#or even just fucking rinse shit before it gets crusted on

[fiona-fififi]

My mother's absolute inability to properly clean or care for a single kitchen item is mind-boggling to me.

[vampyrminxxx]

Neutron Star Collision - Chapter 1

Once Vira got out of Pelican Town, she was out. That's how she viewed it at least. Never going back, never looking back. Her parents packed her up at 13, and moved out to Zuzu City. From there, her life was nothing but schedules on schedules once she managed to hit the silver screen. At some point, her parents stopped being her parents, and ultimately became her managers. Shirley Temples turned to whatever bottle of shit she could find in cabinet. A loving memory of Pelican Town became a piece of her she needed to forget.

Yet, when she had to pull herself from the vomit-reeking toilet, crusted makeup on her face, a stranger in her nearby bed, to answer the phone; Vira groaned, another annoyance for her to deal with. Her hands picked up the house phone, a groan to her rasped voice. "Who is this?" Already rolling her eyes, before freezing at the voice on the other side. A distant familiar voice, delivering news on her Grandpa's passing. A new type of sickness added to her stomach besides whatever shit she drank last night. Leaning against the nearby wall, silent as they described that while she had already missed the funeral, her name showed up in the will, making a statement of Tell Vi to remember my letter.

Vira soon hung up, staring blankly at the wall ahead of her. "Couldn't even go to your funeral ... " A male groan from her bed snapped her out of the slight daze, the girl heading to the toilet again to finish the messfest from before the call.

Somehow, it was easier to kick the dude out the moment she was done spewing. After cleaning herself up, Vira was digging around her place, looking for that damned letter from a fucking decade ago. "Couldn't even just ... put the letter contents in the will instead? Couldn't just have the letter given to me after?" 

Covered with more sweat now than when she woke up, the letter soon came into her hands. A ripping to open it, and rushing to read what was in. "...The hell...?"

And that was how Vira managed to escape from her world off to Pelican Town. A letter in her pocket for herself, detailing talk of being able to escape the world for some time, and a letter left behind telling her two managers that she would be going on hiatus. She didn't even bother telling them how long it would be. 

Gray eyes watched out the bus window, two duffle bags with her, she couldn't help but wonder. What was her life going to be like? Vi already knew that it wasn't going to be some pretty. seamless thing. She knew she wasn't cut out for the farm life anymore, but that didn't mean she was against it. In fact, when she was first moved out, she missed the place so much. Missed her friends, Grandpa, the magic and beauty of the valley. It never came across to her she would ever be able to go back, not when she was so deeply invested in her new world on films. Truth be told, Vi found little interest in her life anymore. Wake up, schedule, fuck a random person after getting shitfaced, rinse and repeat. That had been her life since she was 18. Vira sighed as she looked to the driver. "Pelican Town coming up next!"

When the bus came to a stop, Vira picked up her duffels, and heading out to the dirt path, the rumbling of the bus leaving. "Dude said on the phone said somebody would come and help out ..." A small sigh, seeing a woman approach, the sight familiar, her face accented with a big smile.

"Is that our precious star Vira?" A small laugh from Robin, immediately hugging the girl. "My goodness, haven't seen you in so long. Mayor Lewis is waiting for you at the farm. Let me help you with some of that." Robin took a step back, reaching down and taking one of the duffle bags.

Vi was a bit stunned to receive such a ... greeting, stunned for a second before clearing her throat and following after Robin, who was already heading out. "Yeah, I talked with him a little over the phone about meeting him there."

"Well, at least ya aren't going in there blind. It got messy over recent time." Robin kept talking, Vira offering whatever small talk she could while her mind drifted. The sights she barely recognized but each building filled her with a gentle nostalgia. The town center, all the shops and the saloon, even the dilapidated community center. Everything there brought forward a story she could just barely remember, her mind foggy at points. Foggy memories or not, it brought her forward a joy, a guilt, a shame. As her and Robin made it to the pathway to the farm, she was scared. 

I left, I didn't know you were running out of time, how can it be me here and nobody else in the entire world? Grandpa was loved, and loved many, but how is it that she was the specific person he gave this escape to in the will? Even before then, he gave her that letter back when it was her final day in Pelican Town. He always had this planned for her, she came to the conclusion of. Yet, Vira kept having that feeling of just ... why?

However, before she could keep pondering her grandpa's decision, the duo had arrived to the farmhouse, the sight of Mayor Lewis stepping out of the farmhouse getting closer. "Robin, and if it isn't Vira! Glad to see that you made it back to the coziness of Pelican Town safely!" A chuckle from the man, his hands on his hips. Vira couldn't help but offer a small laugh - his was one of those contagious chortles.

"Yeah, made it back somehow in one piece. Hopefully it stays that way while I'm here." Robin wasn't joking when she had stated how the property was worse for wear. It brought some sort of sadness to Vira. How long had it been before they got in contact with her? Trees were overgrown, rocks and branches littered, dead logs, weeds and dried out dirt ... It was depressing to see, so unlike the wonder she had grown up with.

"Man, I hope the inside of the farmhouse isn't as bad as the outside ..." Robin mumbled, followed by a grunt from Lewis just barely elbowing her, a glare pointed at her.

"Robin, don't you think you can promote your house upgrades another time? Maybe not when it is Vira's first time back in a while?" Robin huffed a little, shrugging with a nod. "Vi, if you want, we can head inside, or we can leave you to it." Lewis smiled over to his old friend's granddaughter, a whisper in the back of his mind that he knew she might've not processed the passing like the rest of them had.

"I think I can handle it from here, Mayor Lewis. Made it this far, after all." A small smile was offered, going over to Robin to pick up her second duffel bag from the lady. Vira at this point just needed some moments to herself.

"Yeah, yeah, we get it. We'll get going, but if you can, most of the townsfolks will be down at the Saloon tonight. It's the Friday tradition after all, if you want to swing by." Lewis nodded towards her, before taking his leave.

Robin followed after, piping up, "If you need anything, my house is right up the road. Passed it on the way into town."

"Thanks y'all." Vira waited as she watched them leave down the road, before redirecting her focus to the house. The same old place. She headed up the steps, and inside, a small cough from dust floating around the joint. "Damn ... When was it last cleaned?" A groan followed, going over to the bed, and dropping her duffel bags down onto it. Surprisingly, not too much dust bounced up from it. "What, they changed and cleaned the bed but nothing else?' 

A shrug, Whatever, as she sat down, flopping down on the bed. The bus was a nightmare to ride on, aching her body with every bump and hard stop it had. The bed was comfortable, lulling her to relaxation ... before another cough started to attack her damned lungs.

"Fucking hell ..."

A/N: Updates come on AO3 first then onto Tumblr. Here's if you want to read on AO3. Attached is the future reference photo for Vira, made using Jazzybee and Poltergeister's Stardew Valley Character Creator!

[pleasantanathema]

Wet Pleasures

Fandom: BNHA

Rating: Explicit

Characters: Hitoshi Shinsou

Tags: dom!Shinsou, rough sex, dirty talk, hair pulling, bondage

Word Count: ~7k    

           “You’re such a good girl,” He mused, his other hand drifting down your arm, thumb dangerously close to the outline of your breast, “you never tell me no.”

           You shook your head faintly in agreement, your eyes drawn to the beautiful muscles of his body that you had yet to see before.

           “If you don’t tell me no right now, kitty, I’m going to do very naughty things with you.”

Request for dubliinwaltz

           It was late, far too late to still be at the hero agency you worked for, and especially far too late to be taking a shower in the locker room. But, there you stood, frustrated and wet. You wanted to be home, curled up in your bed and reading your favorite book, but you were still trying to scrub your hair and body clean from the incident you had earlier in the day.

           Sometimes you forgot just how gross some quirks could be. But you were rudely reminded earlier when a villain you had been chasing chose to smother you in grey goo from his fingertips. You could feel the goo begin to crack and harden against your skin as you ran, matting into your hair and folding into the creases of your body. You had to wipe globs from your eyes and nose, unfortunately flicking the substance towards unsuspecting bystanders as you flashed by them. While you and your partner hadn’t stopped your pursuit, inwardly you had wanted to scream and use your quirk to actually kill this guy and end everything there and then. But you resisted that urge, and thankfully your partner was incredibly adept at capturing people.

           You could hear your partner sighing in similar discontent in a shower adjacent to yours. Shinsou was cursing rather loudly, mumbling profanities into the steam.

           “Are you okay, Shinsou?” You called out forcefully, hoping that he could hear you over the pounding of hot shower water against the cold tiles.

           You caught the grumble of a very angry affirmative.

