#my shoulders are a bit weird because i can sort of dislocate them which has made upper body exercise difficult

[angryisokay]

i decided to lift weights and do body weight squats at least 4 times a week, and so far i have stuck to it for 3 weeks now. i don't work out on nights i work 9 hours, but maybe i'll start doing that idk.

my goal is to do a fucking push up and pull up without feeling pathetic have muscly arms. i figure i might as well work my legs too.

[sundaysundaes]

Drunk Antics

Mark Lee X Reader, ft. Johnny | Smut, Fluff | 5.8k | College AU

Summary: After being caught having sex with your previously virgin boyfriend, you thought Mark and your brother Johnny would never get along. That is until your boy comes back to your room in the drunkest state he’s ever been after a short trip to the bar with his Johnny-hyung, asking you to try new tricks he’s learned from the Master of Sex.

Sort of a continuation from Our First Time but can be read separately.

Warnings: Smut, oral sex, drunk unprotected sex. For the sake of the very little plot there is, Mark is intoxicated in this fic so his consent may be unclear. Please don’t read this fic if this makes you feel uncomfortable. I also don’t approve nor allow taking advantage of your romantic partner while they are under the influence of alcohol.

“You forgot that you borrowed his AirPods?!” Your boyfriend is shrieking in whispers, doe eyes shaking in fear and horror as he kneels on your bed, trying to shamelessly hog every inch of your blanket to cover his body.

Mark is so drowning in panic that he doesn’t even notice that you, in fact, are still naked. “I was going to use them before to work on my assignment,” you try to reason, “but then you came so I kind of forgot about them.”

“Kind of?!” He screeches. “I agreed to have sex with you because I thought you were sure that he had his AirPods on!”

You stare at him flatly. “You’re making me feel like I just took advantage of you.”

“I am feeling like you just took advantage of me!”

“You just lost your virginity, I think you have to thank me instead.”

“Babe,” Mark grabs both of your shoulders, staring with wide eyes as if there’s a ghost lurking behind your back but he’s trying his best to calm you down (though he’s pretty much shitting his own pants). “You should’ve remembered that you took his AirPods. He heard us.”

“Mark,” you imitate his tone mockingly, taking a hold of his shoulders in the same manner. “It would’ve been super weird if I thought about my brother when I have my hot boyfriend rubbing his dick against my ass.”

Distracted, a sheepish smile forms on his face. “You think I’m hot?” But he shakes himself awake on the next second, going back to yanking out his hair with both hands. “No, wait—what am I going to do—your brother heard us having sex—I can’t—”

“I heard my brother having sex all the time.” You shrug nonchalantly. “Sometimes even when he’s alone in his room, which is gross.”

“THAT’S NOT THE POINT—”

“Guys?” Johnny’s knocks on the door are becoming more impatient. “I swear to God, if you two go back to sucking each other off, I’m going to throw Mark under the bus and run him over myself.“

Mark’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “Did you hear that?!”

You roll your eyes in response, reaching out to the table beside your bed and snatch Johnny’s AirPods from inside the drawer. “Here,” you hand it over to Mark.

Your boyfriend reacts as if you just handed him a bowl of hot lava and he fumbles with his hands, shoving the AirPods back to you with so much horror in his eyes. “Why are you giving me this—no—no—”

“Mark, honey.” You gently smile, pushing the thing back in the most motherly way you can manage. “I’m covered in cum—your cum, in case you forgot—and you’re hogging all the blanket—“

“No—”

“Also, I’m sweaty and gross. Can you please be a man for once and let me take my shower? You can still join me afterward.”

“Babe!” You can tell he’s about to throw up out of fear but he’s just so cute, you can’t help but keep teasing him about it. “This is not fair—he’s going to kill me! And what do you mean ‘for once’, am I—“

“Okay, guys, any day now.” Your brother, Johnny, calls again from the other side of the door. “If one of you don’t come out and hand me back my AirPods in the next ten seconds, I am literally going to call the police.”

Mark nearly jumps out of his own skin. “What?!”

“Oh, shut up, Johnny,” you shout back, mouthing calming words to your boyfriend who looks like he’s seconds away from fainting. “You’re not going to do that and we both know it!”

“But I am going to call our Mom.”

“That he might do,” you say, wincing a little at Mark. “Okay, I’m going to take a shower.” You lean forward to give him a peck on his cheek. “Good luck, babe.” And you sprint off to the bathroom inside your room, all while holding out your best not to cackle loudly.

“Where are you going—Baby, get back here!” You can hear Mark protesting in whispers, but you just send him flying kisses and a wink, and shut the bathroom door behind you.

Mark’s soul is leaving his body, he can feel it. And that’s okay, because Johnny is going to kill him anyway. But when the older man really starts to count to ten, Mark jumps out of the bed, tripping approximately three times as he tries his best to dress himself back in his own clothes while muttering the words “shit” and “fuck” repetitively under his breath.

When he’s sure he looks less fucked than before, Mark opens the door, breathing hard as if he just did the worst workout in his life.

“H-hey,” Mark starts, attempting to throw his best look-at-me-I’m-a-good-boy-who-did-not-just-fuck-your-sister-when-you-were-around smile at the other man. “How’s it going, man?” His voice breaks in the middle of his line and he winces as he tries to calculate the least painful death options he can commit.

Johnny unenthusiastically gazes back at him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m… smiling at you?”

“Don’t. You look like a serial killer.”

“S-sorry, I’m—“ Mark’s eyes start searching everywhere but Johnny’s eyes as he feels his own feet turning into jelly. “I guess I’m nervous.”

“Nervous? Why?” Johnny places his hands inside the pocket of his jeans, looking way too intimidating for your boyfriend to handle. “Because you just had sex with my sister while I’m in the house?”

Mark’s jaw is almost dislocating from his face from how wide he opens his mouth. “I—I, umm—“ He clears his throat, wiping a bead of sweat off his forehead. “S-so, you really heard us, huh?” He tries to laugh it off, which he soon regrets from the way Johnny’s eyes are throwing daggers at him.

“Yeah, well,” Johnny shrugs, “My ears don’t have on-and-off buttons that I can switch whenever I want. I used to have my AirPods to do that job, but she borrowed them to help her concentrate while doing her assignment.” He gives out a sly grin, almost mockingly. “Little did I know that her assignment was you.”

If he didn’t feel like dying before, Mark is sure as hell feeling it now. “I’m so sorry—I swear, she told me you had them—I also thought you were downstairs—“

“Yeah, I do go upstairs from time to time, you know, ‘cause my room is over there,” he dully replies, nudging his head to the end of the corridor, where his room is located next to yours.

Mark’s entire body shudders in horror. “Dude, I didn’t know—I thought that was a storage room—oh God—”

“Don’t call me dude. I’m not your dude.”

“Fuck—sorry, you’re right—I’m—“ He’s hyperventilating by this point. “Is there any place in this house where I can kill myself?”

“You can try jumping off my balcony,” Johnny answers in the most casual way that Mark begins to question whether he’s really being serious about it.

“G-great, I’ll put that in my options,” is all Mark has to say. “Thanks.”

“Sure thing, bud.” Johnny yawns, offering one hand to the other man which Mark stupidly enough stares in confusion before he takes a hold of it and gives it a sweaty handshake. Johnny switches his gaze from Mark’s face to their hands before he brings back to stare at him straight in the eyes and says, “My AirPods, you idiot.”

“FUCK—“ Mark is so embarrassed that he stumbles on his feet, knocks the side of his head against the door frame, and does a silent scream when the pain jolts to his entire body.

“Man, I wish I had my phone ready to record all of that,” Johnny comments.

Mark is too much in pain to recognize his mumbling. He fumbles with the AirPods in his hand, shoving them to Johnny’s chest. “Shit, I don’t know why I thought you wanted a handshake—here—oh my God—I’m so sorry—“

Even Johnny seems a little bit amused at his antics by this point. “Thanks,” he says, tucking the AirPods inside the pocket of his jeans. “You have some time to spare?”

Mark gulps. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Not until the end of the day.” Johnny says, and Mark laughs a little bit too loud and a little bit too hard and by the way Johnny smiles, he still can’t tell whether he’s joking or not. “Come on, let’s go have a drink.”

“Umm I-I don’t think I should—“

“Not a request, Mark.”

“Yes sir, on my way!” And he knocks himself once again against the door frame as he rushes forward to follow his steps.

“Also, Mark?”

“Yes?”

“Your shirt’s inside out.”

***

“Mark?” Your voice is answered by the silence of your room. You’re feeling a little bit dizzy from the hot shower you just took. You took a bit long in the bathroom, waiting for Mark to come and join you with a cute pout on his lips and tears in his eyes (that’s how you imagined him to be anyway) but your boyfriend, it turns out, was not even in your room. You put on your clothes—a knitted navy blue sweater with sleeves a little bit too long for your arms and a simple pair of jeans—and head downstairs, searching your house but nobody comes to answer. Sighing, you go back to your room and try to call his cellphone but immediately feel disappointed when his ringtone comes from under the bed.

“Great, he forgot his cellphone,” you mutter to yourself, picking his phone up and throws it on the bed. “Did he really run home without telling me?” The image of Mark panicking and running away from your house like his life depends on it sure does look like it’s something he does out of shame. But judging by how great your previous sex activity was, you figure that he’s probably going to go back to you sooner or later. He also has his phone to retrieve anyway.

So it’s time for you to actually get some work done. There’s no other reason for you to run away from your goddamn thesis and the day is getting late. After having some ramyun for dinner, you finally begin working on your assignment.

It’s hard to start, but a few minutes after you get your head to it, you start losing track of time. You’re finally done with your work (most of it anyway), already closing your laptop and place it back on your backpack, when your door abruptly swings open, showing your boyfriend’s face with the biggest grin on his face.

“Baby, I’m home,” he says in a sing-song voice, a bit slurry and a little high pitched. Before you can say anything—too busy trying to figure out how high he is judging from the dopey look on his face—Mark is giggling and walks closer to you. “You know,” he says, placing a hand on your desk and leaning close enough for you to know that he reeks of alcohol. “I just had the greatest day of my life today. And it’s all because. of. you.” He pokes your nose repetitively between every word.

“Mark—“

“Are you hungry? I’m hungry. Do you want some pancakes, because man, I’d love some pancakes—“

“What, are you drunk?” The answer is obvious but you ask anyway.

“No, I’m Mark.” He grins, chuckling at his lousy joke.

“You are so drunk.”

“And you,” he snickers, pinching one of your cheeks, “are so cute~”

You swat his hand away. “Where have you been?”

“I went to a bar with your brother,” he giggles again, playfully massaging your shoulders. “He’s so coooool~”

“What?!”

“Yeah, he’s, like, so tall and, like, so fit.” You can’t believe you’re hearing your boyfriend fangirling over your brother. “And he knows a lot of stuff—like, a lot a lot.”

You certainly have to kick Johnny in the shins after this. “How—why—I thought you were—“

“Babe, you’re rambling.”

You can’t believe you’re turning into him, so you clear your throat and try again. “How drunk are you exactly?”

“Drunk enough to know that this,” he stops to pick up the fishbowl you placed on the bedside table—where Marky the Goldfish is sleeping with its eyes open—and lifts it up to his face, “water cannot be drunk but drunk enough to contemplate about doing it.”

You make a face. “Leave Marky alone.”

“Why did you name it after me?”

“Because it’s dumb. Like you.”

“Huh, can’t really argue with that.” He snorts, placing the fishbowl back to the table and tripping on his feet as he does so—spilling some water from the side but thank God, your fish is safe and alive, though probably also a little bit drunk because of that sudden… turbulence.

“Oops,” he giggles, “Sorry, Marky.” He doesn’t look regretful in the slightest. You stare at him in silence, unconsciously judging him with all you have and usually, he would start becoming nervous and fumbling with his words but now, he just looks at you like you’re the best thing that ever happened to him and rushes forward.

“Man, I love you.” He tackles you into a hug, almost sending you toppling down your chair, “I love you so much. Have I said that today?”

This is certainly not the way you imagined your first confession to be like, especially coming from Mark who’s usually shy and too childish to admit his feelings. “No, you haven’t,” you retort. “Ever.”

“What, really?” His eyes are perfectly round and wide, actually surprised about it. “Shit, I’m sorry. Come here.” He pulls you up to your feet, cradling you into his arms, hands flailing all over your body before they finally rest on your waist. “I can’t believe we had sex and I didn’t even tell you that. I’m so sorry.” He leans back, putting some space between you so he can stare directly into your eyes. “I love you. I’ve always been for a while. I’m so in love with you that I can barely concentrate whenever you’re around.”

You wish he wasn’t drunk out of his mind because those words, those lines, could have been so romantic but even though he looks romantic, you’re not sure whether he’s being one hundred percent conscious about it.

“Okay, let’s talk about this again when you’re sober.” You tap his cheek with one hand and pinch it when he whines. “Have you even taken a shower yet?”

“Yeah, this morning.” He smiles dreamily at you, kissing the inside of your palm. You can’t believe how bold and greasy he becomes when he’s drunk. “And yesterday. And the day before that. And—”

“Okaaaay.” You shut him up by placing your hand above his mouth, which he licks like a little puppy, earning a surprised yelp from you. “Mark!”

“Babe!” He imitates before throwing himself to the bed, laughing at your face. “Come here, join me in my bed.”

“That’s my bed.”

“Isn’t that what I said?”

You exhale loudly, rolling your eyes. “I don’t think you can go home at this state. Your mom would kill me.”

“But I’m already home,” he says, crawling toward you until he kneels at the edge of the bed, face to face with you. “Home is wherever the heart is, right? And my heart is with you.”

You curse yourself inwardly for having your heart flutter at his embarrassing line and you hate yourself even more when he notices you’re blushing.

“Whatever. Just take a shower and get some sleep.” You walk back to your desk, flipping around the pages of your textbook. “I still have two chapters to read.”

You can hear your boyfriend huffing behind you, but try your best to ignore him. It’s an impossible feat, it turns out, when Mark sneaks up behind you, circling his arms around your shoulders and peppers few kisses down the side of your neck.

“Mark—“

“You smell so good.” He inhales deeply, burying his nose in the strands of your hair. Standing up, you turn around to face him so you can protest and push him away but the look on his face makes you freeze.

“You’re so cute,” he says, running his hand up from the curve of your neck to cup your cheek. “And You’re so pretty. And hot. You’re so…” He begins staring at your lips, eyes unfocused. “Hot.”

You can tell it’s coming but when he kisses you, almost hungrily, it feels like he’s snatching your breath away. “Mark, wait—”

“Not waiting,” he murmurs against your lips, pulling your hand over his shoulder so you’re forced to lean your entire weight against his chest. Mark’s calloused hands travel down your body, wrapping both against the back of your thighs and lifts them up so you can wrap your legs around his waist. You follow his lead though still not entirely convinced that you should continue this.

Mark kicks your sliding chair away with one leg and places you down on your desk. He roughly pushes all your papers and textbooks to the end of the table, making enough space where you can sit facing him, with your legs tangling around his waist.

You have spent a decent amount of time kissing Mark over the months you’ve been dating, but only now that you have the chance to kiss him when he’s drunk and you’re aware just how much you’ve been missing.

The drunk version of Mark Lee unexpectedly kisses much more slowly compared to the sober version of Mark Lee, and if you thought fast, passionate kisses were hot, then these slow, deep kisses are sending actual shivers down your spine.

Mark has his right hand cupping your cheek, rubbing comforting circles on your skin with his thumb, while his other one is around your waist, slipping his fingers underneath the hem of your sweater. He angles your head to the side, and his parting lips fit like a perfect puzzle piece with yours. There’s a shy trace of his tongue along your bottom lip, as he nibbles at it slowly and he lets out this small moan as he does it as if it’s something he’s been wanting to do for years and just finally able to do it now.

He tastes like alcohol and you’re not particularly fond of it but the more he kisses you, the more you think it doesn’t matter because he still somewhat tastes like how Mark usually does and you always love the way he tastes on your tongue.

He drags your chin down with his thumb, tasting you a little bit deeper and as he presses his hips against yours, his breathing becomes ragged and you just realize that you probably have a kink for all of this stuff because holy mother of God, this is just so hot.

“Mark,” you sigh as he moves away to kiss your ear, warm lips pressing against your earlobe. He hums in a low, breathy voice that you’ve never heard him do and it makes your stomach flip. “Mark, you’re drunk.” It’s more like a reminder to yourself because you know that as the sober one, you have to put a stop to this but what can you do when he has his tongue tracing against your skin and his soft moans vibrating through your ears?

“Baby,” he whispers, pulling away a little so you can see his eyes and fuck, it’s the biggest mistake you’ve made today—bigger than forgetting that you borrowed Johnny’s AirPods. His eyes are half-lidded, utterly filled with lust and the way he licks his bottom lip as he stares at you has you breathless. He leans closer, as if he’s about to kiss you again, and whispers, “Don’t you want me?”

You remember that you said the same thing earlier to him that day and it makes you think how karma is a fucking bitch. You secretly wonder whether you have the same effect on him because Mark is being so irresistible right now and he successfully makes you throw all of your reasoning to the back of your head.

“Fuck this,” you claim under your breath, pulling him down to you by the neck and crush your mouth together. You can feel your boyfriend smiling into the kiss, and the sounds of your wet kisses make your heartbeat go crazy.

“Take off your shirt,” you command, already grabbing the end of his shirt and struggling as you try to pull it over his head. Mark helps, chuckling a little bit and when it’s off, he has his lips against your neck again. His teeth are prickling against your skin, sucking it until it’s bruised and you have to remind yourself to be angry about it later—because you have classes tomorrow and what if anyone sees that nasty hickey on your neck?—but right now, you just want him to mark you over and over again.

Mark starts to unbutton your jeans, pulling the zipper down and you use your free hand and legs to shake your pants off. It’s not easy, and you almost kick your boyfriend in the face while doing so, but he laughs it off and kisses you again. You can tell how hard he is when he presses himself against you, and you’re eager to put him out of his misery but he suddenly pulls away, saying, “Wait, let me do this first,” and he kneels on the floor, his face right between your legs.

You can feel your breath hitched when he runs his fingers on the inside part of your thighs, his lips follow soon after. He slips his fingers around the edge of your panties and pulls them down. You suddenly feel so exposed to the way he’s looking at you so you pull the end of your sweater down, trying to cover your thighs as much as you can.

“Why are you so shy?” Mark says, taking your hand away and pressing his lips against your palm. His eyes never leave yours and they twinkle in the most teasing way. “You weren’t shy about this before.”

“Stop looking at it too much,” you reply nervously, can’t help but to blush about it. “I feel weird.”

Mark chuckles, airily and soft. “Sorry, I just didn’t have the chance to really see you before,” he explains, one hand unconsciously rubbing your thigh, trying to calm you down. “Can I eat you out?”

Sober Mark will definitely not say anything like this—hell, sober Mark will probably faint just thinking about saying stuff like this—which is why you’re becoming even more nervous and excited at the same time.

“Baby?” Mark calls, smiling softly. “I kind of asked you a question.”

Fuck me. “Yes,” you breathe out, and you realize he was just messing with you before but who the fuck cares right now.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Mark, please.” You can hear yourself whining and you hate yourself for it, but desperate times call for desperate measures. “Please eat me out, Mark.”

He smiles in the sexiest way that you don’t think it’s possible—like seriously, who is this guy?—biting his lower lip as he does so and if he keeps doing that, you figure he doesn’t even have to eat you out to make you come undone.

He presses his lips near your heat, whispering, “Good girl,” before he places his mouth on the exact spot you want him to be.

“Fuck,” you hiss, biting your own lip as you see his head move between your legs. Mark has his eyes closed, repeating what he has learned earlier that day and does the thing you like the most. When he locks his eyes with yours, you almost choke out a sob.

“Mark,” you try to keep your voice down in whispers but Mark is so good that it feels much easier to work on your goddamn stupid thesis rather than holding back your moan.

“Mmm.” The way he moans at the back of his throat as if he’s having the best time of his life makes you weak and you press your thighs together without knowing. Mark places his hands on each side of your thighs and spreads your legs wide apart, allowing himself to be even closer and making you feel way more exposed. You have to grip your desk with both hands to keep yourself from falling.

“Okay, no, stop—“ You find yourself breathing hard, pushing him back by the shoulder and he raises a questioning eyebrow.

“Was it not good?” He asks and you curse inwardly.

“Mark,” You grab him by the silver necklace he has around his neck, pulling him up so you’re face-to-face. “I’m about to come, what do you think?”

“Really?” He looks impressed with himself. “Then, why did you stop me?”

You tangle your legs around his waist, bringing him close and grind your hips against his. “You know why.”

Mark’s thin lips part in a silent moan, whispering, “Fuck,” under his breath but he tries to keep his composure. “No, I don’t,” he says, teasing you though he doesn’t look like he’s able to hold himself back long. “Babe, I literally just lost my virginity a few hours ago. You have to tell me what you want.”

“Mark.”

“Babe.”

You scowl at him and scowl harder when he has this shit-eating grin on his face, and if your eyes could throw daggers, he’d be in so much pain right now. But Mark is making a sound between a giggle and a snort, which is rather cute but you still kick him in the stomach for playing with you at a time like this. “Mark, come on! I want you to fuck me!”

He takes a hold of your thigh, leaning down to place kisses under your ear. “And where do you want me to fuck you, exactly?” He whispers, purposely making an mmm sound as he sucks on your earlobe. “Should we move to the bed?”

“No, fuck, just do it here.” You unbuckle his belt, pushing his jeans and boxer down to around his thighs, low enough for you to stroke his member and position it toward your entrance. “Mark, just put your cock inside me.”

It seems like he’s beginning to lose his mind over how desperate you are actually begging him. You guide him toward you, making sure he’s not doing anything wrong and when he pushes inside, you just have to bite on his shoulder to muffle your moan.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans, eyes closing shut as he grips on your thighs, nails sinking into the skin almost painfully. “I couldn’t remember whether you were you this tight before but—oh God—”

His movements are still a bit sloppy, but soon he finds the pace you both like and maintains it. When he sees you throwing your head back in pleasure, he grins to himself and lifts your sweater up to your chest. You help him take it off, unclasping your bra with so much effort as he continues pounding into you.

He’s so consumed by the sight of your breasts bouncing up and down matching his thrusts until he can’t take it anymore. “Babe, can I go a little bit rough?”

“Wha—fuck!” It’s your luck that you don’t slam your head against the wall from the sudden force Mark is thrusting into you. He has his mouth on your breast, moving his hips much quicker than before,  and moaning your name several times under his breath. The desk is clearly making a sound as it bumps against the wall but you don’t care—your parents are out of town and Johnny already heard you two before anyway. You can just apologize to him tomorrow.

Mark suddenly changes position, lifting one of your legs up in the air while keeping the other down so he can slide in deeper. “Johnny-hyung told me to try this,” he says with a smirk on his face. He’s breathing quite hard, just like you. He kisses the side of your ankle once before he lays your leg on his shoulder. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

When he moves his hips again, with so much force that you have to hold on to the table, you’re pretty much just screaming his name. Mark’s bangs are sticking to his skin as beads of sweat start to form on his temple, and he pushes his hair back with one hand, chanting your name like a prayer and recording every expression you make in his mind.

You can handle his movements but you’re sure the skin around your waist is going to bruise tomorrow from how hard he’s holding you. You’re getting distracted by the way the muscles on his abs flex with every movement that it catches you off guard when he suddenly says, “I love you,” between his soft moans. You shudder at his words, leaning forward to wrap your fingers around his arm, begging for support. “Mark, you’re not fair—“ The rest of your sentence dies when he hits the spot that makes you see stars.

It’s a little bit embarrassing for you, the much more experienced one, to come undone before he does but Mark doesn’t stop, even if you beg him to. “Hold on to me,” he says, smashing his lips against yours and adding, “Just a little bit more, baby,” between kisses.

