bite, sighing deeply with her head hanging low and hunching in her seat.

“Did you eat before practice? You can’t run without having something to eat, kid.” He fumed in a sharp tone, his bushy eyebrows frowning at her while he stared at her from his kneeling position at her right side.

But she nodded, still chewing on her bar as her free hand unfolded the cold towel at her neck and put it over her head, hoping it would soothe the pounding between her ears.

“I did,” she croaked. “Took a whole meal from the cafeteria that was about to get trashed before it closed.”

“And water? Did you drink water today?” He prodded, frown deepening.

“Yeah,” She drawled.

The teacher hummed to himself, sighing roughly as he stood up and walked to their things on the bench behind her. His thoughts go to all the possibilities this new development could mean to the girl.

He knew speedsters burned calories way faster than the average person. He had seen Pietro down a ridiculous number of burgers in two minutes, and the disgusting sugary concoctions he makes when he’s on a sugar craving. Logan also remembered Hank’s trial-and-error phase to make a supplement that covered all of Pietro's bodily necessities, which resulted in the snack bars and protein shake that Pietro hated until they added some ice cream flavor to it.

And it worked. To Pietro, at least.

But she wasn’t Pietro. Pietro was a grown adult, and she was a teenager. Pietro had complete control of his mutation when they met, and the kid just had her powers awakened. And no mutation is ever the same, no matter how similar they are.

Logan needed to get Hank down to Gotham, he would know what to do and the right things to ask. For now, he would have to make do with what he has at hand.

It would have to be enough for now.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

After that, Mr. Logan started to shove those snack bars right into her bag every morning as soon as she made it to his class. During the day, he also managed to find her around the campus to remind her to drink water and give her even more bars.

It was odd. Having such an intimidating man appear at every corner just to remind her to eat and take it easy. It was somewhat sweet, too. It meant he cared. That he cared enough to take some of his time just to make sure she was doing alright.

And that made her feel even worse.

Because, at the end of the day, she was unsure if she deserved it. All that care. All that attention.

From Mr. Logan.

From Bobby and Warren.

Why did she get to have it and not Wayne?

It had been a constant thought in the past days. The feeling of taking something that wasn’t hers, that wasn’t meant to be hers. The constant sensations of wrongness when she looked in the mirror and felt as if she was doing everything wrong.

That she wasn’t the one who was supposed to be standing there. The one who was supposed to be filling the lungs of this body. The one who was supposed to be using that voice. The one who was supposed to feel, to touch, the breath, to talk, to eat, to walk, to-

Her eyes caught the reflection of the crystal on the fridge’s door.

Parts of her clothes hung off her body, the collarbone sticking out on the neck of her light grey top. The bones of her hands were more prominent and almost skeletal under the translucent light. Her cheeks were sunken and pale, along with the bags beneath her eyes.

Her chest heaved sharply, words stuck behind her throat, but her mind was reeling nonstop.

Look what you did. You don’t deserve this body. It’s not even yours, and look how you treat it. So careless. Can’t take care of something that isn’t even yours. Why are you even here? You don’t deserve it. Why you and not her? Why are you breathing and not her? Why did you get the chance, and she didn’t? She is the one who deserves another chance. Not you. Why you? Why you? Why yoU? Why YOU?! WHY YOU? WHY YOU WHY YOU WHYYOUWHYOU-

“Breath with me.”

She shook her head, distantly hearing something fall to the ground, and her hands were weightless. Trembling and sweating between her fingers.

“Breath with me.”

Warm fingers wrapped around her wrist, making her flinch (It’s bone. It’s pure bone-), but it squeezed back and brought her hand up to put it against a firm surface. She felt the threads of fabric under her fingers, distantly recognizing that it was a chest by the beating sensation against her palm.

The heartbeat was going so fast. It was almost like it was buzzing.

It felt oddly comforting. Almost familiar, in some weird sense. As if she had felt something like this before. A heartbeat going so fast that it was almost impossible to register normally.

‘Your mom used to say I was like a hummingbird. Always buzzing around and moving nonstop. I didn’t get it back then, but now? You get to be my own hummingbird.’

‘But I don’t wanna be a bird, Uncle Pie!’

‘No takebacks, my hummingbird! That means you’re my favorite!’

‘And what about Billy?’

‘What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him!’

Her vision started to clear up, ears finally heard the background music from the gas station and Bobby’s panicked voice. Her eyes looked down at the ground, noticing the snacks lying around the floor. Thankfully, none of them were broken, just a bit dirty.

Then, she looked up, her reflection staring back at her once more.

She looked normal, with no bones sticking out or sunken skin. Just wet cheeks and a bit pale in the face.

“Are you alright, babes?” Bobby asked, hands cooling her shoulders as he turned her around to take a closer look at her. She nodded slowly, not trusting her voice at the moment, by the feeling of dryness in her throat.

Just as she was about to turn back to pick up her mess on the ground, a man who had been standing beside them the whole time motioned her to stop and began to pick up the snacks quickly. Maximoff stared openly at him until he got up and started to hand over the chips.

He was rather tall, almost a whole head taller than her. Rosy skin with freckles over his nose and cheeks. He wore jeans and red running shoes, a dark red hoodie with a pocket at the front.

Red hair, all sprawled in different directions. As if the wind had been playing with it.

That wasn’t Uncle Pie.

“That’s not something to take lightly.” He said with a side smile. “Panic attacks and low sugar are a recipe for disaster. I would know.”

“Sorry, sir.” She muttered, looking to the side, fighting off the feeling of disappointment on her chest. “It’s been a long day.”

“Take it easy,” The man shrugged, taking a drink out of the fridge and handing it to Bobby. “Word of advice? Listen to your body. Ignoring it will make things worse.”

“Thanks, sir. We will keep it in mind,” Bobby butted in, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and leading her to the cashier.

While Bobby paid for their things, Maximoff’s gaze stayed on the man the whole time. She knew what she heard and felt. Those heartbeats were almost similar to her own. Similar to Uncle Pie. And it wasn’t a normal heartbeat, since she even knew the difference between a normal one and the buzzing thing that she had on her chest.

That man was like her. And he knew she was like him.

The redhead was also looking at her, but only gave her a wink and put a finger to his lips before he walked out of the gas station.

She almost didn’t wait for Bobby to take the receipt before grabbing the bag with their stuff, pulling Bobby by the back of his jacket, and making it out the door as quickly as she could without drawing too much attention.

But when they made it outside, there was no sign of the man.

“Damn it!” She cursed, stomping her foot against the ground while Bobby flailed around behind her, disoriented.

“What? What’s up?” He said, looking around the empty lot and fixing his clothes.

“That guy! He just-ugh!” She groaned, stomping towards their truck and swinging the plastic bag on her side with Bobby following her back, looking confused.

They reached the truck, Maximoff taking the passenger seat while muttering to herself and throwing the bag into the backseat without looking back, buckling her seat belt with a huff. She didn’t even hear if she accidentally woke up Warren from his nap, too deep in her head.

Bobby took a few moments to get inside since he was putting up some gas in the truck. He sighed, putting on his seatbelt and starting up the engine. “Did you know that guy? He was a bit too friendly.”

“No, but he certainly knows something.” She pointed, frown deepening, and arms crossing.

“Do you think he had bad intentions?”

It took a moment for her to answer, but she shook her head. “No. I don’t think he did.” She bit her lip, leaning back against the seat. “I just thought he was someone else…”

Bobby nodded slowly, “You got your hopes up then?”

“You could say that.” She sighed. “It’s just, I don’t even know what to do anymore. What is even the point of this if I just keep getting into deeper shit and bullshit answers and it’s all just so pointless? I don’t even know how going to Arkham is going to help! Hell, who knows how we are even going to get in?!”

Bobby grabbed her arm since she was widely gesturing around and had almost hit him a couple of times. He pulled her gently, making Maximoff look at him with a tired look. Sleeping had also been difficult during the week.

Having dreams of that endless hall and a house that no longer existed was taking a toll on her.

“You’re taking things too fast.” He admonished. “We've only been doing this for a week. And the odds are not exactly in our favor. But you need to take it one step at a time and open up to us. Taking all of this on your own is not helping anyone, and especially not you.”

“But what if I fail? I could drag you and Warren, and even Wayne. I’m just failing everyone left and right, and I don’t-”

“You haven’t failed anyone!” He insisted, cold spiking against her skin. “You can’t say you failed when you just started! Saying that it’s more than an insult to me, to Warren, and Wayne!”

Maximoff butted in. “But I-”

“No buts! We are going to Arkham, you are talking to Harvey Dent, we are getting some real answers even if I have to freeze the goddamn island and everything is going. To. Be. Fine!”

The two of them glared at each other for a while, the windows of the truck covered in a mist of cold, preventing them from seeing the outside. Bobby’s hand had turned into ice, but it wasn’t burning her like the last time. The sleeve of her jacket was stuck against his fingers. Maximoff’s stare wavered for a moment, clicking her teeth before pulling her arm away from Bobby’s grip.

He seemed satisfied with her silent agreement, the temperature slowly rising up once again.

Just as he began to drive the car, Maximoff spoke silently.

“How are we even going to get in? We've got no plan.”

Before Bobby could open his mouth, a high-pitched voice with a heavy accent spoke from the backseat of the truck.

“Looks like you kiddos could use a li’l outside interference!”

The two teens slowly turned to look at each other, eyes wide and lips thin. Then, even more slowly, they looked to the backseat with the feeling of dread looming behind their necks.

A tided-up Warren glared at them with fury, his mouth biting on the sleeve of his uniform jacket while his pants were tied tightly around his arms. A woman with white hair in two ponytails, one red and the other black, had an arm over the blonde’s shoulder while grinning sweetly at the other two.

“Lucky for you,” She announced, jostling Warren a bit on her side. “ Auntie Harley’s is feelin’ generous at the moment!”

Maximoff’s eye twitched when she caught Wayne’s form behind the cackleling woman, taking notice of the innocent shrug the ghost gave to her.

She was totally going to do a salt circle around her bed tonight.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Maybe getting to the recital two hours early was a bit too much. But Bruce didn’t hear any of the kids complaining about it, and neither would he.

It had been pretty easy to reschedule a couple of meetings back at Wayne Enterprises. Tim may have also had a hand in it, but Bruce was quite adamant to be the one to do it personally at the office, and give his secretary the proper paperwork and new schedule dates so she could make the calls.

Though he had been reading over the proposals made by Worthington Industries on the limo while Alfred drove, he still needed to oversee them with Tim before making any final decisions for their upcoming meeting next week.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. They even made some good points that Bruce wanted to discuss in person with Mr. Worthington.

Aside from the founding of the vaccine, Worthington was willing to discuss an alliance with Wayne Enterprises for a new security system. It wasn’t detailed on what exactly this proposal included, but Tim had supposed it had to do with some security cameras made out of some new material.

The way Bruce saw it, it could be a new option for his nightly job depending on what Worthing presented at the meeting.

Business aside, just like the rest of the kids, Bruce was also trying to keep his mind busy.

He knew he had fucked up. Badly.

His daughter refused to look him in the eye the whole week. Avoided the kitchen like the plague in the mornings despite his efforts to get up early in the morning (even after a long night of patrol) just so he could say good morning or ask her how she slept. In the afternoons, before he could go down to the cave, Bruce would knock on her door, hoping she would open it and allow him to see her face.

He didn’t care if she was glaring at him or didn’t speak to him. He just needed to see her.

But she never opened the door. She never came out of her room. She would just turn up her music and ignore the knocking.

Not even deep into the night, her door wouldn’t budge when he tried to open it.

He just wanted to check on her. See her for a moment, even though she was asleep. Just see that she's alright, that she was sleeping well. Maybe even see if she still slept curled up under her blankets as if it were a cocoon, looking so small and fragile in the middle of that bed.

Was it too much to ask? He just needs to see-

“That’s him,” Dick hissed by his ear, glaring at the end of the hall with his hands shoved into his pockets. “That’s the man I told you about.”

Bruce locked those thoughts in the back of his mind, posture steeling and shoulders squared up as his eyed drifted towards the spot Dick was staring at.

There, standing in the hall while leaning against a wall, was a teacher who smoked an old cigar by an open window. Looking gruff and standoffish in a brown leather jacket, and glaring at the floor.

Logan Munroe.

History teacher. Graduated from the University of Toronto. Canadian. Forty-five years old. Married with a seven-year-old daughter. Lived in New York for the past sixteen years. Moved to Gotham for this sole semester as a substitute teacher.

And, by Dick’s words, a creep that had been eyening his daughter since he started working at the Academy.

Getting to the recital early turned out to be an advantage.

Bruce nodded towards Dick, letting him go to be with the rest of them who had left to wander around the halls of the campus. Probably trying to find their sister before the recital, just so they could wish her good luck on her presentation.

Tonight, they would start from scratch.

A do-over.

They would gain back her trust and affection, never taking it for granted again.

Logan didn’t lift his gaze, not even when Bruce made it to his side. The sharply dressed man waited for him to do something, anything, but Logan simply continued to smoke his cigar without a single sign of acknowledgement.

It made Bruce’s jaw tighten.

“You must be Mr. Munroe, I suppose.” He greeted, that fake tone that he used around the public, making Logan’s eyebrow twitch as he raised his head to look at the man. Bruce smiled sharply, offering his hand to shake. “My daughter is in your class, and she speaks very fondly of you. I’m Br-”

“Mr. Wayne, I know.” He gruffed, putting out his cigar with the edge of the window and throwing it out there. Logan shook his hand, staring directly at his eyes and gripping tightly.

Bruce gripped back, his smile tightening before letting go. The teacher had heavy and strong hands. And an even tighter grip.

“I was wondering how she was doing at school. She is not exactly a fan of it, if you get what I mean.” He laughed, refusing to look away from the man’s stare.

Logan huffed, leaning his leg against the wall and crossing his arms. “Could have fooled me. She loves being here. Had to insist a couple of times so she would go in her grandfather’s car and go home.”

Bruce’s eyes crinkled at the corners, almost hearing the message the man was trying to say.

“Alfred is our butler, actually.”

“Hm, so your butler?” He drawled, a sarcastic edge on his voice. “Guess I got confused, since he’s always picking her up. Does he also get paid as a chauffeur?”

“I’m more concerned about my daughter than what Alfred gets paid for at the moment, Mr. Munroe.” Bruce retorted, feeling his neck pulsing hotly against his dress shirt.

Logan nodded, fighting off his smirk and settling down. “Well, she is a smart girl. Alert on class. Always asks questions and gets a bit heated when it comes to class debates. Quite competitive, if I’m being honest.”

Bruce took hold of that information as if hoarding a book. A sense of pride filled his chest. Of course, she was smart! She probably soaked up information as if she were a sponge and used it to her advantage. And competitive? He wasn’t sure that was possible, and she was pretty passive, but either way, it meant she was confident to speak up and show how brilliant she-

“Though I am concerned about what she eats at home.”

…Eat?

Bruce frowned, his voice turning serious. “What does that mean?”

Logan narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to the side. “Are you home a lot, sir?”

“Whenever is possible, but yes.”

The teacher put his hands on his hips, jaw twitching as he lifted himself from the wall and took a few steps closer to the other man. “Do you just stay holed up in your fancy office working, or are you truly home?”

“That’s out of your business, Mr. Munroe.” Bruce's voice darkened, grey eyes steeling as he looked down at the frowning man.

“Right, I’m sorry,” Logan gruffed out, scratching his scruffy jaw. “Out of my pay, right?”

The two of them stared at each other for a long time, the tension growing colder and colder the more the silence reigned between them. It was already darkening outside, and the shoes squeaking against the tiles broke them out of their glaring contest.

Tim made his way towards them, frowning at the scene before him until he reached Bruce. “They already opened the amphitheater. Dick insists on getting the best seats.”

Bruce nodded, patting Tim’s shoulder. “Did you find your sister?”

He shook his head, eyebrows twisting in displeasure. “No, the practice rooms are blocked. We tried getting in but Dick dragged us outside to find you. He says we can’t interrupt her from her practice.”

Logan snorted, gaining looks from the other two. Bruce nodded at the man, starting to walk away with Tim at his side. “A pleasure, Mr. Munroe. We must get going.”

“Sure, enjoy your evening.” He answered, a strange look on his face, before he disappeared down the hall with his hands shoved into his pockets.

And just like that, Logan Munroe made his way on top of Bruce’s black list.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Turns out, getting into Arkham was easy.

Aside from the fact that security was shit, having an ex-employee that knew the place like the back of her hand on their side helped out a lot.

Harley, or as she insisted on being called, Auntie Harley, had a basic plan to get into Arkham from the very beginning. She was planning on stealing a vehicle and pretending to be a security worker with a uniform that she stole from someone (whether the person was alive or dead wasn’t asked) and then getting into the facility to break out her wife from Arkham after she got arrested for an attack earlier that week in one of Gotham’s parks.

Apparently, Poison Ivy could break out if she wanted to, but Harley insisted on doing the rescuing this time. Or something like that.

Bobby tried to explain it could be a foreplay thing, but Warren shut him up real quick before he could say anything else. Wayne just wheezed by Maximoff’s ear while all three of them hid on the back seat floor, Harley driving on the front while she talked pure nonsense to the bored-looking guard before allowing them to drive through the gates of the asylum.

She drove them through the back of the facility, ordering them to stay in the truck until she came back. They thought of just saying fuck it and go inside but she suddenly appeared with three more uniforms and three knocked out guards that she shoved into the truck.

“I’m pretty sure we can go to jail for this.” Warren hissed, adjusting his cap so none of his hair could be seen.

“Where’s your sense of adventure, dude?” Bobby whispered, gleaming as they walked behind Harley through the dark and worn walls of the place.

Warren hit Bobby from the back, making him wince as they passed another sleepy guard sitting in the hall. “More like a sense of self-preservation. Did you forget we got kidnapped?!”

“Is it kidnapping if we were already planning on getting here?” Maximoff whispered over her shoulder, feeling a bit annoyed at the tight cap on her head that held her hair inside.

She needed to cut it off soon, or she would take the scissors herself and end up looking like-

“Okay, sweetcheeks,” Harley spun around suddenly, making them gulp and stop on the spot while she pointed at the bronze gate before them. “This is the meetin’ spot, so don’t forget it!”

The three of them nodded sharply at the same time, making her squeal and cackle. Then she shoved her finger at them with a wide look. “You got an hour, then I’m peelin’ outta here with or without ya. And trust me, ya don’t wanna walk home!”

“Thanks!” Maximoff said with a grin. The teens went through the gate, encountering a long hall that was divided to the left and right at the end, metal doors with numbers and voices murmuring or yelling from inside the rooms.

The girl turned to look at the rogue, who was already walking down another hall. “Do you know his cell?” she asked loudly.

Harlye looked over her shoulder, not once stopping her walk. “Easy-peasy, sugar! Ol’Harv’s sittin’ pretty in cell 314. Be a doll an’ tell ‘im he still owes me a new deck o’ cards, will ya’?”

She nodded with a smile and pulled Warren and Bobby down the other hall, following the numbers on the wall while ignoring the voices from the rooms and wandering eyes from the small windows on the doors.

An electric clock marked the hour on a wall before they disappeared down the right hall.

6:45 PM

Welcome to Arkham, indeed.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Author's note: Here's Part 1! Hope you all enjoy this chapter! It took me a while to write it because of many thing getting in the way through the past two weeks (good things tho!). Next part will try to be out around Saturday or Sunday, still figuring out because of my filming and class schedule, but I'll keep you guys updated! Remember that I love answering asks and comments, don't hesitate to send them! Sending you lots of hugs and love, GG✨

Tag list:

@bat1212 @kneelforloki @1abi @galaxypurplerose @yhin-gg @cxcilla @momentomoribitch @stargirl404 @welpthisisboring @icefox8155 @bunniotomia @alittlelostmoonchild @devotedlyshamelessdetective @shycreatorreview @nirvanaxx1942 @soulsire @ryuushou @rinkydinkythinky @lithiumval @ithoughtthinks @reeyy0-2 @cssammyyarts @lordbugs @ilovecoffe0 @kore-of-the-underworld @fortunatelydifferentqueen @vanessa-boo @livingund3ad @aelxr @im-so-goddamn-tired @lovebug-apple @staarflowerr @xoxoyukixoxo @whyiseveryuseenametaken @holderoflostmemories @doggyteam2028 @leeiasure @shadowypeachsweets @jjoppees @astraeasworld @wrenbirde @scarletdfox @letsbedragonstogether @exactlynumberonekryptonite @randomlyappearingartist @angwlart @ceramic-raven @vndexd @suneaterscape @initial-ari

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burgojo · 13 hours ago

Text

VICIOUS KISSES. GETO SUGURU / M!READER

summary. no matter what happens, no matter what he does, he will always be your one exception.

tags. smut | top reader, bratty bottom geto, doomed yaoi or something, angst, childhood friends to complicated to lovers, reader is mentioned to have siblings + come from a non-sorcerer family, mentions of canon-typical violence, wilfully ignorant domesticity with a serial mass murderer but he's in love so it cancels out, geto in a jockstrap, sex toys, they're both possessive, unprotected sex, kitchen sex, edging, teasing, multiple orgasms, reader has a huge cawk and geto has a fat ass yeehaw (they're soulmates)

wc. 11.5k (it's a chunky one)

Since you met as children, Geto Suguru has always known you to be the dependable type. An extra serving of the snack your parents bought that he loved, the neat and detailed class notes you brought to his house when he was sick in bed, stern reminders the day before tests. You were all of these things, and he knew you loved him dearly.

He wonders, staring at your pained expression behind your front door, if this would be the end of whatever unspoken thing you had between you.

His grip tightens on the hands of two little girls. They huddle close to him, wearing muddy indoor slippers in adult sizes, and silently stare up at you from behind his legs.

He killed his family. He slaughtered a whole village, not a one left standing.

You open the door wider and step aside.

—

"Hey there, Shoko."

She turns, short brown hair brushing her collar. She pops a chewed lollipop stick out from between her lips and chucks it in the bin beneath the desk, leaning back in her roller chair. "Hey yourself. What was this about an urgent appointment?"

You smile, lopsided and familiar. You rest your palms on the heads of the two girls beside you, one gripping your shirt and the other gripping your trousers. "Do you mind giving this pair a check-up with a focus on cursed energy? I was hoping to get some bloodwork done, too – just the usual, iron and such."

She nods, gesturing to the three seats by the desk. "Easy peasy. More of your siblings?"

"It seems like sorcery runs in the family now," you say, taking a seat on the furthest side and placing an arm over the back of the chair beside you. Subtly, the dark-haired one in that seat leans towards you.

"No kidding," Shoko says drily, setting up a blood pressure monitor. "That's the whole point of clans – you and these two could be enough to make your own. You two cuties must be his favourites then, huh?"

The blonde one offers a small smile. The other one watches Shoko pull the Velcro arm band open with a riiip.

"I don't play favourites," you hum. "I would do anything for my whooole family. Ohana, you know?" You squeeze their shoulders affectionately. "If I am a little sweeter on some – well, that's a secret I'll take to my grave."

Shoko glances away from her files and forms, picking up the arm band and scooting closer across the wood-patterned linoleum. "Then in that case—" she mimes zipping her lips and tossing away the key "—my lips are sealed. Could you roll up your sleeve for me, honey?"

Nanako obeys, offering her arm. Shoko wraps the band around her bicep what seems like an excessive number of times; the girls are small for their age, and you both know it.

The time passes uneventfully. The girls are unnaturally obedient – to the point that Shoko notices. You might ask one of them to do something or sit a certain way and they'll listen immediately, as if... afraid.

She thinks half-heartedly, maybe he's a shitty brother, but you frown in your gentle way at the same things Shoko does, and your voice softens right after. You comfort them while she takes their blood, and though they seem to settle, they don't act quite... right. They don't reach for you, don't seek you out for support – they sit there stiffly with their arm out, bracing themselves, and startle when you offer a hand to hold and tell them to wiggle their toes, as if abruptly remembering that you're there.

Now, Shoko doesn't want to comment or speculate on other people's family dynamics, but unfortunately for you, a pair of little girls aren't world-class actors.

She grabs your wrist before you can leave. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

You glance at the twins, who hold each other's hands and gaze back at you. "Sit here for a while, please, okay?" You point to some chairs lining the hallway outside Shoko's shiny new office. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Shoko closes the door behind you and leans against it with a soft sigh, one hand discreetly grasping the handle. She blocks the only exit, and you notice it, immediately wary.

"They aren't your sisters, are they?" she asks, shrewd as ever.

You eye her, but her features are only tired, her gaze sweeping from item to item in the room conversationally. She's not looking for a weapon – just making you feel at ease without her boring holes into your skull.

"Family isn't just by blood," you say.

"No, it isn't," she agrees. "Did you read the report, by the way? All that death for two children not big enough to see over the dashboard... Maybe I could understand – after a drink or two."

You huff a laugh, wry. "I'll shout you."

"I'll take you up on that. You're the one with the believable ID."

"Are you saying I look old, Shoko? C'mon, now. Low blow."

Her lips quirk up. "You've aged a lot over the last few months. You keep putting off sleep like you are and you'll end up looking like Palpatine."

"Unlimited power." You wave your hands in the air, then huff and chuckle, shoving your hands in your pockets. "Don't worry about me, Shoko. It'll pass. All I want is to make sure the girls will be alright once I get them on a diet of my famous cooking."

"Infamous, more like." She rolls her eyes.

"Hey, Satoru knew he couldn't handle spice. Wasn't my fault he kept going because he wanted to outdo Suguru."

You share a little laugh at the memory, though it peters out at the end. Because that's all it is – a memory, a fragment of the past which you'll never see again.

Shoko steps forward, taking your hands in hers. She squeezes them, her mouth opening and closing before she sighs and butts her head against your chest.

"Take care of them for me. All of them."

All. Not both.

You squeeze her hands in return, pressing your cheek to the top of her head. You wrap your arms around her, and in a rare show of vulnerability, she lets you – she stands there, arms by her sides, her head against your chest, and doesn't push you away.

You pull away first. You have to, or you might never leave. You pat her shoulder, offering a small, sweet smile. "Am I free to go, doc?"

She nods, glancing at the blood samples in their labelled bags. "I'll call you when the results are back."

"Alright. Thank you," you say earnestly. You pause by the door, hand on the knob. "Shoko?"

"Yeah?"

"We're keeping this between us, right?" You offer a little lopsided grin. "If you'll do the same, I won't tell anyone you let me hug you."