           He cleared his throat, sighing stridently, “Actually…do you have any good shampoo? Mine isn’t cutting it for this stupid fucking goo.”

           You looked down at your feet, glancing over the contents of your little shower caddy. You had only showered at work a few times before, but fortunately your previous times had encouraged you to buy a few travel sized bottles and fill them with your favorite soaps. You plucked one from its home, twirling it in your fingers as you remembered that this particular shampoo was for thick hair, which would probably help Shinsou’s lavender locks.

           “Yea, heads up!” You tossed the little bottle over the white brick wall that separated the showers. You listened to hear if it clattered to the floor, but the lack of sound suggested that Shinsou had caught your throw.

           While some partners would’ve found it very odd to be showering in such close proximity, you and Shinsou were a little different than most. You were very comfortable around one another and had been from the start of your time working together nearly a year ago. But, there was also something about Hitoshi Shinsou that had you absolutely pining for him. He was inconceivably clever, and his keen intellect impressed you, especially when he used that wit to craft jokes that made you both chuckle. But aside from his charm, it was the mystery of him that had you thinking about him for far too long while in bed. Despite being so relaxed around one another, he didn’t open up much about his personal life, or really any very personal thoughts.

           Despite his aloofness, you did everything you could to please your partner. You never told him no, not like you ever really needed to, but everything inside of you trusted him and wanted to submit to him. He was powerful and you were drawn to him like a kitten to a new curiosity.

           You closed your eyes for a moment, running your hands over your skin, wondering what his would feel like instead of your own.

           You heard another very frustrated grunt from the neighboring shower.

           “Ugh, now I smell like flowers.”

           His complaint had you giggling to yourself as you continued to use a loofah and scrub at the undersides of your arms and behind your knees, and all the other nooks and crannies that this goo had decided to claim as a home. While the warm water still felt like a soothing blanket to your skin, your long time spent scrubbing had the soles of your feet aching against the rough tiles. You groaned, just wanting desperately to get clean. You stretched your toes, and soon you yawned, stretching your arms up and over your head. That’s when you felt the skin of your back crinkle in a very strange, and sticky, way. You stopped stretching and began trying to touch the skin of your middle back, but unfortunately there was a spot that you couldn’t quite reach. Undoubtedly, your back was still in need of cleaning.

           You cried out loudly in annoyance, head falling back and eyes closing as you let the shower water splash across the front of your body. Your desperation must’ve been made clear, as you heard the adjacent shower curtain rustle.

           Shinsou cleared his throat and the sound was closer than you expected. You peeked over your shoulder, finding only his head visible from around the wall. Soap suds still littered his indigo hair, and his expression mimicked the aggravation of your own. You suddenly blushed, realizing he was currently able to see all of your backside. You instinctively wrapped your arms around your breasts, maintaining eye contact with your partner.

           “Um,” he started, eyes darting away momentarily, “do you need help washing this shit off?”

           You sighed in defeat, nodding your head.

           “Yea. Do you?”

           “I can’t even get it out of my own hair.”

           He dipped back around the wall and you heard the creak of the knob as he turned off his shower. You began to breath more quickly, realizing that very soon he was going to be here, with you, in your space, in this shower, naked. You shook your head, hands running across your face under the fall of the water. Sure, the two of you had changed into your hero costumes many times before in this very locker room, but you’d never really seen each other fully nude. Your limits of comfortability with your partner were about to possibly reach their limit.

           “There’s a spot on your back, you know.”

           You let out another very exasperated sigh.

           “Yea, I know. Can you…?”

           “Of course.”

           Your back was still to him as he approached you in the shower. Casually, you handed your loofah to him over your shoulder, and he took it gently, fingers brushing over your knuckles. His other hand wrapped around your upper arm, steadying you as he began to rub at your back. His grip on your skin was delicate yet firm, large hand enveloping your arm. He kept a comfortable distance between your bodies, staying a step back so he could work at the crusted goo upon your skin. You reached forward and turned the temperature up in the shower, hoping to blame the heat of the water and steam for the redness of your cheeks and not him.

           You let out a groan of satisfaction when you felt something heavy peel off the skin of your back. His continued to scrub at the spot, but now more lightly, like he was rinsing off the remaining residue of the substance. You then felt the wisp of the loofah back on your shoulder, and he tapped you with it to get you to take it back. As you wrapped the dangling strap of the puff around your fingers, you assumed he was finished, but then you felt his hand on your back.

           “Why is this shit so stubborn?” He grumbled, using the tip of his nail to scrape at the portion of skin between your shoulder blades.

           Shinsou had been equally as frustrated with all this mess as you. Not only had the motherfucker you two had been chasing cover you both with his nasty quirk, he had coated Shinsou’s capturing weapon to filth. What he wouldn’t admit to you was the true reason he was struggling to clean off himself in the shower: he had been sitting over there diligently scrubbing the cloth of his weapon and tired himself out. Even now, the scarf like tool was pooled into a heap on the shower tiles, forlorn and still stained with dark spots.

           Instead of continuing to deal with this situation on his own, he had hoped you would be willing to help him. You always were, and he had taken notice that you hardly ever said no to him, which was something he found very appealing. He wasn’t ashamed to admit to himself that not only did he find you particularly attractive, he found you alluring and very compatible to himself and his…wants and needs, so to say.

           Shinsou liked a woman who would do whatever he asked, which was only natural, given his quirk. And he had an inkling that you wanted him to tell you what to do more often.

           He had successfully cleaned your back, so he took a moment look over you before continuing with bathing. He took both of your arms in his hands now, gingerly skimming his palms down to your elbows as his wandering eyes marveled over your beautiful back and plump backside. He was taller than you, and it gave him a great vantage point to peer over your shoulders to the front of your body. He could smell the sweetness of your skin, your scent filling the steamy air like a billowing aroma. If only he could just taste you, oh the sinful things he’d—

           “Hitoshi?” your easy voice brought him from his thoughts, “are you done staring? I need to wash your hair.”

           He grinned at the lax in your tone, delighted to know that you were aware of his gaze. He moved forward, wrapping his strong arms around your shoulders from behind, his embrace open and lazy, contented even.

           “Can I at least get a thank you, dear partner of mine?”

           He nestled his chin against your wet hair, and you could imagine the grin on his face.

           “Thank you, Hitoshi.” You grumbled it, but still you smiled.

           Shinsou slipped around your side, lean and towering body shifting to be in front of yours. The width of his body took over the spray of the water, leaving you cold and damp behind him. For an instant, you marveled over the muscled planes of his back, but chose not to stare like he had earlier. You reached up, standing on your toes as you raked hand through his wet hair. Somehow, despite being wet, much of his hair still seemed unruly and thick. It appeared dark blue now, with soap suds still dripping off the long strands. A few strands still were colored grey from the mysterious gunk, but not too many.

           “Rinse the old shampoo out and I’ll try another.”

           “Bossy, bossy.” He quipped, bringing his hands to his hair and scrubbing.

           You reached into your shower caddy once more, picking the entire thing up and searching through it for anything that could help. You found a bottle of hair oil, still mostly full. You shrugged, hoping that perhaps it could help along with more shampoo.

           Returning to Shinsou’s back, you sighed, looking up at the expanse of hair upon his head. You’d have to be on your toes the whole time to reach the strands, but you could handle it. You mixed some of the oil and shampoo in your palms, once again stretching up to reach his head. You lathered your fingers through his hair, paying special attention to pull at the pieces still stained from the goo on the back of his head that he definitely couldn’t have seen earlier.

           He hummed softly as your delicate fingers massaged at his head. He had definitely made the right decision asking for help, especially now that he could feel your body brush up against his back and shoulders as you attempted to clean him. He almost shuddered when he felt your breasts press up against his skin, nipples hard and skating across his wet back.

           Shinsou realized you were struggling to stay on your toes. He went to lean forward and bend down to alleviate your straining feet and calves, but his movement threw you off balance. He audibly hissed as your fingers wound themselves into his hair, clutching at him as you tried not to fall backwards on the slippery floor.

           “Fuck, kitten, easy with the claws.”

           Your other hand came to his arm, nails digging into his skin for purchase as you steadied yourself. You shook your head as you regained your sense of self on your feet. Then, you blushed, your brain recognizing the words he had just said. Kitten?Oh, oh that name sounded so sensual coming from his lips. You almost wanted to say something about it, but you assumed he misspoke—he never called you that, at least not to your face.

           “I’m sorry, just don’t fucking move again and I won’t fall.”

           He crossed his arms in front of his chest, peering over his shoulder, though he couldn’t quite glimpse you.