When he’s finished, your back and legs are aching so much that he has to carry you onto the bed. Mark shakes his pants off before he slides under the blanket next to you. He asks whether you want to shower and you shake your head. “Tomorrow. I can barely stand right now, to be honest,” you comment which earns a light chuckle from him.

You both sigh out loud, staring at the ceiling and trying the process what the fuck just happened.

“Mark?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“I know it’s bad for your health, but do you think you can get drunk more often?”

He giggles at that, turning to his side so he can face you. He looks so sleepy and you let him caress your face with his fingers with the little energy he has left. “Thank you for today,” he says, smiling dreamily. He leans closer to press your temples together, rubbing the tip of his nose to yours in a childish manner before he kisses you softly. He drifts off to sleep soon after.

When you wake up the next morning, still naked and gross from the night before, you realize that yes, small purplish bruises are forming on the skin of your thighs, waist and for sure, your neck. You look to your right, seeing your boyfriend still sleeping soundly with his stomach pressed against your bed and his lips slightly parted. You don’t have the heart to wake him up, but your parents can come home anytime soon and they cannot catch the two of you looking like this.

“Mark,” you softly call, placing a hand on his cheek and rubbing his skin with your thumb. “Mark, wake up.”

He groans, turning his face away from you. You tap his shoulder, run a hand through his dark locks and still nothing. Huffing, you gather the very little energy you have—without coffee in the morning, you’re pretty much nothing—to turn his body around and crawl on top of him.

“Wha—” Mark’s eyes are half-open but don’t stay so for long when he notices how you’re basically straddling his bare abs with your naked body. He panics so much that he begins to flail all over the place and end up falling from the bed and knocking you off his lap in the process.

You break into a train of laughter, pulling some blanket to cover your body. “Guess sober Mark is back.”

“Why are you naked?!” He shrieks, head peeping out from under the bed, and he shrieks louder when he notices that he’s also in his birthday suit. “Why am I naked?!”

“You seriously don’t remember?”

Mark takes a few seconds to himself, trying to process everything that his blurry memories can give and his jaw falls slack on his face when he realizes that, “We had sex!”

“Yeah, we did. Twice.” You giggle, nudging your head toward your desk which is literally in chaos—papers scattered everywhere, books falling to the floor, pens unaligned.

Mark follows your gaze and gapes harder. “Shit, yeah, on that desk—I remember—wait, but how?! Why—” He looks like he’s physically hurting trying to remember every detail, and probably that’s his hangover talking.

“Want some aspirin?”

He pouts rather cutely. “Yes, please.” When you step down from the bed, leaving your blanket behind, Mark blushes and immediately turns his face away, unconsciously letting out a girly yelp as he does so.

“Umm, babe?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re naked.”

You stifle down a laugh. “Yes, I noticed. And so are you.”

Mark covers his bottom half with a pillow, face flushed. “C-can you put some clothes on?”

You were planning to, but seeing him react like this makes you re-think your decision. “Mark, we literally had sex twice yesterday.”

“I know, don’t say it!” He hides his face behind his palm. “It’s still embarrassing for me.”

“You certainly weren’t embarrassed last night,” you tease, “You even asked whether you could eat me out—”

“GAH!” He has both hands covering his ears, turning his entire body around to hide his face but the way his ears are going red is contradicting his action.

“Mark, look at me.”

“No way in hell!”

Smirking to yourself, you slowly walk to his spot, not covering even an inch of yourself. When you call him again, softer this time, Mark makes a mistake and throws you a glance. He’s no longer able to take his gaze off you after that.

You spread your legs, sitting on the pillow he has on his lap and wrapping both legs around his waist. Pressing your chest to his, you lean close to his ear. “Wanna go for another round?”

Mark gulps.

***

[shoichee]

okok hc or fic: reader was teiko’s “head” manager(?) and her talent was being a medic (if someone gets injured they’re back on the court in under a minute type thing) and training plans. suddenly momoi’s talent blooms, she starts working w/ everyone in the team (+ reader’s crush akashi) and people think she’s a better manager than reader. because of this, she overworks + collapses in front of her best friends kuroko + kise (don’t let akashi know yet i have plans for that 👀)

HELLO? YES OFFICER? I JUST FOUND A BANGER REQUEST RIGHT HERE? YOUR BRAIN IS SO BIG AND SEXY IVE BEEN DYING TO WRITE THIS🏃🏻‍♀️💨 part 2 here and part 3 here AND update: part 4 here

Akashi x Reader

[Teiko!manager Headcanons]

you had a knack of being a natural chiropractor in loosening up tense muscles instantly (for more fluid play) or easily putting in back dislocated joints

basically you have crackhands

in your free time as a hobby and a job as the “head manager” (that Akashi announced to the team himself), you’d often bury yourself in anatomy studies and gym plans on the internet and databases to review over Akashi’s team training routines to see if they were effective and safe; oftentimes, you’d return back with improved plans, and as time went on, Akashi entrusted you with creating the plans yourself completely

you took on the job so eagerly to impress the Teiko captain, if you were being honest to yourself

your enthusiasm even inspires Momoi, Teiko’s other manager, to work harder

no one in Teiko knows physiology better than you, and as expected, it was also your best subject along with health

Kise often looks at you in horror and respect at how you don’t cringe/flinch at the loud cracks resonating across the room or court when players come to you for instant relief (the origin story of how he came to call you (y/n)-cchi was the very fact that you manage to put back his dislocated shoulder in 3 seconds flat one game)

when Kuroko first joined the 1st-string, he was a walking magnet for injuries, and you ended up being there for him every single time… nosebleeds? check. sprained ankle? check. nausea from over exhaustion? check.

both you and Kuroko relish in the fact that everyone in the team can never understand how the both of you do some incredible things with your hands

both of you being quite dexterous, you both often teach each other your specialties for fun; it’s almost shocking to see Kuroko effortlessly loosening up a stress knot and you pulling off a well-done palm pass

you admit, you do juggle a lot of responsibilities… from being a makeshift nurse, to a chiropractor, to a budget gym coach, and even to being moral support

Momoi often reminds you to take breaks being the caring person that she is

you often showed her the ropes and tricks of being a manager, on top of your duties, and you find it really endearing that she’s so earnest in learning from you

even if you enjoyed doing what you do, part of the massive workload is to try to get into Akashi’s good graces

talking to him about basketball duties is easier to achieve than talking to him outside of the extracurricular

you might be a tad bit insecure about it; after all, what middle schooler is already so accomplished in academics, sports, and everything you could think of? wasn’t he also studying to take over his father’s company??

to you, who only starred as Teiko’s humble manager, it felt hard trying to establish common ground for conversation outside of basketball

so you stuck to working hard at your position, hoping that your work ethic would get his attention one day; you were a firm believer of actions over words, so you hoped your actions would come off as genuine

picture you and Momoi running across campus with stacks of papers for the team… it makes most of the teammates’ hearts melt at the sight

your work certainly got you praises from other teammates, but out of all players, Kise was the one who figured out your motive

you felt absolutely morbid; to think that Kise, of all people, would figure you out like the back of his hand

Kise being sweet as he is, offers to help you get with the captain but you merely prompted to threaten to break his arm if he spilled your crush to anyone else

“(y/n)-cchi… I’ve been thinking.”

“Yes, Kise?”

“It’s really cool that you’re working so tirelessly for the team, but I can’t help but wonder if there’s a reason why you work so hard.”

“O-Of course I do! I want to see you guys all succeed!”

“Then I’m curious as to why you always look at Akashicchi—o-ow, ow, ow!! (y/n)-cchi, I’m sorry! So can you please let go of my—ow!”

“H-How did you know?!”

“I-It was as obvious as day, (y/n)-cchi! I’m pretty sure even Kurokocchi found out about this before I did!”

“N-No way!!”

“Tell you what, I’m super duper knowledgeable in this stuff! You can count on me for this sort of advice—OW!”

spoiler alert: Kise was right in that Kuroko definitely noticed your attraction to Akashi before anyone else… he just never brought it up to you

one day, Kuroko comes up to you to whisper:

“(y/n)-san, have you realized that Akashi-kun has been observing you recently during practice?”

“W-Wait! Is he looking over here right now?”

“Not that I think. He’s occupied with the coach right now.”

“D-Do you think this is a good sign?”

Kuroko gives you a small smile before he replies, “I would like to think so. Keep working hard, (y/n)-san.”

and you do, you’re constantly on top of your game for the next season until Momoi suddenly gets more recognition for her “precognitive defense” skills

her newfound talent was extraordinary and never-before-seen, and her ability became more critical to Teiko’s victories than your own skills

you were happy and proud for her, because after all, her achievements were extremely deserving to be praised

it’s only when some 1st-string players started making offhand comments about how you weren’t really needed in the 1st-string and was more suited to the lower strings that placed seeds of doubt into you

these people would often compare you to Momoi in how she improved much more despite you being in the team for longer

there’s also talk about how your skills are more useful for 2nd-string and 3rd-string players because Momoi’s ability is already sufficient enough for Teiko’s starters

after all, how would a player even be injured if they can predict their opponents’ moves to avoid such incidents?

there’s also the fact that Akashi has been calling Momoi more frequently to research on upcoming teams for analytical data because her talent has become very useful to ensuring victory

the same peers and adults who gave you praise were the same people who began to ignore you or dismiss you; that being said, the collective change in attitude is definitely subtle enough that it would fly under most people’s radars

Kuroko was the first to notice and defend you against a small group of players who were bold enough to badmouth you in the gym

Kise would find out a little later about the somewhat unpleasant gossip about you and would pull the “no you” reverse card, returning back with MEANER underhanded comments that would send these shit talkers CRYING HOME (manga Kise strikes here unexpectedly eh?)

Murasakibara is someone who would be slightly uncomfortable with the gossip about you, especially since you’ve always been so helpful and kind to the team and himself; he’d either leave the room himself or easily scare them away with his looming height and presence without saying a single word when he enters the room “minding his own business”

Midorima is a bystander judging from how he’s reacted to the Teiko dynamic changes in the actual show // he, of course, wouldn’t like the nasty talk about you but would actually mind his own business, choosing to focus on himself and what he has to do to contribute to his team; he assumes that you would work hard the same way he is and let your contributions do the talking

now Akashi surprisingly wouldn’t hear much of the gossip, since his presence alone SHUTS them up and commit to their practices like normal; after all, it’s very clear that Akashi doesn’t tolerate this type of behavior in the team (example: Haizaki), and it’s more apparent that he wouldn’t hesitate to drop kick them out especially since he has a soft spot for you (which Kise never fails to bring this up to you, but you think he’s reaching too much into it) // TLDR; the teammates mostly have the common sense to not utter anything bad about you… maybe one kid would slip out and get punished for “bad sportsmanship,” but Akashi merely assumes that it’s just one bad apple and not necessarily… the many others as well

Aomine???? bro he ain’t even at practice wdym (HELPPP LMAOO) // jokes aside, if he catches wind of players shit-talking outside of the gym… say at the convenience store or when he’s walking home or something, well… they wouldn’t have a good time…

Momoi simply chastises the gossipers when they try to talk shit on you to make Momoi herself look good, and it leaves? such? a? horrible? taste? like, she wants to believe that they’re just really poor jokes and not what they really believe in, and the teammates merely reassure her that they’re just bad jokes and that they “wouldn’t do it again;” poor Momoi wholeheartedly believes them

the weird talks about Momoi being “the better manager” just signalled to you that you haven’t contributed enough to the team yet, and it motivated you to work even harder

oddly, you weren’t jealous of the fact that Momoi was receiving more positive attention than you

you were more afraid of the fact that you were going to get left behind, and this fear only tightened its hold on you when more teammates (who used to talk to you a lot) have changed their tunes when they speak with you now, compared to them talking to Momoi

and you felt that the Generation of Miracles would do the same too… including Akashi

it wasn’t an irrational fear for you because he’s already been calling Momoi a lot more frequently for help than you recently

so you even offered to mop the gym floors after practice, offered to stay later than usual to be the one to lock up the gym for anyone (cough, Kuroko) who wanted to practice whenever they wanted

at one point, you even tried to do what Momoi does: researching on upcoming teams and making your own predictions (that didn’t really work, and that cost you a few nights’ worth of sleep every single time)

not to mention that you still had regular school like any other student? you were the epitome of a mess

Kuroko was with you in the empty gym, you putting away the extra basketballs in the storage closet while he practiced his dribbling, until he heard a crash in there and a few basketballs rolled out the door

you collapsed right when you rolled in the basketball cart

POOR KUROKO HE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO // he just tries to give you a piggyback ride as he abandons his plans of practice and tries to jog to the nearest local clinic

that’s where he bumped into Kise, who was heading home after an evening shoot when he saw the two of you

chaos ensue as Kise freaks out and Kuroko had to calm him down himself after answering the never-ending questions

at least the doctor there gave relieving news that you only collapsed from over-exhaustion and that the bruises from the fall were very faint

Kise makes a joke to Kuroko about, “What’s with you and (y/n)-cchi falling to the floor and fainting? You guys can’t be that alike.”

when you shortly regain consciousness, you were met with a… very stern Kuroko and Kise, who were both ready to hear your explanation and to scold you to oblivion

to your surprise, they were understanding; Kuroko understands the feeling of not being enough and working hard to meet other people’s expectations, and Kise understands the struggle of juggling multiple things in his schedule (come on, student, athlete, and model?)

they still scolded your ears off:

“(y/n)-san, you idiot. Why didn’t you ask anyone to help out?”

“That’s…”

“(y/n)-cchi, do you think we’re undependable?!”

“Er, no, that’s…”

you were still dizzy from the fall and the lack of proper sleep (and maybe nutrition if we’re being honest), and you were just a ball of stress

you kind of begged your best friends not to tell a SOUL to anyone about this incident, especially to Akashi… you didn’t want to look even more incapable in his eyes than you already were

they do agree on one condition: for you to take AT LEAST a day or two off school to completely recover and rest up (you reluctantly agree; besides how were you going to explain the bruises that can’t be covered to your peers?)

HELP WHY ARE KISE AND KUROKO THE BEST LIARS TOGETHER ON CAMPUS LITERALLY NO ONE SUSPECTS A THING… except Akashi, the ever sharp captain, felt something was amiss

especially since some Teiko players emanated a feeling of relief at the news of you not being here that day, or the next

Akashi would play detective sleuth and find out what’s really going on sooner or later

End Note: gonna cut this off here b/c I KNOW this anon got a juicy part two i FEEL IT

[presidentbungus]

oh I can post fic wips here! crazy!

here’s a crossfaction science party fic I’ve been working on for a while and am not entirely sure how to finish. medic gets hurt and finds engy who is also hurt and conversation ensues. thanks.

(sorry for the weird paragraph breaks. tumblr apparently does not appreciate my notes app formatting all that much)

The Soldier comes roaring around the corner faster than either of them can react and Medic can only watch as the first rocket, red-glowing more than it should be, settles itself in Heavy’s gut and explodes outwards, streaking Medic with blood and chunks of viscera.

Medic teeters on his legs a little and says “Oh” and then the second rocket booms under his feet and sends him hurtling somewhere into the stratosphere and that’s bad, isn’t it. His left ankle breaks somewhere around this point, indicated by the crunch and matching flash of burning agony; at this point, all he can really do is spin through the air and wait to hit the ground and hopefully break his neck. Stupid Soldiers and their stupid dumb luck. As Medic lands right on his back something snaps and his mind scatters for a bit, and there’s a horrifying moment when he thinks it’s his spine, but as he squirms he notices his Medi-Gun slowly sputtering to death and breathes a deep sigh of relief, realizing his Medi-Pack likely gave its like for his.

Though there’s a bit of pause in it, since he’s essentially completely useless to his team now since he can’t really heal, but at least he has the ability to limp into gunfire, or at least move to a wall to bleed out against. Carefully, he tests both of his legs, since he can’t feel most of his body by this point; there’s a dull little throng of pain in his ankle, though that much has already been established, and both of his femurs have certainly been in better shape before. His arms seem mostly fine, thankfully, though his shoulders are a tad dislocated, so he makes no time quickly popping those back into place.

That pain manages to cut through the veil of shock, and he sort of hopes the screaming attracts a spy or something but he is not exactly on a lucky streak today.

After resting for about a minute, getting impatient, and standing (ow ow ow ow ow ow), he limps into a tunnel scattered with what used to be a sentry at some point; metal shards, painted red, carpet the ground. If he came here a few seconds earlier, he probably would’ve been instantly decimated by bullets and rockets—whether this is lucky or unlucky, this whole situation, really, remains to be seen, but he’s getting a bit faint and would rather not pass out so he looks to a wall and—

“Howdy.”

Reflex pulls out his crossbow for him and leaves him shaking, aiming at the other team’s Engineer, who’s bloody and slouched against the wall.

He smiles, tenses when he sees Medic’s crossbow, sets his hand on the pistol slung from his belt but doesn’t aim it. Softly, he says: “We both wanna live, right?”

“… Well.” Medic’s not sure how to continue, so instead he throws his crossbow on the ground and sighs. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Engineer’s face twists around until he eventually lands on an emotion Medic can only describe as hurt, for some reason. “What’s that mean?”

He needs to limp away and find a gun to stand in front of but instead he finds himself limping over to Engineer and crumples to the ground next to him, slipping off his Medi-Pack and groaning as his spine rearranges itself. “My equipment broke,” he says, “idiot soldier. At this point I’m of no use to my team since I’m unable to heal.”

“Well, it could be worse.” Engineer laughs, points at his knee, which is definitely not twisted the right direction—a shard of probably his fibula juts out of his knee, piercing his overalls. “I can’t really walk. I’m pretty much just waitin’ til I bleed out or your scout comes over to round me up.”

Medic laughs too—not because it’s funny but because laughing with him just seems right, which is something scary to consider. “Don’t they need you?”

“Could ask you to the same question.” He jabs an accusing finger, then laughs. “Frankly, I’m enjoying the break, and I mean no one really bothered to try and defend me either so as I see it’s not my fault if they gotta take the walk to the battlefield for a bit.”

“I can hear their calls from here,” Medic says, and this is true—every time he does his head snaps in its direction, which is entirely habitual but still annoying when his back isn’t exactly in the best shape. “Gott, I am going to hear about this when I get back to base.”

“Hey, don’t let ‘em get you down. You’re not just your one work function, y’know.”

“I’d like to think that,” Medic spits. “But if I’m not right there to heal them at every single second of the match it’s my fault. If anyone dies ever it’s my fault. But if a stupid RED soldier with a death wish comes firing up and no one warns me and the person I’m healing does nothing to defend me whatsoever—“

Medic stops. It wasn’t Heavy’s fault—he couldn’t have noticed. Calm down a little. Maybe you’ve lost a bit too much blood. “Anyway. It just gets frustrating.”

“Frustratin’ sounds like a bit of an understatement, son—“ Engineer receives (what Medic hopes is) a bloodcurdling glare and backs off, laughing—“but otherwise two cheers to that.”

“They just don’t seem to have a clue whatsoever about how hard I work to keep this team afloat.”

“Uh-huh. Tell ‘em.”

“For heaven’s sakes, I’m not even a doctor. I’m a scientist.”

Engineer looks like he’s getting excited about something, which is mildly disquieting. “Yep, you know it.”

Medic decides he may as well just give him what he’s looking for. “I don’t deserve to be treated like the only reason I exist is to heal people.”

“Ah-ha!” A stubby pointer finger is rudely jammed into his face, and then migrates to a less startling place as a hand on his shoulder. “We have a breakthrough.”

Raw, unadulterated confusion is not an emotion Medic feels often and is not one he’s particularly fond of, but here we are.

After a while of sputtering he eventually comes up with: “Are you trying to be a therapist or something?”

“Hey, I’m just lookin’ out for my fellow team backbones an’ whatnot, you know?”

He keeps getting closer. Medic keeps getting farther. There is only so much tunnel to scooch down.

Medic shakes his head. “Stop trying to be a therapist.”

{the end for now}

[makoodlesarchive]

learning curve

Yes hello we’re back with another installment of dragon dick kiri lmao sorry if ur getting bored of this but i’m obsessed

word count: 5k

warnings: smut, dragon dick kiri, uhhhh lots of cum?

Tip Jar!           ||      dragon dick kiri masterlist

this takes place in between part one and part two!

                        »»————-　♡　————-««

Intimacy with Kirishima comes with somewhat of an adjustment period. It shouldn’t be surprising, considering his inexperience with sex in general and your inexperience with sex involving cocks that look as though they’ve been pulled from the pages of an overzealous erotic fantasy novel, but your first time together had gone so well and had been so effortlessly sexy that you had come to the conclusion that every time would be like that.

You were, tragically, wrong.

The second time you two try to have sex (four days after the first time, because you had been walking funny for days afterwards) had been cut short because Kirishima had gotten it into his head that he came too quickly the first time, and he was determined to hold out for as long as possible the second time so he could make you feel good. It was incredibly sweet, in theory, but in practice it resulted in him straining so hard to avoid his oncoming orgasm that he accidentally bit through his lip. The sight of blood had set you panicking, and any sexual action was quickly cut short in favour of scrambling for tissues.

The third time, you had thought that it would be a cute idea to join Kirishima in the shower when he had returned from a long day of work. It had started out innocent enough, but then the inevitable hand-wandering had started and before you knew it Kirishima had hauled you up against the shower wall. What you had expected to be an effortlessly steamy experience turned into the two of you snorting with laughter as you realised that every time you rubbed against each other resulted in the most unsexy squelching noises thanks to your wet skin and the spray of the water. Determined to compromise, you slid to your knees and grinned up at him from your position between his legs. You were probably squinting pretty unattractively so you could see through the shower spray, but Kirishima was so excited that he didn’t seem to notice. 

He was, in fact, too excited -- within moments of you wrapping your lips around the head of his dick he shivered hard and swayed a little on his feet, only to slip on the slick wet ceramic tiles in the shower. Having the entirety of your boyfriends vast, heavily muscled body weight come crashing down on you while you were in such a vulnerable position was terrifying, made even worse by the fact that his enormous dick damn near pistol whipped you across the face. You’re not sure who was shrieking the loudest as you both writhed in the perilously enclosed space of the shower, limbs tangled together and blinded by water, but either way the crash from the fall and subsequent screeching was enough to summon Bakugou, who showed his concern by hammering on the bathroom door and roaring at you to shut the hell up.

In the days following that particular incident, a tender bruise blooms across your cheekbone from where Kirishima’s dick had slapped you. It’s pretty sore to touch, but it’s not the biggest deal ever and honestly you find it kind of funny -- plus, it’s not like it’s Kirishima’s fault that he’s got a cock like a lead pipe.

Kirishima, on the other hand, does not find it funny. Every time he catches sight of the bruise on your face his expression twists up into a guilty little grimace and he can’t quite meet your eyes. It doesn’t help that people keep asking about it, and even though you’re able to wave off any questions that come your way with a grin, you notice Kirishima shrinking a little every time. You try to convince him that it’s no big deal and it didn’t even hurt that much (which was a lie, because at the time you seriously thought that it was gonna take an eye out), but he still frets constantly and his new reluctance to touch you is obvious. You can’t lie, it’s disappointing. But as disheartening as your apparent inability to fuck your boyfriend without incurring bodily harm is, you can only imagine that it’s so much worse for Kirishima considering that the amount of times he’s gone all the way with anyone can be counted on one hand, and the amount of times he’s been successful in that can be counted on one finger.

“It’s seriously no big deal, Eiji,” you insist, trying to sound encouraging and positive but instead just sounding wheedling. You can’t be blamed, really, when you’re lying on your boyfriend’s bed in your underwear and desperately hoping he’ll be willing to try again. “Everyone has sex mishaps!”

“I could have knocked you out!” Kirishima shoots back from where he’s standing in front of his closet with his head stuck in a mountain of clothes as he tries to pretend to be busy sorting laundry. You’re not a total idiot though, you can see the little peeks he keeps throwing you over his shoulders.

“Oh please, you could not have knocked me out with a little slap from your dick.” you scoff. You wonder internally if he could, in fact, have knocked you out, and you reluctantly come to the conclusion that he probably could if he hit you in the temples or something. Then again, his dick was insanely sensitive, and you’re pretty sure that the impact of it slapping your face hurt him just as much as it hurt you.