Brushing her hair behind her ear, Shoko sighs and grumbles. "You better not. Otherwise, I'm putting rat poison in your soup."

"Okay, okay, I promise. Jeez, woman – violence isn't the only answer."

"If it's my first choice, my problems tend to go away." Shoko waves you out. "Now go get your girls. I'm sure they're bored half to death out there."

—

Suguru's nails dig into his palms until the skin breaks and bleeds. Red trickles down his wrist from where his hands are pressed to his mouth.

"Your anger is heavy," you murmur, crouching by his feet and gently prying his hands open to press a cloth to the red crescents in his skin. You hold it there, one hand cupping his knuckles and the other pressed firm and warm against his palm. It's like you're holding hands, Suguru thinks. "You can't bear it, but you can't put it down. I understand. But this path you're on... I can't follow you. I'm sorry."

"Please." He grips your hand, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "Please don't make me go this alone. You've always been there for me. Do it again just one more time."

You gaze up at him from where you are on your knees. Your living room falls somewhere between barren and cluttered – you'd moved in not too long ago, wanting your own place off of campus, but things had happened so quickly that you hadn't the time to set out all your souvenirs and potted plants neatly. Whatever's out of its box is something with a use, and as such the place looks rather sad and empty. You'll have to change that soon.

"I can't, Suguru." Your voice is soft, and it wavers. You were always the logical, rational type, the mediator when Shoko riled up the other two and then bailed when things got dicey. He hasn't seen you cry since you were children, but it's not hard to tell you're close to it, gnawing on your lower lip to keep it from trembling. "Don't ask this of me."

"Can't, or won't?" Suguru asks sharply, meeting your eyes. His voice begins to rise. "Why? Why do you say you understand but refuse to come with me? If you understood, it'd be an easy damn decision. It's not fair!"

"You're not fucking fair, Suguru!" You match the vitriol in his voice. "Asking me to choose between you and everyone else I love? You're like a toxic girlfriend giving me an ultimatum. That's real fucking shitty of you."

He tugs his hand out of yours, though the immediate cold without them almost makes him backtrack. Stubborn as he is, though, he continues, mopping up the remaining blood himself and folding the cloth several times around his hand. It's something to do so he doesn't have to bear the brunt of your disappointed gaze.

He takes a deep breath, leaning back against the couch. You stand and move into the kitchen, silent as a ghost as you wash your hands and prepare tea from the boiled kettle.

Playing with the edges of the cloth you'd given him, Suguru glances at the clock. Nine at night. Still technically early, but exhaustion drags him down like cinderblocks. The girls are asleep in the bed you made for them, big enough to hold them both and still have room left over because they didn't like to sleep alone.

His sight begins to blur. It's like seeing a curse for the first time all over again, but this time he doesn't have you to fall back on when things got scary. How childish it is, to cry over a boy.

"Suguru." You place a steaming cup in front of him on the coffee table. "I hope you don't hate me." You hold your own over your lap, your index finger tracing the rim of the cup. Occasionally, you cut through the steam, watching the pale wisps tear in half.

"I should be the one saying that, shouldn't I?" he whispers, leaning forward and reaching for his cup of tea. He lifts it to his lips and the couch creaks under his shifted weight. He huffs, a mirthless chuckle. "You're in the presence of a criminal."

"Right. The guys in the big hats don't like you anymore." You sigh, leaning back and tipping your head to stare at the ceiling. "For what it's worth... I meant it when I said I understand. I get where you're coming from. I just think you're doing it wrong."

"Then why won't you come with me? Help me make things right?"

"In your absence, I have to take care of Satoru – make sure he doesn't go ballistic." You chuckle just thinking about it. "It's so obvious the guy's never had friends his age before. Knows nothing about emotional regulation, either. At least Shoko can talk about it, but Satoru? No, no. Just clams up and gets overly bitchy until I drop it. I'd like to think I'm making headway with him, though."

Suguru swirls his cup of tea, staring into it. "Why is that always your job? Always our peacemaker, our middleman, our damn therapist... Someone should pay you for it. At least that'll mean getting some colour in this place."

"Suguru."

He glances over at you. You lean into him, resting a warm hand on his shoulder. You're beautiful, even like this, but this is the first time where, despite your closeness, Suguru feels as if you're on the other side of a glass wall like a museum piece. That wall is there for your protection.

"You grieve," you observe. "Why?"

Playing right into his words, it seems. Suguru chuckles slightly, cupping his mug and raising it to his lips. "You know why. Even if we met up like this every single day for the rest of our lives, it'd never be the same. I'm mourning what we had. I really wish you'd choose to be with me, but, well. C'est la vie."

"You could force me to," you say nonchalantly, sipping your tea and folding your legs like a prince at a boring meeting. "I don't think I could bring myself to hurt you."

"And make you despise me?" he scoffs. "No, thanks. Pretty sure Satoru already does, and my social circle's become frighteningly small. More of a dot, really. A pinhead."

Your gaze softens and you reach out, brushing the back of your knuckles against his cheek and down his jaw with a wistful sweetness. He leans into it, gaze flickering up to you.

Suddenly, his lower lip quivers and he closes his eyes and cups your hand, pulling it into himself. He kisses your palm and strokes your wrist, gripping you tight to keep you there – as if you'll pull away if he doesn't. But why would you? You reached for him to begin with.

"When we die, I want to go first," he whispers. "Promise me that."

Your heart stops.

You stare at him unblinkingly. Then, you put down your cup, doing the same for his, and pull Suguru tight into your arms. He curls up under your chin, fisting the back of your shirt as he commits the warmth of your bulk and the smell of your cologne to memory.

If only he were cruel enough to steal you away – bruised and battered so nobody could blame you – to have you all to himself. If only you didn't love him so wholly and instead alerted the elders when he first stumbled to you, the blood still fresh across his cheeks.

You don't want to think about your failings. You bury your nose in his hair, his milk and honey shampoo making the bile churn in your stomach, and hold him tighter. "I promise."

—

You come when Suguru calls. You always do.

"Hello, darling," he hums, rising from behind his big mahogany desk. He pushes a pile of folders into a drawer and rounds the desk to meet you, his long dark robes swaying around his ankles. "It's been a while, hasn't it? How are the girls?"

"It's been two weeks, so that depends on your definition of 'a while'. They're doing alright," you reply, letting him drape his arms over your shoulders. "I keep telling them to make friends, but apparently all of the girls in their new class are mean and cliquey. At least they like their teachers and subjects."

"That's good to hear," Suguru murmurs, tracing your collarbone with his fingertip absently. "I'll visit soon. When are you free?"

Satoru leaves for an overseas mission in the weekend, meaning there's no chance of him popping in without warning. Well, less of a chance, at least. "In two days. The girls want to go out for shopping and dinner on their own – but they've promised to leave their locations on, won't stray off the main roads, and won't follow strangers into white vans, so they'll be fine."

"You sound so sure about that. You're going to follow them, aren't you?"

"Now, see, that's where you would be right," you begin, "if we had this conversation a few days ago. But after they scolded me for being overly anxious when they're perfectly capable young sorcerers, I've decided to use that day for a date."

"A date?" He tilts his head inquisitively. "What sort?"

"I know how busy you are, so I didn't want to waste too much of your time," you admit with an embarrassed smile, pulling him in by the waist. "Therefore: dinner date, whipped up by yours truly. Two-in-one."

Suguru grins, stepping up on his zori to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "I don't suppose you'll leak what's on the menu?"

"Well, I don't know what you're paying yet."

He scoffs, placing a hand over his heart. "Making me pay? Bad with our monthly budgeting, are we?"

"Not bad, just generous. When Nanako says she wants that fluffy cardigan, I can't say no. If Mimiko finds a cute pair of shoes, I say, 'do a little spin'."

Suguru can't help the fondness that trickles into his voice. He's supposed to be stern right now. "So, yes, bad budgeting and a weak will. Fine – name your price."

You pretend to think. "Well... I could do with a little this," you brush your thumb over his soft lips, "and a lot of this." You squeeze his ass beneath his monk's robes. His breath hitches, body jerking into yours, and you smile as you peck his cheek chastely. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he replies, too quick and breathy for someone playing bad cop. "I can afford that."

When Suguru arrives on a fine and sunny Saturday, you can't help the painful little twinge that pings at your heartstrings. Seeing him in front of your door, long hair silky black and lips dabbed with a light gloss... you almost cave.

Take me with you. God, just take me with you.

He stays with you when he can, but when he does, it's dangerous. The moment they find out you're playing house with the worst curse user of them all, you'll be branded with the same iron, and your girls – god, your girls – will have all normalcy stripped from their lives. You couldn't let them lose their family twice.

"Good afternoon," he greets sweetly, hands bundled within his robe sleeves. "I hope I'm not too early."

"No, not at all." You find your voice and let him in. You've gotten exceptionally good at playing at light-hearted domesticity. He steps out of his zori and into his slippers by the door. "Early finish today?"

He chuckles, turning and pressing a kiss to your cheek. "Yes. I rushed my last few visitors so I could spend more time with you."

"Suguru..."

"Oh, don't look at me like that. If you could see yourself from my eyes, you'd understand why I'm so eager." He knocks your chin gently, playfully, as your cheeks warm, and he flutters deeper into your apartment like he has so many times before. "Do you need any help in the kitchen?"

"I, uh – no, you take it easy. I just need ten minutes before I start plating things up."

"My prince charming," he teases, fingers gliding along the edge of the dining table. It seats six and fits just fine in the apartment, thanks to the not-insignificant salary you're paid as a full-time sorcerer. A bottle of wine sits in the middle next to two glasses. "Well, I'll borrow your shower, then. Rinse off the grime of the day."

"Take your time. Use all the hot water you like."

"Is that a challenge?"

"You can't do worse than the twins and their bubble baths."

"Challenge accepted." He steps into the hallway. "I'm going to try some of their fancy skincare products."

The sink and most of the bathroom cupboards and shelves are overrun with the various makeup products and skincare kits they've tried over the years. Lucky you gets a single top shelf, which they can't reach without dragging a stool into the bathroom, and which they graciously offered for your shaving cream and razor. Obviously, you're their favourite.

You busy yourself with setting the table, the plated filet mignon looking straight out of a cookbook. You're pleased with the results. You pick a few subtle candles and snap your fingers – with a precise pop of cursed energy, the candles light aflame.

You turn down the ceiling lights and observe your handiwork, proud of what you've accomplished. You nod to yourself.

Warm arms wrap around your middle. Suguru presses his lips to your neck. "Hello. I feel a little underdressed for the occasion."

You turn, and your eyes widen slightly. Despite having his own full wardrobe, he's dressed in your clothes: boxy t-shirt, grey sweatpants. You're not much better in jeans. "Um – I – wow."

Suguru lifts an eyebrow, stepping in front of you with a teasing smile. His skin is slightly glossy, plump with whatever moisturiser he'd stolen and patted on. "Is it because of the hair? You're so easy to impress, baby. It's almost embarrassing."

"You're in my clothes," you huff, pressing the backs of your hands to your hot cheeks. "That's cheating. You look great."

He grins, taking your chin and tilting your head towards him to land a kiss on your lips. He's affectionate today. "Sorry," he says, not sounding sorry at all. "Now come sit down. I'm starving."

You dart in before he can pull out his chair and do it for him. He giggles softly and accepts, fingertips brushing your chest as he does. He flips his low ponytail over his shoulder and gazes at you with half-lidded eyes as you take a seat opposite him.

"So," he purrs, leaning forward and linking his fingers, "what are you presenting to us today, chef?"

"Filet mignon with butter and rosemary," you list off, popping the wine cork. "Next is a potato and leek soup, and butterscotch pudding for dessert. Not too sweet, just as you like it. Um – that's it."

Suguru laughs like you've said a great joke as you pour him a glass of wine. "And you made that all yourself? I'm so lucky." He hums. "Did you really use nothing else for this steak? It looks and smells divine."

"Salt, pepper, olive oil. I was supposed to add garlic, but Nanako decided she would use it without telling me and I was already searing the meat when I realised," you sigh, then smile sheepishly. "Forgive me?"

"Nothing to forgive, darling, don't be silly," Suguru chuckles, turning his plate slowly to really enjoy your creation. Perfectly juicy, done to perfection just how he likes it. "You could put this in a magazine."

"A-Ah, it's just a steak, nothing too fancy. Please, eat. I didn't make it just for you to stare at it."

"You're so cute when you get shy. I love it," Suguru purrs, though he picks up his knife and fork and begins to slice into the steak. "Take the compliment, darling. You should be used to it by now."

Your face is on fire. "Okay..."

Smile widening playfully, Suguru leans over and cuts a bite-sized piece off of your steak. He lifts it to your lips, giggling when you almost flinch. "Where'd all your confidence go? Wasn't too long ago you were copping a feel and laughing when I hit you. Emotional intimacy too hard for you, hm?"

"No, it's not. I literally set up a candlelit dinner for us." You glare at him without any heat, leaning forward and accepting the bite he offers. He laughs at the sight of you, chewing and glaring at the same time at him like a huffy child.

"Alright... So you like being praised? You've been a good boy for me," he teases, eyes crinkling when you bang your knees against the underside of the table. The candles flicker. He covers his mouth while he laughs, loud and bright. "Baby!"

Hastily, you smooth your palms down your jeans and fix your shirt, grabbing the utensils and digging into your meal with more gusto than necessary. "I'm fine. I'm fine. Let's eat and we can watch a movie and cuddle. Good plan."

Suguru beams, unable to hide his shaking shoulders even as he presses the back of his hand to his mouth and sits back in his chair. He shakes his head, his heart so full it might burst.

If only he could have this every night, he thinks wistfully, meeting your eyes from under his lashes. He smiles behind his wine glass, savouring the rich taste of the meal you've made for him. No fears of poison, no worries about someone who might be watching. It's just you and him in your shared home, dressed far too casually for a three-course meal, smiling and sneaking glances at each other like you're on your first date. He'll carry these memories forever, like a soldier tucking a perfume-scented letter from his darling by his heart.

The two of you aren't much better during clean-up, either. You wash, he dries, and he exploits your inability to move by bumping your hip with his every time he passes behind you, teasing the front of his sweatpants against your thigh. When he's caught up on drying everything, he rests his cheek against your shoulder blades, his eyes closed and his hands on your waist. He hums softly and leans up to kiss the nape of your neck, a feathery little thing that makes goosebumps ripple down your arms.

"You really have to stand so close?" you say drily, though your eyes twinkle. "I'm scared I'm going to elbow you."

"Don't worry," he sighs gently, slipping his hands beneath your shirt. One pushes your waistband down just enough to reveal a sliver of your Apollo's belt, and the other traces the bone back and forth. "I'm a big boy. I can handle a little pain."

Your gaze snaps back and he meets your eyes, his grin sharp and satisfied. He tilts his head. "Something the matter, darling? Do you disagree?"

You huff, turning back to the dishes in the sink. There are only a few left. "You're such a tease."

"Mm, you like that."

"Not when I'm trying to do important things – like not dropping our pots and plates."

He taps his lips, pouting softly as he ponders your statement. "That's true. You might chip our tiles."

His hands are no longer dipping into your jeans. You can breathe again. "That's right, Suguru. You wouldn't want to ruin our home, right?"

"Ruin our home? No. But ruin you? Yes." With a titter, he kisses your neck, peeling himself from your back to stand by your side. He leans against your arm, watching as you rinse off a pan and place it on the dishrack. "Once we're done, I've got something to show you."

"Is it a dinosaur?" you ask playfully, and his smile widens, fond, as he reaches for the pan. He glides the towel over the handle before lifting it.

"Better than a dinosaur, if you can believe it," he replies, nudging your shoulder with his and gazing at you with soft, sweet eyes. "I think so, anyway."

"That's a pretty high bar. Now I'm curious. Can't you show me now?"

"Definitely not," Suguru laughs, setting the pan in a drawer behind you. "Hurry up. The quicker you're done, the quicker I'll show you."

You obey. After you wash your hands in the kitchen, Suguru emerges from the bathroom with his hair down. It's almost waist-length these days, thick and glossy. Replacing the plain hair tie from earlier is a silver clip at the back of his head.

You lean against the kitchen counter and wolf-whistle, crossing your arms with a lopsided grin. "Hair down? Oh, I'm gonna enjoy this, aren't I?"

Suguru smiles as he approaches, pretty feline features coy and playful. "One day I'm going to cut it all off and that'll be your surprise."

You pout, wrapping him in an arm as he notches himself against you. You run a hand through the loose silky locks reverently. "Nooo... I think I'd actually cry."

He rolls his eyes, placing a kiss on your lips. "Crybaby. You just like it long because you can pull on it during sex."

"And you look like a gorgeous princess with it."

He gives you a look.

"What?" you say defensively. "I can have two opinions at once."

He presses a finger to his lips, playing at disappointment. He looks away, casting his eyes high over your head. "You know, I did have a heavy workload today, and I could do with some sleep... Maybe I'll show you your present next time."

"Wait!" You grab his waist and tug him back towards you, caging him in against the kitchen counter in your desperation. He squeaks and laughs, eyes crinkling as he grasps your forearm loosely. "What do I have to do to make you show it to me? You said it was a present. You know I love your presents."

"Well..." he begins thoughtfully. "You could kiss me."

You plant a kiss on his lips, and one on his cheek for good measure.

"You could tell me that you love me."

"I love you."

"With more feeling."

"I love you so much that when I see you without your clothes on, I want to throw myself off a cliff."

He barks a laugh, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. "Is that all you love me for? My body?"

"I love you so much that when I wake up next to you and realise I'm the lucky one you chose to hold you in their arms, I want to throw myself off a cliff."

He coos, turning in your arms to face you and cupping the back of your neck. He gazes up at you through his dark lashes. "No throwing ourselves off of cliffs," he murmurs, stroking your cheek. "You'd be leaving me all alone, wouldn't you?"

Your expression softens and you lean into his touch, cupping the back of his hand. "I won't," you say. "Not ever."

You keep your promises.

"Good," says Suguru, and tilts his face up to kiss you deeply.

His breath hitches as your teeth nick his lower lip, and you lick gently at the tender skin in apology. His lips are warm and plump, bitter but sweet with the lingering taste of red wine. He plays with the baby hairs at the nape of your neck, not so much guiding as pulling you in for a deeper kiss – the way he likes it. He lets it linger, soft and kind.

"You're dangerous, you know," he whispers, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against yours. "Spoiling me like this, cooking for me... It's nice."

You squeeze his hips. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Really nice." He sighs softly, linking his fingers at the nape of your neck. His palms are warm, the calluses soft with moisturiser. It's almost enough to forget about them. "I wish I could do more for you. Take you places."

You just hum quietly, stroking his hips with your thumbs with an unreadable expression. He notices it. He didn't mean to sour your mood. He knows it in the way you refuse to look him in the eye.

At least you've accepted the fact that he won't come back. That he can't come back. You have stopped asking him to leave his grand ideals behind.

But that's okay. Suguru can have both. He'll make it so.

Suguru takes one of your hands and guides it downwards, letting it cup his ass. A distraction, perhaps, but you let yourself fall for it anyway. He leans up to kiss the corner of your mouth before pulling away to turn around and push down his sweatpants, tugging the waistband below the generous curve of his ass. He hears your breath catch and a pleased smile crosses his face.

"Like it?" he asks, collecting his hair and brushing it over his shoulder. The silver hair clip shines under the kitchen lights. "It's new."

He arches his spine, widening his knees slightly and bracing against the stone kitchen counter as he rocks back into your bulge. His smile grows catlike, marked by coyness and secrecy.

You palm his hips – the strappy black jocks cup his ass and thighs perfectly. It leaves his asshole wonderfully accessible, and you have to steady yourself by gripping him tighter when you spot the purple gemstone peeking out between his cheeks.

You spread him wider, swallowing roughly at the sight of a silver plug nestled in his plump ass. He chuckles softly, nibbling on his lower lip to hide his smile, as you play with it, gently pressing it in and out as if testing him. Just for you, he lets out a teasing, feathery moan, pushing back into your touch, though the gasp he lets out when you tug it free from his hole is a little more real – a little more embarrassing.

"I'm guessing you like your surprise," he says, smile widening as you pull him up to slip off his oversized t-shirt. You toss both things onto the nearest bar stool and Suguru steps out of his sweatpants with a flirty little sway of his hips, emphasising the curve of his waist and hips. He laughs when you pepper grateful kisses along his neck and jawline, his dark eyes crinkling as you pull him back towards you, not letting him squirm away.

"Oh, you have no idea," you breathe, smiling against his skin at the sound of his laughter rumbling through his chest. Meat and blood, flesh and bone. So very human. How could anyone blame you for loving him?

"This is in the way," he murmurs, tugging the hem of your shirt. You allow him to pull it off you and it joins the pile of clothes on the bar stool. He sighs at the sight before him, palms running warm and soft down your chest and stomach, tracing every curve and dip of muscle, scarred or not. His cock twitches in his jocks.

Your hands move towards your belt, thumbs hooking into your waistband, but Suguru, with an impatient look on his face, shakes his head. He smacks your hands away, ignoring your huff, and expertly undoes your belt and zipper, pulling the sides open just enough to fish you out of your underwear.

He's playful with it – glossy lips parting into a theatrical 'O', measuring the size of your girth with a thumb and forefinger and getting all moony because it's bigger than his own, even just half-chubbed. You roll your eyes through the heat in your cheeks, burying your face in his shoulder. He tilts his head to give your teeth better access to his soft, unmarred neck.

"You've got such a pretty cock," he hums, gasping softly as you nip and suck bruises into his skin. One of your hands ventures down from his hip to cup his bulge, warm and hardening by the second. "I – ah, I want it in me. Now."

The demand almost quivers – something like hesitation makes his gaze flutter away briefly. You meet his eyes with silence and a raised brow. Then he doubles down, rubbing his cock against your palm, and he moans as you squeeze roughly, the cloth cup of his jocks growing wet and slick on the inside.

"Need you to fuck me right now," he puffs, pulling you against him by your fucking cock. You grunt, eyes narrowing reflexively into a glare, but he doesn't back off, meeting your gaze unabashedly. You press your thumb into where you know his tip is, and he has the audacity to moan sweetly because of it. He smooths his palm over your cockhead, smearing precome down your shaft with every quick stroke. "Yeah, keep glaring, darling. I know you want this, too."

"Right here?" you hiss, as if it's a secret. "Do you know how unhygienic—"

"Oh my god," he groans, head tilting back briefly, "as if that fucking matters. Cursed energy, wet wipes and a black light – we have options. It'll be fine, worrywart. Don't you have a sense of adventure?"

"I get too much adventure with you," you sigh. His hand feels really good around you, twisting and rubbing in all the right ways, and the warm front of his jocks are growing damp, sticking to his skin. He ruts into your palm, eyes hungry with a sly smile flitting across his features. He rolls his hips the way he does when he rides you, and you let out a gruff moan, shoving your thigh between his legs. He grasps your shoulder for balance. "You're disgusting sometimes, Suguru."

You watch his tan skin flush, high on his cheekbones, as the rough texture of your jeans scratches and rubs his clothed cock. You can feel the heat of him through the denim.

He smiles, airy, and dips his thumb into the slit of your tip. It widens when your hips jerk into the wet ring of his hand. "Am I? Maybe you should fuck me at the temple. Sometimes I miss you and think about you in my office," he breathes, his hard cock poking out of his jocks, up along his hip. The tip is a lovely dusky colour, shiny and slick. "I wonder how you'd fuck me over my desk, make me tip over all my pens, or if you'd sit beneath it and suck me off." His eyes glitter as he runs a thumb over your lower lip, staring at them and biting his lip as if he's imagining it right then. Your cock throbs in his grasp. "Maybe both, if I'm missing you particularly hard."

"Suguru," you hiss between your teeth.

He has the gall to look surprised, to look innocent, to tilt his head in the way that makes his bangs frame his face so well. "What? You don't miss me while you're at work, too?"

You shove your hands into his underwear, wrapping your fingers around his pretty cock. He gasps, eyes widening slightly at the heat that shocks up his spine, and his grip loosens slightly around your length. You wrap your hand around his, reminding him, and he hurriedly returns to his previous pace, a little more haphazard now.

"Don't say things like that," you murmur, jerking him off as you press him into the kitchen counter, leaving him nowhere to run – not that he'd ever want to. You click your tongue. "Damn it. Now I can't stop thinking about how you'd look all fucked out in your robes, with your skirts pulled up around your hips and your legs around my waist – shit, Suguru, the things you do to me..."

He almost whines, but manages to backtrack it into a breathy moan at the last second. He tries to buck up into your hand but you press him back down, your fingers wrapped stubbornly around his tip – and only his tip. Your strokes are quick and shallow.

He covers his mouth with the back of his hand, his ass clenching around nothing. Without the plug, he feels so terribly empty, his hole leaking excess lube down his taint so nasty-dirty-good. Your precome leaks down his palm and wrist in clear rivulets, and the slick sticky sound is enough to make the arousal bubbling in his stomach grow dangerously close to popping. He presses the curve of his nose against your throat like some possessive animal, drowning himself in your scent – clean, light, slightly sweet. Like fresh linens that he falls into at the end of a tiring journey.

"S-Sorry," he gasps, chuckling when he can between pants. He nips a hickey below your ear, far too high to hide with a collar, and hums, pleased, at the sight. "It's also not a skirt."

"Well, fuck me for not knowing."

"What do you think I'm doing?" He squeezes your cock, nails dragging lightly against the veins. He moans as you press deeper into his space, chests pressed together like you're trying to get inside his skin. You let go of his cock and spread his cheek with one hand, the other dipping into his slick hole. It's warm, swollen already from his prep. "Hey. Hands off the merchandise, darling."

Your eyes narrow as he slaps your hand away, handling you like a misbehaving child. He puts your hand back around his cock, guiding your hand up and down at a pace he likes. You mutter, "By that measure, I shouldn't be allowed to do this, either. It's merchandise, too, right?"

You flick your wrist roughly, tugging his cock back and forth. His hips jerk forward, a sweet whimper spilling from his lips, and he glances up at you, eyes half-lidded and hungry. You tilt your head briefly, smug and mocking.

Suguru pouts slightly, still looking up at you through his dark lashes. He knows he looks good, baring his neck and flicking his silky hair over his shoulder to make his neck seem even longer, elegant and swanlike. "Careful. Annoy me too much and you won't get off tonight."

"And how are you going to enforce that? Will you cut off my hands – the hands you seem to love so much?" you taunt, stroking him faster. He moans freely, fucking into your fist.