           You went back to working at his hair, mindful not to pull at him again. It took a few minutes, but eventually you worked most of the crusted gunk from his hair. A few times you pressed your palm to his head, forcing him forward to wet his hair more under the shower, which made him sputter and grumble as water dripped across his face. Hey, he asked for this, and cleaning his thick hair wasn’t an easy task. Eventually, his gorgeous locks felt clean and smooth in your hands, finally free of any lingering mess.

           You scanned his back, finding a few grey flecks. You used your nails to chip the substance off his pale skin, now made more pink and flushed under the heat of the shower. He hummed as you worked at him, eyes closing in delight at your touch. He wondered how far he could push you, if he could ask for more. He already had you with him, in the shower, naked, washing him, surely a little more wouldn’t push you away.

           He called your name softly, and you stopped touching his back, standing up straight and still.

           “Yes?” Your voice was quiet, almost meek in his presence.

           “Can I touch you?”

           An awkward moment of silence ticked by, but before you even thought about it, your mouth stammered out an answer that your brain didn’t screen for approval.

           “Of course.”

           You said it matter-of-factly, subconsciously confirming to yourself that telling him no just really wasn’t an option. Every fiber of your being wanted to please him. You could feel your gut stir with butterflies, explodingbutterflies, as he turned around, the two of you coming face to face in the shower. He cupped your cheek, thumb brushing over your flushed skin. You peered up at him with glossy eyes that trailed over the small perfections of his face.

           “You’re such a good girl,” He mused, his other hand drifting down your arm, thumb dangerously close to the outline of your breast, “you never tell me no.”

           You shook your head faintly in agreement, your eyes drawn to the beautiful muscles of his body that you had yet to see before.

           “If you don’t tell me no right now, kitty, I’m going to do very naughty things with you.”

           Your mouth opened before you realized, “please,” you sounded breathless.

           He leaned down, mouth trailing close to your own, tongue licking at left over water droplets on your cheek. You felt like melting against him.

           “Please what? I like when you use your words.”

           A gulp was caught in your throat, mind reeling over the turn of events. You wondered for a moment if this was even happening, perhaps your daydreams were becoming a little realistic. But then you felt his warm tongue against your skin again, and you knew that this was real. You moaned loudly, eyes closing as you gathered your confidence. His palm dipped low to cup your breast, squeezing it gently, like he was testing your resolve.

           “Please touch me, Hitoshi.”

           His tongue snaked between your lips then, mouth covering your own in a searing kiss. He groaned against your lips at your command, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against his body. Your mind was overwhelmed with thoughts as you tried to make sense of every new sensation that was sending your nerves running wild. His lips on yours were dreamy and lazy, like he was kissing to taste you and drink you in. His body was warmer than yours, with hot water threading down the soft expanses of skin. You could hear the roaring sound of the water splashing against cool tiles, rumbling echoes of the splatters sounding around the darkened, empty locker room. You moaned as you felt his fingertips grip into your sides, one large palm still encircled around your sensitive breast. Your body curved against his, stomachs pressed together, and his muscles were lean and hard. He felt like some kind of divine being, raised from the sea and finally hearing your desperate cries for attention.

           After a few moments of holding you, tongues gliding over one another like shifting tides, Shinsou’s kiss shifted from languid to ravenous. You gasped as you felt his hands tighten around your body, gripping hard enough to bruise. The hand on your breast began tugging and pinching at your nipple roughly. Your lewd groan at his ministration had him smirking against your lips. A hardness was pressing against your thigh now, making your cheeks redden as you realized his cock was responding to your body.

           He used his hold on you to turn you around, placing your frigid body back under the warm spray of the shower. You slicked the hair away from your eyes as you stood before him, the water and steam pouring over your figure. He grinned roguishly at the sight, hand reaching forward and cupping your chin, keeping your eyes on his.

           “Get on your knees,” he whispered, authority laced between the words.

           You nodded quickly, taking a step back and sinking to your knees in worship.

           You tried to keep your eyes to his, but his beautiful, silken cock was now just above your line of sight, the head brushing against your brow. Your eyes widened at the sight. He was big and glorious, damp violet hairs kissing the base. He curved ever so slightly, ever so deliciously, and you licked your lips in anticipation. He fisted his cock, and you sat up straighter and to attention. He brushed the head against your cheeks, marveling at the lustful look on your face.

           “You look so pretty all wet, kitty.”

           Heat rose to your cheeks again, tickling up to your ears, making them burn.

           “I like that name,” you murmured, eyes fluttering up at him.

           Fuck, he groaned to himself, cock twitching in his hand. You were so perfect below him like that, supple mouth just waiting to taste him. You’d be the death of him if you continued to look at him that way and say words like that. He could already feel his core constricting into a tight coil at just the sight of you.

           “You’re my little pet now,” he nudged his cock against your lips, feeling your tongue tentatively lap against him. He pushed in a little deeper, finding the cavern of your mouth somehow warmer and wetter than his surroundings.

           “Yes sir,” you mumbled it against his cock, the vibrations tinging down his skin. He fisted one hand into your wet hair, encouraging you to take him into your mouth. Eagerly, you complied, placing your hands on his thighs for leverage as you dipped your head further down his shaft. You both moaned simultaneously. Your tongue flattened against the underside of his cock, keeping him moist and slick between your hollowing cheeks. His girth made it difficult to venture too far down, and you began to readjust your jaw, opening your mouth as wide as possible to fit him.

           You set a brisk pace, fervent to feel him deeper in your mouth. He helped to guide you, fingers weaving between the strands of your hair and his strength encouraging you to take as much of him as possible. You groaned and gulped against him, tongue swirling with each plunge of your head. You could feel the thick veins of his cock against your tongue and cheeks, the wide head skimming against the back of your throat. You closed your eyes against the running water, finger nails nipping into the skin of his thighs as you controlled your gag reflex. You had never had such a large cock in your mouth before and it felt sinful just how far he stretched your cheeks.

           “Oh kitten,” he groaned out, making your thighs press together in anticipation. His voice was low and succulent, growls continually ripping from his chest. His sounds invigorated you to please him more. You took all of him into your mouth, gasping as he slid down your throat. Your nose was buried in that violet hair at the base of his cock, bumping against his skin. A tumble of curses spilled from his lips, the hand in your hair tightening as you pulled back and repeated to the motion, saliva slipping from your lips to be washed away by the spray of the shower.

           He kept you between his legs for a while, captivated by watching your sweet mouth swallow up the whole of his cock. The feel of your tongue swirling around the head of his cock with nearly every thrust of your head had him panting for more. And then your eyes opened again, water dampening your lashes as you caught his gaze as you nearly choked on his cock. He almost lost it then, using his hand to pull you from his cock before he became too rough with your lips.

           “Fuck,” he hissed, cock throbbing as it once against rested against your face, “you be a good girl and stay right there.”

           You almost questioned him, but you were trying to catch your breath and couldn’t find your voice. He stepped from the shower, leaving you on your knees. You sunk down closer to the floor, hands against your thighs as you took deep breaths under the deluge of the warm streams of water.

           Shinsou returned quickly, his damp capturing weapon laced around his arm.

           Oh fuck, you thought, looking up at him like a lost lamb. He lifted his lavender eyes to scan the ceiling. You sat patiently, breasts heaving with breaths, the heat between your thighs growing as you thought about what he could be thinking. You’d be lying if you said you had never thought of the terribly dirty things he could do to someone—to you—with that weapon of his, and now he stood before you with it, naked and smirking.

           “Now let’s get you off the floor.”

           Before you could even blink, you felt the carbon fibers of his weapon wrap around your arms, hoisting you up into the air as the other end of the fabric looped over a steel beam from the ceiling. Your arms were tethered together above your head, dangling you above the floor and close to the back of the shower. Your body was still bouncing in gravity from his first action when he sent two more strands of the weapon to envelop your legs, pulling them apart and fastening the ends of the ribbons to the beam in the ceiling as well. You cried out in surprise at his rapid movements, effectively trapped and spread before him.

           Shinsou laughed at how easy you were to capture, but soon his eyes darkened as he soaked in the image before him. You looked perfect and delectable, dewy skin glistening against the binding of his weapon. He had thought of tying you up like this dozens of times before, even daydreamed about it when you trained together after work. He always felt a little twinge in his cock whenever he swung you from his weapon during missions, and he imagined binding more than just the occasional wrist or arm.

           He stepped towards your suspended body, reaching behind you to turn off the shower. He planned to keep you like this for as long as he could, no need to waste water. He skimmed his fingers up your legs, capturing a calf with his hand. He experimentally pulled on your body, watching your breasts bounce as the fabric allowed you to move only slightly.