“I gave you a black eye!”

“It was a bruised cheekbone, stop being dramatic!” You sit up so you can look at him properly, but his back is still stubbornly turned towards you. “Hey. Eijirou, come on. Look at me.”

“I just don’t want to hurt you.” His voice is so quiet that you almost miss it, but he finally puts down the socks he was pretending to be preoccupied with and turns to face you. “The first time- it was so, so good, and I don’t want to disappoint you with how… bad I am at all this-”

“Hey, stop.” you slip off the bed, kneeling down beside him in the mound of laundry. “You’re not bad at sex. I mean,” you amend thoughtfully, “You don’t have much experience. No one expects you to be a sex god right off the bat! You’re being too hard on yourself. Plus, I guess with what you’re packing there’s bound to be a learning curve, right?”

Kirishima snorts, and finally turns to look at you. “A learning curve.” He repeats, a grin beginning to play at the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah.” you say stubbornly, “We’ve learned lots already. I can’t have your dick in my mouth too long or I’ll dislocate my jaw. You really like it when I suck on the swollen part at the bottom of your dick. Your teeth are really sharp and you should avoid biting at all costs. And shower sex is a no go. Oh, and I should avoid getting clocked in the face by your cock, because that shit hurts.”

That pulls a short little laugh out of him, which is exactly what you had been hoping for. You grin, energised by that particular success, and when he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek you happily wind your hands into his hair. “Thanks for being patient with me.” he murmurs, a little bashful and so, so sweet.

You kiss the tip of his nose in return and wonder if your heart will ever get used to seeing him like this, all soft and smiley and blushy. You hope not; you hope you get to keep these fluttery feelings forever. “Of course,” you say quietly, afraid to break the moment, “We’ve had a few little accidents, but even if I could go back and redo them I wouldn’t. Not every time is gonna be perfect, but who cares? I like you, and I enjoy my time with you. That’s all that matters.”

Kirishima’s eyes blow wide and he clutches at his chest dramatically, lower lip trembling. “Baby… that was so romantic.”

“Oh, shut up.” you pull away, rolling your eyes defensively. Being all earnest and emotionally vulnerable is embarrassing; you have no idea how Kirishima can pull it off like it’s nothing.

“I mean it,” Kirishima insists, following after you, “That was really romantic. And I needed to hear it.”

You smile, pleased. “Good. Now stop being so hard on yourself. We’re in this together, and we will figure out how to master sex with your dick.”

He huffs a laugh even as he scratches at the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Need to get on top of that learning curve, huh?”

“The only way to learn is by doing.” you coo at him and then playfully wiggle your hips. You probably look more ridiculous than seductive, but your primary aim is to get Kirishima feeling comfortable.

It works, and a bright smile begins to work its way over Kirishima’s face. When he reaches for you, you press into his touch eagerly. “Wow, you’re really that eager for another sex disaster with my weird dick?”

“Don’t jinx it,” you insist, snaking your hand down the front of his sweatpants until you reach his dick. He’s gone without his usual jockstrap today since it was just the two of you in his room, so you can feel every ridge and bump through the soft jersey fabric. “Besides, I love your weird dick.”

He laughs at that, but presses his crotch into your hand nonetheless. As usual, his dick is filling out pretty rapidly, and there’s a growing wet patch where the head of his cock is beginning to leak precum. “Bed.” he suggests quietly, helping you to your feet and tugging you over to lie down on the sheets with him. When you’re settled comfortably on the bed he pauses, hovering over you and just smiling. 

This is always one of the best parts; the transition from chaste little kisses to heated touches, and the moments in between where Kirishima will look at you with the softest expression of pure reverence. When you reach up and touch his cheek he turns his face into your touch and nuzzles three quick kisses onto your fingers, smiling all the while. You grin back at him, delighted by the relaxed set of his shoulders; you have a good feeling about this. Surely this time will be successful and break the string of bad luck you’ve been having.

Apparently encouraged by your excited smile, Kirishima drops down to give you an open-mouthed kiss. You lean into it, looping your arms around his neck and hiking one of your thighs up over his hip to try and encourage him closer. The soft intimacy of the moment makes your breath catch in your throat just a little; it feels like every square inch of your skin is tingling from the anticipation of waiting for his touch, straining towards him as his fingers skim along your bare thigh so gently that the touch sends goosebumps rippling along your arms. The hand on your thigh adjusts, gripping firmly and pulling your leg further up on his hip so that both of your crotches are pressed together.

The outline of his cock through his sweatpants is hot and heavy, and when he starts up little rocking motions of his hips the hard length of it rubs up against your clit. Even through the fabric of his joggers and your panties the stimulation sends frissons of heat arcing up your spine and leaves you wound up and impatient for more. Luckily, you know you won’t have to wait long -- Kirishima loves winding you up, but his dick is so sensitive that once he gets started he finds it difficult to hold back.

With his free hand, Kirishima reaches up to play with your tits. Rather than waste time trying to unclasp your bra, he just pushes it up so that the bra cups no longer hinder his access to your chest. You try not to laugh as his fingers press into your breasts, because you know that he just likes the feeling of the squish when he squeezes them. He ducks his head and kisses each one, then licks a stripe over your nipple and sucks at it. You’re starting to feel tingly and very sensitive when he pulls back, your tit dropping from his mouth. The air against your wet skin feels too cold in the absence of his mouth, and your nipple is hard and sensitive to the point where it almost feels raw. “Hey,” he says, pulling your attention to his face. His eyes are fever bright, his face practically glowing with anticipation. “I want to eat you out.”

“Yes please.” you say rather stupidly. In all honesty, Kirishima could have asked to do anything at all to you in that moment and you would have been hard-pressed to say no. He looks so cute like this, his expression so open and soft and excited, any lingering unease or nerves being replaced by his desire to please and be pleased. He grins at you as he slides down your body, pressing a kiss to your belly button as he goes. Your panties are removed with one swift tug, but then he pauses just to look at you. “Quit staring!” you complain, clamping your thighs around his head to try and distract him.

“Ow! Hey, I’m just admiring the view!” He laughs, shaking his head free from your legs. “I’m not allowed to admire my beautiful girlfriend?”

“Gawking is not the same as admiring!”

“Gawking?”

“It’s embarrassing!”

“I’m gonna be inside you in a few minutes, but you’re embarrassed by me looking at you?” Kirishima sounds genuinely confused, but shakes it off with a laugh. “Okay, okay, fine. Want me to close my eyes?”

“No,” you laugh, still grinning down at him as he kisses the crease in your thighs, “Of course not. It’s just embarrassing to be stared at.”

“I like looking at your pussy,” he says with a shrug. His tone is conversational, as if he’s chatting over a cup of coffee rather than gazing up at you with his head between your legs, “It’s nice.”

You fold your arms over your face, fighting hard against the wave of self-consciousness that threatens to overtake you. “Right.” you manage to say, “Well. Okay then.” You hear him chuckle, but you stubbornly keep your eyes covered. Even without seeing, you know he’s taking you all in. Your body grows hot with embarrassment as you fight the urge to close your legs; seriously, you can’t figure out why he’s enjoying the view so much. You know there are better pussies out there. 

When his fingers trace over your outer lips you jerk, the touch catching you by surprise. The sudden movement causes him to make a rumbling sound in his chest, almost like a warning, and you still. You can feel his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and you shiver just a little when he kisses along your outer lips. It's the anticipation that’s getting to you more than anything, every nerve firing as you wait for his next touch. 

You sigh happily when he starts getting into eating you out for real, your hips twitching into his mouth. He’s just so good with his tongue, it makes your breath stutter and rattle in your chest. When he sucks at your clit, you sit up on your elbows so that you can watch him. He meets your gaze and throws you a cheeky wink as he laps at you, and you just know that he felt you physically react to it by the way he laughs a little into your cunt. “Shut up.” you grumble without any heat, grinning helplessly at him.

The smile he shoots back at you is extra shiny thanks to the fact that the lower half of his face is covered in his spit and your own slick, but he looks so dopey and happy that you feel your heart and your pussy clench at the same time. It’s a particularly disquieting sensation, but even through it you recognise the heat of an oncoming orgasm building in your lower belly. When he dives back in face first, he laps and sucks at you so eagerly that you fist your hand in his hair reflexively as you twitch against him. All you can do is hang on for dear life as he devotes everything he has to eating you out. 

Some part of you distantly wonders how his tongue hasn’t cramped up yet, but that thought vanishes when you catch sight of the way his hips are moving as he humps the mattress. He’s gone down on you like this countless times long before you found out exactly what he was packing, but this is the first time you’ve ever seen him actually actively engage in seeking his own pleasure while doing so. It’s hotter than you could have expected, and when he grinds down hard and whimpers into you, you very nearly lose it.

“Eijirou,” you gasp, tugging at his hair. You’re trying to pull him off you before you come, but apparently he really likes having his hair pulled because he moans delightedly against you, “Eijirou! Wait, stop, I’m gonna cum-!”

“Stop?” He parrots, pulling back to stare wide-eyed at you. “You don’t want to cum?”

“I do,” you hurry to assure him, struggling to catch your breath. “But I want you to fuck me first.”

Kirishima’s face goes on a journey of expressions before settling on one that’s distinctly delighted. “Yeah. Yes.” he says, “We can do that.”

You settle back against his pillows eagerly as he reaches over to his bedside table for the lube. You’ve been stretching yourself pretty much every day in the hopes that this exact situation would happen, so when Kirishima brings two fingers to your entrance they slip in with ease. He breathes out sharply and adds a third, using his thumb to rub at your clit as he presses his fingers all the way inside you. You take the opportunity to quickly take your bra off and throw it to the side, and then lie back as Kirishima finger fucks you. He hones in on the spongey area at the front of your inner walls like there’s a homing signal there, and your toes curl as he massages at it and your clit at the same time.

“Eijirou-!” you gasp, growing impatient. His fingers feel so good, but they’re not enough.

“Yeah, I got you, baby.” Kirishima murmurs, then sits back on his ankles. For the first time since he started eating you out you manage to actually get a look at him, and the sight has your thighs clenching together as you swear you nearly cream yourself on the spot. The front of his sweatpants are ruined -- he must have been dribbling copious amounts of precum the whole time he was going down on you and humping the bed, and without his usual cup he’s soaked through the grey cotton.

When he notices you looking he flushes, obviously embarrassed, and opens his mouth, but you speak quickly before he gets the chance to apologise or try to put himself down. “That’s so hot. Shit, you’re so hot. Fuck.”

Your words are simple, but it’s impossible not to notice the subtle straightening of his shoulders as he shucks his pants and shuffles over closer to you. “I, um. I really like eating you out.”

“Yeah.” you breathe with a grin, reaching out to stroke his dick. It’s sticky and messy with his own precum, lying impossibly hot and heavy in your hand. The base of it is already flushed and swollen with cum, and the entire length of it strains up towards his belly in a truly awesome display of gravity-defying physics. “I can see that.”

He shudders and presses into your touch as you rub over the raised bumps and the bulbous head. You kiss his shoulder, sweet and fast, then spread your legs to give him some room as he settles in between them. The tip of his cock skims along your pussy lips and prods at your entrance, but doesn’t go any further despite your squirming. “Ready?” Kirishima asks, as though you’re not writhing against the tip of his dick like a cat in heat.

“Yes!” 

The chuckle Kirishima gives at that is breathless and excited, and it cuts off as soon as he starts to press into you in favour of a drawn out groan. The stretch and the sheer size of him isn’t as much of a shock as the first time, but you still lose your breath as he pushes inside in increments. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the overwhelming stretch, the subtle curve, the ribbed bumps and swirls rubbing against every part of you. Even when you feel impossibly full he keeps going, and soon he’s over you and around you and inside you and it seems like your whole world has narrowed down to the points of contact where you’re touching.

His fists clench in the bedsheets by your head and his shoulders hunch over you as he visibly fights the urge to just rock into you all at once. “Fuck.” he grunts, biting his lip as he tries to hold back. Hit with immediate flashbacks from the second time you two had tried to have sex and he had bitten through his lip, you quickly reach up and kiss him in a desperate attempt to avert another disaster. When you pull back, he seems to have collected himself somewhat, despite the slightly glassy look in his eye. “You okay?” he asks, the muscles of his abdomen clenched tight as he holds himself back.

Honestly, with his cock splitting you open like this you feel as though you’re about to crack in half. Every couple of moments his cock twitches and flexes inside of you as it dribbles more precum, and you can feel it inside of you. It’s all just on the border of too much, and you’re desperate for so much more. “Yes,” you say at last, throwing your head back and trying to push further down onto his dick, “But baby, please move.”

Kirishima must have been waiting for that, because as soon as you ask it of him he begins rutting into you with a rough pant of “Oh, yeah.”

Every time his hips drive home the tip of his cock presses into your cervix and the subsequent achey jolt that shoots through you borders on pleasure and pain. It feels good, but you just need to- you need-

You shift under him and tilt your hips up, and the next time he ruts into you has you nearly yelping like a kicked dog. The swollen head of his cock hits against the spongey part inside of you, and the ridges rub deliciously along it every time he pulls out. You think your eyes might actually cross from how good it feels.

Kirishima doesn’t even seem to notice, nearly mindless with need. If you’re being honest with yourself, this is your favourite part; feeling him completely lose his mind just from being buried inside of you, watching his eyes lose focus at the heat and tightness of your pussy as he whines and moans even as he rails you into whatever surface you’re lying on. Kirishima whimpers as his cock jack-hammers inside of you, the soft little sound completely at odds with the strength of his thrusts and the way he’s holding your hips in place with his hands as he fucks into you. His movements are frantic, but he still manages to hold his strength in place, never moving hard enough to hurt. “Oh, oh, I love being inside you so much, baby, oh god, you make me feel so good-”

One of his hands comes to rest on your lower belly, and when he presses down you feel like you’re about to break apart. The subtle pressure of his hand makes every thrust so much more intense, as though you can feel him grinding in your belly. Every time he ruts into you it forces the air from your lungs, but you try to reply anyway, pushing the words out even as they almost catch in your throat, “Feels- feels good-!”

“Yeah?” he pants, kissing eagerly at your neck. His hand wanders down from your belly to your clit, and starts rubbing quick circles into your clit. His coordination is totally off but if anything that makes it so much hotter. You can feel how desperate he is with every clumsy jerk of his hand and every frantic snap of his hips.

The combination of his cock rubbing and grinding against the soft spongey part inside of you and the messy stimulation of your clit has your legs trembling and heat growing rapidly in your belly. It feels like you’re being strung tighter and tighter as your orgasm draws closer, and your breath begins coming in rapid pants. The pressure in your abdomen feels a little different than usual, and you take it as a sign that you’re about to come really hard.

You just manage to get out the words “Oh, yes-!” before the pleasure growing in your belly crests and your back bows as you start to cum. It feels like the most cathartic orgasm ever, like all of the pressure that’s been building up in your body is set free with the sweetest release, made all the sweeter by the fact that Kirishima keeps rocking into you the whole way through, the heavy head of his cock grinding hard against your G-spot the whole time. 

It feels like an oddly wet orgasm though, and you just have time to wonder disappointedly if you had missed Kirishima cum when he looks up at you, bewildered, and yelps “Are you peeing on me?”

“What?” you sit up so fast that you nearly headbutt him, and moving your body so quickly comes with the unintended side-effect of contracting the muscles inside of you. The abrupt squeeze of your internal muscles proves too much for Kirishima, and he starts to cum even as he pulls out of you, his hips humping furiously into the air as thick ropes of cum begin to splatter your skin. 

You’re busy trying to wrap your head around the fact that you apparently just squirted -- it had never happened to you before, and though the surprise of Kirishima’s question had lessened some of the intensity, the aftershocks of the orgasm are still shaking their way through your body -- so it takes a solid moment for your brain to get back with the program. It takes yet another moment to realise that Kirishima is cumming a lot. Like, more than usual, which is saying something.

His face has gone slack and his eyes are unfocused as his cock practically streams cum in jets, the swollen base pulsing as his whole cock twitches. You can’t deny that it’s unbelievably hot seeing him lose himself like this, sweaty and wanton and twitching, but he’s also getting cum everywhere - it spills all over you, all over him, all over the bed.

“Oh, shit” is all you can think to say, trying to catch his cum with your hand in a failed attempt to minimise the mess. It strings stickily down your arms, viscous and thick, and you’re pretty sure that if you hadn’t just had one of the best orgasms ever this would have you creaming yourself. “Holy fuck, babe, stop-!”

Kirishima doesn’t stop. His hips keep jabbing into thin air as his cock flexes with every dribble of cum. You reach out and grab his cock without any real thought, but your touch only seems to drive him wilder because he moans wildly and tries to fuck into your hand. It must be because he had been grinding himself into the bed while he ate you out; you don’t think he’s ever actually worked himself up before, considering how desperate and mindless he gets when he’s about to cum. At a loss for anything else to do, you just try to stroke him through it. Every pull on his cock results in more cum stringing over your wrist, the glide of your hand against the thick length of him wet and slick.

It seems like he cums forever, but at last it tapers off until his cock is twitching fruitlessly and his whole body sags as though he’s gone suddenly boneless. The two of you sit and stare at each other, shell-shocked, covered in various bodily fluids. Even the silence sounds confused.

At last, you blurt the only thing you can think of to say. “I did not pee on you.”

Kirishima’s laugh sounds like it comes from deep within his chest, and then suddenly he’s best over and laughing so hard he goes wheezy. “What-” he gasps in between exhausted and breathless giggles, “the fuck just happened?”

You join in on his laughter, unable to help yourself. The two of you are sticky and damp and sitting in a veritable puddle of cum, but you crawl over the mess and climb into his lap, sighing happily as his arms come to wrap around you. “I’ve never seen so much cum in my life.” you point out stupidly, “You’re gonna have to get new sheets.”

He grins as he flops back limply on the bed, taking you with him. “So, so worth it.” he sighs, raising your knuckles to his face so he can kiss them. His face twists up when he realises that your hand is still covered in cum and that it’s now on his mouth, which makes you erupt into cackles again.

“No injuries, so I’d say that’s a win.” You kiss his chest and stretch out on top of him. You’ll have to move soon, because the cum is starting to dry flakily and feels kind of gross on your skin, but for now you’re happy to ignore it in favour of being close to him.

“Hell yeah,” Kirishima playfully punches the air with one hand as the other strokes your back. “We totally crushed that learning curve, right?”

“Yeah,” you laugh, “Crushed it.”

[thesquishyrogue]

Rogue's relationships with the rest of the mercs

Scout:

Almost like a brother-sister relationship. They're always goofing off together, joking around, getting on Spy's nerves. Just being the chaotic force of the team. Scout constantly convinces Rogue to play baseball with him, especially after seeing that they both use bats as a weapon (albeit Rogue's has nails driven through it).

Scout: "Aw man, sick bat! Say, you ever actually played baseball? If not I could teach ya. Though, you should probably use a different bat. I'll let ya borrow one of mine!"

Soldier:

He's definitely sort of a weird uncle figure to her. She's always giggling at his ridiculous antics, and he's surprisingly protective of her. Although at the same time he's always impressed by her ability to fend for herself, and fight off men larger than her despite her size.

Soldier: "Hell yeah, look at her go! Kicking ass just like a true American! She makes me proud!"

Pyro:

Oh my goodness. These two. Rogue almost always puts on a tough attitude, especially around the other guys. But around Pyro? They're probably the only person Rogue will be a softie towards. They're constantly seen platonically hugging and cuddling, and Pyro loves when Rogue covers their mask in stickers. They always return the favor by covering her face. Once they come off she treasures them. The others will always comment on how adorable the two are, usually followed by Rogue telling them to fuck off.

Rogue: "If anything were to ever happen to Pyro, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself."

Pyro: (灬º‿º灬)

Demoman:

Their relationship is quite explosive, to say the least. When Demo isn't trying to get Rogue to try some of his alcohol (which always results in Rogue gagging and choking from the bitterness) they're always assisting each other on the battlefield. Mostly in the form of Rogue catapultng Demo's bombs at enemies with her slingshot. They always share a laugh when a BLU team member is blown to bits.

Demoman: "Boom, right in the head! Look at all that blood! Yer aim is getting better and better, lassie!"

Heavy:

Just looking at these two stand next to each other is almost laughable. With Heavy being incredibly larger than everyone and Rogue being incredibly smaller, he practically dwarfs her. He's extremely gentle with her though, and takes care of her in sort of a protective big brother kind of way. Whenever the team is lounging around, she's often either cuddled into him or resting her legs in his lap. He doesn't mind it. He's also let her beat him in arm wrestling numerous times. She knows he lets her win, but she still take the opportunity to boast to the other mercs about it.

Heavy: "Little girl is so strong. You've beaten me again."

Rogue: 😏😏😏

Engineer:

He's also like an uncle figure to her. But unlike Soldier, he's more of the chill laid-back uncle that she can go to for advice. And she often does. Sometimes when she's bored she'll go into his workshop and talk with him as he plays his guitar or she helps out with whatever he's working on. Even if that help is something as simple as just handing him tools, he appreciates it. He appreciates the company too.

Engie: "Alright darlin', can you hand me the screwdriver?"

Rogue: "Uh... which one?"

Engie: "The Phillips."

Rogue: "Uh..."

Engie: "The pointy one."

Rogue: "Oh! Yeah sure I knew that."

Medic:

Like with Engie, Rogue will often go into the infirmary to talk with Medic as he works (she also makes sure he takes a break once in a while and doesn't overwork himself). He also does what he can to help with her depression once that's out in the open, prescribing her any antidepressants he can get his hands on. Though when she first joined the team and he gave her her first annual exam, he was astounded by how many fractures and injuries he'd found that were just left to sloppily heal on their own. The sadistic doctor was actually kind of worried for her, though honestly impressed by her high pain tolerance.

Medic: "Goodness fräulein, this is the fifth fracture I've found! How are you even walking?"

Rogue: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Sniper:

Despite having quite good aim from using a slingshot for years, Rogue was quite inexperienced with guns (not including when she killed her old caretaker at the end of her fighting days). So naturally, Sniper took it upon himself to teach her. He educates her on different types of guns in order to find what works best for her, and the two partake in target practice together. Of course, the two end up bonding during the lessons. She tells him all about her life in the ring, and he tells her about what life was like back in Australia. One thing that Rogue wasn't anticipating, however, was how strong the recoil of a gun can be. She was so unprepared she was thrown right onto her ass in shock.

Sniper: "Crikey! You alright there, mate?"

Rogue: "Yeah I'm fine... fuck, what was that?!"

Sniper: "Recoil, love. Did you not know guns did that?"

Rogue: "...no..."

Spy:

Although she and Spy certainly took the longest to warm up to each other, the two are as close as can be now. Once they finally accepted each other, Spy took her under his wing as his apprentice. He helps her perfect her thieving skills and educates her on how to take tough situations in stride. She really looks up to him, and they almost have a father-daughter relationship. And of course, when her depression comes to light, he's her biggest means of support. He's always available when she needs him and he does whatever he can for her.

Spy: "You make me so proud, mon cheri. You've captured the intel once again, our training has really paid off. Great job."

Rogue: "Thanks dad."

Spy: "Excuse me, what was that?"

Rogue: "....nothing."

Bonus!

Miss Pauling:

Miss Pauling is literally the first woman Rogue has ever been close to in her life. Throughout her entire childhood she's been surrounded by creepy older men, and even though things are different now with the mercs... they're still men. There are just some things Rogue isn't quite comfortable talking to them about. But with Miss Pauling, going to her for help with things like clothes shopping and feminine problems almost feels natural. Hell, there were so many things Rogue didn't even know about periods until Miss Pauling explained them to her. And of course Miss Pauling takes the time out of her busy work day as often as she can to make sure Rogue is stocked up on sanitary items, and whatever else she needs. Rogue is always extremely greatful for it. And while part of her sees Miss Pauling as sort of a mother figure...another part sort of has a crush on her. Yeah, Miss Pauling was pretty much Rogue's bisexual awakening. But she hasn't said anything about it, one because it would just be awkward and two because she knows Scout also likes her, and she doesn't wanna stand in his way (but little does either of them know, Miss Pauling is a lesbian 👀)

Miss Pauling: "Rogue, honey, you don't even know what a pad is? Or a tampon??? What- what do you do when you get your period?"