"If I need to. Hm, fuck—" He inhales sharply, his cock twitching fiercely in the hot, sticky tunnel of your hand. "Fingers. Put your fingers in me – quickly."

Despite his uncharacteristic lack of manners, you obey, swapping your hand from his cock to his ass. He moans in relief, one leg naturally hiking up the outside of your thigh. He hooks an arm around your shoulders, nails digging into your skin for balance.

"Thought you said I wasn't allowed to touch you," you murmur. "Changed your mind that fast?"

"Remember, it's a privilege I can rescind."

His ass is warm and slick, his walls impossibly soft, and he clenches hungrily around your two fingers, taking them in to the knuckle with ease. His hole squelches quietly, lube making things wet and easy. He spends his time gazing at you, memorising your features, those dark eyes and long lashes fluttering as you push your fingers deeper, making him arch flush against you with a keening whine. His cock throbs against your thigh, rubbing your hip.

"Another," he whispers, grinding back into your palm. "I can take another, baby."

Slipping a third finger in offers the first taste of resistance. He is tight, his walls fluttering around you. His eyes squeeze shut and his nails dig into your bicep as he grips you for stability.

"Too quick?" you ask, watching him carefully.

Immediately, he shakes his head, opening his eyes and tipping his head back. His eyes flick from the ceiling to you, and he attempts a smile. "No. No, don't stop. I can handle it."

"Are you sure? I can grab more lube—"

"You'll do no such thing," he snaps, grabbing your wrist to keep you from pulling out of him. His eyes are narrowed, intense. "I've been dreaming about your cock all week, and if you make me wait even a second longer, I will actually electrocute you."

You suck in a breath between your teeth, gently thrusting your fingers in and out of him until he's reassured that you're not running away. "Okay, okay... Sorry for trying to be nice to you, Suguru. I wanted you to be able to walk straight in the morning."

"I don't want to walk straight tomorrow." He's starting to relax around your fingers, and his expression isn't so tight anymore. "I want you to make me ache, baby. I want to press on your bruises when I shower, want to get annoyed because you always put your hickeys far too high on my neck. If I can't have your cock every night, I want to be reminded of it every day – until I can get what I really want all over again."

He continues, tracing shapes into your shoulder: "Cycles, circles, Ouroboros. You're the one beautiful habit I never want to break. Funny, isn't it? That I remember your love through pain."

Suguru takes your silence as acceptance. He pats your arm and you gently slide your fingers out of him. He turns around and aligns your thick, glossy cockhead with his hole. He lowers himself carefully, letting out a low moan as it breaches his hole and sinks inside, inch by excruciating inch.

"Fuck," he hisses, lifting his hips higher. "Fuck, I – hnn. You're always so fucking thick."

"Sorry."

"You're not." His hole clamps around you as he rocks shallowly back and forth, spreading his knees slightly wider to accommodate. "Don't lie, or I'll have to punish you, you know."

"Punish me? Really?" You hum, resting your hands on his hips and allowing him to adjust at his own pace. "How would you do that?"

"Oh, I can think of all sorts of things," he replies breezily, taking a slow breath in. He pushes back against you, harder, and manages another couple of inches – the sight's heavenly, watching your cock slowly vanish into your beautiful Suguru. Your beautiful husband, in another life. He always seemed suited to the picket-fence life.

The squeeze is almost unbearable. If you look down at the skin-to-skin join between your bodies, watch him gradually take inch by inch until you're settled nice and deep in his tummy, you might come early. His soft, ample ass seems almost at odds with the rest of him – broad, tall, elegantly lean in that historical-romance way. You press your fingers into the meat of his ass and the amount of give that dips in is almost obscene.

The jock strap digging into his thighs doesn't help your case. Your cock throbs and you can feel every ridge of him, every vein of your dick scraping against his slick, hot walls.

With his ass pressed flush against your hips, Suguru glances over his shoulder, eyes lidded and smile halfway to drunk. His cheeks are pink, and he arches his back further, as if to entice you.

"Look at me, baby," he pants, palms pressed against the counter. "See how deep you are inside me? See how you ruin me?"

You place your hands on the shelf of his hips – gentle, caressing. With a thumb, you spread his ass, revealing his puffy hole wrapped tight around your cock. It clenches as you stare, like it's winking at you, and Suguru leans down against the kitchen counter and pushes his ass up, trying to take more of your length.

"You're beautiful," you murmur, voice soft and reverent like a prayer. You stroke his thigh up his hip, his waist, across the smooth expanse of his back. He shivers under your touch, arching into it. "I don't want to ruin beautiful things."

"Well, this beautiful thing is asking you to," he says, peering over his shoulder at you with a flippant smile. "Demanding, actually. So get on with it."

You tease him with a slow rocking of your hips, gliding against his swollen prostate with each thrust. "Whatever you want."

A displeased downward turn of his mouth has you swallowing a laugh. He stares at you, brows furrowed, and grabs your hip, attempting to set the pace himself – you don't let him, pushing him forward until he's flush with the counter, the edge digging into his bulge painfully. He winces, a throb of pleasure running up his spine.

"Not like that," Suguru breathes, a frustrated pout gracing his lips. "Harder."

"What if I wanted to take care of you, make you feel good?"

"You'll take care of me by fucking me harder," he orders, and his eyes glint with a challenge. "Remember, this is a present. I can take it back."

"Yeah? Then what'll you do? Go hide in our bathroom and fuck yourself with your modest little toys, maybe two at a time because they're not big enough to stretch you like I can?" you taunt, abruptly snapping your hips forward. He gasps and moans, nodding breathlessly as he clamps around you.

"You can sit between my legs, if you want," he huffs, grinning at the irritated click of the tongue he receives. "Or maybe I'll tie you down. I like it when you watch."

"Brat," you mutter, yanking his hips against yours with a wet slap. He jerks and moans, soft and feathery. He shakes his hair out over his shoulder as a velvet waterfall, watching you slyly from the corner of his eye.

He's too pretty for his own good. He knows you melt when it comes to him, and now he's using it against you, giving you sweet puppy eyes and arching his spine adorably hopefully.

"If you don't tease, I won't either," he promises, rolling his hips. He blinks back at you, his seductive half-bitten smile turning as sweet as strawberry clouds as you nibble at the crook of his shoulder. He shivers and curls up with a soft giggle, ticklish. His eyes crinkle. "Baby..."

"Mm, Suguru?" You sweep his hair to one side, nipping and sucking at his soft skin. As usual, you pepper your love bites far too high – he'll be tucking his hair forward for days. At least it'll be easy to press on the bruises with a subtle hand raise, letting him relive the pleasure of receiving them – the heat of your breath, the sound of your groans – whenever his mind starts to wander.

"I'm trying to be sexy. Don't make me laugh," he whispers, looping his arm loosely around the back of your neck and twisting his fingers in your hair.

Lazily, you thrust deep into him, tip to root, making his breath catch in his throat. The veins of your cock drag against his impossibly soft, warm walls – his insides ripple around you and he shudders, tightening further and pulling a groan from deep within your chest.

"What do you mean? You're sexy when you laugh," you object, your fingers gliding over his bulge, the cloth damp and hot. His hips jolt as you hook a finger into them and tug them down, freeing his wet, twitching length. "Don't you think so?"

He gasps sharply as your touch glides over his tip and your index finger rubs his leaky slit. His hole clamps around you. "I—fuck..."

You keep your pace unhurried, uneven, and mouth at the red bruises blooming across his skin. He's warm and pliant in your arms despite his earlier bravado – you smooth your thumb across the base of his neck, soothing and possessive all at once. He gnaws on his lower lip to suppress a whine – it was too early for that. He wasn't one to be ruined so easily, and he was determined to make you work for it.

"I love you," you murmur, tilting his face towards you and landing a kiss under his pierced ear. "So answer me, Suguru. If you don't, I'll finish with my hand and leave you to the toys you seem to like so much. Is that what you want, angel?"

He nearly bites straight through his lip. The pet name is so terrifyingly domestic, so affectionate, something he can imagine you saying when he greets you after work at the front door. He'd wear an apron and a sweater, soup bubbling on the stove, and you'd kiss him breathless as if you hadn't seen him just that morning. He licks his lips and his head twitches 'no' – barely there, embarrassed at his own fantasies.

"I..." He lets out a shaky breath as your cock throbs, hot and thick, in his deepest parts. "That wouldn't be so bad. At least I'd actually be able to come."

He grins then, breathless and playful, and there's an edge in his gaze as sharp as a blade. Your grip tightens on his hips. "Is that right?"

Suguru hums in assent, sighing in pleasure as you tease him with the pace he wants – just a few moments of it and he's already achingly hard, his cock arcing up towards his stomach. "Or I could... head down to the nearest bar. Find some more obedient company."

Behind him, you go deathly still, and he knows he's got you hook, line, and sinker.

"No."

"No?"

"No," you repeat, firmer, leaning into his warmth and burying your face in his shoulder. Cursed energy swirls beneath his skin, dancing between his cells with a tangy sweetness that fills your skull like a heavy, rich cologne. Your arms tighten around him. "You're mine, Suguru. You've always been mine." You kiss a darker hickey on his neck and he shudders at the twinge of pain that electrifies his spine. He grips your wrist, fingers fluttering nervously over the bones and tendons. "You want a reminder? Well, anything for my angel."

You press him into the countertop and snap your hips forward, skin clapping with the impact. He gasps, jolting forward, and when his mouth opens – to talk back or demand a kiss – all that tumbles out is a shaky, whiny moan.

You keep the pace deep and rough, hands sliding down his toned chest and stomach to rest on the shelf of his hips – two dainty handholds just made for you to drag him back on your cock, to keep him with you. His hair bounces, strands slowly coming loose to frame his blown-out pupils and dark, sinful blush. He flicks his head to toss it over his shoulder and gazes back at you, pink lips glossy and parted into a perfect 'O'. He reaches for your hand, cupping your knuckles – it's like you're holding hands – and grins, biting back cries that come out instead as short, ragged gasps.

"Now, that wasn't so hard, w-was it?" he moans, body jerking and weight shifting forward. He compensates by balancing on the balls of his feet, and it arches his back in a gorgeously tempting way. His cock digs into the edge of the counter and his expression tightens, a choked whimper escaping through his teeth. His nails dig into the cool white stone. "A-All it took – hah – was a little jealousy."

The thick head of your cock crushes his swollen, sensitive prostate. A tremor wracks his body as liquid fire rushes through his dick, making him yelp like a wounded little bunny. Traitor that it is, his cock throbs and leaks faster, precome shining messily on his firm stomach.

"I'd say possessive, not jealous," you respond, watching his tight hole swallow your whole length with pornographic ease. He's impossibly warm and soft, gummy insides tender and uber-sensitive from sitting on the plug for so long. It makes you wonder. All that squirming during dinner – was he fantasising about how you'd fuck him? Wishing the weight of the plug was from your cock instead? "Jealousy implies a desire for something I don't have. But I do have you – I have you all spread out and eager for me, eager for a cock too big to fit in you."

You emphasise your point with a pointed thrust, crushing your hips against his ass and making him choke. His hand flies down to his stomach, pressing on the smooth bump gliding against his walls. His thighs tremble. "You belong to me. The outside—" you kiss his hickeys "—and the inside—" you cup the bulge in his stomach "—is all mine."

Suguru shivers despite the heat burning beneath his skin. He gasps out your name, his heart stuttering as you press a chaste but lingering kiss to the nape of his neck. All of this – it's the same song and dance he plays out when he's haunted by what could have been, his side empty and cold where you should be. Perhaps it comforts him to have control – to know that within these four walls, you would do anything for him.

He's made peace with your choice to stay, but that doesn't mean he loves it. When he was younger, he was bitter. Didn't want to see you. It reminded him of who you'd chosen over him – people like Satoru, who hadn't known you for half as long as he did, nor as deeply. Your experiences were his experiences, and naively, he'd believed that you'd spend your whole lives doing just that: sharing, being together. He thought it was pathetic how shattered he was when you broke that dream.

Now, though – older, a little bit wiser – he appreciates the rest of it that much more. Despite your unwavering loyalties, your strongest beliefs, you made him your only exception – someone you couldn't live without, even if it risked the loss of everything you'd worked to keep.

You'd be exiled. Hunted down. Slaughtered like a feral dog. And still, you reached for him. That meant something.

As you pick up the pace, hips smacking against Suguru's plump ass, so do his pretty sounds. His sighs turn into sharp, drawled moans, punched-out while his mouth falls open, your pace making it hard to breathe. His nails dig into the stone counter top.

"Yes," he breathes, eyes fluttering shut. "Yes. My holes are the only ones you're allowed to fuck. They're yours. I'm yours. I only want you."

It's almost sweet. His voice is soft with gasps and sighs, his usual purring tone sharpened with pleasure. He's behaving now, so you'll let him have what he wants. You slide a finger beneath the strap of his jocks, gliding against his smooth skin, and snap it back against him – his breath hitches and his hole clamps tightly around you. You groan, deep and hungry, at the feeling. He shivers against your chest, his skin prickling with gooseflesh.

"Mm... I never tire of hearing that," you huff against the hickeys on his neck. The sound of skin slapping skin echoes obscenely in your apartment and Suguru's heart knocks up a little bit higher on each thrust, each breath coming shorter and sharper than the last. You grab his arms and twist them behind his back – he stumbles slightly, stomach pressing flat against the cool countertop, and his body seizes at the cold shock. You let out another low rumble, the sound rolling pleasingly into Suguru's warm, sticky skin.

Your grip tightens on his wrists and his slender fingers flex, his index finger brushing against the side of your wrist in the ghost of a hand-hold. He chokes on a cry as you snap your hips into his ass, rough and starved. His knees buckle and you tut softly as you yank him back up and set him on the counter again, burying his weeping cock beneath his own weight. He whimpers softly and tries to lift his hips to alleviate the discomfort, but all that does is slam your cock directly into his soft swollen prostate, forcing it even deeper than before.

He comes.

The world goes white. The pressure of his arms pinned back. His cheek pressed to the hard countertop. The cold stone slick with his hot, creamy release. It all explodes forth in a searing hot burst.

"Wait," he gasps, his tongue thick and rubbery in his mouth. His eyes roll back as you fuck him through it, not slowing down for a second. Moans spill past his red, bitten lips, bouncing off the tiled kitchen walls. "Wait—! Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, no – more – more, more, feels so good, baby, you feel so good—"

"Speak clearly, angel," you hum, pumping your cock into his tight, wet hole. "Stop? Go? Slower? Faster? How deep do you want me inside your pretty belly?"

He whimpers at the slew of choices, his body working too fast for his thoughts to keep up. You were teasing him just a while ago, but now? He came so quickly after you put it in. He flushes hotly, embarrassment flaring in his chest. He feels like a teenager again: small, vulnerable. Loved.

"Don't stop," he pants, eyes fluttering shut as his cock pulses and spurts, smearing his stomach and the counter below him in glossy white streaks. "Don't stop, don't go slow, please—"

So you don't. You fuck him until his cock softens, until his hole becomes creamy and sticky with your seed. Then you keep going.

You're certain Suguru was made to take your cock. His ass ripples as you slam into him, his taut hole swallowing your dick and milking it with every thrust. Gummy and tender-warm with your precome, his insides flex and quiver, squelching crudely every time your hips clap against his ass.

He doesn't complain when you sink your teeth high into his neck, his mouth falling open as his body jolts with melting pain and pleasure. His spine arches, ass clenching around you, as he tips over the precipice and paints his stomach white.

Time passes. How much exactly, Suguru doesn't know – his balls ache with countless orgasms while his legs tremble and struggle to keep him up. He nearly collapses at one point, thighs shaking so badly he's practically bouncing on your thick cock. His moans are loud, unrestrained, and desperate, as if he belongs nowhere better but here.

Somehow, despite his foggy, clouded thoughts, he notices when your breathing quickens and your thrusts grow erratic. He cries out in anguish. "No! No, don't, hah, don't c-come yet, don't stop fucking me, come with me," he mewls, his throbbing cock so hot it feels like it's going to melt right through the stone counter. "'M close, 'm so close, wanna keep coming on your perfect cock – please," he moans, delirious and teetering on the edge. "Ah, ah, ah—! I love your big cock! I love you so much—!"

You hips stutter. Suguru has never been one to say 'I love you' like that – never so spontaneously, and never so clearly. Perhaps part of him was afraid you'd be taken from him if he said it too loudly – if he would lose you if he loved you to a fault.

"Suguru," you whisper, voice so soft and tender and fragile that it makes him unravel on the spot.

He goes first. He will always go first.

But you can't hold back any longer. Not when he's covered in your marks and teary with bliss you imposed onto him. You slam in, excess lube rolling down his thighs in thick creamy teardrops, and he gasps and scrabbles at anything within reach, trying helplessly to release his crushed, aching cock, wet in its filthy little puddle of sticky come.

He manages to hook his knee over the countertop. His dark, heavy, pulsing cock swings and smacks against the counter, sending shocks of hard pleasure rocketing up his spine. The position makes his eyes roll back into his skull. You hiss, releasing his wrists with one hand to spread his asscheek and drive your cock even deeper into him. He quivers violently. His tight hole scrapes the throbbing veins of your cock and he moans your name in a whiny drawl, hot cheek pressed into the cool stone.

"Feel so good in me," he whispers, mouth lax as he pants, the whites of his eyes showing as you shove right up against his prostate. His spine arches, sweat gathering in the small of his back, and you roll your hand down the curve of his hip, pressing the smooth bulge distending his stomach. With each thrust he unravels a little more, body jolting roughly. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."

"I know, angel," you rasp, not missing the way he clenches at the pretty name. "Fucking dripping for me, aren't you?" You slap his ass with a meaty smack, making him jerk and mewl. His jockstrap digs into his thighs. "Shit, jus' look at you, darling. Drooling for my cock, dressing up all pretty f'me... Can't get enough of my attention, can you?"

Suguru shakes his head dumbly, panting like a dog as his hair constantly brushes the countertop, slipping free from his clip to stick to his damp, flushed face. "Have to – h-hafta make sure I'm the best fuck you've ever h-had – hahh! – s-so you only ever give your cock to – mmn – me." His dark, lidded gaze flicks to yours over his shoulder, his swollen lips parting and sticking at the corners. "S'mine. Don't forget it."

He's beginning to sound a little worn out, chest heaving and breath shaky and uneven. His numbers must be up there by now – six, maybe. You're not far behind. He starts to babble, sharp moans and cries interjected between how full he feels, how perfect your cock is, how he could orgasm from the feeling of your come alone.

It's filling your head. Suguru's praise, the sweet sound of his moans, the adoration thick in his voice each time he whimpers your name... anyone would give it up for him. Anyone would beg at his feet for a sliver of his attention yet here you are, the lucky one drowning in something he gives to you freely. Your cock throbs dangerously, heavy inside him, and he presses back desperately as best he can.

His messy, come-sticky hole gulps you down to the root. With a hungry, desperate growl, you slam into him, his ass rippling with the impact, and he screams your name as your cock stuffs a thick bulge in his stomach.

His head tilts back. His toes curl. His mouth falls open.

He comes violently. Beautifully. It feels even better because you do it together. The overbearing warmth spills into him, thick and creamy, and he gawps as you pin him down on your cock, forcing him to take every heavy spurt and feel every pulse. You hold him protectively, groans deep and pleased and puffing hotly against his sweaty neck.

You stay connected for a while as you fuck him through his high. Yours lasts longer than his – courtesy of his several earlier climaxes – and he lies limp and sated in your grasp as you lazily thrust into his wet hole. Frothy white come dribbles down his taint as you draw back slowly, his puffy taut hole gaping and clenching around you when you eventually slide out. He lifts and wiggles his hips, still calming down from the aftershocks.

You let out a shaky sigh as you lean back and admire his abused hole, fucked wide open. You hook a thumb into his entrance and tug slightly – he trembles, toes curling and thighs flexing, as a thick rush of come dribbles forth down his balls and shaft. He digs his fingers against the counter and you rub your come into his skin, using it like lube to pump his softened, messy cock. He jerks involuntarily into the creamy hole of your fist, hot velvety balls pressing against the edge of your palm, and the loud, sticky wet sounds emanating from between his legs make him quiver with filthy pleasure.

You let go once his body sags against you, thoroughly fucked out with nothing left to give. He lets you lead him into a deep, over-the-shoulder kiss, his gasps and soft moans sleepy and content as your lips smack and mould together, warm and plump. His eyes are closed, his hand resting over yours and curled gently around it.

Finally, you part, both gasping for air. His eyes flutter open, admiring you, and he steals another kiss, moaning lazily as you press your cock between his asscheeks and grind against him. He rocks back into you.

He spends a while just like that, kissing you and grinding against your length as he gathers himself and figures out how to use his legs again. It shouldn't be that hard, but his brain feels foggy, clouded, and the way you kiss him so desperately makes him feel like he's the only one in the world worth knowing.

"I love you, you know," he whispers eventually, blinking slowly up at you like a cat. "Really. I don't want to live without you. I don't think I could live without you."

You turn him over gently, letting him sink into your embrace as he buries his face in your neck, the scent of your musk and cologne tangling his thoughts. His body aches pleasurably.

"It's okay, Suguru," you murmur into his soft dark hair; it smells like coconut. You stare, unseeingly, at one of the many bright mineral dots baked into the white stone. Despite having him warm and breathing in your arms, he feels terrifyingly far away, like brushing fingers over a cliff edge. You wonder if you'll be fast enough to catch him before he falls. "You'll never have to."

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bluegummieshark · 3 days ago

Text

Danny gets a Pass

Ok here goes another kinda silly dp x dc prompt since ya'll liked the first.

It's simple really, Danny Fenton gets a pass. Not because of phantom or his powers but just because of everyday normal Danny being Danny. Maybe it's a hero maybe it's a villain but whatever the case is when they see it's Danny he gets passed.

Sorry can't arrest the kid, like sure he was hired as a goon but its Danny I totally owe him one, or hey yes we are 100% planning to steal all this money and blow up the building so we need hostages but not him.

The first one to see it happen was Duke. He was still learning compared to the others in the batfam so he hadn't questioned why Harley would let this kid go. Of course he was also dealing with a concussion and glitter so when she skipped glitter bombing some kid with nothing more than a hair ruffle and a cute top comment he was just happy she didn't bedazzle another civilian. To be fair it was a cool top given it was one of those rare vintage Ember band t-shirts so maybe she was just a fan of good music who was to question the slightly unhinged women when really it just meant less clean up for him.

Then it was Dick who had seen more than one cop turn away a criminal or two. This time was different though. They were supposed to be doing a bust. Stopping a group of workers who were loading crates onto the docks all filled with stolen goods. So when Dick turned and saw another officer undoing the hand cuffs to one of the dock workers he was pissed but not surprised. What surprised him when he got closer was just who the other cop was releasing. It wasn't the normal richer guy who could bribe his way, or shady leader to one of the criminal underbelly but rather a kid. At least they looked like a kid somewhere between 13 to 15 if he had to guess. He looked just as scared and confused as most kids would probably be. Maybe that's why Dicked stopped. He watched his teammate take the cuffs off, slide the kids a 20 and point to an alley. Once the kid was out of sight he turned back stepping next to dick and sharing a simple, "he's a good kid." And well Dick couldn't say if that was true or not but he had to turn a blind eye before so he could do it again. After all he did look like a good kid.

It was the next time he got passed up though that really sealed the deal and put him on the Gotham's radar. When it came to strange things happening in Gotham it was just another Tuesday. Buff Zombies taking over most of downtown was barely in the top 10 of anything crazy but seeing those buff zombies actually let some kid pass by them without a glance that was confusing. Even more confusing was when Bane caused the muscle zombies outbreak stopped mid rant to let the kid pass by when he said excuse me.

After when Batman had stopped the zombies, and had Bane contained, he had to ask who the kid was. Of course as Bane was taken away the only real answer he could get was "O, that's Danny, he gets a pass."

Thing is when Batman did track down to ask Danny himself why he got a pass he couldn't really tell the furry why. After all Danny was just being Danny he couldn't think of anything special on his end that he did.

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

Harley wasn't going to attack her favorite/only pet sitter. Bud and Lou loved him after all.

Officer John couldn't arrest Danny when the kid volunteered at his Nana's nursing home. The kid was just short on cash and picked up a gig online he didn't know so the least he could do was buy the kid dinner and keep him out of trouble.

As for Bane well that's Danny his favorite food delivery boy. For Bane his only concern was that the kid was polite, always got there on time, and even started trying to learn some Spanish just to talk to Bane when he learned it was the man's first language. What sealed the deal though was when he stopped bane the first time they met to help him. Just stopped him in the middle of the street at night because he saw a crack. A small part of the venom container on his back was leaking from damage due to a fight and this kid didn't even think twice about running away from Bane. He stopped his bike and was fixing his tank and tubbing faster than Bane even noticed the problem. Then he drove off on his bike leaving to continue on his delivery. After that even Bane could see he was just a good kid and decided to give him a pass.

#dpxdc #writing prompt #danny fenton #gets a pass

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archivegyu · 1 day ago

Text

masterlist

to the beach!

dad! choi seungcheol x reader ll uncle! kim mingyu ll 6k words

The Hawaiian sun beat down mercilessly on the pristine white sand of Waikiki Beach, but five-year-old Naeun was completely oblivious to the heat. She was too busy trying to capture the perfect shot of her father with his own phone, which looked comically large in her tiny hands.

“Daddy, flex again!” she commanded, her little voice carrying an authority that would make any CEO proud. “But this time, make your muscles bigger!”

Seungcheol, successful businessman and normally composed individual, found himself striking increasingly ridiculous poses in his swim trunks. First, it was the classic bodybuilder stance. Then came the superhero pose with hands on his hips. Now he was attempting some sort of weird combination that involved flexing his biceps while pointing dramatically at the horizon.

“Is this good, princess?” he called out, his voice strained from holding the pose.

“Perfect! Now turn a little to the left - Uncle Wonwoo taught me that the lighting is better that way,” Naeun said seriously, adjusting her angle with surprising precision for a five-year-old.

From their spot under the beach umbrella, his wife nearly choked on her tropical drink. “Oh my god, she’s actually directing him like a professional photographer.”

“The kid’s got an eye for it,” Mingyu said from his beach chair, his own impressive physique on full display as he stretched. “Though I still think Wonwoo’s been a bad influence with all that photography talk.”

“Uncle Mingyu!” Naeun turned the phone toward the tall man lounging in the shade. “You should be in the pictures too! Show your muscles!”