           “This is perfect,” he mused, eyes dropping to between your legs, “oh fuck, kitten, what a pretty pussy you’ve been hiding from me.”

           You let out a small mewl at his words, desperate to touch him. You had barely gotten to explore his skin beyond his cock, and you wanted to hold onto him and feel him against you. You struggled against your captive binds for a moment, arms pulling at the weapon suspended above your head.

           “You know how this works; you’re not getting out of these ties until I say so.”

           You let out a huff, but you were quickly distracted from your binds when a slim finger unexpectedly slid between your folds.

           “Fuck! Oh, Shinsou—.”

           “It’s sir, from now on. You understand?” He emphasized his point by flicking his knuckle across your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure across your suspended body.

           You nodded ardently, eyes closing at the pleasure.

           “Words, kitty.” He tittered.

           “Yes, sir, I understand.”

           “Mhm, good girl,” he smirked, watching your head fall back as he brought another finger to your pussy, dancing them playfully between your folds. His eyes watched your stunning breasts rise and fall with your heavy breaths, and he brought his other hand back to the breast he toyed with earlier. He rolled your nipple between his fingertips, pinching and pulling at it roughly. He delighted in the moans that tumbled from your parted lips. He dipped one finger into your sopping pussy, feeling your walls stretch and twitch around the digit. He slid it in and out of you with agonizing slowness, relishing how tight you were just around one finger.

           Heat was spreading across your lower belly like a fire, his finger stroking the flames. His hold on your nipple didn’t cease, he continued to pull and tease it as he finally added a second finger into you. You couldn’t help but cry out wantonly, and with the deafening roar of the shower gone, just your voice rang out against the cold walls. He curled his fingers expertly within you, continuing a slow and sensual pace.

           He was watching you keenly, observing how lewdly you responded to the simplest of his touches.  

           “You’ve thought about this before, haven’t you?” He chuckled, feeling your pussy tighten around his slow and steady fingers.

           “Yes, sir,” you admitted breathlessly.

           He only gave an appreciative hum in response, fingers picking up their pace inside of you. Your captured legs twitched at his antics, toes feeling cold and forlorn in their suspended state. His thumb began to circle your clit, sending bewildering shocks of pleasure throughout your body. You whined noisily, tugging a lip between your teeth at the searing pleasure of it all. He relinquished his grip on your nipple, choosing to instead soothe and cup your breast in his large hand. His fingers continued to curl up into your body, spread wide just for him. They were long and slender, perfectly twisting against the most pleasurable spots inside of you. He was confident in his actions, and the steady assurance of his fingers had you pining for him.

           “Please, sir,” you whispered, head sill lolled back, “more.”

           “Hm,” he pondered, “are you just a greedy little girl, or do you like it rough?”

           His fingers didn’t cease their actions, persistently plunging into your hot core. He spread them slightly, and you could feel your walls stretch and give at his actions.

           “I’ll be whatever you want,” you breathed out, puling your head up to catch his gaze once more. His purple eyes were dark like shadows in the night. His thumb glided wickedly against your clit, fanning the embers of your ecstasy even hotter and higher than before. A shriek of pleasure erupted from your chest, a lusty haze settling over your mind. You squeezed your core, body attempting to move against his fingers. But as soon as you attempted to move against your bindings, he stopped, slipping his fingers from within you.

           You were panting, about to start begging, when those dark eyes narrowed at you.

           “And what if I want you to be mine?”

           You quiet, almost speechless, his words like the most sinful temptation. He wrapped the fingers that were once inside you around your throat. The scent of your arousal permeated his skin, your slick sticky against your neck. He watched you, impatiently waiting for an answer.

           “Then I’m yours.”

           He hummed again, his other hand wrapping around your tied thigh. You could feel the swollen head of his cock brush against your folds, making you shudder. Your wet skin was still cooling, but the heat from inside of you made you feel like you were steaming.

           “I don’t know if you understand the weight of those words.”

           “I do,” you said quickly, eyes scanning his face, “I promise.”

           Without warning, he slammed himself inside of you, eliciting another blissful scream from your lungs. He groaned as he bottomed out inside of you, feeling your round ass pressing against his thighs.

           He stayed still for a moment, savoring the feel of your pussy clenching and stretching around him.

           “You know, I think you’ve been mine for a long time, partner.” He said the words weightily, authority resounding in his voice.

           You could only nod your head in response, hips burning from both his sudden intrusion and unbridled lust. He began to pound forcefully into you, fingers bruising your legs between the bindings. He tied you at the perfect height for his cock to sink into you deliciously and powerfully. Every thrust sent waves of euphoria blossoming from your core, your body unable to do anything but react to his movements. Your breasts bounded with every thrust, and his eyes were glued to the picturesque, moist globes as they swayed for him. Your head once again lost the battle of staying upright, reclining back to hang at his mercy.

           With your throat now exposed, he leaned forward, biting and kissing at your delicate skin. You gasped, the pain of his teeth melding with the pleasure of his huge cock spreading you. You felt dangerously full of him, like any push of his cock could rip you open. His heavy hands slid from your thighs to were your ass cheeks, pressing and kneading into the flesh violently. His merciless thrusting had you breathless, gasping for air every time the head of his cock slammed back into you.

           “Where’d all those pretty words go, kitty? I wanna hear you…” he growled against the skin of your neck, lips melting into the juncture of your jaw. His teeth sunk deeper this time, causing you to cry out at the concoction of sensations you felt spreading across your body.

           “Shinsou, s-sir,” your voice stammered between thrusts, “you feel so, so good, ah, don’t stop, please!”

           He picked up his pace, cock hammering into you ruthlessly, undoubtedly bruising your soft, tantalizing skin. He forced your body against him, one hand wrapping around the cloth bindings and using the leverage to keep you against him. Your nails began to bite into your hands, intense pleasure brewing inside of you. The sound of skin against skin saturated the locker room, your moans echoing off the shower walls. Your breasts were pressed to his muscular chest now, sliding against the light dusting of hair found there. You fought to keep your mouth from falling agape, but the intensity of him had your lips parting and incessantly moaning for him.

           “Such a naughty, desperate little girl, huh? You like being stuffed with my cock like this?”

           “Yes, fuck,” he licked a long, hot stripe up your throat, panting mouth resting at your chin, “yes, sir, I love being tied up…”

           He chuckled then, angling his hips to hit you deeper and harder, one hand leaving your ass and snaking up your back to pull at your dripping hair. He pulled hard and fast against the strands of your hair, arching your body as it could against his chest. You squealed at the smarting of your scalp, but were too overwhelmed with the throbbing of your stretched pussy to care. The pain heightened your senses, and you felt every deep plunge of his cock hit harder, more extreme than before.

           “Oh I knew you would, every little kitty likes to play with string, right?”

           You couldn’t nod your head for the grip he had on your hair. You screamed out for him, completely lost to your ecstasy as his devilish words had you edging towards true bliss. He continued to tug at your locks, enjoying every ounce of control and power he had over your body; and he didn’t even have to use his quirk, you’d do anything for him without his influence. This realization had him hardening even more inside of you, cock thumping with more blood as he shoved into your silken walls.

           He could feel your body start to tighten around him, your strung up legs beginning to shake. He grinned knowingly, slipping his other hand from your ass to your stomach, then dipping lower to your aching clit. He hovered his thumb over the bundle of nerves, letting each thrust of his cock allow your clit to skim just perfectly over the pad of his finger. You moaned louder than before, desperate to feel the bubble of pleasure burst from inside of you. But he wasn’t ready for that.

           “You want to come, kitty?”

           “Yes, sir, p-please, please.”

           “Then I want you to work for it.”

           Confusion washed over your mind and body as you felt his cock pull away, leaving you open and empty without him. You yelped in discontent, body struggling against your bindings in a vain attempt to free yourself and bring him back to you. He stepped back, eyes trailing over every detailed of your flushed, used body, tied up like a plaything for him. He was saving the picturesque scene in his mind. He pumped his cock a few times with his hand, finding it smothered in your own slick.

           With just a motion of his fingers, your legs came untied, tumbling down to the feat of gravity. But he didn’t release your arms. Instead, he came and sat below you on the tiles, back pressed to the wall of the shower with his lean, muscled thighs stretching out against the floor. His cock was rigid and hard, pressed up against his stomach like it was straining to reach you. He waved his fingers again, the ties around the steel beam loosening enough to drop your body into his lap, legs spread over his own. But he kept your hands tied securely above your head, leaving you without the ability to touch him.

           “Sit on my cock, kitty, I want to kiss you while you work.”