Rogue: "What, you mean that weird time of the month that I start bleeding? I just... live with it I guess? Maybe put toilet paper in my panties if it gets too messy-"

Miss Pauling: "Rogue. Come with me, I'll get you stocked up on the things you need. And we'll get you some new panties too."

Rogue: "But don't you have things to do?"

Miss Pauling: "This is more important. You shouldn't have to suffer every month just because no one ever properly taught you about periods. I'll help you out."

Saxton Hale:

Rogue thought he was obnoxious upon first meeting him. Called him a "corporate clown" to the other mercs. But, she had to  earn his approval in order to join the team, so Miss Pauling insisted that she be on her best behavior around him. But, even when on her best behavior her spunkiness still shined through, and Saxton noticed it real quick. However, that spunkiness only raised his interest. He commented on how he, "Hadn't met such a scrappy sheila in a long time." Truth be told, she reminded him a lot of Maggie, but he wasn't about to mention it. During their one on one meeting, he demanded that she punch him in the face to test her strength. After a short hesitation, she did so. Saxton was impressed that she actually hit him hard enough to dislocate his jaw and bust his lip, and gave her the job on the spot with the promise that she keep up that energy (and learn to use some weapons, of course). Miss Pauling and the mercs were shocked to see the two of them come back with Saxton's arm slung around Rogue's shoulders and his face dripping with blood, and the two of them laughing with each other. She took back what she said about him being a corporate clown. Although, the only thing she still doesn't like about him is how he treats Miss Pauling, considering how close she is with her. She has a mind to call him out on it, but Miss Pauling begs her not to.

Saxton: "Let's see just how strong a little gal like you can really be. Go on, hit me RIGHT here! Hard as ya can!"

Rogue: "Uh...Mr. Hale, I really don't-"

Saxton: "Oh don't wuss out on me girly, you want this job or not?!"

Crack.

Rogue: "Oh my god- Mr. Hale! I am so-"

Saxton: "Now that's what I'm talking about! You pack a hard punch for such a cute little thing!"

Rogue: "You're bleeding..."

Saxton: "Consider yourself hired!"

Administrator:

Doesn't trust her. Not one bit. She only respects her because she has to, and even then her "respect" is so shallow that anyone could see right through it. She hates the way she berates, overworks, and oftentimes gaslights Miss Pauling, and the fact that even all the other mercs seem to be intimidated by her concerns her greatly. She knows something's going on with her behind the scenes, and she's determined to figure out what. In the few times she actually saw her in person, Rogue definitely smarted off to her more than once, despite Miss Pauling practically begging her to watch it. The Administrator, however, almost finds it adorable. Almost. She kind of views Rogue as a bratty child. A bratty child with skill and talent that is essential for her team. And for that, she lets the sassiness slide...for now. Luckily these two don't butt heads often though, considering the Administrator is rarely seen.

Administrator, over the loud loudspeaker: "Well done, let's see some more."

Rogue, mumbling: "Bite me..."

[stxleslyds]

Have you watched the Teen Titans animated series or Young Justice? If so, what do you think about their characterization of Dick Grayson?

And while we're at it, what about the animated movies? How does his characterization compare there?

Hi! Thank you so much for the ask!

I have to be honest, Teen Titans wasn’t a show that I was able to watch when it came out because I didn’t have cable tv yet and by the time that I had it I was actually into other TV shows, I watched a few episodes from what I believe was the last season but I didn’t really like the Titans lineup so I didn’t pay much attention to it. So, I can’t really say anything about his characterization there.

Young Justice I have watched! I believe I watched it for the first time in 2018 on Netflix. I loved the first season, it was amazing and it kinda made me want to read DC comics again. I had “taken a break” from reading DC because I was consuming another type of content, mostly MCU and Marvel Comics. I watched seasons two and three but I didn’t like them as much as the first one because I felt like there were too many characters and it overwhelmed me a little bit.

So, to answer your question, I love Young Justice’s characterization of Dick Grayson (as Robin, Nightwing, and just Dick). Although the universe where YJ is very different from the comics one, they did make an excellent job developing Dick and the other team members in the first season.

It was weird seeing Dick in the YJ team instead of the Titans one but I am glad that they did it that way because they took their time to develop Dick and then Tim as the Robins in the different seasons.

Dick not being the leader of the team was also weird but it led to so many interesting plotlines for him. I also felt that their take on Dick Grayson was very in tune with the times in which the show came out he was very tech-driven (which he used to be in comics but then they gave that characteristic to Tim and took it away from Dick) and is Bat training was shown plenty, he truly seemed like one of the most valuable assets for the team even though he was the youngest and he had no powers.

His personality felt real for his age in the show, he was funny and smart, his acrobatic skills were there. I really loved the way they handled his change of mind when it came to wanting to lead the team at all costs and wanting to become Batman in the future. That episode was wonderfully done and seeing that therapy session that Dick had still makes me feel sad for him.

He was friends with everybody and tried to make everyone feel welcome which I think is also very in tune with Dick Robin in comics. He seemed to be learning from everyone and every experience too which was also nice. The Circus episode really showed us another side of Dick, he was being protective of his first family and he was also starting to feel comfortable as a sort of co-leader of the team. He had a very deep connection with his teammates and that was also similar to his relationship in comics with the Titans.

As I said before I really couldn’t enjoy the other two seasons the same way that I did the first but the Dick Grayson that I saw in them was a really cool one, it did give me Outsiders (2003) vibes from those seasons so I am a little bit biased. But I really liked the idea of Dick and Kaldur having this secret plan that could help everyone in the end even though it might have cost them their friends. When that situation repeated itself in the third season I still sided with Dick (and the people that were on “his” team), it really felt like Dick could see the bigger picture of the problems that they were facing, I wouldn’t say that Dick puts the mission in front of everything else though, that’s Batman’s thing. Dick really just wanted everyone to be okay and he saw that people were trying to solve the problem inefficiently, which would eventually get more people hurt. He was very selfless but also realized that by doing what he did he didn’t only help to save the world but he did make some people think twice before trusting him completely.

That last scene where Dick calls everyone for a meeting and he is surprised when everyone shows up is a very Dick Grayson scene, people really understood that as a team leader Nightwing had to make some very difficult decisions so when he called, they all showed up. Bruce saying that Dick commands more respect than he realizes was so true and iconic of him.

One of my favorite episodes was “Private Security” where Dick teamed up with Will, Roy, and Jim harper, it was super fun and it also had some very interesting moments that showed how Dick was grieving the death/disappearance of his friend, and how he needed someone to tell him that he was going to be okay and that there were people who needed training and he was the best option to do it. That interaction between Dick and Will made me remember Dick and Roy’s chat at the beginning of Outsiders (2003).

Overall, I really enjoyed Dick’s characterization in that show, it respected the original material and made Dick a solid character even though he had differences from his comic counterpart.

-

I have seen very few animated movies from DC that had Dick as a featured character. I watched: Under the Red Hood, Son of Batman, Batman vs Robin, Batman: Bad Blood, Teen Titans: Judas Contract, and Batman: Hush.

In those movies, Dick’s characterization hasn’t been consistent, in each movie they manage to get something right but they butcher everything else. Mostly I enjoy Dick’s interactions with people, he had a fun moment with Damian, Kory, Bruce, and Selina. But he is never the real center of these stories so they kinda throw him to the side and nerf him a bit too much.

In “Bad Blood” he was Batman to Damian’s Robin but that movie didn’t do much for their relationship. He kinda is reduced to Batman’s most loyal friend or something like that, there isn’t much depth to him or his characterization.

He really wasn’t loved or respected in these movies, “Batman vs. Robin” had the Court of Owls as the main enemies but they didn’t use Dick as a plotline, they had Damian and Bruce having a conflict instead.

“Batman: Hush” was a mess, from every point of view, Dick was done dirty in that scene in the cemetery (I can’t really remember if it was a cemetery the place where he got dosed with fear(?) gas and Selina had to save him), he is treated as if he were an unexperienced vigilante, it is very sad to see.

Also, they had this very annoying “trope” where Dick dislocated his shoulder someway, somehow in every movie. I don’t know why that was, but it happened too often.

-

As you can see, I haven’t watched that much DC animated content so, from what I have seen Dick’s best characterization is the one from Young Justice, I think they did a great job mixing their own version of Dick Grayson with his comic counterpart. They really respected and worked with the original material.

But! “The Lego Batman” needs to have a special mention because this movie was a gift from the gods. This is a masterpiece, it’s Dick Grayson makes my heart melt, I adore that little Robin, he makes me happy. Bruce and Joker’s relationship is a perfect dramatization of what Batman and Joker’s relationship is in comics and I will be forever glad that DC took the initiative and made fun of themselves like that.

It is just the perfect comfort movie!

Another special mention is “Batman: Under the Red Hood” but I am not mentioning it because of Dick’s appearance there, I just think that this movie is neat and amazing and that everyone should watch it. It has Jensen Ackles voicing Jason! Best Jason Todd/Red Hood that we have ever had out of comics!

Anyway, I am sorry it took me so long to answer your ask, I hope you have a marvelous week!

[cuttlefishkitch]

hello! i haven't talked to you before, but ron said that i could ask you for some advice on writing eds? (i'd like to know things to avoid/common things that could come up in everyday life that would be good to mention/the sort of aids and stuff they'd have maybe?/anything else you think is relevant)

Hi! Sorry this took so long, a combination of ADHD and chronic pain slowed me way the fuck down. Thank you for being patient! 

EDIT: WEIRD HEEL THINGS I FORGOT!!

So, before I get into this I should probably say I technically haven’t been diagnosed with Ehlers Danlos Syndrome (EDS for anyone reading) because it’s one of those syndromes that takes forever to get diagnosed with (it took a friend of mine’s mother over 30 years to get dxed). Many doctors, and everyone I know who does have EDS agree with me that it’s probably what causes my chronic joint pain and some of my other chronic issues. But just because three separate doctors have said “Yeah Probably” doesn’t mean I’m diagnosed!! Only a geneticist can do that!! And they had two-three year waitlists BEFORE the apocalypse happened.

I am diagnosed with Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS), Small Fiber Neuropathy, and potentially misdiagnosed with Fibromyalgia (once I get properly tested for EDS I might get undiagnosed with this because I don’t have most of the main symptoms of Fibro, but I got diagnosed with it anyway because it’s what doctors misDX you with when they don’t know what’s wrong with you and don’t want to do more tests).

All that said, I’ve done a lot of research about EDS (mainly because it’s the only thing that explains all my symptoms since doctors seem incapable of doing so), and know a few people who have either confirmed or suspected EDS, so I’ll link to some stuff, talk about the symptoms that often come with EDS, explain how the symptoms I have affect me, because just because someone’s not diagnosed doesn’t mean they aren’t having symptoms, and probs elaborate a bit about writing physical disabilities and chronic pain in general because it’s super important to me! 

So RESOURCES aka how to make sure your post never sees the light of day because you’re linking things and tumblr hates it when people give other people information!!

Youtubers! If you want to know about the day to day of living with EDS or any disability or chronic illness I super suggest finding a youtuber that makes videos about their life. My EDS favorites are

Jessica Kellgren-Fozard

Annie Elainey

Amy Lee Fisher

Websites! If you’re asking random folks on tumblr I’m assuming (and hoping) you’ve already done the basic WebMD google searches and looked over the seemingly ridiculous lists of symptoms and related conditions, so here are a few websites that are made more for people than for doctors.

The Ehlers Danlos Society

OhTWIST (That’s Why I’m So Tired)

ChronicPainPartners (the fact that they have an entire section of articles called “Dealing with Doctors” should really tell you something)

Books! If you feel like doing actual reading! I suggest reading books written by people with Ehlers Danlos, to get a feel for how they portray themselves. I’m not saying steal, but it’s probably a good point of comparison to see how your portrayal feels. (haven’t actually read these b/c my ADHD doesn’t let me read)

Ria Ruse by Morgan S. Ray (a superhero book with a disabled super MC!!)

Mysteries of Maybelle by Imani Benfell (Imani is still in high school and has already written and self-published a book cause she didn’t have enough representation for herself how cool is she!!)

Bodies in Motion by Liana Brooks (tw for pregnancy problems and miscarriages in the link, because it’s a blog post talking about integrating EDS symptoms into the story without explicitly naming them as such)

OKAY, now for some rambling about EDS SYMPTOMS!!!

Ehlers Danlos is one monster of a genetic condition in complexity and variety. There are THIRTEEN different identified types of EDS, it often comes with Mast Cell Activation Syndrome (MCAS) and/or POTS, and can lead to various other conditions like gastroparesis, chiari malformation, craniocervical instability, and/or bad teeth. So if you’re going to be writing a character with EDS consider what other comorbid conditions they might also have. I’m mainly going to be talking about Hypermobile EDS (hEDS) because it’s what I probably have and what I’m most familiar with. That said there is a lot of overlap in symptoms with the other varieties.

I started typing this section and realized I was going to have to break it down even more so we’re going to talk about Chronic Pain, Unstable Joints (Dislocations and Subluxations), Skin Things, Mobility Issues, and Other Weird Shit and how those things get addressed separately.

Gonna get the Other Weird Shit out of the way first. Because EDS is a malfunction of connective tissue it can fuck up all sorts of random things. For instance, I and many other people w/ hEDS have trouble swallowing. Shit gets stuck in my throat, I sometimes choke on and have to cough up food, and pills can be hard to swallow, which sucks cause I take A Lot Of Pills. If it doesn’t cause full-on gastroparesis it can cause IBS or other digestive problems b/c the digestive tract is mostly made of connective tissue. It can potentially cause heart problems even if they aren’t as big of a risk as in some other forms of EDS. Premature osteoarthritis is common because what you need is more joint pain. And Fatigue OH BOY THE FATIGUE. And of course the headaches, can’t forget those pesky migraines can we!

AND piezogenic papules!! I completely forgot!! Piezogenic papules are little white bumps that appear when you put weight on your heel. In some people they hurt, but in others they don’t. They’re technically tiny little herniations of fat peaking through the fascia in the heel. They were added as part of the diagnostic criteria for hEDS in 2017!

Now for Skin Things cause it’s not as big a thing in hEDS as it is in other forms. Basically, in a lot of forms of EDS, the skin is extra stretchy and extra delicate. It bruises and tears easily, people with the extreme versions of this can accidentally scratch something into an open wound if they aren’t careful. My skin is pretty soft and sensitive, I def have the typical velvety skin, and as is pretty par for the course of someone with hEDS my skin is a little stretchy, and sorta delicate. I’m not as tissue-papery as some people get, but I almost always have at least one mystery bruise or scrape b/c existing is hazardous. Most of scars are also pretty normal, unlike the extremely papery and atrophic scars (though I have a few tiny acne scars that are atrophic) that are common with other kinds of hEDS. Something that I DO have is Lots of Stretch Marks, all over my thighs, and even down to my calves. Which wouldn’t be abnormal, except for the fact that I’ve never been over 145 lbs and I’ve never been pregnant. Having a lot of stretch marks or striations in the skin without due cause happens because the structure of the skin isn’t as strong as it is in people with a normal amount of connective tissue.

I don’t have to worry as much about my skin but people that do are usually very careful with adhesives because they can irritate or tear the skin, which sucks when you need a lot of bandaids cause your darn skin won’t do its job.

Now on to the meatier stuff and since I’m mostly working backward let’s do Mobility Issues!! These can happen in loads of ways, but a lot of what causes these in people with EDS are the other two things I wanna talk about. Unstable joints lead to increased risk of injury when doing stuff people with fully functioning joints can do.

For context, I’m an ambulatory wheelchair user, meaning I can walk, but a lot of the time it’s better if use a chair. Mine is mostly for my POTS symptoms, but the fact that my legs aren’t also in absolute agony is a big plus. I use a custom manual wheelchair with a SmartDrive (b/c I’m very fucking fortunate and have good insurance) whenever I leave the house and have to be “walking” for more than a few minutes at a time. I can’t fully self-propel in a manual chair because it would be damaging to the joints in my arms and hands, but the smaller chair is easier to maneuver in less than accessible spaces (like almost everywhere). There was about a month-long span where I used a very cheap and very bulky electric chair while I was waiting on the ideal set up I have now. Before that, I also briefly used, and sometimes still use, an up-right posture cane.

People with EDS have widely varying mobility issues because of how uniquely it can manifest. My cane only gave me a little help with balance because if I used it in any prolonged capacity any pain it took away from my legs was relocated to my arms, and as an artist, my arms are more important to me!

If you’re going to write a character with EDS having mobility issues as a result of their EDS the best thing to do is to narrow down their specific needs. Are their knees complete and utter garbage but their shoulders and wrists strong? Maybe they can get away with using a cane. Can they not stand for longer than 5 minutes because of the vertigo from their POTS? Maybe they need a manual wheelchair. Would propelling themself damage their back and arm joints? An electric chair might be necessary! Plenty of people with EDS use all sorts of combinations of these aides to get around their life, consider how your character’s good and bad days would be. Do they have back up plans if they overestimate themselves? There can be a lot to manage, but don’t let it scare you off! Sometimes I try and make it into a resource management game (because I’m a game designer and that’s what I do), to make evaluating my energy and mobility needs more fun!

But now let's tackle some of the reasons those mobility aides might be needed. Unstable Joints.

Ever stepped wrong and rolled your ankle? It hurts for a few steps and then kinda fixes itself, or maybe it bothers you for the rest of the day and you put it up and ice it when you get home? When I was walking around outside my house that would happen AT LEAST once a month, usually more. Some times I’m sitting wrong and when I get up my knee isn’t a knee anymore and decides to just give out from under me. My knuckles are made of unruly popcorn and they Don’t Want To Stay Home!! Oh! And my shoulder is more often out a little out of its socket than it is fully in.

Unstable joints lead to Dislocations and Subluxations of varying intensity, and some people get them more frequently than others. Some can be severe enough to necessitate hospital visits and even surgery, some subluxations are so banal (like my fUCKING SHOULDER) that you just learn to live with the pain.

If a character is going to be in high action, combat-heavy scenarios, chances are they’re going to be popping out joints left and right. Hell, depending on the severity of their joint laxity they could be doing the same sitting at a desk. Again, it’s incredibly varied. I’d suggest setting some sort of baseline for yourself, of what a character’s joints can and can’t stand up to, and maybe do some research on which joints are most likely to pop out in general (hips and shoulders are big culprits being the wacky ball and socket motherfuckers they are). Then maybe have something pop out or hold up every so often when it shouldn’t cause hey! EDS is kinda just like that! Unpredictable!

Some ways people manage joint laxity is with braces, KT tape, and physical therapy. Braces come in many different forms, since I’m currently getting pretty much no treatment for my shitty joints I use mostly compression braces made for sporty people. It really is amazing how much a bit of tight fabric can do to keep my wrist in place.

More specialized braces often have solid parts to prevent the joints from hyper-extending (bending the wrong way) and causing further damage. If you ever see someone with what looks like diamond shaped rings around a bunch of their finger joints, chances are those are Ring Splints, and are there to keep the finger shaped like a finger. I want to get my hands on some and get some on my hands Very Badly, because my fingers hyper-extend SO MUCH when I type, and it makes my hand pain way way worse.

KT tape is another thing people often use. It’s stretchy tape you put on your skin and it basically functions kinda like a second ligament as well as reinforcing the joint and keeping the bones mostly where they’re supposed to be. The problem with this is a lot of people with EDS have very sensitive and fragile skin like I mentioned before, so KT tape can cause allergic reactions, chronic skin irritation, or just straight up take the skin with it when someone goes to remove it. Hence a lot of folks are really careful with it.

Physical Therapy is kinda the best (and only) treatment for joint laxity aside from Very Invasive and sometimes Highly Experimental surgery. It focuses on strengthening the muscles around the joints so they can do the work all those bone ropes made of body glue can’t. The problem is finding a physical therapist that 1) knows what EDS even is, 2) knows you have it, and 3) knows how to treat it without doing stuff that’ll Phucking Hurt You Worse!! Because exercising wrong with EDS can do Permanent Damage!!!

Again most folks use a combination of all of these things, or have next to no access to them b/c healthcare sucks.

Anyway, on to one of my favorite topics, Chronic Pain!! One of the reasons this post took me so long!!!

Chances are if your character has chronic pain as a result of their EDS there are gonna be some things they hate, including stairs, rain, thunderstorms, stairs, hills, uneven terrain, oh and did I mention stairs??? It’s going to vary person to person, but almost everyone I’ve met with pain from EDS has complained about their knees. For me the most debilitating pain is in my fingers and wrists. They’re by far my least stable joints but I use them constantly for stuff like drawing, typing, and sewing.

Because my joint pain is so wide spread, like most people’s with hEDS, it effects every single part of my day to day life. I can’t carry a heavy ceramic plate, open a bottle, or even use my computer without pain. It’s practically impossible for me to get comfortable in any position be it sitting or laying down, and as you can imagine that makes it hard to sleep a lot of the time. Moving too much hurts, but so does sitting still. I’m constantly taking braces on and off or cracking/stretching my joints so they pop back into place and hurt less.

Also being in pain makes everything else That Much Worse. I get tired way faster than I did before my pain was this bad (I had chronic pain for a while before actually realizing it wasn’t normal to not be able to walk down the block without feeling like your foot bones are trying to escape). My sensory issues and anxiety disorder are more easily aggravated because my base level of comfort is way worse. It fucks with my depression. And OH BOY does it make my ADHD worse because being in pain is fucking distracting as hell and makes it harder to make decisions and switch tasks. Also my ADHD often makes my other symptoms worse cause I forget to take my meds, don’t drink enough water, or can’t find my fucking braces because the item eating black-hole that comes with ADHD stole them. The intersection of mental and physical disabilities is probably a rant for another time though, so back to chronic pain.

Does it suck? Yes, undoubtedly. Is this incredibly debilitating? Of course it is, I spent the last several months unable to feed myself without assistance because there was a staircase between my room and the kitchen and I could only manage to climb it once a day. Is it overwhelming? Definitely, I’ve frequently broken down crying from a combination of pain and frustration because I’m having a bad day and there’s no relief to be found. Am I able to predict when it’s going to rain with uncanny accuracy because any change in barometric pressure makes me feel like every bone in my body is trying to kill it’s neighbors? You bet your fucking ass I am!! Does it sometimes make me irritable, angry, and occasionally dismissive of when abled people get cold or a temporary injury because the stuff they’re complaining about is my life every single day and all avenues of treatment and recovery I have could take years and still not entirely solve my issues? Yeah, and while I deserve a little extra patience I also have to be sure to check myself because I don’t want to turn into someone who’s nasty to be around. Do I sometimes need to sleep for 17 hours straight because it’s raining, I have migraine, and I’m in too much pain to be conscious? Yup, sometimes a few days in a row. Does living in constant pain mean I’m unable to do all the things I want to and does that sometimes make me wanna curl up in bed and never leave? Yeah, it happens.

But! And here’s the big important but, that’s not everything! I still write, draw, and talk to my friends!! It might take me a little longer but I get there. I’m still happy and excitable and make the time to write out five page long posts about EDS because it’s something I’m passionate about! My chronic pain doesn’t stop me. I refuse to let it. I never really wanted to go mountain climbing anyway, so I’m perfectly happy being able to make it up and down the six steps in my house, even if sometimes I have to sit and bump down them on my ass, or crawl up them like a cat. Chronic pain isn’t all I am. It isn’t a fate worse than death. It isn’t the only thing your character should talk about (though I do talk about my pain a lot cause I’m a complainer about almost everything). You can have your character be hindered by their pain, realistically they would be. You can have them seek comfort, support, and relief. Other characters can commiserate and be sympathetic, but it doesn’t mean their whole life is going to be one big pity party, that would be incredibly fucking boring. I know I’d be bored out of my mind.