“My muscles?” Mingyu sat up straighter, a competitive glint in his eye. “Princess, your Uncle Mingyu has been hitting the gym just as hard as your daddy.”

“Prove it!” Naeun giggled, and Mingyu immediately stood up, flexing his arms with obvious pride.

“Now we’re talking,” Seungcheol grinned, moving to stand next to his best friend. “Come on, Gyu. Let’s show her what real gym buddies look like.”

“This is ridiculous,” Seungcheol’s wife muttered, but she was smiling as she watched her husband and his best friend pose together like they were auditioning for a fitness magazine.

“Wait, wait!” Naeun called out, studying the phone screen seriously. “Uncle Mingyu, you’re too tall. Daddy looks small next to you.”

“I do not look small,” Seungcheol protested.

“You kind of do,” his wife said helpfully. “Maybe crouch down a little, Mingyu?”

“I’m not crouching. He can stand on his tippy toes,” Mingyu shot back.

“I am not standing on my tippy toes!” Seungcheol exclaimed. “Just because you’re a giant doesn’t mean—”

“Boys!” Naeun interrupted, sounding exactly like her mother. “You’re ruining the photo! Uncle Wonwoo says good photographers have to work with their models, not fight with them!”

Both men immediately stopped bickering, looking properly chastened.

“Sorry, princess,” they said in unison.

“That’s better. Now, Uncle Mingyu, can you please crouch just a little? And Daddy, flex your arms more. Uncle Wonwoo says muscles look better when they’re properly engaged.”

“Where does a five-year-old learn words like ‘properly engaged’?” Mingyu muttered, but he crouched slightly while flexing his considerable biceps.

“From Uncle Wonwoo,” Naeun said matter-of-factly. “He’s teaching me about photography. He says I have natural talent.”

“Of course you do, sweetheart,” Seungcheol said proudly. “You’re good at everything.”

“I know,” Naeun replied with the confidence that only comes from being absolutely adored by everyone around you. “Okay, this is perfect! Say ‘We’re the strongest daddies in the world!’”

“I’m not a daddy,” Mingyu pointed out.

“You’re a daddy-in-training,” Naeun informed him. “Uncle Wonwoo told me that all the uncles are daddies-in-training until they find wives.”

“Did he now?” Mingyu glared in the direction of their beach umbrella, where Seungcheol’s wife was trying very hard not to laugh.

“We’re the strongest daddies in the world!” Seungcheol declared with complete sincerity.

“And daddy-in-training,” Naeun added helpfully.

“And daddy-in-training,” Mingyu repeated with resignation.

“Perfect!” Naeun beamed, taking several more shots. “Uncle Wonwoo is going to love these!”

Just then, a small white blur came racing across the sand, barking excitedly.

“Kkuma!” Naeun squealed, immediately abandoning the phone to catch the small white dog who launched himself into her arms. “You escaped from Mommy!”

“I didn’t escape,” came a dignified voice from behind them. “I was released for good behavior.”

Everyone turned to see Seungcheol’s wife approaching with a leash in her hand and an apologetic expression. “Sorry, she saw you all playing and got jealous. I couldn’t keep her away any longer.”

“Kkuma wants to be in the pictures too!” Naeun announced, cuddling the small dog who was wiggling with excitement. “Right, Kkuma?”

Kkuma responded by licking her face enthusiastically, which sent her into fits of giggles.

“Alright, alright,” Seungcheol said, reaching for his phone. “Let’s get some family photos. All of us.”

“Even me?” Mingyu asked.

“Especially you,” Seungcheol’s wife said. “You’re family too, whether you like it or not.”

“I like it,” Mingyu said quietly, and something in his tone made everyone look at him with affection.

“Group photo!” Naeun announced. “But first, we need to build the best sandcastle ever for the background!”

“Here we go,” Mingyu muttered, but he was already rolling up his sleeves.

The next hour was spent in serious construction mode. Seungcheol took charge of the main structure. Naeun was the creative director, offering suggestions that ranged from practical (“It needs windows!”) to impossible (“Can we make it fly?”).

Mingyu, despite his initial reluctance, found himself getting genuinely invested in the project. His architect training kicked in, and he began sketching designs in the sand and muttering about “structural integrity” and “aesthetic balance.”

“Mingyu, it’s a sandcastle, not the Burj Khalifa,” Seungcheol’s wife called out from her comfortable spot in the shade, where she was keeping Kkuma entertained with a rope toy.

“If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right,” Mingyu replied, carefully carving decorative elements into the castle walls. “This is going to be the most architecturally sound sandcastle in Hawaii.”

“It’s going to be the most boring sandcastle in Hawaii,” Seungcheol countered, adding what appeared to be a dragon sculpture to the front gate.

“That’s not a dragon, that’s a deformed lizard,” Mingyu criticized.

“It’s a dragon!” Naeun defended her father’s creation fiercely. “A very good dragon who protects the castle!”

“Thank you, princess,” Seungcheol said, shooting Mingyu a triumphant look. “At least someone appreciates artistic talent.”

“Artistic talent?” Mingyu snorted. “You put the towers too close together. The whole thing is going to collapse.”

“It’s not going to collapse,” Seungcheol argued. “I know what I’m doing.”

As if on cue, the left tower began to lean ominously.

“Daddy, your castle is falling!” Naeun pointed out helpfully.

“It’s not falling, it’s just… adjusting,” Seungcheol said quickly, trying to prop up the tower with his hands. “Mingyu, help me fix this.”

“I told you the foundation wasn’t stable,” Mingyu said, but he moved to help anyway. “Here, let me—”

His attempt to reinforce the structure somehow made it worse. The tower crumbled completely, taking part of the main wall with it. Kkuma, thinking this was a new game, bounded over and started digging enthusiastically in the ruins.

“Kkuma, no!” Naeun wailed. “That’s my castle!”

“I didn’t break it! Your dad built it wrong!” Mingyu protested.

“I built it perfectly! You’re the one who— Kkuma, stop digging!”

“BOYS!” Seungcheol’s wife’s voice cut through their argument like a knife. “You’re both being ridiculous. Naeun, sweetheart, come here. Kkuma, leave it!”

The little dog trotted over obediently, her white fur now decorated with sand, looking extremely pleased with himself.

“My castle is broken,” Naeun said, bottom lip trembling dramatically.

“I know, baby. But you know what? Now you get to build an even better one. And this time, maybe Daddy and Uncle Mingyu can work together instead of being silly.”

She gave both men a pointed look that made them feel like scolded children.

“Sorry, princess,” Seungcheol said, genuinely contrite. “Uncle Mingyu and I were being stupid. Do you want to start over?”

“Can we make it bigger this time?” Naeun asked, her tears forgotten in the face of new possibilities.

“Much bigger,” Mingyu agreed. “And I promise to listen to your daddy about the decorations.”

“And I promise to listen to Uncle Mingyu about the… architect stuff,” Seungcheol added.

“And Kkuma can help too,” Naeun said, looking down at the small dog who was now lying in the sand, panting happily. “She’s very good at digging.”

“Maybe Kkuma can be the castle’s official groundskeeper,” Seungcheol suggested diplomatically.

“Perfect!” Naeun clapped her hands. “But first, I need juice. My mouth is dry from all the castle talking.”

“I’ll get it,” Seungcheol started to get up, but his wife was already reaching into their cooler.

“Sit, both of you,” she commanded. “You’re both covered in sand and probably sunburned. Naeun, come drink this in the shade.”

As Naeun settled in next to her mother with Kkuma curled up beside her, Seungcheol and Mingyu found themselves alone by the remains of their sandcastle.

“We really are idiots,” Mingyu said after a moment.

“Complete idiots,” Seungcheol agreed. “Getting into a fight over a sandcastle.”

“In front of a five-year-old.”

“Who was counting on us to build her dream castle.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the waves crash against the shore.

“You know,” Mingyu said eventually, “fatherhood looks good on you. Even if you are completely whipped.”

“I’m not whipped,” Seungcheol protested automatically.

“Dude, you spent twenty minutes posing for photos this morning because she asked you to.”

“She’s learning photography from Wonwoo. I’m supporting her education.”

“And you also packed fourteen different outfits for a five-day trip because she couldn’t decide what to wear.”

“She’s very decisive about her fashion choices.”

“And you learned all the words to ‘Let It Go’ in Korean AND English.”

“That’s just good parenting.”

Mingyu laughed. “Okay, fine. You’re not whipped. You’re just… thoroughly devoted.”

“I prefer ‘dedicated,’” Seungcheol said with dignity.

“Speaking of dedicated,” Mingyu said, glancing toward the umbrella where Seungcheol’s wife was braiding Naeun’s hair, “when are you going to give that girl a little brother or sister?”

“We’re working on it,” Seungcheol said with a grin that made Mingyu immediately regret asking.

“Gross. I don’t need details.”

“You brought it up!”

“I was making conversation!”

“Daddy! Uncle Mingyu!” Naeun called out from the shade. “Are you ready to build my new castle?”

“Coming, princess!” Seungcheol called back, then turned to Mingyu. “Ready for round two?”

“As long as you promise not to argue with my structural engineering.”

“Deal. But I’m still adding a dragon.”

“Fine. But it’s going to be a proportionally accurate dragon.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Says the man who poses for his five-year-old’s photography sessions.”

They were still bickering good-naturedly as they rejoined the girls, but it was the comfortable kind of argument that old friends fall into. Naeun watched them with the satisfied expression of someone who knew she had both men wrapped around her tiny finger.

The second attempt at castle building went much more smoothly. Partly because Seungcheol and Mingyu had learned to communicate better, but mostly because Naeun had appointed herself as the official supervisor and wasn’t shy about giving orders.

“Uncle Mingyu, that tower is crooked,” she informed him.

“It’s not crooked, it’s… artistic,” Mingyu protested weakly.

“It’s crooked. Fix it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Daddy, the dragon needs a friend. Can you make a princess dragon?”

“Of course, princess. What should the princess dragon look like?”

“Like me! But bigger and with wings.”

“One princess dragon coming up.”

Kkuma had appointed himself as the official inspector, walking around the castle’s perimeter and occasionally offering helpful suggestions in the form of barks and tail wags.

By the time they finished, the castle was indeed huge. It sprawled across a significant portion of the beach, complete with multiple towers, a moat that Seungcheol had painstakingly connected to the ocean, and various creatures that looked like they’d been designed by someone with a very active imagination.

“It’s perfect,” Naeun declared, picking up Seungcheol’s phone again. “Uncle Wonwoo is going to be so proud of these pictures!”

“Let’s get some photos of all of us with the castle,” Seungcheol’s wife suggested. “I’ll take them so everyone can be in the shot.”

“Even Kkuma?” Naeun asked.

“Especially Kkuma. She helped build it.”

They spent the next few minutes arranging themselves around the castle, with Kkuma sitting proudly in the center like she owned the place. Naeun insisted on several different poses, directing everyone with the confidence of someone who had learned from the best.

“This is going to be my favorite vacation ever,” she announced as her mother handed the phone back to Seungcheol.

“Mine too, princess,” Seungcheol said, pulling her into a hug.

“Even with Uncle Mingyu being grumpy about the tea party?” Naeun asked innocently.

“Hey!” Mingyu protested. “I wasn’t grumpy about the tea party!”

“You said you didn’t want to use your fancy voice,” Naeun pointed out.

“That’s different. That’s… maintaining my masculine dignity.”

“Uncle Mingyu,” Naeun said seriously, “you need to find a wife so you can practice being less grumpy.”

“I’m not grumpy!” Mingyu exclaimed, while the adults tried not to laugh.

“You are a little grumpy,” Seungcheol said helpfully. “Maybe Naeun has a point.”

“Not you too,” Mingyu groaned.

“Uncle Wonwoo says that all the uncles need wives so they can have daughters like me,” Naeun continued matter-of-factly. “He says daughters make daddies much happier.”

“Wonwoo says a lot of things,” Mingyu muttered.

“He’s not wrong though,” Seungcheol’s wife said with a smile. “Look how happy this one made her daddy.”

“The happiest,” Seungcheol confirmed, kissing the top of Naeun’s head.

“I want a daughter just like Naeun,” Mingyu said quietly, and something in his tone made everyone look at him with surprise.

“Really?” Naeun asked, eyes wide.

“Really. She’d be lucky to have an cousin like you to teach her about photography and tea parties and proper sandcastle construction.”

“And I could teach her about being a princess!” Naeun said excitedly. “We could have play dates and everything!”

“That sounds perfect,” Mingyu said, smiling genuinely for the first time all day.

“But first you need to find a wife,” Naeun said seriously. “That’s the most important part.”

“I’m working on it,” Mingyu laughed. “Any suggestions?”

“She has to be nice,” Naeun said, ticking off requirements on her fingers. “And pretty. And she has to like tea parties. And she can’t be afraid of dogs.”

“Those are very reasonable requirements,” Mingyu agreed solemnly.

“And she has to like Uncle Mingyu even when he’s grumpy,” Naeun added.

“Especially when he’s grumpy,” Seungcheol added helpfully.

“I am not grumpy!” Mingyu protested again, but he was laughing.

“You’re grumpy right now,” Naeun pointed out. “See? You need a wife to make you less grumpy.”

“Out of the mouths of babes,” Seungcheol’s wife said, grinning.

“I’m never going to live this down, am I?” Mingyu asked.

“Not even a little bit,” Seungcheol confirmed cheerfully.

“Come on,” Naeun said, taking Mingyu’s hand. “Let’s go get ice cream. Ice cream makes everyone less grumpy.”

“I thought I wasn’t getting ice cream because I didn’t curtsy properly,” Mingyu said.

“You can have ice cream if you promise to practice being less grumpy,” Naeun said generously.

“Deal,” Mingyu said immediately. “But I’m not promising to like tea parties.”

“You’ll learn to like them,” Naeun said confidently. “Everyone does eventually.”

As they walked toward the beach café, Kkuma trotting happily beside them, Seungcheol hung back slightly with his wife.

“She’s really something, isn’t she?” he said quietly, watching their daughter skip ahead with Mingyu.

“She’s perfect,” his wife agreed. “Just like her daddy.”

“I’m not perfect,” Seungcheol protested. “I’m just… really good at being wrapped around her finger.”

“That’s what makes you perfect,” she said, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

“I love you,” he said, pulling her closer.

“I love you too. Even when you’re being ridiculous with sandcastles.”

“Hey, that was mostly Mingyu’s fault.”

“Sure it was,” she said, laughing. “Come on, let’s go get ice cream before our daughter decides Uncle Mingyu needs another lesson in proper tea party etiquette.”

“Poor Mingyu,” Seungcheol said, but he was grinning. “He has no idea what he’s in for.”

“None of us did,” his wife said, watching as Naeun convinced Mingyu to carry Kkuma so the little dog could “see better.” “But I wouldn’t change any of it.”

“Not even the three AM wake-up calls for water?” Seungcheol asked.

“Not even those.”

“The princess dress-up sessions?”

“Especially those.”

“The fact that she’s turned my best friend into her personal entertainment committee?”

“That’s the best part,” she said, laughing as they watched Mingyu seriously discussing ice cream flavors with Naeun while Kkuma supervised from his arms.

“I think you’re right,” Seungcheol said, pulling out his phone to take a picture of the scene. “This is definitely going to be our favorite vacation ever.”

“With many more to come,” his wife agreed. “Think Mingyu will survive the rest of the week?”

“He’ll survive,” Seungcheol said confidently. “He might even enjoy it.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then at least we’ll have great stories to tell at his wedding,” Seungcheol said with a wicked grin.

“Assuming he finds someone willing to put up with his grumpiness,” his wife pointed out.

“Oh, he will,” Seungcheol said, watching as Mingyu patiently explained the different ice cream options to Naeun. “Anyone who can handle a five-year-old’s demands for proper tea party etiquette can handle anything.”

“Including a wife and kids of his own?”

“Especially that,” Seungcheol said. “Trust me, once you’ve been through the Uncle Mingyu training program, you’re ready for anything parenthood can throw at you.”

“The Uncle Mingyu training program?” his wife asked, amused.

“Phase one: sandcastle construction under pressure. Phase two: tea party etiquette and proper fancy voice usage. Phase three: surviving a five-year-old’s photography direction. Phase four: ice cream negotiations.”

“What’s phase five?”

“Bedtime stories,” Seungcheol said ominously. “If he can survive bedtime stories with Princess Naeun, he’s ready to be a dad.”

“Poor Mingyu,” his wife said, but she was smiling. “He really has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.”

“The best things in life usually catch you by surprise,” Seungcheol said, watching as Naeun successfully convinced Mingyu to let her order for everyone. “Just like this little princess caught us.”

“Best surprise ever,” his wife agreed.

“Come on,” Seungcheol said, taking her hand. “Let’s go rescue our friend before our daughter decides he needs to learn proper ice cream eating etiquette too.”

“Is that a real thing?”

“With Naeun? Everything’s a real thing,” Seungcheol said, laughing. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

As they joined their little group, Seungcheol couldn’t help but feel grateful for this perfectly imperfect moment: his daughter teaching his best friend about the finer points of ice cream selection, his wife laughing at something Naeun said, and Kkuma supervising the entire operation with the dignity of a small, fluffy monarch.

This was what happiness looked like, he thought. Messy, loud, occasionally ridiculous, but absolutely perfect.

“Daddy!” Naeun called out. “Uncle Mingyu wants to know if rainbow ice cream is a real flavor or if I made it up!”

“It’s real, princess,” Seungcheol assured her. “Everything is real when you believe in it hard enough.”

“See?” Naeun said to Mingyu triumphantly. “Daddy knows about rainbow ice cream.”

“Your daddy knows about a lot of things,” Mingyu said, giving Seungcheol a look that was part exasperation, part admiration.

“The most important thing he knows,” Naeun said seriously, “is how to be the best daddy ever.”

“Yeah,” Mingyu said quietly, watching as Seungcheol lifted Naeun up so she could see all the ice cream flavors better. “He really does.”

And if there was a slightly wistful note in his voice, well, that was between him and the Hawaiian sunset painting the sky in shades of pink and gold behind them.

Later that evening, as they sat on the beach watching the sunset, Naeun had fallen asleep in her beach chair with Kkuma curled up beside her, both exhausted from their day of adventures.

“She’s out cold,” Seungcheol’s wife said softly, brushing a strand of hair from their daughter’s face.

“Good. She deserves the rest after bossing us around all day,” Seungcheol said, moving closer to his wife on their shared beach blanket.

“She learned from the best,” his wife teased, leaning into his side.

“Definitely from you,” Seungcheol murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For giving me her. For giving me this.” He gestured to their little setup, where Naeun was sleeping peacefully and Mingyu was dozing in his chair, finally looking relaxed.

“Thank you for being the most amazing father,” she whispered back. “Watching you with her today… posing for those ridiculous photos, building sandcastles, letting her boss you around at the tea party…”

“I love every minute of it,” Seungcheol said honestly. “Even when she’s being a tiny dictator.”

“Especially then,” his wife agreed, tilting her face up toward his.

Seungcheol was just leaning down to kiss her when—

“Get a room!” Mingyu’s voice cut through the romantic moment. “Some of us are trying to enjoy this beautiful sunset without watching you two be disgustingly in love.”

“Mingyu!” Seungcheol’s wife hissed. “You’ll wake up Naeun!”

“Sorry,” Mingyu said, but he was grinning. “But seriously, the PDA is getting out of hand.”

“We were just talking,” Seungcheol protested.

“You were about to kiss her. I could see it from here.”

“So? She’s my wife!”

“And I’m your friend who doesn’t need to witness every romantic moment,” Mingyu shot back. “This is why I should have brought a date.”

“You should have brought a date,” Seungcheol’s wife agreed. “Then you’d be too busy with your own romantic moments to complain about ours.”

“I don’t complain about your romantic moments,” Mingyu protested.

“You literally just did,” Seungcheol pointed out.

“That’s different. That was… constructive feedback.”

“Constructive feedback?” Seungcheol’s wife laughed. “On our marriage?”

“On your public displays of affection,” Mingyu corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“You know what your problem is?” Seungcheol said, pulling his wife closer just to annoy his friend. “You’re lonely. You need to find a wife.”

“I’m not lonely,” Mingyu protested. “I’m… selectively social.”

“You’re lonely,” Seungcheol’s wife said gently. “And there’s nothing wrong with that. But maybe it’s time to do something about it.”

“Like what?”

“Like stop being so picky,” Seungcheol suggested. “Remember that woman from the coffee shop last month? The one who smiled at you?”

“She was just being polite,” Mingyu said dismissively.

“She gave you her number,” Seungcheol pointed out.

“She was being very polite.”

“Mingyu,” Seungcheol’s wife said seriously, “you need to take some risks. You can’t build a relationship the same way you build a building.”

“Why not? Buildings last longer.”

“Because buildings don’t love you back,” Seungcheol said. “And they don’t give you beautiful daughters who boss you around and make you pose for photos.”

“Speaking of which,” Mingyu said, glancing at sleeping Naeun, “she really did a number on us today, didn’t she?”

“The best kind of number,” Seungcheol agreed. “But don’t think you can change the subject. We’re talking about your love life.”

“Or lack thereof,” his wife added helpfully.

“I have a love life,” Mingyu protested weakly.

“Work doesn’t count,” Seungcheol said. “Neither does your gym membership.”

“I date!”

“When was your last date?” Seungcheol’s wife asked.

“I… well… recently…”

“Define recently,” Seungcheol pressed.

“Within the last… year?”

“Mingyu!” both husband and wife exclaimed.

“Shh!” Mingyu glanced at Naeun, who stirred slightly but didn’t wake. “Look, I’m busy, okay? I have work, and the gym, and now apparently I have tea party duties.”

“You love the tea party duties,” Seungcheol said knowingly.

“I do not love the tea party duties,” Mingyu protested, but his voice lacked conviction.

“You’re already planning what you’re going to wear to tomorrow’s royal ball,” Seungcheol’s wife observed.

“I am not— okay, maybe I was thinking about it a little. But only because I don’t want to embarrass Princess Naeun.”

“See?” Seungcheol grinned. “You’re already practicing for when you have a daughter of your own.”

“I’m not practicing for anything,” Mingyu said, but there was a wistful note in his voice. “I’m just… being a good uncle.”

“The best uncle,” Seungcheol agreed. “But you know what would make you an even better uncle?”

“What?”

“Having a wife who could help you with all the princess duties,” Seungcheol’s wife said with a smile. “Someone who actually knows about tea party etiquette and proper dress-up protocols.”

“And someone who could teach you how to braid hair,” Seungcheol added. “Because if you think today was intense, wait until Naeun discovers complicated hairstyles.”

“Oh god,” Mingyu said, looking genuinely terrified. “She’s going to want me to braid her hair, isn’t she?”

“Eventually,” Seungcheol’s wife said cheerfully. “Along with painting her nails and helping her pick out outfits.”

“I can’t paint nails! I can barely paint walls!”

“Another reason to find a wife,” Seungcheol said sagely. “Someone who can handle all the things you can’t.”

“Like emotional support,” his wife added.

“Sure, blame me for your daughter’s ability to wrap grown men around her finger.”

“It’s a valuable skill,” Seungcheol said solemnly. “She’ll go far in life.”

“She already has,” Mingyu said, looking down at the sleeping child. “She’s got the best parents in the world.”

“And the best honorary uncle,” Seungcheol’s wife added. “Even if he is a little grumpy sometimes.”

“I’m not grumpy,” Mingyu protested automatically, but it was halfhearted.

“Uncle Mingyu,” Naeun said sleepily, not opening her eyes. “Are you going to find a wife so you can have a daughter like me?”

“I’m going to try, princess,” Mingyu said gently. “I’m going to try.”

“Good,” Naeun said, settling more comfortably against her father’s side. “Because daughters are the best thing ever.”

“Yes, they are,” Seungcheol agreed, pressing a kiss to her hair. “The absolute best.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant oranges and purples, Seungcheol felt a deep sense of contentment wash over him. Tomorrow would bring new adventures, new sandcastles to build, new tea parties to attend, and probably new ways for his daughter to convince his best friend to embrace his inner child.

But right now, in this moment, everything was perfect.

Even if Mingyu was still a little grumpy about the tea party thing.

“Daddy?” Naeun’s voice was barely a whisper.

“Yes, princess?”

“This was the best day ever.”

“For me too, sweetheart. For me too.”

And as the first stars began to appear in the darkening sky, Seungcheol silently promised to give his daughter a lifetime of best days ever. Even if it meant posing for a thousand more photos, building a thousand more sandcastles, and attending a thousand more tea parties.

After all, that’s what being a girl dad was all about.

And he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

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jakesimfromstatefarm · 1 day ago

Note

omg heheh dyk that one “current boyfriend prank” on tiktok (¬‿¬)... i feel like jake would be so confused if yn did it and he would tilt his head like a puppy (TдT)… if u didn’t write that yet plslslsls do I feel like it would be so funny nd adorable

YESSSSSS JAKE WOULD BE SO DEVASTATEDDD PLS he'd probably think he misheard and then start thinking he did something wrong AND he'd be soooo dramatic LOLLL

──── MY CURRENT BOYFRIEND 🤍 🕰️ 🌟 ↳ requested // part of the no doubt series !

“Jakey, come here! I wanna film a quick video with you!”

You’re already perched on the edge of your bed, phone propped up on the nightstand, camera app open and recording just as you hear the soft shuffle of socks down the hallway.

“Comiiiiiinggg,” Jake calls back, appearing in the doorway a second later.

He looks all sunshine and soft—hoodie sleeve pulled over his hands, damp hair still drying from his post-shower routine, a sleepy grin already forming when he sees you.

“Hi everyone,” you say sweetly to the camera as he walks up behind you, his hands automatically landing on your arms and subconsciously rubbing his hands up and down. “I’m here with my current boyfriend, Jake, and today we’re going to do an outfit of the—“

Jake freezes.

Hands stop.

Head tilts.

“Your what?”

You swear you can see the moment his brain freezes. The smile fades, eyebrows furrowing in as his eyes flick from the phone screen. To you. Back to the phone screen.

He leans in slightly, staring at his own reflection as if wondering if he did something wrong to make you mad at him.

You turn casually, blinking innocently up at him.

“What?” you ask, voice light and casual.

Jake squints. “What did you just say?”

“We’re doing an outfit of the day?” you say, barely biting back the smile on your face.

“No, no. Before that,” he points a finger towards your phone. “What did you call me?”

“My boyfriend?”

He shakes his head frantically, “No. You said current boyfriend.”

You blink.

Jake blinks.