           You did as he commanded, sinking yourself onto his stiff, thick cock, eyes fluttering closed at the immense pleasure of being so full again. Your legs trembled, having just gotten their agency back and still numb from being tied. But you pushed through the lingering pain, desperate to please him. You rocked your hips slowly, letting him slip completely inside of you once more. The new position had his perfect cock hitting you in all new ways, sending new jolts of pleasure down your spine.

           Shinsou cupped both your breasts in his hands, using them as leverage to encourage you to rock harder and faster in his lap. His lips found yours again, tongue lapping against yours in a battle of dominance that he all too easily won. You felt the entire length of him slip from inside of you, only to slam back and fill you once again. The ecstasy overwhelmed you, knees slipping against the wet tiles. He kept his firm grip on your bouncing breasts, his strength and his capture weapon the only things keeping you upright in his lap.

           From this angle, your clit brushed against the violet curls at the base of his cock, stimulating you and emboldening you to roll faster against him, fraught to find your release. The coil in your belly was ready to burst, and his passionate mouth against your own was soaking up all the wanton moans you exhaled into him.

           But soon your own pace wasn’t enough for him. As much as he loved a show, he also needed his own release, and nothing set him on edge more than having full control. His big hands slid down from your breasts to your hips, using his might to lift your body in his own and thrust his hips up into your sweltering heat at a faster, more brutal pace. You broke from his lips with a scream, and the sound of his own grunts had your eyes opening to see him.

           His head was dipped back against the wall, eyes closed and lips just barely parted. His damp indigo hair was tussled into wild plumes, curving over his thick neck and expertly corded shoulders. He looked like a god below you, and felt divine within you. His thumb swirled against your clit again, and the unexpected touch had you exploding into euphoria.

           “That’s right, kitty,” his eyes opened then, lust simmering within them as he caught your gaze, “I want you to come for me now.”

           The circles of his thumb quickened, his cock still mercilessly pounding up into your core. You could feel the broad head moving against your insides, veins protruding even more noticeably than before. You felt like a toy in his hands, like his cock was too big for you and he still kept hammering himself into you for his own pleasure.

           Finally, you came, screams rippling from your throat and eyes closing as you allowed the waves of euphoria to wash over your body, every single nerve ending exploding with ecstasy and pleasure in intensities you had never felt before. Your walls struggled to clench around his massive cock, the fluttering of your insides lasting longer and longer as your body writhed in white hot heat. His cock never slowed, and your bouncing body was continually thrown over the orgasmic ledge, nerves trying to find purchase against the onslaught of his hips. Your hands were wrapped into fists around the binding above your head, gripping like you were trying to keep yourself afloat amidst the sea of ecstasy that your body was being tossed into.

           You ultimately came down from your high, body limp as he fucked up into you. With a satisfied sigh, you called out to him, “Hitoshi…”

           Your weak voice, and the image before him of your listless body riding upon his cock, had him tumbling over his own edge. He rasped out your name as he came, hot ropes of thick cum spilling inside of you. His cock throbbed and pulsated inside your womb, his lungs panting for breath as his fingertips gripped into your sweaty, damp skin. His chest heaved, shoulders slumping in bliss as he rode out the waves of his orgasm.

           You both sat against the cold tiles, breathing hard and letting your minds come back to earth. Your head was slumped down in front of your body, hair pooling around your cheeks and his chest. The fabric of his capture weapon was the only thing keeping you from sinking into him. His cock was still hard and hot within you.

           After a few moments, one of his hands left your hips, reaching up to grab your chin and pull your head up to look at him. He smirked at you, glancing over the already blooming bruises he left on your breasts, your hips, and the broken, purple skin on your throat from his bite.

           “Fuck, kitty, you really took a beating. Are you feeling okay?”

           You laughed, straightening your shoulders and pulling your body up by gripping the ribbons, legs twitching against his thighs.

           “I feel great,” your voice was weak, but your smile was beaming as you chuckled, “we should probably shower and clean up, don’t you think?”

           He laughed, kissing your lips kindly as he released your aching arms. He helped you stand, marveling over how strong your body must have been to withstand his fucking and his bindings. You stretched like the little cat that you were, waking up all the muscles that had gone dormant.

           You both rinsed off quickly, grabbing towels and finally drying your bodies.

           “I meant what I said earlier,” he said nonchalantly, like he was expecting you to know what he meant.

           You continued to get dressed and thought for a moment, thinking back through the hot haze of memories. Your mouth fell open in realization.

           “You want me to be yours?”

           “You’re the best partner I’ve ever had and I’ve had my eye on you for a while. You don’t have to say yes right now, but maybe another good fuck could convince you.”

           You slung your bag over your shoulder, letting him lean down and kiss you. You relished in the taste of him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and threading your fingers through the hair you had so carefully washed.

           “Yea, another good fuck wouldn’t hurt.”

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

[turtle-steverogers]

steve getting caught in the rain on the way home from work and barging through the front door bangs dripping and cheeks pink and bucky looking up from his spot on the sofa with alpine and thinking i’m fucked

so it's like 1 am and this was going to be something chaotic and smutty but it ended up being a view of steve's pain from the eyes of bucky

oop anway:

In From the Cold

-

From Stevie: Left my key at home. Can you let me in?

Bucky gets the text right before there’s a knock at the front door, and he presses to his feet, shifting Alpine off his lap. It takes a moment to undo all the latches and locks, and by the time he does, Steve has knocked again-- sharper. Frantic. Bucky frowns and opens the door.

“Shit, Steve,” he says, and steps to the side to let Steve in past him.

He’s soaked, straight through to his skin. His hair is plastered to his forehead, clumped and stiff with sleet. His nose and cheeks are bright against his otherwise pale skin, and his lips are a tad blue.

He’s shaking. Hard.

It’s then that Bucky realizes that sleet is coming down outside, the sky blanketed a gloomy grey. The storm had been on the radar, but somehow he’d forgotten about it. Steve, it seemed, had forgotten as well when he’d left for his meeting that morning.

“Yeah,” Steve says, taking off his jacket. His movements are stiff and Bucky reaches out a hand, taking the soaked jacket from him before he can hang it on its hook. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Go ahead and take off the rest of your clothes. I’ll throw them in the wash. Do you want a bath?”

Steve swallows, a shudder running visibly through him and Bucky doesn’t need a psych degree to guess what’s going on. Between the wet and the cold, this is hardly Steve’s preferred state to be in. There’s a vacancy in his eyes that makes Bucky’s blood run cold.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yes. Please.”

-

Bucky’s blood runs cold as a cough wracks Steve’s body, and he instinctively listens for a rattle in his lungs. The cough is not dry, though. Silver linings.

His hair is plastered to his forehead, and Bucky curses, reaching out to usher Steve inside. His clothes are soaked and sticking to his frame, hugging him in a way that seems to accentuate his size. Make him look even smaller. He coughs again.

“Jesus, you got a death wish?” Bucky hisses, hands working to unbutton Steve’s shirt-- get the wet fabric off, because it’s going to make him sick and Steve just got over his last fucking cold.

Steve bats his hand away, leveling him with a glare.

“No, shut up,” he says, and the harshness is dampened by the chattering of his teeth. He unbuttons his own shirt and tosses it aside, the bruises on his collarbone from a work mishap earlier that week stark and purple. Bucky wants to reach out and soothe his fingers over them-- kiss them away.

Instead, he goes to his closet and pulls out a clean shirt and some boxer shorts that will be too big on Steve, but at least they’re warm.

“I thought you were seeing your ma,” Bucky says, handing Steve the clothes. Steve strips naked right there in their hallway. He’s unabashed and it makes the lithe lines of his body all the more beautiful.

“I was,” Steve says. It’s clipped and Bucky’s gut twinges. Sarah had gotten sick a week or so ago-- an awful, wracking cough. Bucky had hoped, fucking prayed that it wasn’t the worst. But Sarah worked in a TB ward, and life didn’t seem so kind to the Rogers family. “They wouldn’t let me in.”

“Shit,” Bucky says.

Steve is dressed now, Bucky’s boxers barely clinging to his hips. He sits down on Bucky’s bed, and Bucky sits, too.

“Yeah,” Steve says, and he’s holding himself so tightly that Bucky’s afraid he might snap.

-

Steve holds himself tightly as he sits on the edge of the tub, his eyes on the rising water level, but mind clearly elsewhere. Bucky watches him for a moment as he returns from the laundry room-- watches his chest heave and hands tremble.

He is naked where he sits, and the way he hunches in on himself makes him look smaller. Bucky’s chest aches and he desperately wishes he could reach out and break the spell-- break the hold Steve’s mind seems to have on him right now. But he knows a thing or two about triggers, and he may not know what happened when Steve crashed that plane-- not details anyhow-- but he knows damn well that Steve still isn’t healed from that particular wound. It will likely follow him to his real grave. The pain. The fear. The damning finality of it.