All that said dealing with chronic pain, especially from EDS, is Complicated. Physical Therapy is the gold standard, but like I said before it can be a long and difficult process, and isn’t always accessible. Stabilization methods like I talked about before can help prevent pain, or reduce it by keeping bones mostly where they belong. Heat and cold help joints, relax muscles, and reduce inflammation but keeping them applied is rough and the relief doesn’t always last. Doctors prescribe anti-depressants, anti-anxiety, and sometimes even anti-epileptic medication to help manage pain, but everyone’s mileage with those varies. And I’m not at all qualified to talk in-depth about narcotics or other heavy duty pain-meds, but suffice to say the war on drugs fucked shit up for people that legit need that kind of help BIG TIME.

Now for my closer/bonus rant about EDS and Disability Writing in General!

Everyone always says write what you know, so if you really want to do disabled people justice, get to know disabled people! Make friends with disabled people, get involved with advocacy groups, consume content made by disabled creators both about disability and not! Disabilities are so fucking diverse, even EDS is such a complex disorder, and comes with so many potential co-morbidities, that practically everyone with it has a unique experience. There’s no way I can fully explain everything in a tumblr post. Hell, even if I could talk to you for hours probably couldn’t give you enough info to answer all your questions (especially since I’m still in diagnosis hell :,) ), so talk to a wide range of people with EDS and other disabilities!! I know it sounds like a lot of work but trust me, disabled people are some of the strongest, raddest, coolest, people you will ever meet that it won’t feel like it.

And don’t be afraid either, the fact that EDS and other disabilities are so wildly varied means that you have a little bit of wiggle room with your character’s experience. There’s so little disability rep out their I think people are WAY to scared to try their hand at writing it. So long as your character is a fully developed person in addition to being disabled, you give some logical thought as to how it would affect their life, and you don’t make their disability the butt of any joke it isn’t difficult to avoid ableist writing. PLEASE WRITE MORE DISABLED PEOPLE AND PEOPLE WITH CHRONIC PAIN/CHRONIC ILLNESS!!

Okay that’s it, again sorry it took so long for me to get back to you! My fingers were being little pests about it, and my ADHD (which is honestly more disabling than everything else a lot of the time lmao) was being an asshole! Hope this helps, and feel free to ask me more questions if you need clarification! It might take me a bit but I do love talking about this stuff.

[need-a-fugue]

We Grow Together (24)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Tessa Sullivan (OFC)

Chapter Summary: Tessa finds out what Bucky and Steve discovered on their last mission... and it hits a bit too close to home.

Summary: Relationships can be tough, especially when one person is a recovering-from-being-brainwashed-and-tortured former assassin and the other is an overworked mutant scientist. But hey, every couple has their struggles. Right?

----

“Let me get this straight,” she says in a huff. “Your mission was to look into reports of activity at an abandoned Hydra base, and you found evidence there of medical experimentation… on mutants?”

Steve nods hesitantly. “Basically. Yes.”

“And were you going to tell me about this?” she asks deliberately.

“We’re telling you now,” Bucky intones from the corner.

She turns to him, a disbelieving look on her face. “Uh, yeah, after I dragged your ass down here to get the truth from Steve,” she says, wildly flailing her arm in the captain’s direction. “Because you wouldn’t tell me jack shit!”

“Tessa,” Steve tries. “It’s not… it wasn’t like that.”

She cocks her head and gives him an angry glare. “Sorry? Wasn’t like what?”

“We were going to talk to you about it. But really… it isn’t a big deal. I mean… whatever happened there happened a long time ago.” He seems nervous as he sits stark still on the arm of his couch, right where he’s been perched since she barged in only moments ago in a whirlwind, demanding to know just what had happened on their mission to turn her boyfriend into such a nervous wreck.

Tessa shakes her head and takes a long, deep breath to settle herself. “Okay,” she says simply, folding her arms in front of her. “So you heard there might be some activity at this… place. And you thought you’d find some faction of die-hard Hydra supporters setting up shop, and instead you found…”

“Mostly old medical reports – half finished, shoddily compiled – of different procedures.” He pulls in a deep breath. “Some of the files mentioned the harvesting of… parts from super-powered subjects. Mutants.”

“Parts,” she repeats softly as her eyebrows rise. She turns to Bucky. “But the place was abandoned?”

He nods, then shrugs, casting his eyes down and away from her. “Didn’t find anyone there… but that doesn’t mean the reports we got were wrong.” He’s leaning against the wall with his arms tightly folded over his chest, and she can still feel the anxious energy radiating off of him.

“Okay,” she says, confusion lacing her wrinkled brow. “How did you hurt your shoulder then?”

Steve jumps up from the sofa. “That was my fault. Kind of.”

“No it wasn’t,” Bucky tells him scornfully. He steps away from the wall and turns to face Tessa, letting his arms fall to hang loosely at his sides. “Once we got there… I remembered the place.”

She steps closer to him and reaches out to take his hand. In the past hour, she’s felt his energy move in dramatic shifts – anxious, angry, terrified. Regretful. She laces her fingers through his metal ones and states, matter of fact, “From when Hydra had you.” He looks into her steadfast green eyes and nods. “And what do you remember?” she asks carefully.

“Testing,” Bucky says softly, barely audibly. “They did some kind of testing… on human subjects. I don’t know what.” He pauses and momentarily chews on the inside of his lip as he contemplates what to say next. “I remember taking people there.” He looks away, back down at the floor.

“He had a sort of… flashback,” Steve supplies from behind. She twists around to look at him, never dropping Bucky’s hand. “It was my fault,” he continues with a sad sort of smile. “Once we realized the place was empty, I had him come down from his position. I thought he might know the place. But I didn’t think… He’s never had a flashback in the field before.”

“It’s not your fault,” Bucky assures in a harsh tone. He tugs Tessa’s hand to get her to turn back toward him. “It was the rooms. They all looked exactly the same as I remember. Just curtained-off beds where they restrained people. And the screaming. I remember them screaming.” He pauses briefly and shakes his head. “I didn’t know they were…” He clamps his eyes shut, unable to look at her as he says, “mutants.”

“Baby,” she breathes out, moving her left hand up to his cheek. She rests it there for just a moment before tilting his chin so that his face is directed at hers. “You did a lot of things as the Winter Soldier,” she says in a resolute tone. “But you’re not him anymore, right?”

He nods slowly, his eyes still pressed firmly closed. He leans into her hand as she moves it back up to his cheek.

“They can’t control you anymore.”

“I know,” he whispers, nuzzling his face into her palm. He slowly opens his eyes and looks into hers, seeing her face through the haze of long-held, unshed tears. “It could have been you, though. It could’ve been you that I brought there. Or… your family…”

She nods, raising her eyebrows appraisingly. “Maybe,” she says, giving his metal hand another firm squeeze. “But I’d forgive you.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Maybe not. But I’d do it anyway.” She slowly turns back to Steve, taking the smallest of steps back once she’s facing him so that she can rest up against Bucky’s chest. “How did his shoulder get dislocated?” she asks him.

He swallows hard. “He charged Clint. I grabbed him and pulled back, and…” He shakes his head at the memory. “The pain seemed to snap him out of it at least.”

Nodding, she tells him, “I repositioned it a bit earlier. It should heal fine.”

“Good,” he mumbles, seeming less than assured.

She stays pressed into Bucky, sensing that he needs her to remain close, but begins to bring the conversation back around to the facility they found. “So these… records… how old were they?”

“Natasha’s going through them now… or what’s left of them. So far, everything’s at least ten years old.”

“What’s left of them?” she repeats for clarification.

“It looked like someone had ransacked the file room. Papers everywhere. Computers were destroyed… but Nat thinks she might be able to pull something off the hard drives. Maybe. We brought back what we could for analysis.”

“You think the reported activity was someone going back for the records?” she asks, her interest piqued.

He shrugs. “Hard to say. Could’ve happened when they first abandoned the place… whenever that was.”

“That’d be a pretty damn big coincidence,” Bucky utters, the words rumbling through his chest and into her back.

“We didn’t find any evidence – at least nothing conclusive – of anyone having been there in years,” Steve counters.

Tessa furrows her brow. “But you got reports of some kind of activity, right?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “Clint and Nat are still in contact with some former associates. Every now and then, somebody spots something… weird going on and lets them know.”

“SHIELD associates?” she asks with more than a hint of disdain.

Steve shrugs. “Probably.”

“Barton said he trusted the info,” Bucky tells her.

Steve shakes his head, ready to argue. “Still doesn’t mean that the guy actually saw anything.” He faces Tessa and says, “This… contact… he said he’d heard rumors that people were asking about this old facility. That’s all.”

“You keep saying facility,” she declares. “Was it built for this? For… experimentation… or whatever they were doing there?”

“Yes,” Bucky bites out.

She runs her tongue across her teeth, lost in thought for a brief moment. “I want to see those files,” she says suddenly. “Whatever you have, I want to see it.”

“Okay,” Steve agrees. “Nat would probably appreciate the help. Most of what’s in there is medical records anyway.”

“But,” Bucky interrupts, twisting her around in his grip so that he can look her in the eyes. “I still don’t want you going anywhere on your own. Not to Korea, at least.”

“Korea?” Steve asks.

She gives Bucky an irritated look and tells him, “You’re being ridiculous.”

“No I’m not,” he assures her. “Someone was there. I know it. Someone was going through old files on mutants – ”

She shakes her head. “Babe, that has nothing to do with me. There’s no reason to think I’d be in any kind of danger.”

“You’re a mutant,” he tells her, as though she were unaware.

Calmly, seemingly unfazed, she replies, “Yes, but no one knows that.”

Steve sidles up a little closer to the couple. “Why are you going to Korea?” he asks again, genuinely interested.

“She’s not,” Bucky shoots out, his eyes never leaving Tessa’s.

She moves both of her hands up to his face and pulls him in for a quick, matter-of-fact kiss. “You need to calm down,” she tells him, pulling away and out of his hold. “And you need to get some sleep.”

“Baby,” he intones with a shake of the head.

But she quickly interrupts him. “As a doctor… as your doctor, Sargent, I’m telling you to go back upstairs and get some sleep. That shoulder will take twice as long to heal if you don’t.” He shoots her an irritated glare. “And as a mutant – which you were so kind to remind me that I am – I need you to get the hell away from me for a while.” She grips his upper arms and squeezes them, gives him a little shake for emphasis. “I love you… I do. But right now, your shitty energy is making me physically ill.”

His face contorts, the anger melting away into a sort of sad, confused grimace. “That happens?” he asks her in an oddly small voice.

Steve steps in and answers for her. “All the time. She just never says anything.” He gives her an admonishing look. “Doesn’t make you a hero, you know.”

She rolls her eyes rather dramatically – “Shut up” – and looks back to Bucky. “Go home. Go to bed. I promise I won’t leave the country while you sleep.”

He shakes his head disapprovingly. But he still turns and heads for the door. “You better not,” he throws over his shoulder before disappearing into the hallway, letting the apartment door slam shut behind him.

“It really freaked him out, you know?” Steve says in a near whisper, staring at the closed door. “It wasn’t just… remembering what he did. I think that some of the rooms there… the cells, the… equipment… it reminded him of what they did to him. And then when we started looking at the files, we saw the subjects were all mutants… That was when he… I don’t know… snapped. Maybe he remembered more then. He said he could hear their screams.” He stops and shakes his head, then lets out a long sigh. “But after… He could only think of you. Of you going through all of that. Of you going through something like what he went through.”

“I didn’t… I won’t,” she tells him, a finality to her voice.

Steve nods. “I’ve known Bucky my whole life. I knew him when he was just… Bucky, my best pal, the guy who always had my back. I knew him when he was Sargent Barnes, the trained soldier, focused sharpshooter. And I know him now. And I can tell you that the one thing that has never changed about him is his desire to protect the ones he loves. I saw it when he walked his little sister to and from school every day. And when he stepped in the few times his father pushed around his mom. I saw it when he jumped in to defend me from bullies. And on that train when he gave his life for mine.” He gives her a small, sad smile. “Let him protect you, even if you don’t think you need it. Just let him have this.”

“I get it… He’s scared right now. But – ”

“Hey,” he interrupts to ask again, “Korea?”

“Oh, yeah,” she starts excitedly. “Right. So, Tony offered me a new position.”

He wrinkles his brow in confusion. “Why? I mean… you already do everything for him.”

“No I don’t,” she pouts. Then, shaking her head, “Anyway… they’re restructuring the R&D side of Stark Industries, and I’m going to head up the new medical research division. I get to be on the Board,” she finishes with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

He smiles wide, his blue eyes actually seeming to twinkle when he looks down at her. “That’s great, Tess!”

“Yes,” she agrees emphatically. “Thank you. See? That was the reaction I was hoping for.”

“But… what about Korea?”

“Oh, right. We’re going to partner with U-Gin. I have to spend some time in Seoul working with Helen and her associates on the plans for a new research facility that we’ll be building in Seattle.”

“Seattle… wow. That’s… far.”

“I won’t be there day to day. Obviously,” she counters. “But I will be traveling, some at least. So we need to get James sorted out.” She looks up at him and takes note of the crooked smile on his face. Then she sighs, shakes her head and turns for the door. “I’m going to go find Nat and get a look at those records. But if you talk to him,” she intones in a determined voice, “talk him down.”

He lets out a small, uncertain laugh. “I’ll see what I can do,” he tells her. “But I can’t make any promises.”

[orange-waterfalls]

I Couldn't Come Up With A Title So Have A Late Christmas Fic

Alternatively: 4 times Illinois could've kissed you under the mistletoe and 1 time he did

Illinois x gender neutral!reader

@speedyprofessionalpandaweasel ty for the request

A/N: here it is guysssss I ain't dead yet fuckers ahaha. I meant to finish this at Christmas and then I dislocated my shoulder. so. Illinois x reader, Christmas Fic. 4+1 things(I'm too lazy for 5+1) uhhhhh i didn't feel like going through and finding a screenshot so yeah no picture this time. Fluff/comedy. Yeah. Enjoy.

Word Count: 2.8k

--

#1

Illinois sighed in annoyance. He was spread out on your couch, taking up as much room as possible, yet still acting like he was upset. You had refused to go on an adventure with him because you wanted to spend Christmas with your friends and family. Sure, Illinois was your friend, but you didn’t exactly want to spend your holidays running for your life.

You were decorating your living room and Illinois was being whiny and refusing to help. He just kept complaining to you.

“Come on, Y/N!” He groaned. “I’m so bored!”

“Then go on an adventure.”

“Well, there’s no point if you’re not going!” You rolled your eyes.

“Then stop whining!”

“I refuse.”

“Fine! Can you at least get me the wreath from the box upstairs?” Illinois whined but got up.

He walked up a flight of stairs to the attic of your house. Normally, you wouldn’t be able to afford this, but the price went way down after someone was “accidentally murdered” there. At least that’s what Wilford said.

Illinois dug through the box of decorations. He found lots of ribbons and lights, but no wreath like you’d asked. He frowned and dug through again. Still nothing.

“Hey, Y/N?” He called, “I can’t find any wreath…”

“What? I just bought it yesterday!” You groaned. Just then, Illinois saw red out of the corner of his eye.

“Hang on…” He heard you stand up and begin to walk over. He pushed the box to find a new wreath with a red bow. “A-ha!” He stood and walked back down the stairs. “Y/N, I found the--” He cut himself off as he saw something hanging above the doorway.

Mistletoe.

He panicked for a moment, rushing to tear it off of the doorway and hide it behind his back. You showed up at the doorway not a second later. You stared at his strange expression with a sort of curiosity.

“You good?” You asked slowly.

“In more ways than one.” He winked. You scoffed and snatched the wreath from his hand, walking away.

“Haha.” You said dryly.

“Oh, come on! You always blush at my flirts!” He complained.

“Not anymore, I’m immune!” You called back. He smiled and chuckled softly. He looked back at the mistletoe in his hand and then at the doorway.

It hadn’t been there before… had it?

No big deal. He got it down, that’s all that mattered.

Now to make sure he got all the other ones that were destined to show up…

#2

You started decorating the outside of your house the next day. Since it was so close to Christmas, you only went with a couple of colorful lights and a blow-up snowman. You were on a ladder putting up lights while Illinois put air in the snowman and watched the ladder to make sure you weren’t gonna fall.

“How long’s this gonna take?” He asked loudly. The air pump was very loud and he wanted to make sure you could hear him.

“Not long,” you said, knowing fully that this was going to take a long time for Illinois’ standards.

“You sure?” He asked, suspicious.

“Yep,” You lied, “Just these lights. Pretty simple.” Illinois nodded and focused on the snowman in front of him. He sat and watched it inflate, resting his chin on his palm.

His thoughts drifted to the day before. Where did that mistletoe come from? You had told him that you didn’t really like mistletoe, forcing people to kiss when they didn’t want to seemed kind of scummy. He agreed, but what if they did want to? What if the mistletoe let them discover their feelings for one another in a hesitant yet tender kiss?

God, he was watching too many of those Hallmark Christmas movies…

Illinois let out a slightly sad sigh, and you paused your decorating. You turned to him, an eyebrow raised.

“What’s wrong, Illy?” You asked gently. He shook his head.

“Nothing, I’m alright…” He said. You frowned and started climbing down the latter. Illinois turned to you and glanced up for a moment. His eyes widened as he scrambled to his feet.

Again? Where did it come from?!

“Stop!” He yelled and held a hand out. You blinked and froze. “Don’t come any closer!”

“Illy, what…” you began to look above you

You were hit right in the face with something cold and wet. You shouted in surprise and slight pain. You shook your head and wiped your face. Did he really just throw a snowball at you? You narrowed your eyes at him. He smiled awkwardly back.

“Uh… snowball fight?” He said in a small voice. You looked so angry. He thought you’d explode.

Suddenly, you started to laugh. It started with a small snicker and grew into a roar of laughter. Illinois stared at your happy face and felt himself begin to chuckle as well. You both just stood there for a moment, laughing, before you bent down to scoop a handful of snow. You packed it into a tight ball and smiled widely at the adventurer. He quickly grabbed his own handful and dove behind a nearby bush. You had thrown your snowball and barely hit his thigh.

You two laughed and threw snowballs for ten minutes. You both stood panting after a while, faces red and covered with snow. You wiped your face with your sleeve and sighed.

“I uh… I think we should head on inside,” You suggested. Illinois nodded and followed you to the door. He paused at the doorway and looked back up at the mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. He squinted before grabbing a bunch of snow, packing it into a ball and hurling it at the small plant. He hit it dead on and it fell to the ground.

“Illinois?”

“Coming!”

#3

Illinois smiled as he looked over at you while putting ornaments on the tree. You were intently watching an ornament swing back and forth, hoping it didn't fall. He chuckled quietly and picked another one from the box.

"I have never seen someone so serious about Christmas," he commented. You hummed, but didn't take your eyes off of the tree as you picked up an ornament. He let out a breathy chuckle and stepped away from the tree.

“How long have we been doing this?” He yawned. You shrugged in response. “Okay, what time is it?” You glanced up at the clock.

“1:00 a.m.”

“1:00 a.m.?!” He shouted. You turned to him.

“That’s what I said, 1:00 a.m.”

“Jesus Christ, Y/N!” He groaned and grabbed up his satchel, along with his coat.

“What’s the problem?” He froze with his hand on your doorknob and slowly turned to you. You sat there, blinking in confusion.

“The problem is it’s super fucking late and I’m going home!”

“Wait! Wait, wait, wait!” You called out. You scrambled to your feet and grabbed his hand. He snapped his head towards you and you pulled away. His hand twitched, missing the feeling of your hand in his already.

“It’s… it’s really late… you can stay here if you’d like?” You suggested. He raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t… have any clothes…”

“Wilford left some of his pajamas, you can wear some of those!” Illinois squinted, wondering why you had Wilford’s pajamas.

“Where would i sleep?”

“You could sleep in my bed!” He widened his eyes. “J-Just as friends, though!”

“I don’t know…” He said hesitantly. You took his hand. He flushed a bit.

“Come on, Illy. I don’t want you getting hurt…” You said. He sighed and looked down at your hand clutching his. You were worried, he supposed that was a valid reason…

“Alright, alright,” He sighed. You grinned and went to your bedroom, Illinois following.

You let him change into pajamas before reentering your room. You both climbed into the bed and tucked yourselves under the blanket.

“Night, Illy…” You whispered. He nodded. You turned your lamp off and turned on your side. Illinois sighed and stared up at your ceiling with his arms folded on his stomach.

He was about to sleep in a bed. Your bed. In which you were sleeping as well. He thought he was dreaming. He couldn’t let this go to waste. Maybe he could…

“What if we… cuddled…” He said after five minutes. You turned towards him and, even in the dark, he could see the confused look on your face. “Kidding… unless?” You snorted and laid back down. He let out a small sigh and went back to staring up.

“It was worth a shot…” He mumbled and closed his eyes. He suddenly felt something wrap around his torso, so he opened his eyes and looked at you. You had your arms around him, and were snuggling into his side. You looked… content. And very, very cute.

Illinois wasn’t sure if he could take it anymore.

He smiled a bit and settled in, closing his eyes.

And then he snapped them back open. He saw a hint of green on the bedpost. He slowly took a knife from his satchel and cut it down.

“Illy, whas wrong?” You mumbled. He pet your head.

“Nothing, it’s fine…” You sighed and snuggled further into him. He smiled and put the knife back in his satchel. He closed his eyes, focusing on the feeling of your body against his.

He really liked the feeling.

Maybe you could do this more often...

#4

Illinois yawned and leaned back on the couch as you sat on the floor, wrapping presents. You had wanted to get each of the egos something that year, so you had a lot of presents. You just got back from the store, where Wilford tagged along to help.

Illinois had gone with you two and acted a bit weird the whole time. He crossed his arms and huffed when you started gushing over a teddy bear in a suit you’d buy for Dark. That was only the time you noticed him.

You dropped Wilford back at the mansion on the way back to your house, and the man had kissed you on the cheek. You flushed a bit and chuckled in response. You were aware that Wil was very affectionate and it didn’t mean anything. Illinois, however, was extremely pissy about this. He folded his arms and stared out the window. You laughed at the action.

“What’s up with you?” You had asked. He didn’t answer, so you left it alone.

When you got home, you took out many different patterns of wrapping paper and threw them on the floor, wanting to get the wrapping done as soon as possible. Illinois refused to help, so he just laid on the couch watching Christmas movies.

“Illinois, help me with the presents,” you commanded after struggling for five minutes

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m invested in this movie.” You turn to the TV to see what he was so invested in.

“The credits are rolling.” You point out.

“I don’t see your point.”

“Can you at least get Wilford’s present from my room?” You asked. Illinois furrowed his eyebrows. Why were you keeping his gift in your room?

He scoffed and walked into your room, picking up a cardboard box from the nightstand. He scowled at the box, wondering what you got Wilford that was so damn big. And probably expensive.

His mind drifted to what you got him… it probably wasn’t nearly as good as what you got any of the other egos. This was the only package you said you got delivered and everything else you bought with him and Wilford. Maybe you got him something unimportant, something you wanted to get rid of. Or maybe you didn’t get him anything at all…

Or maybe you were the one putting up all the mistletoe and his gift would be a kiss from you…

Absolutely not. You would never.

The adventurer brought the box into the living room, dropping it in front of you and making you yelp. You stood up and crossed your arms while standing directly in front of Illinois.

“What is your problem?” You asked exasperated. He looked up to avoid eye contact but noticed mistletoe stuck to the ceiling. He opted to look to the side and hope you didn’t notice it too.

“Nothing, I’m fine.”

“Illy, you’re obviously not.” He frowned at the nickname, knowing you were trying to butter him up. He glanced at you, seeing your worried face, and began to feel bad. Why was he jealous? He had no right to be. You weren’t dating him…

He sighed and smiled at you softly.