Then his jaw drops slightly.

“Current?”

You stifle your giggle, glancing down at your nails, “Mhm. I mean, you are my current boyfriend.”

A beat of silence.

Jake’s mouth opens—then closes. Then again.

Finally, with a full-body sigh, he drops onto the bed beside you, dramatically flopping back and landing on the pillows behind him.

“So what—,” he mumbles as he stares at the ceiling, “—you got auditions lined up or something? Who’s next in line?”

You glance at him, smile now fully forming, “Jake.”

“Is this because I bought you that watered down peach latter last week?” he murmurs as he runs his hand down his face dramatically. “I swear I was driving as fast as I could, but then I had to fill up the gas—“

You burst out laughing, turning off the camera before flopping back onto the bed and turning on your side to face him.

“Jakey, you’re so dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” Jake immediately turns to you, eyes big, lips pouty. “DRAMATIC? The love of my life just called me her temporary boyfriend on video. I’m DEVASTATED.”

“It was a prank, dummy.”

Jake blinks at you. Once. Then twice.

“So…I’m permanent?”

You grin, nodding once before sliding your arms around his middle. “My one and only.”

And Jake?

Melts right on the spot.

“You’re so mean,” he pouts before he presses a kiss to your forehead. “And I’m never filming content with you ever again. You’re evil.”

You kiss his jaw sweetly. “Still your girlfriend though.”

Jake sighs, pulling you flush again his chest as he lays down fully.

“Yeah, my forever girlfriend.”

tag list pt 1!:

@bluxjun @ki2rins @why-did-i-just-do-this @favoritten @lovialymisc @xylatox @vivimura @leehsngs @puma-riki @lezzleeferguson-120 @enhaprettystars @laurradoesloveu @sievenderz @somuchdard @kristynaah @hinryh @ltfirecracker @lov4hoon @taeheexx @niyzu @chunkzdeluluwife @jakeflvrz @fangirl125reader @0429jw @dreamy-carat @yuons @thestarinstarbucks @miszes @llearlert @ppeachyttae @hoomin10 @teddybeartaetae @tanisha2060 @therealmrsbahng @beomgyu-bears @ikeulove @jiyeons-closet @youngheejay @wxnderingthoughts @fuevrois @soobundle1009 @isoobie @enhypenova @zoemeltigloos @lizdevorak @deluluscenarios @bloomiize @hasuyv @ijustwannareadstuff20 @heekolazz @dreamiestay @jakeyyyjakexoxo

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starrbishops · 3 days ago

Text

⟡Good Morning⟡

(Bob Reynolds x f!Reader)

Summary: There is never a peaceful morning in the Watchtower, especially not after you and Bob finally get together. (Mini-sequel to Risk and Baby, I'm Yours, requested by @my-name-is-baby)

Word Count: 1.4k

Notes: Set after the events of Thunderbolts*, established relationship, fluff, kissing, talk of sex, team finding out, swearing, wearing Bob's clothes, suggestive ending

a/n: As per the poll i have adapted the fic formerly known as B-O-B so they callin you BOB into this, combined with a request I received. I just really love writing the other Thunderbolts in these fics and this one brought me great joy :)

Bob wakes up to the sound of a knock on his door.

He blinks his eyes open, his brain catching up with what’s happening around him. His arm around you, fast asleep on his chest. He smiles softly as he recalls the events of last night, and at the sight of you in a deep sleep, hand laid over his heart. He brushes the hair from your face, taking a good look at you, before another knock sounds through the room.

“Bob?” Walker’s voice echoes from the door, followed by yet another knock. “Hey, man, you up?”

Bob’s eyes flick between the door and you, trying to decide what to do. In the past he’s thought of himself as quick on his feet, but right now his brain feels like lovestruck mush.

The last thing he wants to do is wake you up and disturb your peace. But maybe you don’t Walker to come in and see you in his bed. Maybe you want this to be secret. But if he hides you, you might think he’s ashamed of you.

You’re stirring slightly, eyes fluttering open, squinting as you peer up at him, then the door. “The hell?”

“Walker.” he whispers. Your eyes widen just a bit, clearly also thinking about what to do. “Uh, I don’t mind him knowing, if you don’t-”

“I don’t!” you clarify, sitting up while pulling the sheets to cover yourself. “I just-” you gesture to your naked torso, to which Bob makes an ‘oh’ sound.

“ONE MINUTE!” He yells to the door before jumping up, scrambling to his dresser, still fully naked. He tosses you a shirt and your underwear from the floor, before haphazardly pulling on a pair of boxers.

“You okay in there?” Walker yells.

“Fine!” Bob calls back, gathering up your lost clothes from the night before, tossing them into the bathroom. “Everything is great!”

“Is someone holding you hostage-” John is interrupted by Bob practically yanking the door off its hinges, settling into what he thinks is a natural pose, leaning on the door with one hand on his hip, legs crossed. It takes significant effort not to laugh at him.

“What’s up?” he says in a voice that is trying way too hard to be casual.

“Hey, I was just going for a run, thought you’d like to-” he stops, eyes landing on you, seated on the bed with Bob’s old t-shirt hanging on your body.

It takes Walker a second to process, mouth wide open like a fish, looking from you, to Bob, back to you. “You asshole!” he yells through a laugh, shoving Bob playfully from his pose. “Look at you, you fuckin’ did it!”

Bob chuckles awkwardly, face red with embarrassment as he nods. “Eh, she kinda did most of the work.” he admits, a grin on his face. “I did kiss her first, though.”

Walker slaps his back. “That’s my boy!”

“You knew he liked me?” you call from your spot the bed.

“Oh yeah, it was obvious.” Walker says, Bob turning to face the ground. “Honestly, it's astonishing how you didn’t notice he liked you.”

You throw a pillow at him, hitting him square in the face as it knocks him slightly backwards. “I am not that oblivious.” you turn to Bob, who has a pensive look on his face. “Right?”

“I mean…” you hold up another pillow, shutting him up as he raises his hands in surrender.

John throws an arm around Bob, shaking him slightly. “I really am happy for you two, y’know. The whole time, I told him, she clearly likes you, but he didn’t listen, but guess who was right.” he points to his own face.

“Alright, alright, go for your run now, asshole.” Bob shoves him off, still smiling. “And don’t tell anyone yet, alright?” he points at him, now with a serious expression.

John raises his hands as he walks out backwards. “I won’t, I won’t. I’m a great secretkeeper.” he flashes you a mischievous smile, as he walks off into the hall. Bob sighs, shutting the door behind him before flopping back onto the bed.

“Oh my god,” he murmurs into the blanket, one hand crawling over to rest on your thigh. You just cuckle, running your hands through his brown locks.

“Hey, could be worse, huh? Alexei could’ve stormed in here before we had any clothes on.” that gets a laugh out of him, raising his head and settling it in your lap.

“Yeah, fair point.” he turns to look up at you, a small smile on his face. “I just, still can’t believe this is real, and now Walker knows.”

You shrug. “Well, it seems like he already had an inkling.”

“Yeah, he was behind a lot of my poorer attempts at flirting.” Bob’s hand runs along the smooth skin of your leg, tracing aimless circles into it.

“Wingman Walker. Never thought I’d see the day someone went to him for love advice.”

“Hey, I was desperate,” he says, sitting up. “I didn’t want to screw this up.”

You smile, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Well, you didn’t. And you’re not gonna.” you reassure him, his hands moving to your waist as he pulls you closer. He kisses you again, this one deeper, more passionate. Your hands tangle in his hair, smiling against his lips. You’re too caught up in each other to hear the telltale sound of Ava's phasing.

“Bob, Walker told us to check- OH MY GOD!” she spins around while simultaneously covering her eyes.

Not five seconds later, the door opens again. “Ava? Are you- oh!” Yelena makes a surprised expression, giving an awkward wave. “Oh, finally. Took you long enough.”

“Thanks, Lena.” Bob gives an awkward grin. “Ava, you can turn around.”

“I don’t think I want to.”

“What’s going on?” Bucky’s voice echoes from the hallway.

“Hi Bucky!” you call as he steps into the doorframe, Alpine perched on his shoulder. His eyes widen a bit, before a smile forms.

“Finally,” he scoffs.

“That’s what I said!” Yelena agrees.

Bucky grins at the blonde before turning back to you and Bob. “I told you he liked you.” he gestured between the two of you. Bob turns to you with a confused expression.

“Okay, maybe I am a little oblivious.” you admit.

“‘S okay, I like you anyways.” he presses a kiss into the top of your head, prompting a joking ‘eww’ from Yelena.

“Okay, I’ll see you two later when you’re fully clothed.” Ava walks away, phasing through the wall in favor of walking through the door. Bucky and Yelena chuckle, following after her.

You sigh, turning back to Bob. “Hey, well, now they all know.”

“Yeah, I think we were the only stupid ones.” he chuckles, one hand cupping your cheek. “And maybe Alexei.”

As if he’d summoned him, Bob’s theory is confirmed by a loud, distinctly Russian voice yelling “WHAT?” from down the hall. You both giggle as Alexei kicks the door open, Yelena peeking out from behind him. “You two? Together?” he frantically points between you, an expression of genuine shock on his face.

“Uh, yeah.” Bob confirms.

His shock changes to pride as he approaches you, taking you both into a bear hug. “I am so, so proud of you too. I had no idea this was happening, but now I see. True love!” he announces.

“Alexei, I can’t breathe.” you choke out, the large man letting you go before giving Bob another smack on the back.

“Good man, Bob. Take good care of her, alright?” he tells him, Bob nodding desperately as he prays for him to leave. “You know, if we had Sentry, you could protect her much eas-”

“Dad!” Yelena yells from the hall, clearly embarrassed. He waves her off, giving you both one last grin.

“Okay, I leave now. You two, have fun, be safe!” he shakes Bob’s shoulders, before walking off, Yelena closing the door behind him with a smirk.

“Well, at least they’re supportive.” you joke, Bob laughing with you before pulling you into another kiss.

“You look so good in my clothes.” he mutters against your lips.

“Are you gonna follow that up with ‘but you’d look better without them?’” you do a poor imitation of Bob’s deeper voice.

He shrugs, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Well, yeah, but I can still eat you out with it on.” he whispers, before knocking you back onto the bed with another kiss, the two of you laughing on the way down.

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rafeslvbug · 2 days ago

Text

CHAPTER 9 - maybank blues series

rafe’s sleek range rover rumbled through the gravel outside the chateau, and he exited in almost a second, slamming the door shut behind him. he banged on the door, rattling the fragile windows.

no answer.

again, nothing.

“hey, john b, open up!” he yelled. still, nothing.

agitated, he walks around the side of the house, noticing the back entrance, a flimsy little wooden gate that didn’t take much for him to hop over. music grew loud, giggles and yells until he found them, all the pogues except you, in some hot tub they looked like they shouldn’t be able to afford.

“what the fuck!?” kie exclaims, mood suddenly turned sour at seeing rafe.

“hey man, get the fuck out!” john b yells, though sarah tries to calm him, hold him back.

“i need to talk to you jj,” rafe points, approaching the hot tub.

“nah i’m good man.” jj looks at rafe through his tilted down glasses, beer bottle in hand.

when rafe gets closer, he notices the marks across jj’s stomach. bigger than yours. but nonetheless, two siblings with bruises. not a coincidence, surely? “no you’re gonna talk, wasn’t an offer.”

“what d’you want?” jj sighs, pushing a flamingo inflateable out of his way.

“i want to know where your sister got those bruises from,” rafe states. the party, though small, dies down. pope lowers the volume on their music, jj’s spine stiffens and john b’s voice rings through, gentler now.

“okay rafe i think you should go..”

“no, no! i want to know– because it’s not the first fuckin’ time,” rafe demands, waving john b off.

“what do you mean? how would you know it’s not the first time?” jj straightens, leaning forward slightly.

“because i saw her that night, she got that little cut on her wrist?”

jj looks at kie. they all look at each other.

rafe nods, “yeah, i’m the fuckin’ one who dropped her off, at the bottom of her road because for god knows what reason, she didn’t want you guys seeing.”

“are you two dating?” jj seethes, jumping to conclusions.

“what the fuck? no! i’m her friend, for gods sake!” rafe argues back, though he doesn’t believe himself. he knows he doesn’t. he wouldn’t do this shit for a friend so..no, he doesn’t want to think about that.

“look, i just want to know why she’s got bruises, why you’ve got bruises,” rafe gestures to the purple patches littered across his stomach.

jj goes quiet. lips pursed, unsure. then sarah whispers, “maybe just tell him..who knows? if he’s looking out for her..”

“no! it’s y/n’s to tell– we don’t trust rafe! right jj?” kie argues back.

but jj’s just looking at rafe. contemplating. he knows it’s not his place to tell rafe anything about you, or find out anything about you. he’s learnt his lesson from cole. “look, man, i can’t tell you anything about her. but personally, my old man gave me these. do with that what you will..”

time ticks by. rafe’s unsure on how long he sits in his car, in the parking lot of the country club, waiting for you. but he waits, nonetheless. until he spots you, duffel over your shoulder, walking out.

it’s impossible to miss him. the only car still here at this late hour. the only guy sitting in his car, watching you like a hawk. you stop, sighing when you lock eyes with him through the windshield.

caught.

you force yourself over to his driver’s side window, only for him to shake his head, gesturing to the passenger door. groaning, you drag your feet to the other side, pulling open the car door and climbing into it. you don’t put the seatbelt on, you intend to get out once the conversation’s done.

“what do you want, rafe?” you whisper, voice strained.

“i spoke to jj.”

your blood stills. there’s no reason rafe would ever speak to jj, they hadn’t gotten on good terms yet. you sigh. you know he knows. you give him a tight lipped smile, moonlight shining on the bruise on your jaw, now breaking through concealer.

his eyes crease like her pain is his. “don’t. don’t do that fake smile thing, don’t pretend you’re okay.”

“don’t start rafe..” you exhale, shaking your head softly at him.

“you’re not okay,” he says, matter of factly, as if he has to tell you for you to realise.

crossing your arms over your chest, you softly rebut, “you don’t get to tell me how i feel.”

“no..but i can see it clear as day. you’re actin’ like you’re fine, but it hurts.” he knows the feeling. his dad, his addiction. he knows what it’s like to pretend that you’re okay when you’re not, when you’re struggling. “as your friend, i get to care. that’s what friends do,” he adds, stretching the friend card as thin as he can get it.

silence stretches between the both of you. tension heavy mist in the air. because friends, sounds so..off. it doesn’t sound right on either of your tongues, but for the wrong reasons. ones you’ll never admit out loud.

“you don’t have to fix me..” you whisper, eyes stuck down on the ground.

“fix you?” rafe echoes. “no, i’m not here to do that. but i want to help you, however i can. i want to do something right, good, for a..friend,” he forces the last bit out, though lingers over the word ‘friend’ for a few breaths longer than he should have.

because he knows, deep down, that the friendship he feels for you isn’t like how he was with topper or kelce. it’s deeper. raw. stronger. something increasingly different from friends, that he’s desperately trying to run from.

“i didn’t want jj to tell anyone else,” you admit– unsure if you should run right now, or cry. your eyes are stinging, heating with each passing second.

“he didn’t..not directly, anyways. he just told me that your dad gave him his bruises. the implication was there, though,” rafe murmurs, tilting his head down at you, glimpsing the shining in your eyes. “i’m glad he told me..”

there was a long pause. then you spoke again, voice smaller, “he’s not always like that. when i was younger, he really was good. he’d take me to the park every day, and he painted my room pink, then yellow when i changed my mind in a week.” your voice was wobbly. weak. breaking under the weight of the conversation. “it just happens once every now and again, because we’re older, and habits get worse with age..”

“doesn’t matter..” rafe says gruffly, though he softens at your slowly crumbling state. “one time’s too many, let alone every so often.”

you open your mouth to say something. why you’ve never turned him in despite shoupe’s attempts to get information. why you still love him in your own way. but you close it again, looking away as if the problem might disappear just by avoiding rafe’s gaze.

“i’m not a charity case..” you mutter, head looking out the window, first stray tear rolling down your cheek.

“good..i don’t do charity,” rafe says. “and don’t make it seem like i’m doing this out of pity, or because of sarah– i’m not.”

his thumb catches the tear on your cheek right when you turn your head to face him. breath momentarily caught at the proximity, until he cautiously retrieves his hand. “then why are you doing this?”

“i told you, i’m your friend.”

you shook your head, “no, i don’t believe that.”

he stays silent for a few moments.

if he said the truth, was honest, then you’d push him away. if he said he’d never cared for anyone like he did you, if he said he’d grown to like you more than he cared to admit, more than a friend, then it would all be gone.

so instead he just said, open in a different way, “i understand you. i get what it’s like to love someone even when they’re hurting you.”

and for once, she did trust him. with ease, because her shoulders sagged with the type of relief you’d get when you’ve been carrying something so heavy alone, for such a long time. struggling in silence, waiting for a silent angel to come and relieve you. and rafe was here.

you said nothing, just allowed yourself to fall.

into him.

rafe’s arms wrapped around you, drawing you into his chest and keeping you there. you might not feel the same way he does about you, but perhaps you still need him as much. you’re grateful to have found a source of comfort, someone to confide in, someone who actually listens, and knows you.

then again, maybe that’s all it takes to care for him too.

taglist: @starkeyjoseph @rafesbabygirlx @slut-4-rafey @lanaslushworld @littlelamy @rain-likes-purple @sunny1616 @csturnioloswifey @silkylovey @supasolaa @octoberbxbyy @rafeobx @jamesbeaufortismylife @vanessa-rafesgirl @bambigirl10 @f4sh10n-m4v3n @amelialovesrafe @letstryagaintomorrow @athenabarnes @sapphichotmess @dumbbandpoetic @emma12345sworld @samwinchesterisawhore @arigoldsblog

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akkaweo-akkaweo · 16 hours ago

Text

Take it slow

Jo Yuri x M!reader

Tags: fingering

WC: 4.1k

—————

"I wish I could tell you how pretty you are," you scribbled lazily on your tickler notepad.

You brought your gaze back up to the muse of your musings: Yuri, quietly working on her desk. The way she lazily traced indents on her lips with a pen, how she lightly nibbled on the end, and how her hair parted so easily as she perched it on her ear – you'd think yourself lucky to be a pen rather than hold one.

"I wish you could see that that's a bad idea," your office teammate quipped, face looking in the same direction as you.

"That wasn't for you to read," you growled, slamming the tickler shut.

"Fair," he surrendered, "but still. Stay away from Yuri."

You turned your chair to face him. "Trying to eliminate competition, eh?"

"More like trying to eliminate participants altogether," he replied. "She's trouble."

"She's misunderstood."

"What's so 'misunderstood' about being seen entering the assistant HR manager's apartment AND the department's finance officer's house within the same week?," he quipped. "She's a sl–"

You stood up to meet his face, eyebrows furrowed. No other words were necessary; he slunk back to his desk, angrily typing away at his phone.

He wasn't wrong though: Yuri was a name attached to one too many rumors in the office, and you'd heard dozens by now. You'd heard names like your immediate supervisor, the marketing team's lead, and you swear you've heard the regional officer's son.

But life, of course, works differently. The one time you bumped into her, you'd dropped your mug. She cleaned it all up, and left a new, almost identical one on your desk the day after. Not a single word was exchanged. That didn't sound like "trouble", nor being a flirt, and that definitely didn't warrant the vitriol your coworker gave.

You were even determined to prove him wrong.

You opened your notebook and wrote down: 7 days.

=====

"Whoo!," you shouted aloud. No desklamps, no faint videos or music, just silence in a seemingly empty office. You pulled out your tickler again to get a glimpse of the carrels, hoping to do some perspective drawing.

Then you locked eyes with Yuri. Turns out you weren't alone.

She bowed at you respectfully, but you were thrown off guard that you almost tipped your chair over. She got up from her chair, ready to run to you, but you stopped her and chuckled it out awkwardly. She gave you a warm smile, bowed once more, then turned back to her table.

Never mind the double whammy of being rudely loud and looking stupid; she smiled at you. Smiled so brightly it practically burned itself into your retinas and your memory.

Without hesitating, you drew an eye. Then another, then undid the first one to get the proportions right. You drew her smile, her cheeks, her lips; you were locked in a daze, and Yuri had you hypnotized.

"You're really good at drawing," she said warmly over the divider of your carrel. You jumped again, yet again almost falling off your chair.

"Hey!," Yuri rushed to you. "You really need to be more careful."

"Sorry," you replied, still flustered. "I scare easily."

"Sorry too," she said, pulling up a chair from behind you. "I just saw you lazily swiveling your chair around and bopping your head to – wait, you don't even have your earphones on?"

You scratched your head. "Oh. I guess I was just... in the moment."

She raised an eyebrow and smiled. Her eyes disappeared behind the wideness of her smile, the toothy grin almost beaming into your eyes. Those looks could blind before they kill.

"You carry that notebook around with you a lot," she remarked. "I've seen you pull it out a few times."

"Really?," you remarked, surprised anyone would notice. "Well, it's just for random thoughts and stuff. Need to remember things, maybe capture it. Before I forget." You flipped through some pages to illustrate your point.

Unintentionally, you ended at the page that had your words from the other day. Even if you closed it right after, Yuri saw it clearly, and even leaned in to confirm.

"Oooh, you find someone pretty," she replied. "Would it happen to be that girl you were drawing a while ago?"

How you weren't caught then and there was nothing short of miraculous, but you weren't about to make the same prayer twice. "Yeah, you could say that. Was... thinking of asking her out actually."

"Unsolicited advice," she began, "don't ask for a place. Tell her where you want to go."

You raised an eyebrow. "That's not very democratic."

"Then don't propose anything stupid," she rebutted.

You rolled your eyes sarcastically. "Very reassuring."

She got up and offered a hand. "C'mon. It's late. Let's go for some noodles"

You shrugged. "Sure, why not."

She turned around winked at you. "Easy, right?"

Clever girl.

=====

A bowl of ramen and 3 beers each was all it took to read Yuri from cover to cover.

She took the exact same course as you in college, just in a different university; but, instead of pivoting to creatives, she doubled down on managerial work, which nailed her the job. In fact, you both entered roughly at the same time, just in two separate departments.

She loved music. She's tried dancing. She didn't disagree with games, but did with sports. Art was never a strong suit; but, on the flipside, theatre was almost a lifestyle.

You couldn't help but stare. Maybe it was the beer, maybe it was the exhaustion from a day of work. But you sat there, chin in your hands, focused entirely on her. Not once did your hand fidget to your phone – a first, as far as things went. "Entranced" barely described how stuck you were in that moment.

And Yuri just existed in the moment. Even when your conversation lulled into silence and she focused entirely on the last sips of ramen, she didn't notice you staring at her, instead looking pensively into the void. You almost wanted to let the cat out of the bag unprompted.

So you clenched your teeth. "Yuri, I'd like to ask you something." She looked at you plainly, raising her eyebrows in acknowledgement while she sipped from her bottle.

"I've heard some... unfounded rumors about you."

Yuri's smile started to sink awkwardly, the edges trembling ever so slightly. Her eyes suddenly felt like they'd hollowed. Though the resto felt more full than an hour ago, it felt like the proverbial pin had dropped. Not just quiet, but silence. Time had frozen.

Without hesitation, you leaned back on your chair and declared: "But I propose that if I ask you, we trade secrets. I'll start." You swallowed hard. "I fucked Ms. Seo."

Yuri, still awkwardly putting her cup of water to her lips, did a spit take. A full one too, water droplets on your face and all.

"THE HR manager?!?," she screamed behind gritted teeth. You chuckled as you wiped the water on you.

In brief: after a bar crawl with friends that ended right by your office, you found Ms. Seo, then still assistant HR manager, seated on the curb. You brought her home, one thing led to another, and the freakout the head manager had when both of you ran into him at the office carpark almost got you fired – if not for Ms. Seo defending you in a empassionately worded email she sent to him that you were BCC'd in.

"She still smiles at me when I pass by her office," you chuckled.

Yuri was stunned, but something appeared to have clicked in her. You delivered the coup de grace and held her hand.

"Yuri, if our office is fucked up in its own way, then you're not." You rubbed your thumb on the back of her hand.

Yuri moved to the seat beside you and hesitated before leaning her head on your shoulder. "May I?," she asked softly, and you nodded.

She laid it all out, and you felt everything just shy of anger: every single rumor was only true in bare fact. Yes, she had indeed entered the houses of different bosses, but what all rumors miss out was that she'd actually ran away from all those bosses the second they made any advances on her. For some unfortunate reason, she'd been spotted every single time.

The finance officer story was different however: she did actually have sex with him, thrice by then, but he threatened blackmail over all those nights out with bosses if she didn't agree to officially be fuckbuddies; when she reported to the assistant HR manager, he asked for a one night stand, and she ran away from that too. Without any protections available, before she knew it, rumor spread.

"I'd have resigned by now," you blurted out, slamming your cup into the table. "Holy fuck."

"I'm not that affected by it, honestly," she said, a little tremble audible in her voice betraying her dismissal. "It just makes me... angry. That the one time I actually said yes, everything went to shit. And worse, I wasn't even satisfied. I was just crushing hard on him." She looked at you straight on. "He had a tiny dick too." You couldn't help but shake your head in secondhand embarrassment.

You didn't notice it, or when it happened, but your hands were fully intertwined with Yuri's. A lone, small tear rolled down her cheek, drying up as quickly as it came.

Your heart started thumping in your ears, not entirely out of nervousness, but with enough shame to make you squirm where you sat. But there would be no way out of it unless you told the truth.

You sighed deeply, the alcohol lifting your filters. "Great. Now this is going to look bad."

Yuri looked up at you. "What do you mean?"

"Just... promise me you'll believe I'm telling the truth, and I promise I will tell the truth."

Yuri nodded slowly, and you pulled out the notepad and flipped the page of your drawing of her.

"You saw this one, right?," you asked. She nodded, eyebrows furrowed.

"Wait, I only saw the details now... is that...," she trailed off.

"Yuri... I wanted to ask you out," you said softly.

You handed her the notepad again, back to the sketch of her. She looked at it quietly, without moving a muscle, but you saw a tear drop onto the paper, crinkling the thin sheet.

"And I was actually planning to ask you out tomorrow," you admitted. You flipped to the note you wrote in big letters the other day: 1 day. By now you'd crossed out numbers 2 through 7 and the s at the end.

"I guess it was half to find out more about those rumors, and half cause... well... because I wanted to know more about you first."

Yuri looked up at you, nose red and eyes glistening.