-

And it seems like a final damnation. One not so beautiful as the perdition that was Steve taking Bucky into his body. But a much starker one. As unforgiving as a son losing his mother can be when he’s already lost his father. Steve says he hadn’t cared much when Joseph finally died-- his own faults pulling him under the current. But there’s a shame there that he can’t seem to quell. Regret that runs in the tightness of his eyes, smoldering and masked by a harshness that doesn’t fit the gentleness that is the skin of Steve Rogers. The soul and bones that are so hurt by a world keen on hurting them.

There’s a grief that wants to rise in Bucky’s own chest. Sarah doesn’t deserve this-- he wishes he could change it. Make it untrue. Make it better.

But he can deal with his own shit later. Right now, Steve is hurting and Bucky needs to coax him out of his shell. Lance some of that pain.

His hair is still dripping from the storm outside and Bucky reaches out, brushes his fingers through the sopping strands. Steve looks at him, eyes hollow and shining-- a strange dichotomy.

“Let me run you a bath?”

-

Steve sinks into the bath water, eyes closed as his chest hitches and stutters. He sinks down until the water covers his chest, stops at his chin. And it would be an endearing sight if he didn’t look so damn troubled.

Bucky hesitates.

“Do you want me here? Or would you rather be alone.”

Please God, he thinks. Please let me in. Let me stay. Let me shoulder some of your pain.

Steve’s jaw shifts, then clenches. He battles with himself, caught between the draw of comfort and his own internal walls telling him to close the gates.

Bucky waits.

“Can you wash my hair?” Steve eventually asks.

Bucky smiles. “Of course, pal.”

-

Bucky takes off his shirt so it won’t get wet and kneels by the edge of the tub. Steve leans back to wet his hair. It seems like instinct more than anything. His hair was already pretty damn wet. Bucky picks up the shampoo-- half empty and a little crusted around the cap-- and squirts some out onto his palm.

Lathering it up, he leans closer.

“Ready?”

“Mhm.”

“Close your eyes, sweetheart.”

Steve closes his eyes and Bucky begins to work the shampoo into his hair, pressing his fingers into his scalp, around his temples. Tension seems to ebb out of Steve in increments and Bucky is hopeful for a moment that he’s leaching out some of the shock.

And he must have taken away the numbness, because then Steve is sobbing, and Bucky is cursing softly as he strips out of the rest of his clothes, climbing into the tub behind Steve. He rinses his hair, and doesn’t bother with soft nothings. Because it isn’t okay. And Steve doesn’t deserve dismissal like that.

Instead, he pulls him close and buries his nose in his hair.

-

With practiced hands, Bucky works his coconut shampoo into Steve’s hair. It’s his favorite even if he won’t admit it and never buys it for himself. That’s alright, though. Bucky doesn’t mind sharing.

He feels Steve’s skin warm up-- rinses his hair with rhythmic and soothing touches, skittering his hands down Steve’s shoulders and across his chest as he goes, aiming to ground him. But Steve is not speaking and he is still shaking.

“Steve?” Bucky prompts gently.

Steve looks at him, gaze darting to his eyes, then his cheek, fixating there. A shudder rolls through him and he goes impossibly more pale.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

“Steve,” Bucky says again, alarmed, and then Steve’s chest is heaving as his breaths start to speed up. “Shit.”

Bucky strips off his clothes, and climbs into the tub with Steve, keeping a hand on him as he sinks into the water.

“Can I hold you?” he asks, and Steve manages a nod. He’s going to hyperventilate if they don’t get a hold of this now. Bucky pulls Steve back against his chest and buries his nose in his hair. “Breathe with me. Just feel me, Steve. Just feel me and breathe.”

Steve does.

-

Steve is worn out by the time they’re settling in bed, and Bucky shifts him so his head is on his chest. They’re quiet for a long time, watching the sun set, shadows moving across the ceiling.

“I’m scared,” Steve says, his voice hoarse from crying.

Bucky tenses. “I know.”

“I don’t want to lose her.”

Bucky closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. “I know, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”

There isn’t anything for it. Bucky wants to promise that he won’t leave. That he’ll be there, but Steve knows that and reiterating it will only exacerbate the pain of those who can’t be there for him.

“I’m so tired,” Steve whimpers.

-

“I’m so fucking tired of this,” Steve says as he comes down, voice tight and teeth chattering. At least he’s breathing on his own now.

Then rest, Bucky wants to say. Come in from the cold. Let us help. Let people help.

“I know,” he says instead. “I know, honey. But you did so good just now.”

Steve shrugs. “Can we get out?”

“Sure thing.”

They dry off together, and settle into bed, naked still and wrapped up in each other. Steve settles on his chest, head tucked under Bucky’s chin. An age old position-- Steve will always fit right in Bucky’s arms.

-

Steve falls asleep with his hand clinging to Bucky’s. He usually looks more peaceful when he is resting, but now his mouth is turned down-- the lines of his face seem to deepen. He looks much older than he actually is, but Bucky has always sort of thought that. Steve, he thinks, has had to grow up too fast.

There’s a moment where Steve seems to drift awake, eyes opening then shutting again. He makes a soft noise and shifts closer to Bucky.

Bucky holds him and prays he feels held.

-

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bucky asks.

“No,” Steve says. It was worth a shot.

“Okay,” Bucky says. “Can I do anything?”

Steve swallows, arms tightening around Bucky’s middle. “Just hold me?”

“Of course,” Bucky says, and he hitches Steve closer, kisses the top of his head.

“This helps,” Steve whispers, and Bucky holds his breath. “You holding me. It feels safe.”

“I’m so glad,” Bucky says. His throat feels tight and he ducks his head to kiss Steve’s temple. It settles something in him, knowing Steve feels safe in his arms. “I’ll always hold you.”

-

thanks for reading, chiefs!

[after-witch]

Let’s Split Up, Gang [Yandere Hawks x Reader]

Title: Let’s Split Up, Gang [Yandere Hawks x Reader]

Synopsis: You have a stalker. Thankfully, your boyfriend Hawks is there to help you investigate. 

Request from @damtoti​: Hawks with horror movie trope “let’s split up and investigate”?

Word Count: 1300ish

The forest was not altogether unpleasant. The cool breeze, the scent of leaves and dirt and natural things, was almost relaxing. At least, it would have been relaxing, if it weren't for the reason you were in the middle of all that nature in the first place: investigating your potential stalker.

A stalker that would hopefully become a past tense situation, something to cringe and laugh and perhaps be wary about, but past tense all the same. You'd received mysterious letters proclaiming his love for you. Items went missing from your house--clothing, makeup, even sentimental things. You received packages with gifts, some nice enough (a necklace) and others a little more... worrying. (Your stolen panties, soiled with--well.)

You were embarrassed, ashamed. Afraid. But when your boyfriend found out about your terrifying secret, he--to your relief--offered to step in immediately. 

This wasn't something to fool around with, he'd told you--and who better to handle a creeper than one of the best heroes in the world? 

You couldn't deny that having Hawks personally investigate your stalker made you feel more at ease. When you'd told him that a friend helped you attach a little GPS tracker to your new lingerie, a pair which was swiftly stolen from your drawer, he even offered to come with you to make sure everyone stayed safe. (Though he’d told you that was a stupid idea, and to never try something like that again. He was really in the know, so to speak, about these things.) He was so thoughtful, that way.

Which brought you to your current situation. You, Hawks, and a group of friends in the middle of the woods. The tracker led you to a seemingly abandoned house in the middle of nowhere. There wasn't even a road nearby, so you'd had to park the car and hike most of the way.

Your thoughts rushed back to the present when you heard your boyfriend land softly in the crunchy leaves slowly rotting on the porch.

"All clear," he said. "No one's home. Let's go inside, yeah? But stick by me, just in case." He pushed open the unlocked front door and turned to face the rest of you.

One of your friends shook their head. "No, let's split up. We can cover more ground and get out of here faster that way."

Hawks sighed. You recognized the annoyance on his face, slow and stretchy. But you knew it was because he was used to these types of investigations, this type of work. He knew what to do and what not do, after all.

"Listen, there's strength in numbers. If this creep comes back, do you want to be alone or with me?" He looked at you, but you didn't want to step in between your friends and your boyfriend. Taking sides was never your strong suit.

"I've got a pocket knife and we'll yell if we need you. Seriously, we got this."

You saw Hawks' face twitch for a moment, just a microsecond, before he offered a resigned, don't-say-I-didn't-warn-you grin. "Okay. But we're all meeting back here in 15 minutes."