“I’m okay,” He lied. You tilted your head at him.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now," you stepped back and pointed at the pile of items on the floor, "help me with these." He smiled warmly.

"Will do."

#5

Christmas Day, you went to Markiplier Mansion for a party. A lot of the egos showed up, which made you really happy. The ones who didn’t, you’d just tell someone to give them their present at a later time.

You and the egos sat in Wilford’s living room. None of them had really brought any presents, except for Eric, Bing, and Wilford. Once all the presents were passed out, they were instructed to open them by Dark. All of the egos were so happy with their presents, and you felt so proud of your choices. Wilford helped too, but that doesn’t matter.

After opening presents, everyone scattered across the mansion to mingle, eat, drink, or just watch everyone else. You slid up to Illinois, who was holding a glass of eggnog, with your own mug of hot chocolate.

“Did Wilford put something in this eggnog too?” You asked.

“No, “ Illinois laughed, “Bim made this.”

“I’m not sure that’s better…”

“Yeah, me neither…” He said, drinking some more. You chuckled at him and turned to the crowd.

“You think they could get along like this normally?” You voiced a thought.

“Ha, never.” You turned to him, a curious look.

“Why not?”

“Eh… too proud. Too selfish. Too annoying…” He named traits present in almost all of the egos.

“Yeah… you’re probably right…” You sighed, looking down at your drink. Illinois, noticing your falling mood, decided to try and bring something positive to the conversation.

“I mean… if you got Eric and King and Bing, Yancy, even Mark, then… maybe.”

“Yeah… maybe…” You smiled a bit. You both stood, watching them all interact. It was nice to see nobody fighting, yelling, killing… Just friends enjoying each other’s company.

“Oh!” You gasped, making Illinois jump, “I almost forgot!” You turned to him with a grin and took his hand.

“Wha-” He began to protest.

“Come with me,” You demanded. He nodded and you dragged him through the mansion, upstairs and into a room.

The room was dark, the light being very dim, and he saw a bed with a box on it. His heart started to race.

Oh God, oh God. Is this it? Is it really happening? His thoughts raced through his head as you brought the box over to him.

“Now…” You stopped in front of him, “Close your eyes.”

“Uh, Y/N, I-I don’t know if…” He stuttered. You rolled your eyes.

“Trust me, Illy…” He sighed and nodded, closing his eyes. He heard the sound of a box opening, and his hat being taken off. It was replaced by some sort of headband. He was very confused.

“Alright, open ‘em.” Illinois opened his eyes. They widened at the mistletoe in front of his eyes. He looked up even further and saw that it was coming from the headband on his head. His face flushed and he looked back at you. He opened his mouth to say something, and was cut off my you pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. It only lasted a couple seconds before you tried to pull away. Illinois grabbed your waist and pulled you forward, making you squeak. You laid your hands on his shoulders, and he tilted his head. He kissed you deeply, wanting to savor the moment and never wanting you to pull away. Yet you did, when you heard giggling and gagging from behind you. Illinois turned around, seeing most of the egos peeking through the door.

“I told you the headband was the perfect gift!” Wilford said proudly from somewhere in the crowd. You kept your hands on Illinois’ shoulders and pushed him back, towards the door.

“Yeah, you were right,” you said impatiently. Illinois’ back hit the door, forcing it to close as he was pushed against it. “Now…” you locked the door and looked up at Illinois, his face red from your confident demeanor.

“Where were we?”

[welllpthisishappening]

Pace of Play

She can’t believe she’s never noticed it before. Because, honestly, Emma can’t even come up with a number to try and calculate how often she’s watched Killian step into the batters box. And that’s the thing. He never really steps out, either. It's a weird approach, but that could be the subheadline for their lives at this point and she’s mostly concerned with the power behind that swing. 

—-

Word Count: Like 3.4K Rating: Teen, but with kissing!  AN: This is solely for and because of @distant-rose​ who deserves every bit of baseball fic I have ever written and all the good things in any known universe. And speaking of universes. This is set in that Yankees one where Emma and Killian secretly date because David also plays for the Red Sox. If you’re so inclined to read more:

Batting a Thousand (the original one) || Puppy Love (the one where they get a puppy) || The One Where They Elope || The One Where Killian and David Take the Rivalry Too Far

Let’s go Yankees. 

—

“Is it weird that he does that?”

Emma makes a noise — barely more than a passing acknowledgement, eyes never leaving the field because Killian is up to bat and she’d lost feeling in her left foot at some point. She’s twisted at an awkward angle, legs draped over the suite seats in front of her, but she absolutely, positively cannot move.

On pain of death.

Or baseball superstition.

They’ve got to win this game. They can’t go down by two in the series. Not with the way they’ve been hitting and they need to hit better and Emma genuinely cannot remember the last time she took a deep breath.

She fiddles with the ring on her left hand.

And the ring hanging around her neck. It’s some sort of weird pattern, the weight of Mary Margaret’s gaze boring into the back of her head and David had started pacing at some point in the fourth inning.

“He’s swinging half a second too late,” David announces, which only leads to Emma nearly strangling herself. Mary Margaret has to lean over to untangle her fingers.

“Thank you, player not currently competing in the postseason,” Emma mutters.

“Ah, that’s mean.”

“And,” Mary Margaret adds, “it’s not like David would be hitting in this series anyway. Plus—“

“Mary Margaret, if you tell me that David could really add something to the Yankees starting rotation right now, I may actually scream,” Emma warns. Elsa moves her hand over her mouth.

Her laugh is still very loud.

“Ok, that’s not what I was going to say at all—it’s not, seriously stop glaring at the field, it’s freaking me out.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but she’s definitely glaring at the field and she cannot fathom a world where this game doesn’t end with a win and the season doesn’t end with another title and they got married, in the middle of the season, in secret. There are rules about happily ever after.

And sports emotions.

He’s definitely swinging half a second too late.

“See,” David mutters.

Emma grits her teeth. “I am not in the mood for I told you so, right now.”

“I mean, I didn’t say that.”

“Technically,” Elsa amends. She’s stood up as well, a hand pushing on David’s chest when he threatens to wear out the carpet in the suite. “And is no one going to answer my question? Because I know I know nothing about this painfully long sport—“

“—It is the sixth inning,” Emma interrupts.

“We’ve been here for hours, seriously. How often can you change pitchers?”

“Bring it up to Rob Manfred,” David says. Elsa swats at his shoulder that time. “Three-batter minimum for relievers. No more specialists. Pace of play.”

“Should that mean something to me?”

Emma mumbles a curse under her breath, ignoring the growing ache that’s circling around her knee and, somehow, the side of her hip. Killian rocks back on his heels in the box, hardly unbending his knees, even when he swings the bat in front of him, and Emma is dimly aware that Elsa is still talking. She’s not listening. She’s staring. Watching, really. Intently.

“Em, seriously are you listening to your brother and whatever tongues he’s started speaking in?”

“Nah, not at all.”

Elsa clicks her tongue in reproach. It doesn’t matter — Killian’s already digging his toes into the dirt again, quick taps of the bat on the front and back of the plate and—

“Seriously, why does no one else bat like this?”

Emma may growl. Although she’s not sure if that’s because Killian’s just fouled off a ball in the dirt or because Elsa isn’t making any sense, but it really may just be because of the pins and needles stretching into her calf and she snaps her jaw no less than a dozen times.

They’re pumping the live broadcast into the suite — more words Emma hasn’t really been paying attention to, what with the swirling nerves in the pit of her stomach and her heart’s apparent determination to linger in the very center of her throat.

“You know that’s not true,” Mary Margaret mumbles, finally getting Emma to pull her gaze away from home plate.

“What?”

“You cannot have an even count. That’s not how numbers work.”

Elsa sighs. “If you guys are going to keep not making sense, then I’m going to leave. Also, I totally saw Emma and Killian making out before the start of the game.”

David sounds like he’s dying.

“Oh my God,” Emma sighs. “We are married.”

She enunciates every letter of each word — as if that will make them more official or remind the world that she deserves good things and drama-free wins and, maybe, a few home runs over the short right field porch with impressive exit velocity.

“An even count does not make sense,” Mary Margaret repeats, as if they simply hadn’t heard her before. Maybe Emma can find another suite to watch the rest of the game in.

It probably wouldn’t be that hard.

Everyone at the Stadium knows her now, quick smiles whenever she’s downstairs and the security guy at Gate 4 has started waving at her, a muttered Mrs. Jones that never fails to make her heart clench and do several metaphorical somersaults in quick succession.

Killian hits a fly ball over the third base line.

And Emma slumps further into her seat. Her knee does not appreciate it at all.

“How does an even count not make sense, babe?” David asks, all placating and somehow even more married than Emma keeps reminding him that she also is.

“People say even counts on, you know, 1-1 or 2-2, but that doesn’t make sense. A 2-2 count still has more room for balls than strikes. Ergo—“

“—Oh good word,” Elsa laughs.

Mary Margaret winks. Emma’s never really noticed how high Killian’s elbow gets when he settles into his stance. He doesn’t move the bat that much, but Emma swears she can’t practically taste the energy on her tongue, which is either the most disgusting or most romantic thing she’s ever thought and—

Killian fouls another ball off.

“Battling,” David mumbles. She definitely growls that time. It hurts her throat.

He grins.

And Killian never actually steps out of the box — even when the Houston pitcher moves off the rubber, glancing at the inside of his hat for brand-new signs. David’s mumbling something that sounds like I hate when I have to do that, but Emma’s started to realize what Elsa meant.

She’s right.

Killian Jones does not bat like anyone else on the Yankees roster. Maybe even the entire MLB.

That sounds a little dramatic, though. Emma can’t get that dramatic until they win the pennant.

They’re totally going to win the pennant.

He lines his feet up again, the side of his cleat nearly brushing the back of the box, which only makes it obvious how far apart his legs move, that same distinct bend to his knees and a ridiculously high elbow and he kicks his foot out slightly when he swings.

Emma knows. As soon as the ball cracks off the bat.

She jumps up — somehow, without also managing to dislocate several joints at the same time — the ring around her neck flying up and nearly smacking her in the nose. And Emma isn’t sure what noise she makes per se, but it leaves Elsa giggling and Mary Margaret casting furtive glances at David and neither one of those matter when the ball keeps going.

Going, going, gone.

Directly into right center field.

Emma’s jumping, which probably isn’t great considering she can’t really feel any part of her left leg anymore, but Killian’s jogging around he bases and she can see his mouth move, David’s continued stream of commentary echoing between her ears.

“It’s honestly offensive how easy his swing is,” he grumbles. “Where does he even get that kind of power?”

“The making out,” Elsa responds, like it’s obvious. Emma almost chokes on her tongue.

Killian’s rounding third — a quick glance into the Astros dugout and a smile that might be half the reason Emma keeps toying with the ring on her left hand. Possibly like sixty-seven percent. Batting a thousand, or whatever.

She’s too excited to remember appropriate baseball cliches.

He glances up when he steps on home, and she knows he can’t actually see into the team suite, but it’s still exceptionally nice to think about and her heart does half a dozen front flips at that.

And there’s more game — pitches that Emma is certain raise her blood pressure and swings and misses and it’s still a save situation, so she starts pacing at some point too, but then they’re playing New York, New York and Killian’s answering questions on a post-game report and Emma’s standing in the tunnel downstairs and she absolute, positively runs.

It’s impossibly dramatic.

Especially in Game Four.

She hears Killian’s laugh before she actually looks at his face, arms around her waist and her face buried in the curve of his shoulder. He tightens his hold, only one of her feet staying on the ground.

Emma kisses wherever she can reach, which isn’t really saying much what with the awkward angle of her neck, but Killian doesn’t seem to mind, dragging his own lips over the side of her jaw.

Someone whistles.

It’s definitely Will.

“Should hit more home runs,” Killian mumbles, and it’s testament to postseason adrenaline that he doesn’t drop her when Emma starts to laugh as well.

Will might be gagging now.

Emma hums. “Something you might want to take into consideration.”

“That so?”

“I mean—I could not jump you post if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“No, no, I never once said that. Did you yell very loudly, Swan?”

“I think you’re fishing for compliments.”

“Absolutely.”

She might giggle. It’s absurd. She can’t get over the angle of his elbow when he bats. “God, that’s so stupid.”

“It’s strange, I’m not getting that compliment vibe anymore, love.”

“I yelled very loudly, scandalized my brother and I’ve got a question for you.”

Killian leans back, head nearly colliding with a wall covered in blue and white paint and the team name in enormous letters. As if they aren’t all constantly aware of where they are. History, or something. “About?”

“Well, Elsa actually brought it up, but—“

“—Jones,” a voice calls from the clubhouse, and Killian groans far louder than he should. Emma isn’t sure if that’s because of the voice or the only slightly accidental way she rolls her hips against him.

“You’re a menace,” he mutters.

“You’ve still got media.”

“I’m going to shower first.”

“They’ve got deadlines, babe.”

“I’m going to shower first,” Killian repeats. “Then I will answer questions, get ice, get a car and—“ He trails a finger up the back of her spine, making Emma twist in his hold while her teeth find her lower lip. Her breath hitches. And that smile is as different from the one he flashed in-game as it is possible for one smile to be, not quite triumphant, but maybe a little determined and she assumes she moves first.

If only because he’s still smiling when her mouth crashes into his.

Killian pulls her tighter against his chest, backing up even more so he’s got something to rest his weight on and neither one of them acknowledges the now very-clearly annoyed clubhouse voice. He tilts his head instead, mouth opening against Emma’s and tongue swiping across the lip she’d been toying with.

His hand works its way under her shirt, the same number he’d been wearing and Emma arches into the touch almost immediately. It leave hers hips canted up again, a move that is not even remotely appropriate for the bowels of Yankee Stadium, and she can only imagine that George Steinbrenner is getting dangerously close to rising from his grave and chastising them for conduct detrimental to the team.

Emma’s arms shift, fingers pushing into Killian’s hair and that only gets him to groan again, but then she’s ghosting over the side of a clean-shaven face and he has to shave every morning.

Her heart is in almost perpetuate state of upheaval.

It’s the best goddamn thing in the world.

“I’ve got to go, love,” Killian murmurs, mostly into her mouth. Also nice. Better than nice. She’s going to look up the projected distance of that home run in the Uber home.

“I really yelled ridiculously loud.”

“I’ve got no doubt. I’ll see you at home, ok?”

Emma nods — a few more quick and slightly stolen kisses, which is an almost appropriate baseball joke. Kind of. No one really steals bases anymore.

And she’s got every intention of waiting up. She does. She’s got plans and questions about batting stances, but the corner of the couch is surprisingly comfortable and the sudden lack of postseason adrenaline rushing through her leaves her questionably exhausted with eyes that refuse to watch another loop of SportsCenter.

Emma jolts up when she hears the front door close, a lock clicking behind him and one side of Killian’s mouth tugs up when he walks into the room.

She’s still wearing her shirt.

And not much else.

“That seems like cheating,” he says softly, crouching in front of the couch. She’s thinking about his knees again.

“All hail the conquering hero or whatever.”

“Is this my welcoming committee, then?”

“Something like that,” Emma laughs, pushing up and Killian moves between her legs as soon as her feet find their way back to the floor. “Did you scandalize any journalists?”

“Nah, that’s not really my game.”

“Just hitting home runs.”

“Made the Top Ten.”

“No shit.”

Killian chuckles, nosing at Emma’s cheek. “You’ve got ESPN on, Swan. Did you not see?”

“I mean I saw the real thing, so—“

“—Ah, yeah, that is true. You can’t be very comfortable.”

“It’s going ok.”

“That so?”

She nods again — suddenly finding it difficult to respond when his eyes do that impossibly blue thing, dark with something close to want, and he can’t seem to decide where to look. His gaze snaps from hers down to the ring that’s fallen back over her shirt and the one on her hand and at some point in the last few months, he’s started brushing his thumb underneath it with an almost alarming regularity. Like, for good luck or something.

Baseball players are the weirdest.

“What did you want to ask me before?”

“Hmm?”

“You said you had a question,” Killian says. “What about?”

“Oh, oh, yeah—your elbow.”

He blinks. It’s an oddly satisfying response, and Killian nearly falls over when Emma stands up, gaze shifting again to the distinct lack of pants she’s got on. She can see the tip of his tongue poking against the inside of his cheek.

“Like I said, El brought it up—“

“—I’d really you rather didn’t talk about Elsa when there’s so much of your leg on display.”

“Leg, singular?”

“Swan.”

She sticks her tongue out, but that only leads to an even bluer blue and she’s got to stop thinking about the way his knees bend. Maybe she’s the weird one. “Ok, ok, just—why do you bat like you do?”

“Are we on the record?”

“I mean no— because obviously I know how you bat—do not look at me like that.” He smirks, pulling his lips behind his teeth and sitting down. It’s ridiculous, his legs pulled up against his chest and his chin resting on an upturned palm. “I could probably reenact your stance in my sleep.”

“That so?”

“I will kick you.”

“I’ve got to play tomorrow,” Killian counters. “Something about prime agility at the hot corner.”

“You don’t ever come out of the batters box.”

“And?”

“And what? That’s super weird. I mean—other guys call time like twenty-six times and—“

“—No ump is letting anyone call time twenty-six times.”

She rolls her eyes, but Killian appears to have been counting on that and Emma has started bobbing on the balls of her feet. “Take my exaggerated point for what it is. All I’m saying is, you never leave the box. Other guys do. Every single pitch. They take practice swings or they refit their gloves and—“

“—I don’t always wear gloves.”

“Well, that’s just ridiculous.”

“Where did my elbow fit into this, exactly?”

“It’s so high up when you bat,” Emma exclaims. The projected distance of that home run was four-hundred and twenty-six feet. Eventually she will blame this tirade on that.

Killian nods, tapping his fingers on the side of Emma’s ankle until she stills. “Yeah, that’s a whole thing. It’s, uh—well, the elbow is high, so I’ve got more momentum when I swing. Physics and all that. Helps with your hips too. And the wide stance.”

“So you can stay behind the ball.”

“And you acted like you didn’t know why I did it.”

“Nah,” Emma objects, “I get why you’re doing it. I just—well, El was talking about you staying in the box and—“

“—Mind games.”

“Wait, what?”

“Mind games,” Killian repeats with a shrug. “You’re right. Almost every other batter moves around between pitches, but when I first started playing there wasn’t a ton of time to do that. I—well, Liam used to toss me batting practice and it was always kind of in between everything else we were doing and so I never thought about stepping out of the box because I was cutting into my own practice time.”

Emma presses her lips together, something different than the usual gymnastics taking place in her stomach. It’s a little softer, quieter and even more comfortable. Like their couch. But in a way that sounds nicer than that.

“And now,” Killian continues, “it drives opposing pitchers insane. Your brother, especially. He hates when I don’t step out. Because then he’s got to get back into his windup quicker.”

“You’re toying with them.”

“A little. Pace of play, you know.”

Emma laughs, absent-mindedly moving her hands like she’s swinging an invisible bat over her head. It’s admittedly a little weird as far as flirting goes, but she figures the playoffs afford for these kind of moments. And Killian doesn’t move quickly when he stands, Emma’s eyes lingering on his mouth longer than they probably should, just steps into her space and twists her against his chest and—

“Lift your elbow up a bit, love.”

“This is a cliche.”

“We’re not actually on a field, I think that sets us apart.”

She scoffs, twisting her hips. That time is on purpose. Killian groans, head dropping to her shoulder so he can nip at the bit of skin there. “You were the one who said you could reenact my stance in your sleep,” he points out.

“Well, it’s distinct.”

Killian hums, and there’s this absolutely delightful thrum in Emma’s veins — wide awake and ready to flirt. She kicks her feet out, one then the other, like she’s tapping her toes with the bat. She pushes down the visor of an invisible helmet, squaring up to a home plate that isn’t there, rocks her weight from side to side.

“I can’t believe you remembered the visor thing,” Killian mutters. “You know, Swan, I think you might be stalking me.”

“Don’t act like you’re not into it.”

“Your elbow is still too low.”

“Does this not hurt your shoulder?”

“You get used to it.” Emma grumbles, but lifts her elbow up anyway, an angle her normal, human body is not used to bending at. “Now,” Killian mutters, dropping his mouth just behind her ear, “kick your front leg out, snap your hips forward and—“

Emma swings.

Which is only a little absurd, considering they’re standing in their living room and she’s definitely heard this start to SportsCenter three times already, but they won and that’s got to count for something.

Several things.

Everything.

“Straight shot into the bleachers,” Killian says.

“Right or left?”

“Batters choice.”

“I always think it’s more impressive when you can pull one.”

He spins her — that same look from before growing more pronounced and still just as attractive as ever. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“You’re wearing too many clothes.”

“Agreed,” Killian nods, and Emma isn’t really sure how they ever get into their bedroom, but there’s probably a postseason excuses and home runs and her shirt spends most of the night in the hallway.

Emma picks it up the next morning, coffee already brewing and the SportsCenter theme obvious and she lets her legs drape over Killian’s when they both watch the number one play.

[sugar-petals]

Potions and Reverie (m)

↳ In which you receive a fortunate letter that leads to sex with your submissive husband Jimin.

Word Count: 2.3k

Genre: hurt & comfort, angst, smut | domestic au | one shot

Warnings: spanking, mommy kink, thigh riding, impregnation kink, slapping, choking, neglect, sexual healing, avoidance, depression, infertility issues

A/N: Requested by anon. Reupload!

Red pines creak and bend outside. Last time you checked, the alley had been deserted with no car or person in sight. Jimin’s not home yet, you’re waiting. 

He promised to be back around eight or so, now it’s nine with little sunlight left. Just heavy, mourning clouds. Endless rain comes gushing down with thunder’s angry boom from the distance. It must be hell in the mountains. Seoul is so unkind these days. 

Unkind, and too humid. The current festival in Itaewon is as good as spoiled, the poor people. No text message gets a fast reply like it normally would, your phone just falls abnormally silent. There’s no point in trying again and again.

The storm keeps raging and whirring between the pines, leaving much debris and puddles on the street. You’re giving up on ordering pizza for tonight, the microwave will do. The fridge is entirely raided, so you take the small wooden steps down to the icy-cold cellar. A few convenience foods are still left in the freezer, but your tormented stomach feels like ramen is the better alternative. There are two packages left, you pick the spicier, stronger one. 

You’re glad to be fast with warming it up because electricity shuts down at roughly half past, leaving you with candles and “goodbye TV” on the couch. You’d be outside if you’d know where he actually is, even in that weather. The impatience is like venom, you wish you wouldn’t have it.

It’s quarter to ten when the key turns. You rush to the front porch to haul in Jimin as he opens, soaking wet and gloomier than ever. He apologizes in a grumpy tone, no eye contact. The heavily kinked umbrella just gets cast in a corner. Jimin later slouches down next to you on the couch with your oversized bathrobe on. 

Downtown he had gotten himself at least some fries and visited the drug store to fill up the fridge in a last effort. Most of the paperboard packages and vegetables got horribly wet and squashed in his backpack because the rain just didn’t want to come down vertically, and Jimin just stuffed them in without care. At least one time you see the value in thick plastic wrappings. You don’t even know if that crumbled mess is still useful in any way, but he thought about everything you’ve written on the grocery list in the kitchen.

Jimin hardly speaks while he’s trying to get his hair dry with a towel, rubbing and chafing it aggressively at the back of his neck. There’s no answer why he took so long and didn’t answer the phone, none. He’s been like that since the doctor proposed the diagnosis this summer. 

You have a hard time telling him that you received the important, long anticipated letter from the clinic today. But you didn’t open it yet. You told yourself that this was something you’d have to do together. It’s hard. His face turns more somber when you mention it but he won’t protest when you bring out the plain envelope. The dismal gleam of the candle barely suffices to read, it flickers too much. 

A darker wall of clouds outside has you pulling out your phone to shed at least a bit of light on the dreaded paper. It’s the result from October’s final check-up. All the numbers and paragraphs are just blurry. As you finished reading, passing over the letter you just say to read it twice. You didn’t get the majority of the words, or perhaps you’re too nervous. Maybe just in disbelief. The only thing you understood was that they charged a whooping lot. Jimin does have to read it twice. He puts it down, the first eye contact follows. 