"And I'm asking you to trust me to not be doing this for the sex," you laughed nervously. You hovered your arm around her. "May I?"

Yuri instead kissed you on the cheek – not quickly, but softly, with gratitude. Her tears weren't of grief; her smile was so wide that it squeezed out the tears from her eyes.

"You're the first guy in this office who's ever actually asked me out."

You grinned and placed your arm around her, your cheeks side by side. The edges of your lips were practically in contact. Smiles turned into more gentle grins, before the both of your closed your eyes, not even a smirk on your mouths.

Yuri whispered softly, her voice slightly broken. "Please keep telling me what you like about me." You shifted your position so that she could lean her face onto yours more comfortably.

"I think you're really pretty. But you didn't need me to tell you that, did you?" She chuckled weakly.

"I also think you're nice," you continued. "You replaced my mug, remember? I never forgot that. I still use it."

As you kept talking, her face would face fully into your cheek, as if trying (and failing) to fight the urge to kiss you. Each time she did, you felt your cheek flush and your head sink into your shoulders.

"Gosh, you know what," you scoffed, "maybe you don't realize how pretty you are. Like, screw all those dirty old men in the office. You've got such a cute smile and cute eyes, and I just kinda wanna run my hand in your hair," and you did, gently, "like this. That's it."

Yuri wrapped her arms fully around your neck in a nice, comfy embrace, her face yet again right next to yours. It felt like a tango of your lips: you'd rub her cheek with yours, lips grazing it ever so lightly; she'd do the same, planting a minuscule, almost unintentional peck at the tip of your cheekbone. Your lips soon felt like they were grazing against each other, like you were both unsure if you'd jump ahead to the next step.

You kissed her on the cheek first; she responded with one on yours. You kissed her forehead; she kissed your chin. You kissed the tip of her nose, and she giggled, her smile still plastered on her face.

"Is this going too fast?," you asked.

Yuri bit her lip. "It's just the way I like it," she responded, before pulling you in for a deep one.

As far as first dates go, you hit the jackpot. In this moment, the world around you blurred out in the heat of her lips, the warmth of her mouth, and the twinkle in her eyes as she looked up at you.

"So," Yuri replied, her head tilting playfully, "where do we take this?"

=====

Yuri dragged you by the wrist like an excited kid in a playground. At every landing she'd wait for you and peck you on the cheek like a trail of breadcrumbs. You laughed at each one, and you indulged in it too, trying to race her to her floor and catching her in your arms, making out while in a tight embrace.

You were lost for adjectives to describe the the high you found yourself in: electric, by the energy flowing through you seemingly sourced from Yuri herself; fiery, by the passion of every kiss you shared; whirlwind, by the fact you weren't in control of the speed of it all – and you savored every second it.

Yuri fumbled with the lock on her door, giggling uncontrollably as you hugged her from behind and kissed her neck. When she did make it through, you both bumped into everything – the table, the dresser, a sofa – blindly navigating your way to the bed as your lips remained locked. Even there, when you thought a recalibration of pace was in order, she was still on you, hungry.

You landed on the bed, chest rising and falling heavily, and Yuri pinned you down by your hips, straddling you. She undid her polo swiftly, then her skirt, in a swift, almost rehearsed manner. She was humming, brimming with excitement, as she unclasped her bra and removed her panties – now fully naked before you.

She was perfect in all the right spots: meaty where it mattered, lean where it drew attention. When you gently reached out for her chest – and she pulled your hand to speed things up – it filled it just right. Another hand down to her thighs, your thumb teasingly close to her folds, and you felt just how excited she had been between her legs.

"Like what you see, baby?," she purred. The pet name made your heart race: it was so natural, so smoothly said. Try as you might to be more subtle, you felt your erection meet her slit.

Yuri lunged at you, kissing you with the same amount of passion as before. She undid your buttons, your belt, your pants, only needing you to take them off. You propped yourself off with an arm to do it yourself, but she was right on you, almost ripping your shirt off your shoulders.

In the midst of it all, her tongue deep into your mouth, her folds gliding over your shaft, feeling the wetness and heat practically oozing out, your ears started ringing. You couldn't quite shake it off, but it was like you were holding your breath, dazed and in a trance; something felt... off, and it was enough to keep your eyes open as she continued to go wild on your mouth.

"Yuri," you gasped, as if surfacing from the depths of your frantic makeout session. Yuri pushed you down again, shoving her tongue back into your mouth, chasing after a high that had slowly started to dissipate.

"Yuri," you breathed out, still out of breath from her onslaught on your lips. She licked at the skin on your neck and under your chin, every bump on her tongue making you flinch. It took wringing out every remaining sense of composure to grab her by the shoulders and lean your forehead on hers.

"Yuri." You said one last time, firmly. She stared and heaved at you like a scared kitten. "Calm down," you reassured. "You're going too fast."

She paused. "Don't you want this?," she said gently, with a half-meant smile. "Baby?"

"Yes, I do," you chuckled awkwardly, thrown off by the pet name once again. "But what do you want to do?"

She froze. It wasn't a time-stood-still, or a lost-in-thought kind of freeze; it felt more like a train had stopped completely on the tracks.

"W-what?," she stammered. Her breath was heavy as the warmth wafted all over your lips.

"What do you want to do?," you repeated. "Like, what do you want me to do? Where do you want me? What do you want to be done to you? God, that sounded weird." Yuri held her laugh nervously.

She sat up between your legs, prompting you to prop yourself up by your elbows. She stared off to the side, not at anything but in thought.

"Most guys don't ask me that," she replied, "No one's asked me that."

You reached up and kissed her lips, just once. "Then maybe let's start slower." You pulled her back where you were, her on top of you, and gave her another deep kiss. "Figure it out from here." You finally shed your underwear, now fully feeling the warmth of her body and the air on your skin.

You guided her by the chin to your lips again. Unlike a while back – torrid, sloppy, desperate – this one felt more calm, maybe even ambivalent. But it felt easier, and Yuri matching your pace was the sign you needed.

"It feels so weird to do this," Yuri shuddered, still inches from your face. "So slowly."

"We can stop," you responded, leaning your head back on the bed to provide distance. But her eyes still looked at you yearningly.

"No, please... please, keep going," she begged. "It's just that all those other men wanted things to go so fast I thought–"

"Stop," you said sternly, with authority. You didn't mean to command, but, as you'd tell her next, "don't think about that. If this was really your choice, you get to do this at your pace." Her eyes started welling with tears, though you could tell she was trying to hold it back.

"Here," you continued. You took her shoulders and guided her to swap places. Yuri was now completely under you, her limbs close to her body but still splayed out. You kissed her forehead one more time. "Let's start from here. Would you rather the last position with you on top? Over this?" She shook her head.

"So you want this?" She nodded.

You leaned in to kiss her, slowly; you felt her tongue push in, and you paused, withdrawing again to keep pace. Past the entirely unintended edging, Yuri's eyes yearned for you, wanted you. You met her lips again, trying to gauge if she would slow down, and she did, now hesitating to move. Now you moved in unison, wrapping and sliding around each other gently.

You brought a hand to her chest. "Do I?" She nodded again. You grabbed a bit too hard, and she flinched. "Sorry." Still, she kissed you, a tear slowly rolling down the side of her head.

"Is something wrong?," you asked, but Yuri just laughed.

"No, no, please, keep going," she responded. "I just feel so emotionally overwhelmed."

You played with her nipples, slightly puffy but very soft and pliant in your grasp. You broke from her lips to plant kisses on her chest, between her breasts, then sucking each nipple. Yuri moaned in pleasure, and without prompting cried out your name. Jackpot again.

You moved a hand down between her legs, searching for a reaction. She closed her thighs around your hand, and you pulled back. But Yuri brought it back in between, slowly inching your finger down the same way. You let her use your hand first, like a toy that just happened to have blood flowing through it. Then, slowly feeling your knuckles and ridges, she loosened up to you.

You felt her clit swollen and slippery, and as you flicked it gently her moans started to escalate in volume. Occasionally she would guide your wrists along different spots – sometimes lower, closer to her core, sometimes back to her clit, wanting it side-to-side than in circles – and you followed obediently, chasing after her yet elusive climax.

While you did, Yuri absolutely enjoyed moaning your name. She pulled you down so that your ear was right on her lips, rewarding you for your care. She'd whisper it between every moan, her lips gently brushing on your earlobe. Your cock may have hung in the air, but it twitched like crazy every time her lips trembled to you.

When she started to get sensitive, she pulled your hand out and, without warning, shoved it into your mouth. And holy fuck, that taste was addicting – a little metallic, a little sour, significantly saltier than expected, but you craved for more.

As you licked it all up, she brought your saliva-drenched fingers into her mouth, playfully twirling her tongue around your digits. "I want this in me," she groaned, once again bringing it down and sliding two of your fingers through her slit. You broke away gently, moving your arm on your own. Yuri looked like she had started sink into her bed, slowly undoing all the hesitations, the pains, feeling you inside her.

"One more finger, baby," she begged. "Stretch me out, please." Her wish was easily granted, and moans turned into loud huffs of ecstasy. You upped your pace, arm burning, just to please her, to get her to scream you into your ear.

Suddenly, Yuri started shaking. She grabbed your arm aggressively, staring at you with a mouth agape. She was close, so near her tipping point that all she could do was plead with her eyes to completely wreck her. And even as your bicep tensed, you rammed your hand as fast as you could.

Yuri released like a rollercoaster: a gentle, quiet calm, before aggressively writhing around, her hips swinging in the air even when your fingers had been freed. Her eyes were sealed shut, her arms gripped at anything it frantically could, before crashing down into a trembling cocoon. You wrapped your arms around her, and she felt cold to the touch, drenched in sweat and other fluids that had seeped into her sheets.

You rubbed your hands on her shoulders and back, kissing her forehead. "That was beautiful, Yuri," you praised. "You're so beautiful. You're safe here." You could hear a gentle sniffling from within.

"Are you okay, Yuri?, you asked, and a pair of reddened, damp eyes looked up at you. She leaned her head on your chest and rubbed her hand on it. She started giggling.

"Uhh... are you okay?," you asked again. You'd never have thought you could "break" someone this way.

"That was...," she paused, lost in thought, before giggling again. "I got nothing. That felt so good. How the hell are you so good at that?"

You laughed into her hair. "Don't worry about it. Are you okay?"

"Yeah... but what about you?," she pouted. "I didn't make you finish."

She was right. But you just held her tightly. "Slowly," you reassured. "Maybe tomorrow night, after we watch some Netflix, okay?"

"Okay," she smiled, leaning back into your chest for a single second. Her head shot up to look at you incredulously. "Did you just–"

"Gotcha," you winked.

—————

A/N: display picture filed under photos that made me feral

#girl group smut #kpop smut #male reader #izone smut #yuri smut #jo yuri smut

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lotusnleaves · 2 days ago

Text

Boxer! Mattheo who's gf is always fussing about his safety and he'd love to listen, if her lips weren't so enticing that is.....

You’d been pacing the kitchen, lecturing your boyfriend for the past 20 minutes as he stands across from you bloodied, bruised, and smirking—like he didn’t just come home from a match with a busted lip and a shoulder that looks very much dislocated.

“Matty, I’m serious,” you groaned, turning to face him fully. “You can’t keep coming home like this. You don’t even block half the punches you take. Like it’s some badge of honor every time they fuck your face up some more, and for what? To prove you’re tougher than the guy across from you?”

Mattheo leans against the counter, his cheek bruised and knuckles torn, looking like every bit of the beautiful disaster he is. “I am tougher than the guy across from me.”

“That’s not the point.” you groan, dragging your hands down your face and before you can speak again, he's tilts his head with that familiar shit-eating grin and he's reaching for your waist to which you swat his hand away

“Ohh,” he says slowly, biting his lip. “That’s what it is. You don’t want them messin’ up my pretty face ‘cause you love it so much, huh?”

You shoot him a glare. “Mattheo.”

“ I’m just sayin’ ” he shrugs, stooping to your level and your resisting the urge to slap him. “You were lookin’ real concerned for my jawline love.”

He’s watching you with that half-lidded, hazy stare—like you’re the only thing in the room that matters, like he isn’t half-concussed and bleeding. He's not even on the same planet as you right now as he shamelessly runs his eyes down your body

“You’re not listening to me, focus” you say, slower this time, eyes narrowing.

"I am focused, baby," he speaks, walking closer to you. His large palms rest on your hips as he tugs you closer.

" And I am listening. It’s hard, when you get all worked up like that tho, you just look so sexy"

“Matty—”

“No, no forreal” he says, crowding into your space with that reckless grin. “You, all fiery and shit' makes it real hard to focus on anything but that mouth.”

You press a finger to his chest

"You came home last week with a split eyebrow, the week before that it was your ribs, and now—" you sigh “I’m worried about you, not turned on,”

“Can’t it be both?” he murmurs now moving to kiss your neck .

You shove lightly but his grip keeps you still. “I’m being serious. You fight like you don’t care what happens to you.”

tilting his head he coaxes your arms around his neck “Not true. I care what you think happens to me.”

“Oh really?” You raise a brow, arms still around him.

“Mhmm” He leans in again. “ s'why im gonna let you kiss it better.”

“Mattheo, I swear—”

his lips are on yours before you can finish the threat he’s warm, gentle and tasting faintly of mint and dried blood though you cant help but hate yourself a little for being so easy for him because you can literally feel the argument evaporating on your tongue

"Matty please...." you whine trying not to melt into his touch but your so called anger depletes more with every second he's spending against you

"Keep talkin' pretty" he hums voice low and smug against your skin as he lazily kisses his way up your neck and along your jaw

You try to hold onto your irritation, you really do, but you let out the faintest moan and he definitely catches it.

"You are such a problem Mattheo" ” you breathe, fingers curling into the fabric of his wife beater as he kisses the corner of your mouth.

"Yeah" he whispers, lips brushing yours "but i'm your problem"

And before you can roll your eyes or pretend you’re still mad, without warning, his hands slide down to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly. You squeal, hands scrambling to hold onto his shoulders as he starts walking toward your shared bedroom like it’s already decided.

“Matty—!”

“Shh,” he grins “You can finish yelling at me in bed.”

inspo from a jj x reader that i can no longer find guyss if i do tho ima link it here.

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jungkoode · 2 days ago

Text

死 KKANGPAE | #20 死

† ghosts that haunt †

"Sometimes the most dangerous wounds are the ones that never bleed on the outside—they fester in silence until one wrong touch makes everything spill out."

next | index

— chapter details

word count: 9.4k

content: post-mission decompression featuring motorcycle rides through neon seoul, convenience store philosophy over cheap beer, jeon's emotional walls slamming back up harder than ever, j-hope's seven-year sobriety streak broken to protect y/n from v's predatory games, ad and j-hope's complex friendship revealing itself through crisis, gang members arguing about getting high like college kids, and the discovery that everyone in kkangpae carries demons they're trying to outrun

☠ author's note ☠

This chapter gutted me to write. Not because of the action (though, yes, Fervio's eye contact is a jumpscare), but because it begins cracking open the emotional center of the story. What begins as a seemingly quiet moment—a late-night beer, a 7/11 pit stop, a chance to breathe—becomes a confrontation with identity, projection, and the illusion of normalcy.

The psychology of this chapter is all about what we don't say. What we deflect. What we bury so deep, even tenderness feels like violence.

Jeon isn't pushing the reader away because he hates her. He's pushing because she sees him. And when your entire survival has depended on being unreadable, invisible, dangerous on purpose? Being seen is fucking terrifying. It strips you. It asks, what's left of me once I put the gun down?

Reader's mistake—understandable, human—is thinking that wanting to understand someone is inherently safe. That intention equals permission. And it doesn't. Not always. The line between empathy and intrusion is razor-thin when trauma's involved. And Jeon is not healed. He's fragmented, coiled like wire, and for him, vulnerability is not romantic—it's lethal.

This chapter is also the turning point where the reader starts to understand that being in Kkangpae isn't about who you kill. It's about who you let live in your head. Hobi, Jeon, AD—every single one of them is haunted. You don't get to this point in the underworld without dragging ghosts behind you, and this is the chapter where those ghosts stop being metaphorical.

Some of you will hate that Jeon lashes out. That he refuses softness. That he uses cruelty as armor. But that's the point. This story isn't about quick healing arcs or morally sanitized character growth. It's about what happens when you try to love someone who doesn't think they're lovable. And what happens when you realize you might not be either.

I'll say this again, because it matters: you are not owed someone's vulnerability just because you want it. And love—real love, the kind that survives places like this—isn't about unraveling someone until they break. It's about waiting at the door and letting them open it.

And sometimes, they don't.

Anyway. Hope you like the chapter ♡

— read on

read on ao3

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The thing about riding through Seoul at night with a man who's trying really hard to pretend you don't exist? It fucking sucks.

The wind whips past as you race through Seoul's neon jungle and it feels good—like it's scrubbing away all that weird tension from Jeon's ice-queen act earlier. At this point, the city's just a blur of lights and shadows, the bike's engine drowning out everything except your thoughts.

There's something weirdly freeing about being just another couple of idiots on a motorcycle at night.

Nobody knows you're gang members. Nobody knows about the psychos you just left behind. Nobody knows about whatever the fuck that 'Sylvia' thing was about.

Right now, you're just... existing.

You keep your arms wrapped around Jeon because you n̶e̶e̶d̶ have to. That cold dismissal of his still stings, but the speed and the night air make it easier to pretend it doesn't.

Almost easier.

The 7/11 sign catches your eye—this bright, artificial beacon of normalcy in the middle of all this chaos.

Something about it calls to you. Maybe it's because it's so fucking normal. Maybe you just need a minute to breathe air that doesn't taste like pine and secrets.

"Pull over," you say, tapping his shoulder and pointing at the store.

You're not even sure why you want to stop. Maybe you just need to stand on solid ground for a minute. Maybe you need to remind yourself that the regular world still exists outside of Kkangpae's bubble.

Jeon doesn't argue, just guides the bike to the curb with that nonchalance of his that makes everything look easy. The engine rumbles for a second before he kills it, and suddenly the night feels too quiet.

Your legs are shaky when you climb off, but it's not from the ride. It's something else—this weird mix of leftover adrenaline and... whatever the fuck that conversation did to your nerves.

You need something normal. Something that doesn't involve creepy yellow contacts or coded warnings or names that make Jeon shut down completely.

You watch the man himself pull off his helmet, his hair falling into his eyes in that annoyingly perfect way that one would think probably takes hours to practice.

He doesn't even steal a glance your way—just keeps this unreadable expression that doesn't give anything away.

Back to his usual self, huh.

He nods toward the store's entrance, and you think maybe he needs this break from reality too.

The 7/11's wacky lights hit different after spending so much time in that fancy-ass castle hidden in the woods.

The doors whoosh shut behind you, and suddenly you're wrapped in this bubble of artificial cool air and the smell of cheap coffee.

It's weirdly comforting, like stepping into a pocket dimension where you're just a normal person buying normal things.

If only.

You wander down the aisles, running your fingers over bags of chips and candy bars. It feels surreal—like playing pretend at being regular.

Four months ago, this was just another convenience store. Now it feels like visiting a museum of your old life, everything familiar but somehow distant.

Jeon's still outside, probably looking like the world's hottest security guard as he leans against his bike. You can feel him watching you through the windows, probably wondering what the fuck you're doing.

But he doesn't come in, doesn't rush you.

Maybe he gets it—this need to pretend everything's normal for five fucking minutes.

You grab some chips because your stomach's been doing that angry growling thing for the past hour. Add a drink because your throat's still dry from all that talking with Fervio and his creepy yellow contacts. Then your eyes land on the beer fridge, and yeah—after the night you've had? You definitely deserve alcohol.

The cashier looks about as dead inside as you feel, barely glancing at your random assortment of convenience store therapy. You kind of want to tell him "hey, at least you don't have to flirt with psychopaths for a living," but that might blow your cover.

Back outside, you hold up the beer like a peace offering.

"Thought you might need this," you say, trying to sound casual even though there's still this weird tension hanging between you from the whole thing.

His eyes flick from the beer to his bike, and suddenly there's this little smirk playing around his lips.

"You trying to get me fined?" The words come out all low and rough, and fuck—your body really needs to stop reacting every time he uses that voice. "Not sure how driving under the influence is gonna look on my resume."

You lean back against the bike, trying to look cool and unbothered even though your skin's still buzzing from earlier.

"Please," you scoff, "I've seen how you handle this thing. Pretty sure you could drive it in your sleep."

He smiles, but takes the beer, fingers brushing against yours, and god—even that tiny contact sends electricity shooting up your arm.

"Just one drink," Jeon says, popping the can open with this casual flick of his thumb that somehow manages to look cool. "Don't want you thinking you can lead me astray."

He takes a sip, and the inside lights from the 7/11 catch on the silver of his lip ring, on the curve of his throat as he swallows.

You find yourself staring for a second too long, because fuck—sometimes you forget how pretty he is when he's not being an emotionally constipated asshole.

You laugh, tension somehow bleeding out a bit. "Lead you astray? Please. You're already halfway to hell, and I'm pretty sure you bought a first-class ticket."

The sound that comes out of him is actually a real laugh—not that quiet chuckle he usually does, but something genuine that makes his nose scrunch up.

It's kind of adorable, not that you'd ever tell him that.

The night air shifts into something softer, like a warm summer rain.

"Can't argue with that," he says, and there's this little smirk playing around his lips. "At least I'm upfront about being a piece of shit."

The silence between you isn't awkward anymore. It's nice, actually.

The air smells like rain and city smoke, and somewhere in the distance, a siren wails.

Seoul at night—your new normal.

Jeon's looking at the skyline, all those fancy buildings cutting through the darkness.

He takes another drink, and you can't help but notice how relaxed he looks right now. His shoulders aren't carrying all that tension they usually do, like for once he's not expecting an attack from every shadow.

You get it, though. Sometimes you need these moments—these tiny pockets of almost-normal where you can pretend you're just two people sharing a drink instead of what you actually are.

Where the weight of everything you've seen, everything you've done, feels a little lighter.

Maybe that's why you fit together so well, in this weird, fucked-up way.

You both know what it's like to walk in the shadows, to wear masks and play parts.

To find comfort in the darker corners of the world.

God, you think, watching him take another sip. When did this get so complicated?

"Past has a way of being a real bitch, huh?" You murmur.

Jeon's still staring at the skyline when he responds. "Yeah. Can't let it fuck with the present though."

"Look at you, being all wise and shit."

You bump his shoulder with yours, trying to lighten the mood.

Because this? This feels dangerous. Like you're walking on thin ice, and one wrong step could send you both plunging into whatever darkness Jeon's carrying around.

Shadows morph his features when he turns slightly. You catch that little scar on his cheek again, looking deeper in this light, like a secret.

"What's got you thinking so hard?" His voice is quiet, curious. "Usually you're the one telling me to shut up and stop brooding."

Your eyes meet his, and fuck—there's something in that look that makes your chest feel tight.

"Just thinking about how we've all got our own demons to deal with." You take another sip of your drink, buying time. "Some people run from them. Some people let them ride shotgun."

The smirk that crosses his face is different this time—softer around the edges, less guard dog and more human.

"Didn't know you could get philosophical. Should I be worried?"

You laugh, and it feels real for once. Not the fake shit you've been throwing around all night with Fervio and his creepy yellow contacts.

"Fuck off. I contain multitudes."

It's quiet for a few seconds, comfortable until it isn't.

Because there's this annoying thing tinging your interactions with him ever since you asked about Sylvia.

"Hey," you say, keeping your voice gentle. "Whatever ghost you're carrying around? It doesn't define you."

For a second, you think he's going to shut down again, throw up those walls and go back to being Chief Jeon, the untouchable assassin.

You're already turning toward the bike, ready to pretend this conversation never happened.

But then he lets out this breath that sounds like he's been holding it for years, and that makes you look back at him.

His eyes now are less storm and more rain, like maybe he's too tired to keep the hurricane spinning.

"That simple, huh?" His voice is rough around the edges. "Just... let it go?"

You stay perfectly still, like he's some wild animal that might bolt if you move too fast.

Because this feels like the first time ever you've seen him less guarded emotionally.

"Nah," you say carefully. "Not simple at all. But maybe it doesn't have to be this heavy all the time."

The look he gives you then—it's like he's seeing you for the first time. Really seeing you, not just looking through you like he usually does.

Dangerous, you think again.

But maybe that's exactly what you both need.

"Maybe," he says, so quiet you almost miss it. "But when your past is full of fuck-ups and dead bodies, it tends to stick around."

The words hit different—not because of what he's saying, but how he's saying it. As if he's cracking open his chest and showing you something he usually keeps locked down tight.

You move closer before you can stop yourself, drawn in by this rare moment of honesty.

Close enough to see the way his jaw works as he tries to keep his shit together.

Close enough that you can smell pine and mint and leather and cigarette stubs.

"Jungkook." His real name feels heavy on your tongue, important. "The past doesn't have to define you. It's just... part of the story."

You take another step closer, watch how his whole body goes tense, and those dark eyes keep flickering between yours, asking questions he won't voice out loud.

He swallows hard—you watch his throat work—then suddenly jerks his head away like he can't stand to look at you anymore.

"Don't," he says, barely above a whisper, like hurts coming out.

You frown, caught off guard by the sudden shift.

"Don't what?"

He doesn't respond at first, just lets silence fill the void.

When he finally looks back, his eyes are different—harder, distant. Like he's building walls as fast as he can.

"Don't look at me like that," he says, and there's something almost angry in his voice.

"Like what?"

His mouth opens, closes, opens again. The muscle in his jaw jumps.

When he finally speaks, the words come out rough, almost accusatory:

"Like... like I'm something you want to figure out"

Oh, you think. Oh, fuck.

Because maybe you do want to figure him out. Maybe you want to understand him way more than you should.

You're not sure what to say—if there even is anything to say that won't make this worse.

Because Jeon's always been this complicated puzzle of sharp edges and hidden depths, but you're starting to realize it was never about solving him.

Maybe it was just about... seeing him. Really seeing him.

It's almost as if he's scared—not of you, exactly, but of being seen.

Of someone looking past Chief Jeon, the cold-blooded assassin, and finding whatever's left of the person underneath.

You stay perfectly still, barely breathing. It feels like one wrong move could shatter whatever's happening here.

Then something in him just... breaks.

He backs away so fast you almost stumble, his whole body going rigid like he's preparing for a fight.

His tongue presses against the inside of his cheek—that nervous tell you've started to recognize—and when he speaks, his voice is freezing.