Everyone nodded and walked up the creaky wooden stairs into the lonesome home.

You gave Hawks a glance. You almost wanted to go with him--having a stalker was creepy enough, but walking around in their empty house by yourself? But f he noticed your thoughts, he didn't acknowledge them. He merely gave you a low thumbs-up and said, half-teasing: "See in you a bit, babe. Don't do anything stupid."

With that, he headed down the dark stairs towards the basement, his steps thudding quieter and quieter as he descended.

Your other friends were already off on their own, which left you to explore. You tried to ignore the deep, sick feeling in the pit of your stomach. This was a bad idea. No, not just bad--it was a dumb idea. You should have insisted Keigo go to the police station instead of letting him talk you into looking for evidence himself first. You didn't want to get hurt. You didn't want him to get hurt.

But it was too late for regrets and second thoughts, you realized. You were smack-dab in the middle of it now. You walked aimlessly towards an open kitchen area. The house was rustic, but not abandoned. The floors were unswept, but they weren't filthy. A tidy pile of leaves sat idly in one corner, and you could see wipe marks on the countertop. So your stalker cleans, you thought, but they were apparently shit at picking streak-free cleaner. Clearly key information to remember.

A strange sound interrupted your thoughts. A beeping sort of sound. An alarm, maybe? It was coming from above you--from upstairs.

You glanced at your watch. 10 minutes left. You peaked around the corner of the kitchen, looking at the staircase that-- as far as you knew--no one bothered going up yet. 

You kick aside an errant remote control without batteries that had been left on the floor and head for the stairs. They creak as you walk up and you hope the house really was occupied, otherwise they might be rotting and the next thing Hawks would have to do was get your ass out of a literal hole in the floor.

The upstairs was fairly small. There looked to be only three rooms--an open door revealing a (thankfully clean looking) toilet, and two closed doors. You heard the noise again, coming from behind the nearest of the closed doors. You took a breath and opened the door.

It was a bedroom. Sparse, impersonal. A twin bed with crisp sheets and a single flat pillow. A dresser. A desk with a laptop and a box on top, with the lid half-off. You heard the sound again, and realized immediately what it was: a notification on the laptop.

You couldn't deny the sudden urge to flee. This was wrong. This was wrong. This was wrong. You should yell out for Keigo or one of your friends. But something pulled you to the laptop like a puppet on a string. Curiosity, a desire for closure, even a little bit of pleasurable fear. When you got close enough to see the screen, however, your stomach dropped. 

The screen had pictures--no, videos. Videos of your apartment. Your bedroom. Your kitchen. Your bathroom. And it was recording live.

Your world spun, threatening to collapse around you. You felt your knees buckle and you reached your arms out towards the desk to steady yourself. The half-open box was inches away from your face, and even though everything inside your screamed to get the hell out of there, call for Keigo, call for Keigo. Instead, you slid lid off and looked inside.

Oh, you thought. Those are my things. The recently purloined lingerie set. A ring your mother gave you, passed down from her nana. A small teddy bear you'd slept with since you were 5. The sight of an old toothbrusth, crusted with toothpaste you didn’t rinse off good enough, made you want to throw up.

"Babe?"

You shrieked and whipped around, half-falling to the floor before you caught yourself on the desk chair. Then you felt shame rush through your face--you were immensely, ridiculously stupid. It was just Keigo. In a second, he was at your side, wrapping his arms protectively round you.

"Babe, what's the--"

He saw the screen. He saw the box. And he whistled, low.

"This... is really fucked up," he said.

You didn't know you were trembling until he pulled his arms tighter around you to calm you down.

"Okay, babe. That's enough of this. Time to call in the professionals to take over your little Scooby Doo gang thing going on here, all right? I'll contact the precinct for you."

You nodded, unable to speak. You looked up at him, eyes watering, and are glad for the feeling of his arms wrapped around you. It’s warm and comforting. You’d never been more glad to know he's there to protect you from stalkers, from weakness, from everything else bad in the world. 

He gave you one more comforting squeeze before escorting you from the room. As he ushered you through the doorway, you didn't notice him glancing back at the box in relief.

If you'd had the time to dig any further, you might have seen one of his feathers nestled inside.

[enithinggoes]

Cursed Kids, chapter 6: the monster scares himself

Henrique set hydrogen peroxide, gauze, bandages and ibuprofen.  He was anxious to do something, anything to help Benjamin. What remained of the leech hanging off Benjamin perturbed his mind, but despite his recent fight with Elizabeth he’d never think of risking Benjamin’s health by trying to do this without her.

In the meantime, Henrique went to get himself clean, he’d been very lucky that the receptionist was tired and distracted, because his sleeves were still stained with crusted blood, as well as part of his lips. He took off his jacket and washed his hands and face with water and soap, forcefully scrubbing them repeatedly. The inside of his mouth was almost entirely clean, but even so he rinsed it three times, stopping to stare and his teeth and notice they’d changed, become sharper, curved backwards and serrated. Shit, shit, shit, what’s is this? What the fuck is going on with him?

He recoiled from the mirror, covering his mouth reflexively with his right hand, he looked to his left palm and saw the scaled part still there, gradually growing, taking over more of his hand the more panicked he became. First his whole palm was covered in pale scales, then darker, thicker ones appeared on the back of his hand and fingers.

Henrique gripped his left hand with his right and brought them both to his chest, feeling his heart beat faster. The boy paced aimlessly around the hotel room before sitting on the floor, hyperventilating and burying his head in his knees. He’d never be normal again. He could never escape what he’d done, what his parents did to him, he was already a monster and would hurt Benjamin and Elizabeth in the same way.

“Henrique?” Elizabeth knocked on the door.

Henrique tried to answer, but could only let out a whine.

“Henrique, I am coming in.” She opened the door slowly, Henrique stood up, trying to hide the changes to his body and emotional state. It was a futile effort, his left hand had grown, thick hard muscle appearing under the scales and long claws growing from the tips of his fingers.

The two looked at each other for long seconds in complete silence; Henrique’s eyes darted around every corner of the room, while Elizabeth’s wouldn’t leave his.

“It seems you’ve already separated what we’ll need to treat Benjamin, are you ready?” she said focused on the task.

Henrique didn’t know how to answer, but he walked to the edge of bed, where he’d laid Benjamin so he could rest.

“OK, you tear off the creature and I’ll apply the gauze, on three. One, two…”

Wait! Elizabeth, I can’t touch him, what if I make it worse?”

“Henrique, it will be alright.” Elizabeth said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the worl.

“Look at my hand! I could rip him to shreds, or use too much strength and crush him, or-.”

“You’ve always had hands big and strong enough to hurt us, Henrique.” Elizabeth gently placed her hand over Henrique’s as she interrupted him. “Even though your hands were trained to fight, your strength was never turned against me or Benjamin. We’ve got nothing to fear from you.”

Henrique was quiet for a few seconds, trying to find words.

“I’m sorry for accusing you of taking advantage of us… You’re not that kind of person. And thanks for coming to rescue us and getting us this room.”

“I forgive you. It was also wrong of me to call you a coward, we’ve all been through too much, and I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

“I’m the one who should have been braver, I was so scared of facing you. It’s just… we’re not the same anymore, you both tried to save your guys, I killed my “prey”, shoved my knife right through his neck.”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Henrique just looked Elizabeth in the eyes and nodded.

“I would have killed mine. I knew since the start that my parents would end him one way or another, so if it was just me in that room I’d have tried to kill him the quickest and least cruel way possible. The only reason I tried to help Benjamin save his “prey” was that I knew trying to save that man and failing would be less traumatic to him than killing him with his bare hands.”

Henrique was speechless, but not a part of him wanted to judge her, it was obvious she had no choice.

“You’re not any more monstrous than any of us.” Elizabeth raised Henrique’s chin with her hand. “We’re all kids, victims of our parents.”

“Just us three against the world, huh?”

“Us three against the world,” Elizabeth smiled and agreed, “are you ready? On three, you pry off the leech and I’ll treat his wounds.”

“Okay… one, two, three!”

Henrique carefully cut open the giant leech from head to tail and open her like a used cast, pulling in such a way that the teeth wouldn’t cause further damages as they exited the leg.

Following that, Elizabeth pulled off the pants Benjamin was using and cleaned the wounds with gauze damp with hydrogen peroxide. When she went from one hole to the next, Henrique immediately covered the clean one with bandages.

Their work was swift and harmonious; a stable rhythm was unconsciously established reducing as much as possible the time an injury was exposed. This came naturally to Henrique, dealing with combat wounds was as deeply rooted in Henrique’s muscle memory as fighting itself, as much as one was more apparent than the others.