“You’re okay?”

“I’m… okay?” You don’t know what he means. That you’re fine, or that the diagnosis states you’re fine. Jimin angles the letter to you and points at a bolded part. “It says the result turned out negative. They tested for “infertile, yes or no”, not for “fertile, yes or no”. Infertile — negative. And below,” he points toward the end, “it says we could try it.” You practically rip the letter from his hands. It makes sense now, it really does. There it is. 

We can encourage you to carefully commence again around designated week 2 and 3. The first investigations in August merely pointed towards a temporary and then more complicated medical terms follow, ending in an explanation how the error just didn’t hold true because of this and that, measures were just approximated, and so on. So it’s true. You are okay. You’d still punch each and every doctor with their fertility potions in the face for all of this. No cure was ever needed, neither was abstinence. Jimin looks hopeful and teary. 

He’s suffered the most the last months because you’ve really wanted to follow through. But he couldn’t help if his life depended on it. It left him immobile at the thought he couldn’t make you happy, and he really admitted to that in September when things got worse. 

Jimin isolated himself more, even if he did spend time with you. He tried to please you in bed in every way you could think of, he pursued all the duties he had around the house. The ideal husband. But at some point, you had just lost faith. Only the last bit of love held you together, a string that could rip any second. Like the pine branches bursting apart outside. 

Giving up was the only thing to do after the final blow despite you having feverishly tried it all. He still couldn’t get it up after everything they said at the screening, with the trauma of your reaction in mind. The way he’s facing you, it seems impossible to erase all denial again, and embrace what’s real. The hug is uneasy, the damned letter forgotten on the floor. “Is it week two” you ask, “it must be.” He sniffles. 

“Around start of three, I don’t know. Fuck it, honestly… They’ve been playing us with that since forever. It should work anytime mid-cycle. We’ll just try, I think it’s possible,” he clears his throat, leaning back from the hug. “It’s not meant to be otherwise. Whatever their instruments say.” You undo the belt of the robe. “So, now?” you test, making sure to sound pulled together even if the letter left you more aggravated than the turmoil in the streets. 

“If you still like me… I’m disappointing. I look weird now, too,” Jimin shifts in his seat, sort of spaced out again. The robe hardly closes at the front. “Fool, I want you,” you get on his lap, moving the towel from his hands to the table. 

“If a bit of water turns you ugly all of a sudden, my taste in men must be horrendous. I’m not blowing up your phone just because. I was worried! And I’m in love with you, that hasn’t changed.” The rain is unstoppable outside, drumming, threatening to hammer in your windows. “I love you, too,” he muses, though overshadowed by the roaring thunder somewhere above Incheon. Perfect day to make a baby. 

“They said we can do it, you should be confident,” you pinch at his tiny nose. He turns as red as the slushy tomatoes from his bag. Clumsy sweetheart, so cute. It makes you horny. “You too,” Jimin cocks up his head, provocative. “Hey, I’ll show you.” The doc can suck your ass, you’ll make this count. 

Jimin’s robe comes off completely. It’s difficult to be gentle even if you know that Jimin longs for a tough grip. There’s something about so many dull weeks that makes you ravage him. Maybe it’s not right to overwhelm him and yourself just now. But the yearning is too strong. He’s so hot with the damp hair. Yes, you want him bad. 

His dick grows sturdier under the fleeting rub of your hand, and wet with warm spit added. Very wet. As does your underwear turning slick with his fuck-me thigh between your legs. It’s. So. Damn. Big. 

You nibble at his chest and shoulders with the prospect of leaving faint marks and gyrate against his leg on repeat like a bolting mustang going berserk. Jimin abides the shake until all friction has spurred and lubricated you enough. It’s not taking long until your panties are gone, and Jimin’s hand slips right in their former place to get you off. 

While he keeps jerking his fingers, you sink down on his shaft and brutalize him with more bites at the neck, not thinking about tomorrow. He’ll have to deal with it. You’re not meek with the thrusts today, either. Soon he jitters at your hips with his hands, trying to mimic the movement. You’re ecstatic. It riles him up. The eternal rain pounds against the window glass like you do against his lap. It’s pitch black outside. “Slap me!” he cries the more you cram him in, “I deserve it. Please!”

Your hand comes down ringing, the echo numbed by the rain. Jimin is left wincing. He begs you drooling to beat him more, harder, the other cheek. Your left is not as strong, so the slap is messy and unpredictable in its impact. But you don’t miss the spot. He’s getting stiffer inside you making the plunge times easier. A third strike and his hips buck up from underneath. Mustang number two has entered to mate, it seems. 

He keeps pleading for more, but after a fourth time, you refuse. Jimin doesn’t need to get his jaw dislocated in a frenzy. Not in this position anyways. He’s digging him a bit too much, that’s when he gets carried away. Instead, both of your hands find a solid grip just below his larynx. His neck is already swollen and pulsating. “I’ll punish you my way,” you put a slight bit of strain on your thumbs, “ready for that?” The following nod is eager, eliciting a greedy look in his eyes. So this is what he likes about confidence. 

Jimin, forever obsessed with your hands. You make sure to press the right spot, loving how his cock throbs while he’s thrashing out with his feet. Oh, it’s been over half a year since Jimin had you choke him out. Missed it bad. He does remember to keep his palms flat against the sofa. No matter what. That’s the silent command that you challenge him to fulfill. His arms don’t move even one bit even if you give his throat a harder, but short squeeze before releasing. 

Jimin sucks his first breath in with his tongue out, veins popped minuscule in the eyes. His palms still stay in place. That’s a reflex control worthy of being a father. Your perfect man. 

There are not many more thrusts until he catches himself and starts squirming. “Won’t last longer,” he coughs, apologetic. For a first time after such a sexual drought, his stamina isn’t half bad though. Jimin’s actually amazing. You’ll let him know later. Urgent matters first. 

“Come on, roll over. It has to stay inside of me.” 

Jimin, out of breath, can hardly catch up so you have to position him yourself above you on your back. “I think I’m ready,” he quivers, thrusts abating between your legs spread apart. Indeed he is. You lower him balls deep with your hands on his supple ass, firmly in place. “It’s like my birthday. Lovin’ the gifts.” 

A brisk smack on the left cheek and he’s coming with a little whimper. Finally. It drops inside of you like a small stream of liquid silver, turning gold reaching the spot where you want it. “I’ll make you a baby daddy,” you lock his hips tight with your legs around him, “all mine, mine, mine.” 

There’s no mercy for him now, and no place to go. No hours outside to escape in the rain, sulking and lonely with his depressive thoughts. No friend’s home to spend the night avoidant instead of in the bedroom here, afraid to disappoint, or having to survive your wistful hours ad infinitum. That’s gone now. A bitter summer. There’s always hope for autumn. You’re stealing a kiss and every last thread of semen that he has for you. 

The pressure from your thighs hooks him in the spot with no inch of liberty. A bit more and he’d snap in half like a pair of chopsticks. The ceiling lamp flashes up, blinding and bright against the bedlam outline of his locks. Fucking electricity’s back. You can feel the last bits of sperm trickle down inside to breed you, but won’t let him go just yet. 

“I’m yours, mommy,” Jimin last exhales struggling. He falls down into your arms closing around him stalwart like a cage. It feels like the only pressure left on him. What you see on his face is no more heavy gloom and doom.  

The thunder continues haunting Seoul, but it doesn’t matter. This is your dream come true. You let him pull out when a tired strain replaces the strength in your legs, and he kneels. Everything that has spilled over he proceeds to sip and lap up obediently, it’s good for his skin. Unlike what’s pending flaccid between his thighs, Jimin’s tongue won’t get worn-out all too early, carrying you through a nascent high and bringing you down again. 

The curve of his lips swipes gently up and down your labia, picking up the chaos of his and your cum, dips it back in with his ruby tongue when you finished your orgasm. He’s lost the tension in his brow, his eyes are peaceful. A last charming nip at your clit and he retreats, replacing his mouth with the massage of two fingers. 

Before the overstimulation comes, you guide his wrists toward your breasts to go on there. You’ll drag him under the shower later, to draw out the relaxation deeply needed. Tomorrow you’ll try right again after going to the festival, to mingle with the dragon spectacle for good luck with your baby daddy. 

“That’s for sweet milk hm,” you fondle at his glowing cheeks, “we made it, Jiminie.” - “Sorry that it took so long since then. Are you happy?” - “I’m very happy. And our child will be so beautiful,” you brush a finger against his lashes. Albeit exhausted, he’s cheerful under the touch. “Then, I’m happy, too.” 

© 2017-2019 submissive-bangtan. all rights reserved. do not repost, translate, or modify. 

[xwaywardhuntress]

You’re Not From This World (Part One)

Summary: Imagine the boys get sent to an alternate reality again without you, which leaves you stuck with the Winchester look-alikes, Jensen Ackles, and Jared Padalecki.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader, Jensen Ackles x alternate world!reader (Catherine, Cat)

Warnings: Dean and Sam absence, at least this part. Words: 1800+ Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. This is fanfiction only. Please do not redistribute my writings on other sites, horrible or not. Thanks!

You hated windows. Mostly because every damn monster that you’ve encountered had a thing for throwing you out them. Feeling some pain in your right shoulder, you knew you probably dislocated it as you could remember the way you were thrown out the window and most likely landing on it. You slowly got up as you made your way back into the house that the witch you had been hunting lived in.

“Dean? Sam?” You called out as you found your gun on the floor in front of the window that you had been thrown out. Holding it with your left hand, you began carefully walking through the house looking for the Winchesters. The safety was off just in case Dean and Sam hadn’t ganked the witch. “Dean?” You called again passing through the messed up living room. “Dean? Sam? Are you guys still in here?” You asked aloud when you heard groaning from behind the kitchen counter.

“That hurt way more than I thought it would.” You heard Dean’s voice. A breath of relief left you as you made your way to the boys.

“Yeah, I thought there would be some padding for us. What happened?” You heard Sam’s voice say. You couldn’t help but question his comment in your head. Why would there be padding?

When you finally got a look behind the kitchen counter, what surprised you were the screams that came out of Dean and Sam. “What the hell?” You asked looking down at them.

“Sorry Cat, you scared us,” Dean said rubbing his neck.

Your eyebrow rose at him. Sure, Dean and you had cute little nicknames for each other, but he had never called you kitten or anything cat related.

Before you could ask if they were okay, Dean spoke up again as both boys finally stood up. “You’re here early. We don’t have a scene with you till next week.”

This isn’t your Dean. Your hunter instincts kicked on immediately, you pointed the gun at who you thought was your Dean before. “Who the hell are you?” You asked cocking your gun, ready to shoot.

Hearing the actual noise a real gun, not a prop gun, should make, the Dean look-alike raised his hands up immediately in the air. “Whoa. Cat. Let’s take a minute to think about this.”

Meanwhile, when the Sam look-alike had got up, he saw the house they had all been in and the mess that he did not remember was part of the scene. He tapped his buddy’s back, “Uh Jensen, do you remember the house being this messy for the scene?”

“Kind of busy right now, Jared.” Jensen mumbled as his eyes were locked on the gun.

Jared finally turned his attention to what Jensen was dealing with. “Really Cat? Is this some sort of a prank before you actually start working with us again?”

Jensen? Jared? It didn’t take long to put two and two together from the small interaction between the two. The Dean look-alike was named Jensen and the Sam look-alike was named Jared. Two names that you were sure you had heard before from a story Dean and Sam once told you.

Jared was about to start walking towards you to push your hand with the gun down when you shot to the side of them, leaving both of them frozen in place. Jared mumbled to himself that it was a real gun. At this point, they thought your counterpart from their universe had hit the rails and lost it.

“Don’t move. Just give me a second to think.” You told them as you began recalling Jensen and Jared’s earlier conversations. Padding, scene… That’s when the light bulb turned on. You remembered the story of Dean and Sam going to another universe where their life was a tv show called…. “Supernatural” You spoke aloud without realizing.

The two boys were pretty frozen in place, but when Jensen heard you say the show’s name. That’s when he found the nerve to speak again. “That’s right. We’re actors from the show Supernatural. You, me, and…”

“Jared Padeski.” You finished his sentence.

“Padalecki.” Jared chimed in finding the nerve to finally speak as well.

You lowered your gun, clicking the safety back on as you stuffed the gun back into the back of your pants. “Well, this is great.” You muttered as you held your injured right shoulder with your now free hand. At this point, it was safe to assume the witch got away as she would’ve attacked by now if she had still been around.

“What the hell are you doing with a real gun, Catherine?!” Jared yelled at you while Jensen seemed to be in thought.

“First off, my name is Y/N. Not Catherine.” You answered as you walked over to Jensen and started placing your hands in his jacket pockets in hopes the Impala keys would still be in this world. Jensen was surprised by your boldness. In his world, Catherine would never be this bold unless it was a scene the two had to do since they both played characters with some serious chemistry. Jared’s eyes went wide, almost like a fangirl, as he watched the events unfold before him, completely forgetting your first statement.

You continued talking as you searched Jensen for the keys. “Second, you’re not my Dean and Sam but instead the alternate versions of them from another world. Ha!” You yelled as you pulled the Impala keys out of one of the outside jacket pockets.

Jensen had gone a bit red from the closeness.

“Thank goodness we still have the Impala keys. Now follow me boys, we need to head back to the bunker to figure this out.” You stated as you started to walk to the house exit.

Jared immediately ran after Cat….or Y/N in this case. “Wait a minute! What do you mean from another world?”

Arriving by the driver side of the Impala, you turned to face Jared. “You’re not from this world. You’re from an alternate reality where Dean and Sam and I are fictional characters that you, Jensen, and this girl Cat act out, does that sound about right?” You asked raising a brow at him.

Jared still didn’t seem to comprehend that he was in the real world version of Supernatural.

“So we’re in a world where Supernatural is real. Characters and all.” Jensen stated behind Jared as he looked over at you.

You nodded. “Look, just get in the car. I can explain what I know from what Sam has told me and we’ll go from there in figuring out how to get my Dean and Sam back and you two back to your own world.”

Jensen and Jared got in the car without question. They figured if they were in a world where the supernatural was real, the safest place for them would be with the Winchesters, or in this case, Y/N L/N who was basically a Winchester to the Supernatural fandom. Jensen went for the front seat while Jared went in the back.

“You know, it’s weird getting in the shotgun seat. Also, are you going to be okay driving with your shoulder like that?” Jensen asked. Looking over at him, you grinned placing your hand over his. There were much worse situations that you had been in before but were still able to drive. You’d forgotten for a moment this wasn’t your Dean, as you saw a surprised look on Jensen’s face. You quickly took your hand off his and placed it on the keys in the ignition. You started the car and then began driving back to the bunker.

During the drive, it didn’t take much to explain to them that the characters they had been portraying were real, but it took a bit for them to grasp that it only meant the monsters they hunted on the show Supernatural were all too real as well. You also explained to them what little you knew about alternate realities, basically what you learned from Sam. The conclusion that all three of you came too before arriving at the bunker was that Dean and Sam had been switched out for Jensen and Jared, probably thanks to the witch that you had been hunting with the boys initially.

Arriving back at the bunker, you opened the door and made your way in. Jensen and Jared were in awe, which you found a bit funny. You made your way to the table of books stacked on it with Jensen and Jared in tow.

“I’m guessing your bunker doesn’t look like this bunker?” You asked as you eyed them with a smile.

Jensen answered first as Jared made his way to the displayed items around the library. “Definitely different. You guys have way more things on display and more books I would say.”

“Wait! I wouldn’t touch that!” You yelled over at Jared who was about to pick up a small chest box.

Jared stopped immediately and pulled his hands away. “Sorry, sorry. Is it actually cursed or something?”

You laughed, shaking your head, as you picked up the small chest. “No, it’s not. But it’s a magical item that I do not need to deal with on top of the current issue.” You held the chest under your left arm. “How about you stay away from touching anything other than books on the shelf?” You insisted smiling at them.

Jared held his hands up in surrender as he made his way to sit at one of the tables like a good little kid. It was amusing that Jared seemed to be the more curious one. Jensen just stood in thought again.

You walked past Jensen, brushing his shoulder with yours as you went to set the small chest on one of the bookshelves.

Jensen’s eyes couldn’t help themselves but follow where Y/N walked.

You let out a sigh. This was going to be one tricky hunt now that you were stuck with non-hunters that looked like the two most known experienced hunters in the hunting world. You turned back towards the boys only to see Jensen staring, no he had been watching you. You smiled walking up to him, taking his left hand into yours as your right shoulder was still messed up. “Hey, everything will be okay. I’ll figure out a way to get you and Jared back to your world.”

As if embarrassed, Jensen looked away, “Right, thanks.”

You let go of his hand noticing that he looked a bit uncomfortable. It was definitely going to take some getting used to that the man in front of you wasn’t the Winchester you had loved dearly.

The next big question is where would you even start. You definitely needed another fellow hunter’s help or even a friend’s help would do. It was time to call in the cavalry.

Part Two

Feedback is welcome!

[rabbit-exe]

I wrote a short thing about my dbd bastards (that like, three human beings know about) specifically set in the most recent chapter of @ziracona‘s fic. sorry in advance, I don’t really like this one. also tw for canon-typical violence and stuff

Ivory Memento

Jason Dunn is running, because of course he is. That’s just the way of things. Jason, he runs and fights and throws himself in and out of danger, because someone has to so it might as well be him.

But this time is special.

Jason Dunn is not running away. Jason Dunn is running towards.

There’s a hole in the fake-world he’s been stranded in for so long, and God help anybody who gets in his way. He’s getting everyone out of here. He’s gonna save fucking everyone who deserves saving, and maybe then some, because  - because. 

(Because you couldn’t save her, says something bitter and nasty in his brain. Because you let her die and you let her do it.)

“Piss off,” says Jason to the thing in his brain, and catches sight of movement in his periphery - David? - injured and running towards him. David’s a rugby player, and he fuckin’ moves like one - like he’s unstoppable, like a battering ram.

Now his steps are athletic, but not like before - he doesn’t dig his heels in and force himself to barrel through the place. He’s agile, still striding with force but his footsteps don’t make any sound and he sprints like he’s about to pounce instead of ram -

Shit.

He watches his sister running at him, wearing the face of his friend, and as he takes the big fuck-off spear from where it’s slung over his back he figures it’s about fucking time.

He bolts.

As far as he knows, there aren’t any palettes here - but that doesn’t matter, because there’s shrapnel and broken car parts and he’s fucking resourceful, ok, he’s got this.

The satisfaction he feels when he slams a warped car-door into Morag’s shoulder (catching her jacket in the process - nice) is immediately overshadowed by awe when he instinctively doubles back and kicks the hunk of scrap metal, hard, hard enough Morag is sent staggering back with a muffled grunt of pain.

She’ll have some trouble finding him - he’s never been great at hiding in plain sight, but he’s a creative little bastard and finding somewhere to fuck off to that the killer won’t find is a talent of his. He darts off while Morag re-orients herself (taking longer than she should - he glimpses a pulse of blood through the cracks in her mask as she grabs at her face, and fuck, she’s actually hurt?) and runs to a little alcove of crushed car parts where there would usually be a locker, except.

The thing is, right, he’s not so great at the whole planning thing. He knows, logically, that right now is different. That there aren’t palettes, that this isn’t a trial ground, that there won’t be lockers either.

But he, like an idiot, forgot that.

And then she’s rounding the corner after a brief hunt for him, looking - well - pissed. Her grip around her mirror is white-knuckled, which leads him to realise that the glass is not bloody. But that doesn’t make sense, she has to hurt someone to mimic them.

But David takes hits for fuckin’ everyone, all the time. So… so maybe, right now, she doesn’t. Maybe she just needs them to have bled at all.

Fuck - he glances down at his scraped knee, barely bleeding anymore but still sticky with blood.

Morag makes a sound - like a sigh, some sort of weird exhale-growl, and Jason feels briefly nauseous as her form… it… cracks, like glass shattering, black nothing skittering along her skin and rearranging the shards into something… familiar.

It’s a little girl, limbs stretched grotesquely with too much material to fit properly into the shape. Dirt coating her, smearing her face, short curls of ginger hair matted down in thick clumps. Blood coming out of her nose, her mouth, her ears, the hole in her head -

“Millie?” He whispers, suddenly sheet-white and sweating. “But you’re,”

Jason looks at her and wants to throw up.

“How - you,” his brain is lagging and so is his body - it feels like he’s dreaming, like being drunk.

And then it hits him.

Her blood.

Jason’s stomach gives out and he vomits, coughing and spluttering and fucking crying because of course she could do this, she could the whole fucking time, Millie’s blood was the first she ever got on her fucking murderer hands and she’s his sister and he loves her and he doesn’t want to fucking kill her but fuck this is, this isn’t -

“No. No, fuck you. Fuck this!” He shouts, unable to care about how terrible an idea that is right now. “You were saving her, weren’t you? To show me when you finally - when you finally put me in the fucking ground for good. Well fuck you, Morag. Fuck you for killing our sister. Fuck you for killing our parents. Fuck you for not killing me! ‘Cause you’re never gettin’ the chance again!”

A lazy trickle of blood from the mirror and it’s Morag again, shoulders squared, still staring from behind that stupid mask that he gave her, the mask that got him dragged back here.

Something inside him breaks.

He punches her square in the jaw.

She’s not expecting it - yeah, she’s taller than him by a good fucking margin, but he’s pissed and she thinks she can’t be hurt.

Newsflash, arsehole, he thinks, watching as she slowly turns back to face him, a fresh pulse of red beading at the cracks in her mask.

“Jason,” she says, voice quiet and cracked like she hasn’t spoken in years. Because she fucking hasn’t, he realises, and that must have driven her even more off the deep end than she already was. “Ja-son.” She’s testing the sound, feeling out the shape of it in her mouth. Her fingers twitch.

And then she’s on him - in a flash, like a cat pouncing on a mouse.

Her mirror catches against the bridge of his nose and fuck it hurts but he takes it and kicks up at her, wrestling her hands away from his face and trying to knock her off-balance. He manages to get her off him, grabbing one of the shards embedded in her neck and ripping it out - not quite, it stays lodged in her flesh but it gives and tears and she makes a choked sound - and she reels back, grabbing her mirror tightly as she crouches above him about to bring it down into his face -

The spear is lying next to him, and he grabs it, shoving it with all his strength right into her shoulder, and her cracked, ruined voice gives out halfway through her pained growl. And he’s got her now, he can tell, she doesn’t know what to do, she can’t remove the spear without risking him escaping or getting hurt worse.

Then Morag grabs it firmly and rams the blunt end against his own shoulder, and there’s a weird popping noise and a sensation like when you squeeze bubble wrap tight enough to burst and the noise that comes out of him is fucking inhuman.

His vision whites out for just a moment, and comes back just in him for him to watch as she raises her mirror above his face, the spear gone, about to carve him up like he did hers so many years ago now and this is it, isn’t it. He was never going to win this fight.

She’s taking it slow, observing him like she wants to replay this moment over and over in her head, and she leans over just enough to shove her mirror into his face.

And also, coincidentally, just enough for him to do this.

She sees the kick coming a second too late and it doesn’t break her jaw like he’d intended (though a part of him is relieved because he’s seen that happen to someone before and it looks like it hurts in a unique, secret way you’re not supposed to be able to feel) but her mask comes flying off, and his boot takes off a strip of what remains of her face skin and she makes this noise he’s never heard her make.

It’s a punched, wrenching noise. Like something rusted and caught inside the workings of her chest and she can’t get it to move like it should, so instead it just jolts and hurts and… her face never healed.

His dislocated shoulder is still screaming at him, but that doesn’t seem to matter anymore, because his scary murder sister is dripping blood and ragged flesh down onto him and he doesn’t know what to do.

Before she even sees him looking at her, she covers her head, and makes another ragged sound as her dirty hands press against her ruined face.