"I'm not your fucking project," he snarls. "Not some broken toy you can fix when you're bored."

You flinch, caught off guard by the venom in his voice.

"What? Jungkook, that's not what I—"

"Jeon." He cuts you off, stepping right into your space until you have to tilt your head back to look at him. "Not Jungkook. Not to you."

The correction hits like a slap, like an invisible wall slamming down so fast it leaves you dizzy.

"Jeon," you try again, but he's not done.

"You think I haven't noticed?" His voice drops lower, dangerous. "All your little questions, your fucking looks. Like if you just dig deep enough, you'll find something worth saving."

"I was just trying to—"

He laughs, and it's an ugly sound.

"To what? Understand me? Help me? Save your fucking pity. I see right through you, watching me like I'm some damaged little puppy you can nurse back to health."

The accusation makes something hot and angry flare in your chest.

"That's bullshit and you know it. I've never thought of you as weak."

"No?" His jaw clenches so hard you can see the muscle jump. "Then why are you always trying to get in my head? Acting like you know me, like you have any fucking clue what I've been through?"

He spins away from you, dragging his fingers through his hair like he's trying to tear it out, violent.

When he turns back, his eyes are burning with something that looks too much like fear dressed up as anger.

"What, you think because we fuck sometimes that gives you the right to play therapist?" His voice drops low, dangerous. "A few heart-to-hearts and suddenly you think you've got me all figured out? You don't know shit about me or the things I've done."

"You're right, I don't," you snap back, refusing to back down even though your chest feels tight. "And not because I haven't tried."

His face twists into something ugly. "Yeah, because the last time I let someone in, it ended in fucking bloodshed. One I'm still paying for!"

That makes you swallow, the knot in your chest twisting more tightly.

But Jeon's not done—he's like a shark that's smelled blood in the water.

"I don't need your fucking pity. I'm not some broken little boy for you to fix up and save. I've been handling my shit just fine without your amateur psychology bullshit."

The words sting, but there's something desperate in the way he's throwing them at you—pushing you away before you can get any closer.

"I never said you needed fixing, you absolute—"

"Then what?" He cuts you off, voice sharp as glass. "What exactly did you want? Access to my tragic backstory? Keep your savior complex to yourself. I'm not interested."

"You don't have to be such a dick about it," you say, and fuck—your voice comes out shakier than you meant it to.

"No? Then how about this: there's nothing here for you to see. So drop the fucking act."

"Act?" You actually laugh, but it's not a happy sound. "That's rich coming from you, Mr. Big Bad Wolf. Should I howl at the fucking moon? Maybe then we'd speak the same language."

"That's the problem right there! You trying to speak the same language. There's nothing to try. Nothing to fix. Nothing to understand. So back the fuck off."

"Right. My bad. Sorry for giving a shit, I guess."

"Keep working on it. Maybe one day you'll achieve perfect emotional constipation like the rest of us."

The sarcasm in his voice makes you want to scream. Or cry. Or maybe both.

When you don't immediately snap back, he makes this sound in the back of his throat—this ugly, disgusted sound.

"Fuck this. We're done here."

He turns to leave, but something makes you reach out, fingers wrapping around his arm before you can think better of it.

The muscle under your hand goes rock hard, and when he looks down at where you're touching him, his eyes are cold enough to freeze hell.

You let go like he's burning you, but you plant your feet. You're not backing down, not this time.

"Look," you say, keeping your voice soft but firm. "I get it, okay? Opening up is scary as shit. But it doesn't make you weak, Jeon. Might even help, whenever you're ready."

He stares at you, and for a second—just a second—something cracks in his expression. Like maybe he's tired of carrying whatever weight is crushing him. But then the walls slam back up so fast it gives you whiplash.

"Then you can sit there and wait until you fucking rot," he says, voice colder than a morgue drawer.

He jerks away from you, spinning toward the bike with the kind of finality that screams conversation over.

You stand there, anger and frustration mixing in your chest until you feel like you might explode.

"Bold of you to assume I've got that kind of patience," you throw at his back.

He freezes mid-step, and you see his shoulders tense.

When he speaks, his voice is completely flat, like all the life's been drained out of it.

"Even better."

Then he's swinging his leg over the bike, waiting for you to climb on so he can pretend this whole thing never happened.

Like he can outrun his demons if he just drives fast enough.

Stubborn asshole, you think, walking toward the bike.

But you're starting to realize that maybe his walls aren't just for show.

Maybe they're holding back something that terrifies him more than any enemy ever could.

You swing off the bike on slightly shaky legs, yanking the helmet off and trying to get your hair under control.

Jeon's doing that thing where he runs his fingers through his hair, making it look effortlessly messy and hot at the same time, which is annoying when you're trying to stay p̶i̶s̶s̶e̶d̶ professional.

His face is blank, but you can read the tension in his shoulders. You get it—going against direct orders to play nice with MDF's resident psychopath probably wasn't your brightest moment. Not to mention that whole clusterfuck of a conversation outside the 7/11.

"Time to get our asses handed to us," he mutters, and his jaw is clenched so tight you're worried he might crack a tooth.

You follow him inside, each step echoing off stone walls like a countdown to execution.

The walk to the council room feels longer than usual, probably because your stomach's doing gymnastics while Jeon walks ahead like he's heading to his own funeral.

The council room hits you with a brightness that makes you squint. All nine chiefs are already there, seated around that stupidly long table like some corporate board meeting from hell. They turn to look at you both, and you brace yourself for the shitstorm.

But then—what the fuck?

The room explodes with cheers and applause.

You actually take a step back, wondering if you've somehow walked into an alternate dimension. Beside you, Jeon goes completely still, like someone hit his pause button.

The Council is losing their collective mind. J-Hope's whistling like he's at a concert, V's cackling like a hyena, and even RM's got this smile on his face that makes him look ten years younger.

What timeline is this?

"Brilliant work!" RM's voice cuts through the chaos, and you're pretty sure your jaw's on the floor. "You've exceeded all expectations."

You look at Jeon, completely lost. "What the—?"

And then it hits you—the earpieces weren't just for show—the Council heard everything.

Every word with Fervio, they watched you dance with the devil and somehow come out on top.

"A partnership with MDF as independent traders?" Moon sounds like someone just handed him a winning lottery ticket. "That changes things."

You're still trying to process how you went from expecting a punishment to... this.

But one look at Jeon tells you he's just as thrown as you are. His eyes are slightly wider than usual, which for him is basically the equivalent of screaming in confusion.

Well, this is definitely not how you expected this night to end.

The rest of the Council starts talking over each other, throwing around words like "brilliant" and "game-changing."

You feel your face heat up—partly from pride, partly because this is not the ass-kicking you were expecting. Next to you, Jeon's got that look on his face, the one that says he's about three seconds from calling bullshit on this whole situation.

"What the fuck?" he growls.

There it is.

"We literally did exactly what you told us not to do."

The room quiets down as RM raises his hand, and even through the chaos, everyone snaps to attention. That's the kind of respect he commands.

"Yeah, you went against orders," he says, and his voice has that careful neutral tone that could go either way. "But you also just handed us the biggest opportunity we've had in years. Sometimes disobedience pays off."

The Council members nod like those bobblehead dolls people put in their cars.

Jeon's eyebrow does that tiny twitch thing it does when he's really f̶u̶c̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ pissed.

"This could be huge for us." J-Hope's voice is serious, none of his usual snark. "But one wrong move and we're all fucked six ways to Sunday."

Flower leans forward, her dark eyes sharp. "Especially with that psycho Fervio involved. He's probably just waiting for us to slip up."

RM's got that look on his face, the one that means his big brain is working overtime. "It's a risk, sure. But it's one we need to take. And we'll need our best people on this."

The silence that follows feels like it weighs a ton.

Everyone's thinking the same thing—this could either be Kkangpae's biggest win or its worst nightmare.

"The cover story worked perfectly," RM continues, and you can practically feel Jeon's shoulders tensing up beside you. "Fervio bought the whole illegal arms dealers slash married couple act. We can use that."

Jeon exhales loudly; eyes darkening a shade. His face stays blank, but you know him well enough by now to see the storm brewing behind those dark eyes.

"I want you both to keep playing these roles," RM says, leaning forward in his chair. "The power-hungry married couple looking to make it big in the underworld. It's perfect."

Your brain short-circuits for a second because what? This means more pretending to be married to Jeon. More acting like a couple. More of...

"With Fervio thinking you're on his side, we'll finally get inside MDF." RM continues. "This is the break we've been waiting for."

He looks between you and Jeon, and his expression turns serious.

"Can you handle it?"

"Yeah, of course," is your reply.

RM catches Jeon's tension—of course he does, he doesn't miss anything. His voice softens just a fraction.

"I know what I'm asking, Jeon. Especially from you." He trails off for a second, like he's choosing his next words carefully. "We can't change what happened before. But this? This is bigger than personal history."

There's something heavy in those words, something that makes your ears prick up.

Is this about Sylvia? That name you caught over the comms, the one that made Jeon shut down faster than a computer during a power surge?

You want to ask—god, you want to ask so badly it hurts. But after that disaster outside the 7/11? Yeah, not happening.

Some secrets in Kkangpae are meant to stay buried. You're learning that the hard way.

Jeon just nods, short and sharp. "Understood."

"Good." RM's voice has that final tone that means orders are being given. "You'll be our inside track to Fervio's operation. Get close, find weaknesses, but don't take stupid risks."

The Council members nod along, looking all serious and determined. Everyone knows this is huge—dangerous as fuck, but huge.

The meeting breaks up, and reality starts sinking in. You're really doing this. Playing happy married couple with Jeon while trying not to get murdered by a psychopath who gets off on torture.

Cool. Cool cool cool.

You glance at Jeon, trying to read his expression. But those dark eyes might as well be black holes for all they give away.

You can't decipher what he's thinking. At all. But he's not happy about it, whatever it is.

Then he just... nods at RM and walks out. No goodbye, no look back, nothing. Just turns on his heel and disappears through the door like he can't get away fast enough.

You watch Jeon storm out like he's got hellhounds on his heels. Something about it makes your chest feel tight. J-Hope must notice you staring because he leans in, voice pitched low so only you can hear.

"Don't take it personal, kid. Jeon's got... history with this kind of thing."

You turn to him, frowning. "What, following orders? Or not following them?"

"More like..." J-Hope pauses, and you can practically see him picking his words like he's defusing a bomb. "Let's just say he's not a fan of the Council being flexible with rules."

Your frown deepens. There's something here you're missing, some context that would make this all make sense.

"Because he's a stickler for protocol?"

"Because the Council doesn't do flexible." J-Hope says the word like it tastes bad. "Never has."

He glances at the door Jeon disappeared through, something dark crossing his face.

"Rules exist for a reason. And when they get bent or broken... well. Let's just say Jeon knows firsthand what that costs."

You let that sink in for a moment, turning it over in your head.

"This is about Sylvia, isn't it?"

The name drops between you like a stone in still water.

J-Hope goes completely still, and for a second, you see something flash across his face—pain? Anger? But then it's gone.

"Sylvia," he says, like he's testing how the name feels in his mouth. Then he shakes his head. "That's not my story to tell. If Jeon wants you to know about that particular clusterfuck, he'll tell you himself."

Gentleness finds his eyes then, looking as if he feels bad for you, stumbling around in the dark while everyone else seems to know where all the landmines are buried.

"Just... give him time, Jeon's got his reasons for being the way he is. And pushing him to talk about it?" He lets out a low whistle. "That's a real good way to make sure he never does."

You chew on your bottom lip, processing.

It's obvious there's more going on here—some whole tragic backstory (funny how he mentioned those two exact words) you're not cleared to know about.

"Yeah, okay," you say finally. "Everyone's got their demons, right? He can keep his locked up if he wants."

J-Hope's smile is small but genuine. He squeezes your shoulder, and his touch is surprisingly gentle for someone who patches up gunshot wounds for a living.

"Smart girl. And hey—Jeon might act like he's made of ice, but..." He trails off, thoughtful. "Let's just say I've seen him care about things before. Even when he probably wishes he didn't."

Great, you think. More cryptic bullshit.

But maybe that's just how things work around here. Maybe some secrets need to stay buried until they're ready to come out on their own.

You just hope you're still around when they do.

You give J-Hope a grateful smile, making a mental note to back off with the Sylvia questions.

Some wounds need time to heal, and pushing Jeon before he's ready would just make him shut down harder.

For now, maybe it's better to focus on what you do have—even if that's just really good sex.

Your philosophical moment gets interrupted by V's voice, bright and chaotic as ever.

"Well, I think this calls for drugs and alcohol!" He sounds way too excited about potentially getting everyone high.

J-Hope's head whips around so fast you're worried he might need to treat himself for whiplash.

"Absolutely fucking not!" His voice goes full doctor-mode stern. "Or did you all collectively forget the shitshow that happened last time?"

V just grins that manic grin of his, the one that usually means trouble's coming. "Aw, come on, Doc! We're all grown-ups here. What's the worst that could happen?"

(You make a mental note to never ask that question in a gang full of assassins.)

"Fuck them drugs," AD perks up from his corner, actually looking interested in something that isn't computers for once. "I'm rolling a joint and zoning out in my corner."

"Dibs on the good stuff!" Jessi's practically bouncing in her seat. "It's been forever since I got properly fucked up. Let's make it a party!"

Flower leans forward. "Anyone got acid? Because I've been wanting to try that."

JM's watching all this go down with that calm lake energy of his, looking way too amused.

"Face it, Doc. You're fighting a losing battle here."

"You too, Jimin?" J-Hope looks personally offended. "I'm the medical professional here. You know, the one who has to deal with your dumb asses when things go wrong?"

Moon just sits there with his usual zen master vibe, like he's watching children argue about candy.

"Perhaps we can find a middle ground that doesn't end in medical emergencies?"

"Moon's got a point," RM says, and you can practically see him calculating the odds of this turning into a disaster. "There's probably a way to do this that doesn't involve J-Hope having an aneurysm."

You lean back, watching chaos unfold in real time.

Because apparently this is your life now—sitting in a high-tech castle while a bunch of deadly assassins argue about getting high like college students planning spring break.

What even is your life?

J-Hope throws his hands up like he's trying to physically catch his last shred of sanity.

"There's no middle ground with you hooligans!" His voice hits that pitch that means someone's about to get a medical lecture. "Last fucking time Hyunjoo nearly turned our whole operation into a bonfire because she thought her instant ramen needed to be cooked with actual fire!"

Jessi's trying (and failing) to hold back her laughter, which only makes J-Hope more agitated.

"And you—" He whirls on AD, who's slouching in his chair looking done with life. "Two days! You disappeared for two whole days!"

"I was finding peace with nature," he mutters, checking his nails. "Weed is enlightening."

"The only thing enlightening was how many bug bites you got on your ass, you absolute disaster."

J-Hope's not done though—oh no, he's just getting started.

"And let's not forget Tae's brilliant fucking idea to invite the cops over for a party." J-Hope's voice drips sarcasm. "All because he wanted to, and I quote, 'party with the law'."

V sprawls in his chair, looking delighted by the memory. "Come on, Doc. Live a little! What's the point of being criminals if we can't have some fun with it?"

You watch J-Hope's soul leave his body in real time. His shoulders slump, and he lets out this long-suffering sigh that probably took years off his life.

"Fine. Fine. You win, you bunch of walking medical emergencies." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "But when you're all hugging toilets tomorrow and crying about how you can see through time, don't come running to me!"

The look on his face says he knows exactly where he'll be tomorrow—patching up whatever chaos this lot manages to create while high off their asses.

But that's tomorrow's problem. Tonight? Tonight's about to get real interesting.

Well, at least being in a gang is never boring.

"Ramen's on the stove!" Jessi's voice bounces off the castle walls like a rubber ball on crack. "No naked forest adventures this time, Doc, I promise!"

The castle's kitchen usually looks like something out of a luxury real estate listing. But right now? It's more like a college party gone wild, if college parties were thrown by professional killers.

You're posted up against one of those fancy counters, watching chaos unfold with a mix of amusement and holy shit, are we really doing this?

The prospect of trying acid for the first time is making your stomach do this weird flippy thing—half excitement, half terror. Mostly terror. But hey, when in Rome (or in this case, when in a high-tech castle full of assassins planning to get absolutely blasted)...

J-Hope sidles up next to you, and his sandalwood scent cuts through the MSG-heavy air. His face says 'I'm so done with this shit' but his eyes are doing that thing where he's trying not to look amused.

"Look at these fucking morons," he mutters, watching Jessi wave a wooden spoon around like she's conducting an orchestra. "It's like babysitting toddlers. Toddlers with access to weapons and illegal substances."

You bump his shoulder with yours. "Aw, come on. Don't act like you don't love playing mom friend to this disaster crew."

He gives you this look that's half exasperation, half fondness. "The entertainment value? Sure. The aftermath? Not so much."

His eyes track Jessi as she does some kind of interpretive dance with the ramen pot.

"Last time, I spent a week dealing with the fallout. Do you know how hard it is to treat someone who's convinced their fingers turned into snakes? Because I do. I really, really do."

You can't help but laugh because yeah, that tracks.

"But look at everyone," you say, gesturing at the room full of deadly assassins acting like actual human beings for once. "When's the last time you saw the divisions mixing like this? Usually everyone's too busy being dramatic and mysterious."

J-Hope lets out this long-suffering sigh that probably took years off his life. "Yeah, yeah. Just... try not to lose your mind completely on the acid, okay? I really don't want to explain to RM why one of our newest recruits is trying to have a philosophical debate with the security cameras."

"Please," you scoff, even though your heart does a little jump at the thought. "I'll be fine. Just curious to see what all the fuss is about."

"That's what Tae said," J-Hope deadpans. "Right before he decided the trees needed a strip show."

You lean against the counter, watching the chaos unfold around you.

It's kind of wild how a bunch of professional killers can act like college kids at a frat party. But that's Kkangpae for you—one minute you're infiltrating rival gang territory, the next you're watching Jessi try to juggle instant ramen packets.

J-Hope's steady presence beside you feels grounding through the general mayhem. Even when he's complaining about having to babysit a bunch of 'walking medical emergencies,' you can hear the fondness in his voice.

He's such a mom friend, not that you'd ever tell him that to his face.

Having J-Hope here, with his medical knowledge and surprisingly good dad jokes, makes the idea of trying acid feel less intimidating.

At least someone will know what to do if you start seeing dragons or whatever.

Then V materializes like he's been summoned by the promise of bad decisions, carrying a tray of shots that probably contain enough alcohol to strip paint. His grin is all teeth and trouble as he slides up to you both.

"Special delivery," he practically purrs, pushing a shot glass your way. The liquid inside looks radioactive. "A little something to kick-start your journey to enlightenment."

J-Hope's hand shoots out faster than you can blink, blocking the shot like he's defending a goal.

"Absolutely fucking not. Mixing alcohol with psychedelics? That's a one-way ticket to the worst night of your life."

"Aw, come on, Doc." V's eyes glitter with that dangerous playfulness he gets sometimes. "Let the girl live a little. It's just one tiny shot."

You watch J-Hope's face do this thing where he's trying really hard not to lose his patience. His jaw tightens, but his voice stays professional.

"This isn't about living. It's about not ending up in medical because someone thought mixing drugs was a good idea."

V leans in, and suddenly the air feels thick with tension. "When did you get so boring, Hoseok? Used to be you knew how to have fun."

The use of J-Hope's real name makes his whole body go rigid, and something dark flashes across his face.

Welp, this is about to get real uncomfortable.

"This isn't about being scared," J-Hope says, and his voice has that edge he gets when someone's pushing his buttons. "It's about not wanting to spend my night pumping stomachs because you idiots can't make good choices."

V's smile turns sharp, thorny vines of his aura creeping into the air between them. "Or maybe you're just projecting your own issues onto everyone else, our pride and hope."

Oh shit.

The temperature in the room drops about ten degrees.

You watch J-Hope's hands curl into fists, sandalwood notes in the air turning bitter.

"That's enough." J-Hope's voice could freeze hell. "This isn't about me. It's about keeping people alive."

"Alive? From what?" V's laugh has too many teeth. "The big bad vodka monster?"

"It's not about the fucking vodka, Taehyung—"

"I mean, I get it—"

"—for fuck's sake, she's not—"

"—vodka's Russian and all but—"

"—it's not about the goddamn—"

"—Putin ain't gonna jump out the bottle—"

The overlapping voices make your head spin, but then—holy shit.

J-Hope snatches the shot right out of V's hand and downs it like it's water. The room goes so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

V actually shuts up for once, thorns retreating like he's been slapped. Everyone's staring, probably thinking the same thing you are: What the actual fuck just happened?

The empty glass hits the counter with a clink that sounds like a gunshot in the silence.

"There," J-Hope says, voice empty. "Problem solved."

Then he just... walks away. Like he didn't just do something that has everyone's jaws on the floor.

V blinks like his brain's still buffering, but because he's V, he bounces back in seconds. That million-watt smile slides back into place like it never left.

"Well, fuck me sideways," he says, turning back to you with a laugh. "Looks like the good doctor's still got some surprises up his sleeve."

Thorns wrap around the room again, playful and dangerous.

"Now, about that acid trip you're planning. Just remember—if you need a spirit guide through the gates of perception, I'm your man."

He throws you a wink and floats off to terrorize someone else with his tray of shots, leaving you to wonder what the hell kind of drama you just witnessed.

Note to self, you think, watching J-Hope's figure make it out the doors. Never mention vodka around those two.

AD materializes then like some tech gremlin summoned from his cave, clutching a bag of weed and another one of acid.

He does that thing where he pretends not to care about anything or anyone, scanning the room with his typical 'everyone here is an idiot' expression.

"Well, if it isn't our favorite antisocial hacker," you say, watching him do his best impression of someone who definitely isn't looking for a specific person.

His face scrunches up like he's tasted something sour.

"Where's the walking medical textbook?" he asks, and you can hear the eye roll in his voice even though his face stays neutral.

Classic AD—pretending he's not worried about J-Hope's whereabouts.

"You mean J-Hope?"

"No, I mean the other mother hen who follows me around telling me to eat vegetables. Yes, J-Hope."

He starts unpacking his little bag of happiness onto the counter, then grabs a rolling paper with two fingers—gentle, like he's holding a butterfly wing—and brings it up to his lips.

"Lucy for the newbie," he mutters, holding up the other tiny plastic bag between his fingers like it's a USB drive containing nuclear codes.

"He left," you say, taking the bag and examining it because apparently that's what you do with illegal drugs now.

Your life is weird.

AD's eyebrow shoots up in that way that says 'elaborate before I hack your phone and set all your alarms to 3 AM.'

"V was being V, trying to get me to drink before dropping acid. J-Hope wasn't having it."

"What, did he storm off to avoid watching his precious patient make bad decisions?" AD snickers, but there's something almost fond in his voice. "He gets pretty pissy about alco—"

"Actually," you cut him off, matching his grin "he grabbed the shot, downed it like a champ, and bounced. Total power move."

The change in AD's face is like watching someone hit ctrl+alt+delete on his entire personality.

The smirk drops so fast it probably left skid marks.

"He did what?"

"Yeah, just... knocked it back and walked out. Pretty badass, if you ask—"

"What was in the glass?" His voice goes sharp, all traces of amusement gone.

"What?"

"The fucking shot, what was in it?" There's something urgent in his tone that makes your stomach drop.

"I don't know, V said something about vodka—"

"Fuck." AD drags his fingers through his hair like he's trying to pull it out. "Fuck fuck fuck."

"What's wrong with—"

"Where's V?" he snarls, and holy shit, you've never heard him sound like that before.

You can't help but inwardly panic as AD's face cycles through about fifteen different shades of murder.

AD's eyes lock onto V like a heat-seeking missile, and suddenly he's moving with the kind of purpose that usually ends in bloodshed. You watch him shove V hard enough to make the chestnut-haired man stumble back into Moon's drink setup, glasses rattling dangerously.

"What the actual fuck?" V catches himself, bristling with barely contained rage.

"You gave him vodka?" AD's voice is deadly quiet. The kind of quiet that comes before violence. "You fucking knew—"

"He took it himself!" V straightens up, getting right in AD's face, smile cruel. "Not my problem if your precious doctor can't handle his shit."

"I'm going to rearrange your fucking face—" AD's hands curl into fists.

"Try it, you basement-dwelling freak. Maybe if you spent less time obsessing over Hobi's sobriety and more time getting over your pathetic crush—"

You move before your brain can catch up with what a monumentally stupid idea this is.

Getting between two Chiefs when they're about to throw down? Definitely not in the Kkangpae employee handbook.

But guilt's churning in your stomach because you were there.

You watched J-Hope take that shot and did nothing.

"AD," you say, keeping your voice soft but firm. Everyone's staring at you like you've lost your mind, and maybe you have. "This isn't helping. We need to find J-Hope."

AD's practically vibrating with rage, and V's thorny aura is sharp enough to draw blood. But finally, finally, AD takes a step back.

"Fucking narcissistic asshole," he spits at V as he turns away. "Too busy jerking off your own ego to give a shit about anyone else."

V's laugh follows you down the hallway, high and unhinged. "Aw, don't be like that, Yoongi! I thought we were having fun!"

You follow AD, his muttered curses painting the air blue.

After that disaster with Jeon earlier, you're not sure you should push for answers. But worry's gnawing at your gut.

"Is he going to be okay?"

AD lets out this heavy sigh that sounds like it starts in his toes. His eyes keep scanning every corner, every shadow.

"I don't... fuck. He..." He drags his fingers through his hair, messing up the blonde strands. "Hobi's got history with alcohol, alright? Bad history. He's been clean for... Christ, I don't even know how many years."

Shit.

You watch AD practically vibrate with nervous energy as he searches, and suddenly his reaction makes a lot more sense.

"We'll find him," you say, and you mean it.

Because maybe you can't fix whatever's going on with Jeon (and it's not your job anyway), but this?

This you can help with.

AD nods sharply, his face set in grim determination. "Yeah. We fucking better."

You and AD split up to search the castle, which is exactly as fun as it sounds—like playing hide and seek in a maze designed by someone with a sick sense of humor.

But you keep going because it's J-Hope. The guy who patches everyone up without judgment, who keeps this chaotic family of killers alive despite their best efforts to the contrary.

He deserves someone in his corner for once.

The party noise fades as you climb higher in the castle, until all you can hear is your own footsteps echoing off stone walls.

It's weird seeing these halls so empty—usually there's at least a few people around, heading to missions or sneaking off for... whatever.