He knew, logically, that whatever the Entity did to her won’t let her face heal. Her mask has been knocked off before, in trials, and it slowed her down but then she went right back to killing, so… wow, she’s really bleeding a lot, huh. It never really occurred to him how badly that must hurt. He’s never been close enough and calm enough to see her twisted body - there’s cracks in her flesh, spider-webbing up her arms, like broken porcelain. He can see her teeth through a gash in her cheek.

After a bit, he kind of stopped believing that she could be hurt, much less die - that she would just keep going. Like he did. But now his twin is moving slowly, pawing at the ground for her mask while keeping one hand pressed against her face, and he kind of hates that he feels bad for her.

He can’t kill her now. He just… can’t.

God fucking damnit, Morag, he thinks, staring down at what remains of his sister. Jason makes a decision.

“Your mask is somewhere around here. There’s a gate open. Go, or don’t.” He hesitates. “I won’t ever forgive you,” she doesn’t look up, but she’s listening, as she slowly gets to her feet. “But you’re my sister, and I love you, and even you don’t deserve to be stuck here forever. Go fuck yourself.”

He turns and runs.

She watches him go, head tilted in that curious way of hers, and he somehow doesn’t regret it.

[sparxwrites]

(1/2)i read one of ur posts about dark sexual fic & this confused me: “but something deeply and fundamentally focused on the trauma and violation of that kind of thing is not, for me, sexual (and if what you’re getting off on is the actual nonconsent, rather than the playing at/silly version of nonconsent, i have some questions/concerns. this seems like a weird and not-really-there line, but it’s surprisingly obvious and disconcerting when someone/a fic crosses it tbh).”

(2/2) that does seem like a weird line to me. would you be willing elaborate on what you mean by that?

Okay, so there’s a few points I’m making with that run-on sentence. Admittedly, neither of them are terribly coherent in that form - though I’ve talked about this a little before - so let’s break it down:

1) There are multiple “types” of depictions of rape/non-consent within fiction. Within fandom, these have often been divided along the “rape” vs. “non-con/dub-con” line. Rape is ‘realistic’ depictions of sex without consent, i.e. as a traumatic, deeply awful violation of one person by the other. Non-con, on the other hand, is often designed to titillate - it’s specifically supposed to be hot/sexual, and it’s often about as realistic a depiction of rape as reality tv shows are a realistic depiction off real life. I.e. not at all. It’s playing at non-consent, it’s a fantasy, it’s unrealistic, both parties are enjoying it, there’s no hint of lasting trauma, there’s arousal, it’s hot, it’s about sex as much as it is about power/violence, there’s no lasting consequences, there’s a back button you can click if it gets too much. 

It’s selling you a fantasy of rape, essentially. This is not unproblematic - there’s a lot of concern here about how this stuff feeds into rape myths, or affects people’s perception of rape, or trivialises the experiences of actual rape victims - but it does mean that people who get off to this kind of fic are... not really getting off to depictions of rape (usually, though see point three), in the same way that people who get off to daddy kink aren’t (again, usually) really getting off to the idea of fucking their father, etc. These things can definitely be criticised, and increasingly as I’ve read more writing from a feminist perspective on them, I think they should be criticised even by people who enjoy them, but saying “someone who has a rape fantasy actually wants to rape people/get raped” is (again, usually) laughably and patently untrue.

2) I don’t find rape fic, using the definition of rape provided above, hot. I am interested in writing it, for various reasons related to my interest in writing horror and trauma and extremes of personal circumstance, but if I am reading a fic which is focused on the assault that’s going to cause lasting trauma aspect of things rather than the fantasy aspect, that’s not sexual. That’s a horror/whump/catharsis thing, and that’s where my enjoyment of reading or writing it comes from. (There’s a complicated sort of overlap here, with whump and rape and whether we define whump as sexual, and how we often don’t have language for strong and non-sexual emotions, and how the kind of tension-release that horror and whump and rape fics play with tends to provoke physical responses even if the internal experience of them is not one of arousal... but that’s another post.)

Every person I’ve talked to in fandom space who has non-consent as a kink seems to feel the same way, although they put the cut-off at different points. I’ve never talked to anyone in a fandom space who was like, “What really gets me going is imagining this assault I’m reading about in a fic happening to a real person who doesn’t want it.” There’s always elements of fantasy that are essential to their enjoyment of it - ranging from “both people have to be enjoying it in the fic” to “I imagine myself in the role of the victim and, even though they’re not enjoying it, I am and therefore I’m in control still and it’s only a fantasy of non-consent”. There’s always that disconnect from reality, that bit of power/consent still left with the victim, that persistent element of fantasy play-pretend.

What this means is, non-consent that is not clearly fantasy is an instant turn-off for (most) people with a non-consent kink. For something that is abhorrent irl to be appealing in fiction, for me, it has to be clear that it is fictional. It’s not real, that it’s a ‘play-pretend’ version of the real thing. These are characters. No one is actually getting hurt. With non-con fic, there’s often not really even the pretense that anyone’s getting hurt - it plays out more like a bdsm scene, where both characters are enjoying it (something something rape as a fantasy about not having to ask for the things you want), or where it’s a very... mild, palatable-ized version of what irl is an awful experience.

3) The feelings I talk about in point two, about people enjoying the play-pretend version of non-consent only, are not everyone’s feelings. Some people, when they say they find non-consent hot, do not mean fantasy non-consent or non-consent played out consensually between real people - they mean they find the actual idea of rape hot. They are genuinely aroused by the concept of assaulting someone, watching someone be assaulted, or (more rarely) being assaulted themselves). This is, in my opinion, where the “don’t kinkshame” mantra breaks down. Genuinely being aroused by the thought of an actual living, breathing human being getting raped is evil, and interacting with people who have this kink (who often slip under the radar in spaces that are interested in fantasy non-consent) is a deeply unsettling experience.

It’s the difference between finding something hot specifically because the other person participating it finds it hot, and being genuinely turned off by your partner’s enjoyment. You find this a lot in male fetish spaces - whereas female/afab people tend to, even when playing with non-consent, be deeply repulsed by the idea of doing anything more than ‘play-forcing’ someone into something they actually want, a lot of male ppl in fetish spaces seem genuinely aroused by making someone do something they really, truly don’t want to. That is what’s disconcerting - talking to someone about a play-pretend fantasy, and realising they think it would still be hot if it were real. Realising that, unlike people who enjoy non-consent in fiction, they would be aroused by news reports of an irl sexual assault that had happened.

Or, if you want a metaphor: it’s the same thing as if I (who loves whump but also nearly passed out in sympathetic stress once bc a stranger I didn’t know had dislocated their shoulder and was crying in agony in a hospital waiting room) bumped into someone who was like, “my ultimate dream is to forcibly and non-consensually amputate someone’s leg for realsies because irl pain gets me going, we’re basically into the same thing! :D”. They’re really not the same thing at all, and it’s incredibly unfortunate that both get referred to as “rape kink”, because the motivations there are very, very different, and it shows when you interact with people.

[gaycrouton]

Succumbing to the Truth (Ch2)

Chapter 1

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

Clarke Residence

Bakersfield, California

June 5th, 1999

4:32pm

Scully had to resist the urge to gasp at the man that opened the door. How he managed to look even paler than he did in the images sent over, she had no idea, but here he was, leaning against the doorframe while looking like death personified.

Mulder must've thought the same thing, because before even introducing himself he asked, "Mr. Clarke, are you alright?"

The man's red eyes were bulging slightly, though Scully thought that might just be due to his emaciated figure, and he nodded vigorously while gesturing for them to come in. "Are you Agents Mulder and Scully?" he asked in a raspy voice.

"Yes, we are. Are you sure you're all right, sir? You look like you could use medical attention," Scully asked, hesitantly stepping into the home. There was an uncomfortable moment of awkward tension as Mulder followed her into the threshold of the home and they turned to watch the man struggle to even find the energy to close his door. She shot Mulder a glance as Mr. Clarke caught his breath, relying on the door to support some of his weight.

He shook his head and lead them to his living room. "No, no. I've been. The doctors said there was nothing wrong with me."

Mulder and Scully exchanged a look behind his back and she prodded doubtfully, "You really went to a doctor?"

Another nod as he all but threw himself onto a chair. He barely seemed to recognize they had followed him until he mumbled, "Don't mind the ceiling, I had to have a handyman come fix the light a few days ago."

They just looked at each other before looking upwards, noticing a new layer of spackle haphazardly drooping around a rusty light fixture. They didn't think much of it before hesitantly sitting on the sofa across from him. Scully was just about to repeat her question when he sighed, "They said all the tests came back normal. They even did a, whaddya call, uh, x-ray-"

"They performed a CAT Scan?" Scully offered. Standing up and kneeling beside him in the chair, grabbing his wrist to take his pulse, noticing how clammy and cold he was to the touch.

He seemed startled by her touching him and stumbled over his words. "Y-yeah. It, um, it was normal."

She grabbed his face and, keeping one hand on his cheek, raised a finger in front of his face. "Follow my finger with your eyes."

He did as he was told and as soon as the finger was down his eyes kept flitting from her face to the ground to her chest to the wall. The attention made her a bit uncomfortable and she wasn't finding anything wrong, so she got up and sat next to Mulder again. "And they didn't find a single thing wrong?"

"Yeah, according to them I'm right as rain," he nodded. "Even though they were looking at me like the both of you are now."

Scully straightened at being called out and moved to apologize, but Mulder beat her to it.

"We're sorry, Mr. Clarke, but… your email didn't quite prepare us for your condition," he offered.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude. I just don't know what's happening to me," he sighed, rubbing his head nervously.

"Why don't you tell us when this started?" Scully prompted gently.

"Well, my friend, the one I told you about," he pointed to Mulder, "he was callin' me last week, talking about how he was having these strange dreams and I didn't think much of it, but then I started having weird dreams."

"Weird how?" Mulder asked.

Scully saw the man shoot her a shy glance before his demeanour shifted completely. He seemed uncomfortable and Scully was worried she'd done something, but when she looked at Mulder he looked equally as confused. "I, uh," he stammered.

"Sir, we promise anything you tell us will be absolutely confidential," Scully reassured.

"It just feels...inappropriate in front of a lady," he murmured, squirming slightly in his seat.

"Mr. Clarke, Agent Scully has seen it all, I promise nothing you say will shock her," Mulder stated confidently as Scully nodded in affirmation.

"The dreams feel like I'm being intimate with a woman, and-" he paused, "It feels really real."

It took every fibre of Scully's being to keep her eyebrows from shooting upwards at the fact they did, in fact, travel all the way out here because this man had a vivid sex dream. All of her hesitance, however, was matched in intensity by Mulder's piqued interest. "A woman?"

The man nodded and quickly shrugged, "I mean, it feels like a woman, and she looked like a woman."

"Looked?" Scully repeated.

"Well, usually I can only catch a glimpse of her face, or else she's just like...a mist?" he sounded like he could barely even believe it himself.

"Was it a woman you know?" Mulder asked.

"No, no. I've never seen her before the dreams started," he mumbled nervously.

"What does she look like?"

"Evil," he said with so much intensity, Scully felt herself break out in goosebumps, regardless of the fact she didn't believe this was anything more than a sick man's sex dream. Looking around, she could see the man seemed to have a cross on every wall of his house which only added to the strangeness of this situation.

"What's she usually doing in your dream?" Mulder asked, sounding equally as thrown by the man's severity.

"Me," he stated simply. They waited for him to elaborate, but he seemed to think that summed it all up.

"I think Agent Mulder is talking more about the specifics," Scully said slowly.

"Have you ever had a woman have sex with you before?" the man asked irritably, looking at Mulder.

She tried to bite back her smile as she saw Mulder's ears turn red. "Um, yes."

"It was like that," he snapped, clearly uncomfortable with this conversation. "I'd be an idiot to ever take that for granted."

"How do the dreams usually end?" she asked, trying to remain on his good side.

"Have you ever-" he started in the same tone, but immediately stopped when she shot him a nasty look. He appeared contrite as he shrank back into himself. "I uh, I," then he made an explosion gesture in front of his crotch, along with a matching sound before grumbling, "-in my boxers and then I wake up. It just feels so real."

"Are you sure it's not? Could it be possible someone's been breaking into your house at night?" Mulder questioned.

The man seemed to get offended at this and he scoffed, sitting up. "No! No, I-the doors are always locked and the windows. If I woke up and there was a naked lady on top of me and if she was real I wouldn't have a problem-"

"Sir," Scully interrupted, trying to comfort his agitation, but he didn't seem to notice her.

"I just, there's nothing I can do with this thing! It feels like I'm paralyzed, I can't move, I can't do anything, and I feel fantastic until I feel awful," he stammered.

"Mr. Clarke," she stated louder, getting his attention this time. "Just because your body is reacting doesn't mean you're consenting for this to happen. If this is, um, a spirit of sorts as seemingly suggested, then this is a metaphysical violation and you shouldn't feel guilty about your body's physiological response."

The man didn't seem to be eased by her words and he simply shook his head before lowering it into his hands. "You mentioned paralysis, is there anything else strange about these dreams?" Mulder questioned, breaking the tense silence.

"No, not that I can think of," he shrugged.

"Well, if you think of anything else, please give us a call. We'll be in the area," Mulder said while standing up, handing the man his business card. Scully worried the man would collapse in front of him, but didn't say anything more as they left.

While walking to the car, Scully looked over her shoulder to make sure they weren't being watched before proclaiming, "Mulder, really?"

"Scully, you have to admit something's wrong with that man. He looks on the verge of death and, besides, there is no way he could have put those marks on himself based on the photos we saw. He'd have to have dislocated his shoulder to make a pattern like that," Mulder defended, unlocking her door before making his way around the car. He resumed his rant as soon as they were both in, "And did you hear him mention the sleep paralysis? That along with his other symptoms are classic signs of a succubus visitation."

"A succubus?" Scully repeated in disbelief. "As in the sexual demon?"

"In relation to the male version, an incubus. Yes, the very same," he replied, starting the car.

"And what symptoms are you referring to exactly?"

"The paralysis, the exhaustion following a nocturnal emission, bloodshot eyes, his fatigue," Mulder listed confidently, either unable to see her eyeroll or ignoring it.

"It more likely could've just been a traumatic sexual night dream. Especially in communities where sexuality is repressed, indulgence, even if unconsciously, can be heavily associated with guilt. Which is why occurrences of succubi and incubi are more common in Middle Eastern countries and in Catholic communities where sexuality is heavily dictated. People are then more willing to blame the paranormal when their own repressed sexual urges come to the surface. Did you see all the crosses in there, Mulder? He's clearly a religious man," she explained as he made his way back to their motel.

"That's an interesting theory, Scully. But did you happen to notice that he asked me plainly if a woman had ever had sex with me? Not to mention the-" Mulder put one hand in front of his crotch and made an explosion sound mimicking the other man's ejaculation reference.

Scully rolled her eyes as he laughed at how ridiculous that was. "Well, that's something to take into consideration itself."

"What, his poor charades potential?" Mulder joked.

"No, he was up front with you. He didn't even want to talk about the subject in my presence," she explained.

"What do you make of that?" he asked.

"Well, I don't know," she shrugged, fiddling with the air conditioner. "He asked you if a woman has had sex with you before. Maybe he would have answered differently than you did."

"You think he's a virgin?" Mulder asked, surprise evident in his tone.

"Maybe not a virgin, but his phrasing of the question itself was odd," she mused.

"That's true. He didn't ask if I'd had sex with a woman, but if a woman has had sex with me," Mulder clarified.

She felt her brow furrow as she tried to understand the implications of this. While it felt like there was a dominance difference in the tonality of the questions, ultimately they led to the same thing. "I'm not sure I fully understand the difference," she admitted, trying to sound completely indifferent to the turn of this conversation.

"The difference between a man having sex with a woman and a woman having sex with a man?" he clarified.

"As in the psychological difference between the sexes' different perceived response to intercourse? I know women have different chemical releases post-coitally than men do," she explained.

"While that's true, based on the questions before he said it, I think he's talking about the physicality," Mulder responded, idly looking around for a motel to stay at.

She was glad he was semi-distracted because if he wasn't, she was sure he'd be teasing her a lot more for even asking. "I'm not following."

Maybe he wasn't as distracted as he was trying to get her to believe. He let out an almost inaudible sigh and straightened up in his seat, leaning forward a bit. "Well, uh. Okay, so a man's interested in a woman...?" he started.

She wasn't sure why he phrased it as a question until she realized he was making this an interactive learning experience. Great. "Okay," she affirmed.

"He wants to have sex with her so he instigates it. Man having sex with woman is great," Mulder explained. She might have been offended that he was speaking to her like a caveman, but she realized he was trying to make this as impersonal as possible. "Sure she reciprocates, it's all great, but I think the responsibility is on the man's shoulders," Mulder explained.

"So you're saying anytime a man instigates sex he's in charge?" Scully questioned, not quite agreeing or liking that line of thought.

"No, not exactly. I'm just trying to rationalize a possible baseline of comparison for his phrasing," Mulder explained, dipping into profiler mode.

"Okay, keep going."

"Conversely, woman has sex with man as in woman instigates. It's um, to the man it might be considered an ego boost or a reassurance of confidence. I think female instigation might be every man's fantasy," he mumbled the last part.

"Every man's?" she repeated.

"Uh," he chuckled nervously, tension filling the car because of the unspoken admission. "I'm just taking shots in the dark here," he lied, putting on his blinker so he could take the next exit to the motel.

Mulder likes it when women instigate. She was trying to keep her mind off playing a visual of her straddling Mulder, the way he would look up at her in pure reverence, how he'd feel growing hard beneath her. She obviously wasn't doing a good job because she didn't even realize Mulder was talking until he was in the middle of a sentence. "-so I'm thinking he's never really, or very rarely, had women instigate with him. He's used to being the pursuer and, if I had to guess, I'd say he's not used to success either way."

"So what does this all mean?" she asked.

"Maybe it was his desperation for a woman's affection that made him vulnerable to a succubus' attack," he shrugged.

She pursed her lips, thinking of the implications before admitting, "I don't like the idea of the succubus."

"Why, because they don't exist?" he teased.

"No, I just think it's sexist, much like the concept of the 'fallen woman'," she explained while her eyes caught sight of the tall neon blue sign of the motel, shaped like a buffalo.

"The what?" Mulder asked.

"The fallen woman. It was a Victorian concept that essentially equated women's worth to the status of their chastity. If a woman's 'purity' was in anyway compromised, purity being a problematic concept itself, then she was considered a fallen woman, essentially worthless. Often they were made out to be witches or harbingers of evil because they were women with sexual agency."

He was silently digesting this and she added, "While it occasionally was female promiscuity, it oftentimes wasn't, since men have a historical tendency of taking whatever they want. Men considered women filthy, ignoring the fact it was their own touch that tainted them. We never question why men's hands are so dirty in the first place."

"Would Lillith from the Bible be a fallen woman?" he asked.

"Exactly, it dates that far back and it's still with us presently through the rampant shaming of female sexuality. Look at Monica Lewinsky, she was an intern just trying to do her job. There was an abuse of power dynamics, she was put into a position where she would have to say no to the President of the United States, and she's become a social pariah, a joke," Scully sighed, getting riled up in the moment.

She tried to rein herself in and return to the issue at hand. "Look, what I'm saying is I think the whole idea of a succubus is in the same vein. Men get to act out their sexual fantasies, but in the light of day blame it on the 'villainous sexual-woman'."

"But there are incubi as well, and women are the ones usually being visited in those cases," he offered, not negating what she just said, just offering a counter theory.

"When was the first documented case of incubi?" she asked, knowing damn well he'd know.

"Mesopotamia was the first documentation."

"And succubi?"

"The fourteenth century."

"Incubi came first most likely because women were merely having completely normal sex dreams, just like men probably were, but of course there had to be some sort of paranormal influence because surely women can't simply be sexual," she stated, sarcastically.

He turned off the car which had been sitting idly in the parking spot, and turned to her. "And you're thinking the succubi came around because of the influence of the incubi legend, but the tactic with them was to reinforce the idea that women who are sexual need to be punished?"

"Yes," she nodded, unbuckling her seatbelt. "It's no different than the thousands of hours of derogatory porn made every year where women are treated as objects. Women's sexuality is treated as a commodity to be consumed by the male viewer, not an actual facet of her as a human being that she should be able to enjoy," she explained.

He unbuckled his own seatbelt and she continued when they were out of the car, "I think men like Jack Clarke whom, as you mentioned, doesn't receive a lot of attention from women, probably relies on pornography as a substitute for love and then didn't know how to accurately process the possibility of a woman, fake or not, coming onto him."

She walked towards him as he opened the trunk and he gently stated, "Not all men who watch porn have an awful view of women. You know that, right?"

She felt a bolt of guilt hit her as she realized she forgot about his own predilection. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I didn't mean-"

He offered her a smile to show there were no hard feelings and reassured, "I know. Just playing devil's advocate and perhaps just wanting to wave a white flag on behalf of a certain group of men, but there are quite a lot of porn movies that aren't derogatory and embrace, and actually focus on, the satisfaction and genuine pleasure of women."

She'd never actually asked him what his taste in porn was, she'd just seen the tapes every now and then out of the corner of her eye and did her best to ignore it to give him some privacy. This new admission that he preferred porn centered on women's pleasure was fitting and made her cheeks blush slightly. She felt bad for essentially backing him into a corner and forcing him to reveal something so personal, so she offered her own admission, "You're right. I've seen many in my time that, as you mention, um, do focus on equal pleasure between the participants."

She mumbled this as she grabbed her suitcase from Mulder and ignored the warmth of his fingers as they brushed on the handle. She was avoiding his gaze, but he wasn't responding, so she looked up only to see a shit-eating grin on his face. "I can't believe my ears, did Dana Scully just admit to watching porn?"

She felt heat spread to the back of her neck, but she wasn't going to back down. "What? Does that surprise you?"

He grabbed his own bag and shut the trunk. "I don't know, I think I assumed your catholic guilt would have gnawed at you or something," he chuckled.

She motioned for them to walk to the front office while she chastised him, "As I just mentioned, I think it's archaic and wrong to think women shouldn't enjoy sex. As a scientist, I recognize it's human nature, and as a woman I see the more...carnal instinct." She licked her lips in response to the interested sound of affirmation he made in the back of his throat in response to the last part of her statement. "The church may still try to follow the ideology that purity is somehow connected to moral decency, but I think it's repressive."

Mulder smiled at her as he opened the door for her, "Scully, you never cease to amaze me." A shy smile in response graced her lips and she stepped inside. Their conversation paused for the time being as they booked connecting rooms and settled in.

She was in the middle of hanging up her suits when there was a rap on her door. "Come in," she called out. Making sure the connecting door was unlocked during a case was always the first thing she did, being that Mulder was usually walking through it within thirty seconds of getting their rooms.

Like clockwork, the door opened and Mulder leaned against the frame donning a heather gray t-shirt and some shorts. A look she was quite fond of. "Going running?" she asked, trying to keep her appreciation to herself.

"Yeah, I was just thinking about our conversation earlier," he started.

She was nervous he was going to rekindle the porn conversation, but she let out an exhale of relief as he asked, "We still have no explanation of what's affecting him physically."

She returned to her bed and sat down to take off her shoes. "Well, I want to see a tox screen on both him and his dead friend. We also need to talk to the police department tomorrow and ask them about the investigation they'd done into his place. We still haven't ruled out the possibility that it really was a home invasion of some sort," she responded, letting her shoes fall to the floor as she stretched for what felt like the first time today.

She caught Mulder's eyes flicker downwards on her body before snapping back up. "I'm still not ruling out the possibility of a paranormal presence of some sort, but I set up a meeting with the police department tomorrow morning," he told her, clearing his throat.

"Sounds good. I might call it early tonight, so I might be asleep by the time you come back," she yawned, rubbing her face as she realized how exhausted this day of traveling really was.

"I'll leave you be. See you in the morning," he nodded, closing the door.

"Night," she called out.

Link to Ao3