Then you turn a corner and your heart does this weird flip thing when you see J-Hope's there, crumpled against a column like someone cut his strings. His knees are pulled up to his chest, head down, and fuck—seeing him like this feels wrong. Like walking in on something you weren't meant to see.

The empty glass beside him makes your stomach twist.

"J-Hope?"

He lifts his head so slowly it hurts to watch. His eyes meet yours, and that's worse somehow. All that warmth and steadiness that makes him J-Hope is just... gone.

"Hey," he says, voice barely above a whisper.

"Hey yourself." You drop down next to him, trying to keep your voice gentle. "How're you holding up?"

"Just fantastic." His laugh is hollow, and the smile he gives you is about as real as the designer bags they sell in back alleys.

You bite your lip, wanting to help but not sure how. Your hand finds his shoulder, trying to say without words that he's not alone in whatever this is.

"What you did back there, protecting me from that shot? You didn't have to. But... thanks. For caring. You're good at that, you know? The caring part."

He looks at you for a long moment before his head drops again, but this time his smile seems a little more genuine. A little less broken.

"AD told you about the alcohol thing, didn't he?"

You tense up, your hand going still on his shoulder. Shit. You don't want him thinking AD was gossiping about his personal shit, but—

"It's fucking stupid," he says before you can explain, and his voice is so soft it makes your heart hurt. "Everyone here's got blood on their hands, trauma up to their eyeballs, and I'm falling apart over some fucking vodka."

Your grip on his shoulder tightens. "Hey, no. Pain isn't a competition. Your demons aren't any less valid just because they come in a bottle instead of a bullet."

J-Hope stares at his thighs like they hold all the answers to the universe, keeping quiet for a few seconds like he needs it. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough around the edges.

"Seven years," he says, like he's counting each one in his head. "Seven fucking years without touching a drop. Made that promise to myself when I joined Kkangpae. Thought I'd take it to my grave."

His eyes are different now—missing that sharp focus that usually makes him look like he's scanning for injuries. Instead, they're glossy with tears he won't let fall. The sandalwood scent in the air is muted, dulled.

"Used to be a doctor, you know? A good one. Fucking naive though." He lets out this hollow laugh that makes your chest hurt. "Thought I could change things from the inside. Make a difference in that corrupt shitshow they call healthcare."

You stay quiet, letting him get it out. Sometimes silence says more than words.

"You can't—" His voice catches. "You have no idea what it's like in there. The fucking politics of who lives and who dies. Had this kid once, sweet little thing. Needed emergency surgery. But some rich asshole's cousin needed a cosmetic procedure, and guess who got the operating room?"

Your stomach turns as the implications hit. J-Hope's face twists like he's tasting something bitter.

"I watched that kid die. Right there on my table. And you know what the hospital director said? 'These things happen.' Like it was a fucking paperwork error." His hands are shaking now. "That wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was how normal it was. People dying because they couldn't pay, while others bought their way to the front of the line."

He takes this shuddering breath that sounds like it hurts.

"Started drinking to numb it. Just a little at first—a shot before bed, something to take the edge off. But that's how it gets you, right? One shot becomes two, becomes a bottle, becomes..." He gestures vaguely at himself. "Becomes this."

"You were an alcoholic?" The words come out soft, careful.

"Yeah." It's barely a whisper. "Lost everything. My job, my license, my apartment. Ended up sleeping under bridges, spending whatever I could beg or steal on cheap vodka. Real fucking inspirational story, right?"

When he looks at you, the raw pain in his eyes makes your heart squeeze.

"Then RM found me. Saw something worth saving in this drunk piece of shit passed out behind a dumpster. Gave me purpose again. A chance to help people without all the bureaucratic bullshit."

He picks up the empty shot glass, turning it in his hands like it might bite him.

"That's why I swore off drinking. Not just for me—for RM, for everyone here who gave me a second chance when I didn't deserve one."

You watch him struggle with words, with memories, with demons you can't see but can feel in the heaviness of his words.

"Found a family here. Got to be a doctor again, on my own terms. Started putting myself back together." His fingers tighten around the glass. "But tonight, one fucking shot and—"

"You did it to protect me," you cut in, because you can't stand the self-loathing in his voice. "That counts for something."

His smile is sad, tired.

"Maybe. But that's not..." He shakes his head. "I can't go back there. Can't be that person again. The one who couldn't save anyone, not even himself."

The confession sits between you as you watch J-Hope—this man who patches up assassins and keeps everyone's secrets—look more vulnerable than you've ever seen him.

Fuck. No wonder he's so protective of everyone.

You squeeze his shoulder, trying to put everything you're feeling into that touch.

"You're not that person anymore, Doc. Look at you—patching up assassins, keeping us all alive, being everyone's voice of reason. One shot doesn't erase seven years of being fucking incredible."

His smile is small but real this time.

"Thanks, kid. I..." He swallows hard. "I needed that."

You bump his shoulder with yours. "Yeah, well, even newbies gotta remind you you're not just the grumpy doctor who yells at us for getting stabbed."

He actually chuckles at that, a quiet sound that makes his whole body shake.

"Newbie? You've been here four months. Pretty sure you've seen more action than some of our veterans."

"Maybe," you say with a grin. "But I still can't tell the difference between morphine and saline, so I think that keeps me firmly in the rookie category."

That gets a real laugh out of him, and some of the tension finally leaves his shoulders. He looks at you, and there's something warm in his eyes that wasn't there before.

"You know what? Screw the formalities. Call me Hoseok. Or Hobi, if you're feeling lazy."

Your eyebrows shoot up. "Wow, first-name basis? I feel so special."

"Don't let it go to your head," he says, but he's smiling now. "I just figure anyone who's seen me have an emotional breakdown in a hallway has earned it."

"Hoseok it is, then." You lean your head against his shoulder, feeling weirdly comfortable despite the cold stone floor and the lingering heaviness in the air. "Though I might go with Hobs. It suits you better."

"Hobs?" He doesn't shrug you off, which feels like a win. "I can live with that."

You sit there in comfortable silence for a while, just existing in the same space.

It hits you then, how human everyone in Kkangpae is.

Sure, you're all part of this big, scary criminal organization, but underneath all the tough talk and violence, you're just... people.

People with pasts, with regrets, with demons you're all trying to outrun.

"Hey, Hobs?" you say after a bit.

"Mm?"

"Thanks for trusting me with this. I know it's not easy to let people see the messy parts."

He's quiet for a moment, then his hand finds yours, giving it a quick squeeze.

"Thanks for giving a shit, kid. It's... it's been a while since someone did."

You're about to say something else when footsteps echo down the hallway. AD appears around the corner, looking like he's aged ten years in the last hour.

When he spots you both, the relief on his face is so obvious it almost hurts.

"You absolute fucking idiot," AD says, dropping to his knees beside you both. His voice is rough but his hands are gentle when they reach for Hobi. "Do you have any idea—I thought—fuck."

"Sorry," Hobi mumbles, and he sounds exhausted. "Didn't mean to worry you."

"Shut up." AD's already pulling one of Hobi's arms over his shoulders. "Just... let's get you to bed before you fall asleep in this hallway like some drunk college kid."

You help AD get Hobi to his feet, each of you taking some of his weight.

The party's still going strong somewhere below, but up here, it's just the three of you navigating dark corridors, trying to keep each other from falling apart.

Family. This is what family looks like.

The walk back to J-Hope's room feels longer than it should, like the hallways are stretching out just to fuck with you.

His words keep echoing in your head—all that stuff about hospitals and corruption and losing everything.

It's weird seeing someone you thought had their shit together turn out to be just as messy as the rest of you.

When you finally reach his door, AD does this thing where he opens it super carefully, like he's afraid of waking up a sleeping baby or something.

You both help J-Hope inside, and damn—his room is exactly what you'd expect from the guy who patches up assassins for a living.

It's all neat and tidy, medical books stacked up like little towers of knowledge. There are plants everywhere too, which is kind of adorable. You can just picture J-Hope fussing over them between stitching up bullet wounds and lecturing people about their alcohol intake.

J-Hope practically collapses onto his bed, letting out this sigh that sounds like it's been building up for years. When he looks at you both, his eyes are all soft and grateful. It makes your chest do this weird tight thing.

"Thanks, guys," he says, and his voice sounds steadier now—like maybe getting all that shit off his chest actually helped.

"Don't get sappy on us," AD grumbles, but you can tell he's worried because his usual grumpy cat routine is dialed down to about a three. "Just get some rest, alright? Can't have our medic falling apart on us."

J-Hope actually laughs at that, even if it's a weak sound. "I'll be fine. Just a little hiccup in the sobriety journey. Won't happen again."

AD nods like he believes him, but you can see the doubt in his eyes. He turns to you, all serious business now.

"Thanks for the assist. I've got it from here."

You nod, feeling weirdly relieved that J-Hope's not gonna be alone.

"Yeah, of course. Take care of our favorite doctor, yeah?"

J-Hope gives you this smile that makes him look younger somehow. He mouths 'thank you' as you head for the door, and for a second, you consider staying.

But nah. AD's got this.

And you? You've got a lot to process.

You start walking back towards your own room, mind still spinning.

Because if J-Hope—steady, dependable J-Hope—has skeletons in his closet, what the hell is everyone else hiding?

Fuck. You realize you're in way deeper than you thought. But the weird thing is?

You're not sure you want out.

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revelboo · 6 hours ago

Note

i’m surprised it hasn’t been mentioned yet, but how would the trine be with their sparklings? I feel like Starscream would be a bit more comfortable than he is with Soundwave and Megs lol

Yeah, they’re at ease around each other

Domestic

Seeker Trine x Reader

• Back and arm aching as you adjust the weight of your daughter against your hip, you glance at where her twin brother is napping sprawled on his belly among a pile of stuffed animals. Satisfied that he’s not going anywhere, you resume working on dinner, your own food set aside so you can work on processing energon into the gummy treats and confections your mates adore and never have time to spend on making. Know Star thinks it’s frivolous, but he always eats the treats anyway. Though Skywarp is the one with a taste for sweets and will eat all of them without sharing if you don’t watch him. Dumping the slightly sticky loaf out of the mold, you dip a spoon into a container and dust powder over the loaf while holding your breath.

• Letting himself into their big, shared habsuite, Thundercracker’s head lifts as he vents to pull in the scent of energon, you, and his sparklings and all the tension of the day fades away. Spotting you with the smaller of the twins, sneaking bites to her as her mouth opens with warbling chirps, her brother still recharging. “How can she be so much smaller and still eat so much?” You murmur, looking up at him as Star and Skywarp follow him inside.

• Heading for his son, Skywarp mass shifts and grabs the sparkling. Grinning as he hauls the little one up and his son’s angry hissing falters into a chirp when he realizes who has him. Little wings flicking as he flares his own wings, moving them slowly to see if the sparkling will try to mimic him, yet. Disappointed when his head turns to spot his sister getting treats and he’s reaching both chubby arms, servos flexing as he warbles a shrill demand. ‘She’s fine,’ TC reassures you, mass shifting and moving up behind you. “Her colors are muted, though,” you protest and Skywarp glances at the faint blush of cream color taking over the default gray of the protoform.

• “I think that is going to be her color,” Starscream says, mass shifting to join you and Thundercracker and reaching to snag one of the bites you’re cutting loose from the loaf to pop it into his mouth as his daughter shrieks a protest, little legs kicking. Her colors pale so far while her brother is darkening. Becoming opposites, though there’s a faint rosy flush along the edges of her wings and developing plating that might eventually be his red, her brother’s plating darkening slowly, the edges gilded in what might be blue or purple at some point.

• Watching Star reach to pick up another treat and offer it, your daughter grabs for it, the energon goodie squishing through her little servos before she’s awkwardly taking bites and smashing it all over her face to make a mess, her fine motor control pretty much nonexistent at this point. Face tipping up as Thundercracker brushes his jaw against your head, you see Skywarp grab a fistful of treats. Giving at least one to your son before shoving the rest in his mouth. And you’re not at all surprised when your daughter pats a sticky hand on your cheek and neck to ‘share’ her treat.

#transformers x reader #starscream x reader #thundercracker x reader #thundercracker #starscream #skywarp x reader #Skywarp

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madamsommed · 22 hours ago

Text

STEAM

— bakugou katsuki x f!reader

WARNINGS: college au!, oblivious reader, smut, semi-public sex, semi-established relationship, dry(well wet actually) humping, hot tub sex, unprotected sex, covey nickname (its too cute)

NOTES: not proofread, this is heavily inspired by this scene in 'TO ALL THE BOYS I'VE LOVED BEFORE'. I've brainstormed this on for way too long. Now I lowkey wanna do a mha TATBILB lol. (still brainstorming brothersbsf! bakugou pt.2) song

Katsuki's hand swishes around in the water, his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. He sighs to himself and looks at the stars. Desperately trying to distract himself from the annoyance he doesn't want to feel towards you. The silence was supposed to help him clear his thoughts but it doesn't in fact it only makes him think of you more. And the warm water around just gets him more heated.

Katsuki's beyond upset with himself for falling for someone so dense. He sighs again in frustration, bringing his head down and throws his arms over the back of the hot tub. So distracted in his thoughts he doesn't even hear you foot steps approaching. Even through the loud 'flip flap' of your bedroom slippers.

"All alone out here?"

Your voice cuts through the silence, gaining Katsuki's attention. His head flicks to you and his mind fills with adoration. It annoys him even more, that just the sight of you washes away all his negative feelings. Is this what it's like to love someone? Geez it sucks, because Katsuki really wants to be mad at you. He has many reasons to be mad at you so, he keeps the act up.

Katsuki laughs and turns away, looking at the water. Doing his best to furrow his eyebrows and look mad. Even through the way his heart aches at the sound of you stepping closer.

"Are you ignoring me now?" You're hurt, so desperate to hear his voice and you don't even understand why he's mad. You did everything he wanted up until this point? He's honestly being unfair, you think but then again that's probably how he feels with you.

He scoffs at that. "Oh, I'm the one ignoring you now?" His tone is sarcastic and comes out meaner than intended. He almost back tracks but decides not to. You want to spit back a retort too but you hold back.

Walking around the hot tub to the steps. Katsuki's eyes trail you, heart skipping a beat. You hesitate, but walk up the steps and sit down on the edge. "Sorry I'm not a good skier, you didn't even offer to teach me."

"Oh so I'm just supposed to be sweet to you after you just don't sit with me on the bus?"

"Shouldn't you be thanking me? I let you sit next to the person you actually wanted to sit next to."

Katsuki scoffs again, unbelieving of what he was hearing. "Y'know for someone with such good grades, you really are so oblivious."

"What?"

"I wanted to sit to n/n, I even went down to that convenience store and bought those stupid yoghurt drinks that you love so much." He sighs throwing his head back in annoyance.

"The Korean convenience is all the way across town."

"So if I went all the way across town to buy the snacks that you love so much, that means.."

"That you really love yoghurt?"

Katsuki's eyes blow wide, and he takes a deep breath. "Y'er impossible."

You feel so stupid, you genuinely thought that you did the right thing. As much you didn't want to, you gave up the seat next to Katsuki because you thought it was the right thing to do. You thought he'd be happy to sit next to her. Though clearly your still as oblivious as you've always been. Giving up opportunities because you thought someone was better.

You slowly kick off your bedroom slippers, pulling off you jacket achingly slow. Too slow, Katsuki thinks. His eyes watching you with a adoration that's unrivaled. He thinks you look so pretty, so beautiful even in your "ugly grandma nightie" as he calls it.

You slip one foot in to the warm tub water then the other still as slow as ever. Sitting on the edge of the tub with your feet in the water. "I'm sorry I didn't sit with you on the bus."

Katsuki just shrugs. "'s fine." He whispers, barely audible. His eye still sparkling when he looks at you. Honestly you are incredibly dense, so dense to see the way he looks at you and still think he really wants to sit next to someone else. Katsuki opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, break the tension in your ever long eye-contact. But he closes it again and looks around for a second and then back trying to stop the flush that encompasses his face.

You step deeper into the hot tub, submerging yourself up to the waist, your dress. Katsuki's taken aback. "You're coming in, in your night gown?" You're just as shocked with yourself, you weren't really thinking you just wanted to be next to him, why? You weren't sure of yet but you're already in the water.

"I don't have a bathing suit." You plainly state approaching him, trudging through the water rather ungracefully but Katsuki's still seeing stars. His breathes go shorter the closer that you get. He almost instinctively opens his arms to you but he doesn't not wanting to look as desperate as he really is. You stop right in front of him, mind running at two times speed trying to think of something not stupid to say.

"Hi." You cringe at yourself instantly, your face is flushing in though you're trying to hide it. But Katsuki isn't cringing at all in fact he finds it hot actually. He's grinning ear to ear and pulls you into his lap. "There's no one like you, covey." His lips brush you, well his bottom lip because he couldn't stop smiling.

He's so cheesy, you think but it's cute. You hesitantly lay a kiss to his lips and Katsuki respond instantly. You lay your hands on shoulders not knowing what else to do with them. So nervous but he's so reassuring so enthusiastic. Katsuki has wanted this for so long, too long and he's having a hard time hiding it.

He's not aggressive just excited. His hands are squeezing, you're hips. Pressing hard kisses to your lips like he was trying to merge with you. He's moving faster than you can process on top of the fact that you're barely sure of what you're doing. But Katsuki's reassuring, guiding, just wants you to feel comfortable.

His hand trail up, thumbs tracing the outline of you tits through your gown. You moan, too desperate already. Katsuki takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. You gasp and you swear you can feel his smirk against your lips.

His tongue explores your mouth, pulling out just to tug and bite on your bottom lip. Your too excited for this amount of time. Katsuki's barely touched you but you can feel yourself getting wet. Even if the warm water of the hot tub. Katsuki wants to take it slow though, savor the moment that he's been waiting for too long.

You can't wait any long begging for any friction where you so desperately needed it. You grind down on Katsuki clothed cock, through his swim trunks. He's hard, just as excited but you wouldn't have known because he was holding himself back. He groans, kisses trailing down to your jaw, neck. "You're so pretty, baby-"

You let out a giggle, not fully believing him atleast not in this gown. Your hair pulled back, carelessly. Katsuki doesn't care though, he swears you look prettier this way. All cozy and ready for bed or atleast you would be before you came down here.

He nips at a sensitive part of your neck. "What's funny?" He hums glaring at you. He looks so handsome like this, hair damp from the wet hands he ran through it and the steam ever-flowing out the warm water. Chest wet, dripping and his oh so broad shoulders. You still look up at him slightly even from your position on his lap. He's a big guy taking up the entire side of hot tub he sits at.

And you want to respond but only moans escape your lips as he grinds back up into you. You hands fall to his wide biceps, nails digging into them. "'m talking, ahh— to you, baby" He pouts at you teasingly. Grinning wide when you try to respond but fail miserably. Who can blame you when his cock is grinding so deliciously against your clit.

"Yer— ahh~ hah- 's so good" You whine, eyes fluttering shut, head falling. Katsuki brings one hand down to you thigh, inching up as his thumb teases closer to your heat. His other moves from tracing to groping your breast. "Look at me, covey. Look at who's making ya' feel so good."

You lift your head to Katsuki's blown pupils, practically glowing at you like you make the sun rise in the morning. But also with a lust thats so desperate to be released. And you can tell with the way his thrusts get more and more desperate. His hand reaching under you wet dress in the water to rub your bare nub. And you swear his pupils blow impossibly wider.

"No panties, are ya tryna tease me?" He moans his words out thumb teasing around where you need him most and it gets you impossibly wetter. You whine, biting your bottom lip to hold back the louder noises you want to make. Suddenly so aware of the very public space you and Katsuki are doing this in. Though you almost don't care.

"I was going to bed, I didn't think we'd be doing this." You retort, grabbing his forearms to try and coax him out of teasing you. So desperate to feel that friction against you clit, humping desperately against his pelvis. Katsuki smirks going in to press a rough kiss to your lips, pulling back to bite your already puffy bottom lip.

You whine in pain, pouting at him. You dig your nails harder into his biceps as revenge but he's annoyingly unfazed by it. "Ya couldn't just lie hm? Amuse me a little, baby." Katsuki's enjoying this too much, seeing so desperate for him. So needy for a release only he can give you.

And he gives it to you just a little laying slow agonous circles on your clit. You moan out a little too loud for the space you're in right now. But the friction you've been craving is just too good and the knot in your tummy is only growing. "Shit Kats- 's so good ah-" The praise only makes Katsuki hornier, moving to twist you nipple laying more kisses to your collarbone to bite back his moans.

You noises are getting louder, back arching you closer. It's risky, he really should shush you, kiss away the noises spilling from your lips. But Katsuki's been waiting too long to hear them, uncaring of who they might wake up. Who might see through the huge glass windows surrounding you two. So focused on getting you over the edge, so desperate to see the cute face you'll make when you get there.

And you're definitely getting there, his hands are all over you and it's getting to you more than you want to admit, even to yourself. Those slow circles against your clit too effective in driving you closer. But you don't even need to say it, Katsuki can tell. "Ya gonna cum f'me, baby? Hm?" You nod vigorously, leaning in to kiss him but the moans escaping you won't stop. So Katsuki settles for laying a gentle kiss to your cheek. It's so romantic and sweet a large contrast to the erotic grinding you two are doing under the water.

"Cum, love. Cum for me." He coaxes, his circles on your clit getting just a little faster and the twists on his nipples getting just a little harsher. Stopping only for a moment to push you back, so he can lick and suck on your hard nipples through your gown. You're body responds accordingly the knot in you tummy bursts almost on command. You're yelling, through your orgasm. Whole body shaking, nails digging impossibly deeper into his arms in a way that'll surely leave marks. But Katsuki doesn't care, so satisfied with the faces you're making through your high. Unbeknownst to you because you're seeing white, ears ringing through it all.

Katsuki is too not even having cum yet. He swears he's just as pleased though getting you to this point. He guides you through your high, damn near overstimulating you. You're face is unbelievably flushed, but not in embarrassment from the way Katsuki's looking at you with so much love in his eyes. He presses a hard kiss against your lips, hand bunching up you dress and bringing it over your head. Tossing it somewhere outside the tub. "Katsuki!" You whine, half because now you're going to have get out the tub naked to fetch your dress. But mostly because now you're naked in this open space, you bring you arms up to you chest and look around paranoidly. And Katsuki hates how your attention shifts away from him, more than the fact that your covering your chest.

Katsuki holds your chin and diverts your attention back to him. "Ya can do it to me too baby." His eyes moving down to his swim trunks, sucking in his bottom lip almost in anticipation. You stare at them for a moment before slipping your hand under the waistband. Your fingers brush against his cock and he lets out a low breathy moan. You pull his trunks down slow and teasingly, looking at him in the eye when you do it and that turns Katsuki on unbelievably more.

You pull them off, leaving them to float in water. So focused on the way Katsuki's cock springs to life in the water. And you don't stop yourself from the urge to touch him. Wrapping your hand around him and moving it up and down, slowly. Trying to gauge his reaction. And Katsuki's letting it be known that he likes it, shamelessly moaning against your lips. His hand trail to your heat, fingers teasing around your slit. You're already whining, grinding against his hand, trying fruitlessly to get some friction.

"Katsuki.." You whine, running your other hand down his built chest. Katsuki gives in and slips one of his thick fingers into your cunt. You moan, grinding into it, already feeling that knot build in your tummy again. Katsuki's a mess, unable to hold back his noises. Biting his lip in an attempt but the friction of you hand moving furiously against his cock is making it hard.

And you want it, so bad. So desperate to feel him cum in your hand, moving you hand faster and faster. Katsuki groans again, throwing his head back and shoving another finger into your hungry cunt. Your hand is faltering, the pleasure of being filled getting to your head. Your hearing is blurring and your mind is going numb. Overtaken by the ever-growing need for pleasure that has you humping Katsuki's hand like you're starved.

"Mm, baby- ..yer so fu-" Katsuki pulls out his fingers, lining his cock up with your dripping hole. He teases for a little running the tip up and your cunt, reveling in your desperation. You whine at the loss but you're very quickly cut short by the stretch of his tip inside you. Dragging your nails down his chest you moan out already grinding against it, so needy for more. Katsuki hesitates to push himself in, letting you get used to the stretch.

"Pleasee~.." You beg, more than ready for all of it. You press wet kisses to his lip trying to coax him into letting you have it. And he does, achingly slow but he gives it to you. Sheathing himself into your heat so slow, watching your face for every reaction. You're a moaning mess, moving your hips around in circles trying to get it in faster. You can feel every vein running up his shaft against your gummy walls. Katsuki loves every second of it, he can't even focus on the pleasure he's feeling, so focused on getting you to that point again. So needy to see the faces again just one a couple more times he thinks. His thrusts start slow, exploratory.

"'S goo- shit.. 's good baby." Katsuki slurs, his mind is fogging, filled with lust. And he whimpers, feeling your walls twitch at the praise. You can't help the way it turns you on to watch him lose his mind with pleasure. His hands are digging into your hips just about bruising, trying to ground himself and stop your grinding that was definitely gonna get him there faster than he wanted. You want to lay more kisses to his lips but you are both moaning uncontrollably. Hot breath spilling between each other's lips.

You're so embarrassed at how fast you're ready to cum again. Unable to hold back the need especially so when Katsuki starts again on your nub. The circles fast this time followed up by his faster thrusts. The scene is so erotic and so wet even without the water considered. Both of you were covered in sweat, drool spilling from your kiss-bitten lips. It's feels so good, too good and you just want cum. And you can tell Katsuki does too from the way he's twitching inside you.

This time you're coaxing him, begging him to let go, desperate. "Cum, 'ki.. Please cum, cum inside me." Katsuki whines, pressing harder against your clit. You whimper grinding back into the friction at least as much as you can in his harsh grip on your hip. "You cum, baby. Want.. fuck— need you to cum f'me. Need to feel it." And you want to protest but it all feels so good. You've been holding back too long from the release you so desperately crave.

Your whole body convulsing when you reach your high. Moans and praises spilling from your lips sequentially. "Yes- s'good 'ki. Feels s' good— mm." Katsuki follows suit, moaning your name like a mantra. His high hits him so wide that he just about passes out, blanking for a minute too long that you thought he really had. He's so loud and it makes your face flush with unrivaled pride. He fills you up so much you feel like you'll burst cum spilling out and mixing with the water around you. It goes on for so long cock still leaking more a minute later. And you two stay like that for a good while in comfortable silence, reveling in your highs.

You also don't really want to get suddenly aware of just how cold it is outside the tub.

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