When they were done, Henrique checked Benjamin’s vitals by touching his neck, only when he was sure the boy was stable did he stop to look at his own hand and notice it had returned to its normal proportions, the claws and scales retreating until only a single pale patch the size of a quarter remained on the center of Henrique’s left hand, right where the knife had gone through.

“I… I’m okay.”

“You are okay.”

Henrique turned to Elizabeth, pulling her into a tight hug. “I’m okay!”

“You’re okay, Benjamin is okay. We’re all okay, Henrique.” She rubbed her hand in circles over Henrique’s back.

Henrique laughed so hard his chest ached, definitely just laughed, didn’t cry at all. His face and Elizabeth’s shoulder were damp because of how much he laughed, definitely.

…

Exhausted, Henrique and Elizabeth went to bed to try to recuperate some of their energy. Since Benjamin was lying on the middle of the bed, Henrique went to the left and Elizabeth to the right. They didn’t say anything more, but both stayed awake for 30 more minutes, silently processing the day’s events.

It sank in to Henrique that he may never feel his parents’ hands again, and to Elizabeth that she wouldn’t hear the voices of hers. There was nothing to feel about this other than relief.

Later in the night, Benjamin started to mutter, it wasn’t clear what he was trying to say, but he’d repeat the same noises more desperately every time, even shaking his head from side to side, refusing something. When he unconsciously forced his lungs to make sound, only  wheezing and coughing escaped his ragged throat.

Without a word, Henrique put his hand on the boy’s head, gently patting his hair and bringing him closer to his chest. His eyes met Elizabeth, and faintly he could see her hands were squeezing Benjamin’s right hand.

Benjamin quieted down, his breathing becoming more regular, though still carrying a bit of a hiss. None of them moved for the rest of the night.

Henrique needed to stay with his friends. They wouldn’t lose sight of who they were as long as they were able to recognize one another

[honeymoonjin]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: exactly 7777 words how sexy is that || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: voyeurism, filmed sex, public sex/outdoor sex, oral (f receiving), jin being a little shit just because he can, vmin mxm scene, bath sex, unprotected sex, fingering/anal play, anal sex, creampie, the most tender smut scene in this whole fic goes to these fucking boys

ᴀ/ɴ: banner designed by @jamaisjoons​, thank you to my sfhs girls who help with brainstorming every week xx, i’m so sorry if this feels rushed or too short, i didn’t want to leave you hanging for three weeks : (

DAY NINE

One thing you learn the morning after, is that Hoseok is a deceptively bad cook.

Of course you’re grateful for the breakfast in bed he kindly prepared you and Jungkook - the latter still half-asleep and unable to go more than five seconds without yawning - but it’s hard to comprehend that the man in front of you now, eating cereal with a fork, is the same one that wrecked you so elegantly last night.

“Why is the toast chewy? Are we still being punished?” Jungkook moans sombrely around a mouthful, eyes dazed.

Hoseok sets his fork back in the bowl with a clatter, reaching out to poke Jungkook with a foot. “Be grateful, brat. I made that out of love.”

The younger man stares bleakly down at his plate. “I’d love to have a  pancake right now instead.”

You wince at Hoseok’s disappointed expression, taking a mouthful of the strangely floppy toast. “It’s… nice and warm,” you offer up, failing to find anything else to compliment.

Hoseok beams. “Thank you. While I was doing my cereal, it got a bit cold, so I heated it up in the microwave.”

Your heart sinks despairingly into your stomach, which roils at the prospect. “Ah,” you muse hollowly.

“Eat up!” the dom cheers. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” Still smiling proudly, he digs his fork into the almost full bowl of cereal and begins chowing down.

Jungkook shares a silent stare with you, and you turn back to your plate. “Thanks for breakfast, Hoseok,” you sigh, and brace yourself for the meal ahead.

After breakfast, you get dressed in a pair of shorts and a comfy shirt, planning on spending the day inside relaxing. But the moment you see Jin and Taehyung running around on the gravel outside, a small darting form evading their flailing arms, you realise how foolish you were to expect that a day in the villa could be anything remote to uneventful.

Rushing out the front door still in your socks, you step down to the base of the concrete entryway, staring in shock at the two men.

Taehyung’s face is bright with a boxy grin, laughing maniacally as he rushes to and fro, still in his version of pyjamas - loose boxer shorts and a Celine Dion t-shirt. “Hyung, that way!” he hoots cheerily to Jin, feet crunching noisily on the gravel.

The other man, considerably less happy (or perhaps the frown was one of absolute concentration), huffs at the command. “It’s your fuckin’ dog, Tae, why isn’t it going to you?”

Between them, panting and grinning, is a small dog with short fur, nails clicking on the gravel. It can’t be taller than knee-height, with wide eyes and a small black nose. It probably is white or cream coloured, but the thick crusting of dirt all over makes it hard to tell.

“It’s not my dog, I just found him!” Taehyung insists, before crouching down, clicking his tongue. “Mango, c’mere boy! Come to daddy.”

Jin comes to a stop with a groan, chest heaving. “Well, now you’re just going to scar the poor thing.”

Taehyung glares, but doesn’t stop cooing at the dog, who’s now eying him up suspiciously. “Come on, boy, daddy just wants to help, he’ll give you a nice, warm bath and some treats. Sound nice, Mango? C’mere!”

With the cool disdain that you’ve never seen in a dog before, Mango lifts his chin and turns tail, gracefully trotting over to Jin, rubbing his face against the man’s shin.

Taehyung gasps in abject horror at the betrayal, sinking fully onto the rough gravel of the driveway, but Jin just grins and bends down, gently scratching the dog’s head.

You let out a disbelieving laugh at the scene, drawing their attention. “What is going on?”

Immediately, the two men point at each other accusingly, the dog - Mango - snuffling at Jin’s hand when he realises his petting has ceased.

Jin calmly resumes stroking the mutt with a mellow expression. “Taehyung kidnapped a dog.”

“I did not!” the younger man protests vehemently. “I found him wandering around all by himself and I put out some food for him.” Taehyung turns to you with desperate eyes. “Jin called him filthy!”

“I did,” the therapist admits easily, “‘cause he is.” Crouching down, he gets closer to eye-level and pouts. “All this mud and dirt on you, hm? Not nice, is it? Poor bo-” Jin cuts himself off as the dog rolls over on its back, wiggling against the gravel happily. The three of you stare in silence for a few moments at Mango, before Jin slowly pans up to stare at Taehyung. “You thought Mango was a boy this whole time?”

Taehyung scratches his head with a helpless shrug. “Well, I didn’t think to check his dick for confirmation! I mean, her dick. No dick. Uh…”

Jin’s ignoring him, however, in favour of giving Mango tummy rubs, grinning at the whipping of her tail as it wags. “Oh, Taehyungie is so mean to you, isn’t he? Poor girl. I wouldn’t trust him with a cactus,” he admits in a mock whisper.

“I resent that,” Taehyung shouts lowly, voice getting louder as he gets worked up, “Cactuses don’t even have dicks, so it wouldn’t be an issue.”

“Neither does Mango,” Jin quips sharply.

“Hey!” the younger boy yells, pouting at the sight of Mango snuggling up to Jin so willingly.

From behind, the sudden bang of a fist on glass makes you jump. Whirling around, you watch in bewilderment as Jimin rushes outside, eyes wide and mouth rounded at the sight.

“What the fuck is all the racket about?” he exclaims in bewilderment. “We’re trying to watch a movie but we can’t hear a thing over the sounds you’re- is that a dog?”

“Mango!” Taehyung chimes. “H- She’s my dog!”

“That wasn’t what you said earlier,” Jin begins, and Jimin tuts loudly to break off the bantering.

“Goodness, she’s a skinny little thing,” Jimin says with worry, passing you to go crouch beside Jin. He holds a hand out and smiles softly as Mango presses her nose into his palm. “Dirty, too. There’s a hose out back that does warm water, let’s clean her off and get her some food.”

Your heart warms at the same fond tone in his voice that you’d heard at Mrs. Park’s house. “I’ll go get some soap and towels,” you offer, “I need to go get my shoes on anyway.”

Jimin, already fully dressed in tight blue jeans and a white t-shirt - the most casual you’d seen him yet - turns around to nod at you. “Thank you,” he chirps, “we’ll be around back.”

By the time you get ready and come back with the supplies, Taehyung is already manning the hose, running his fingers through the stream to wait for it to warm up as he chats away with Jimin. Clearly a fan of the oldest, Mango is still happily hanging around Jin’s ankles, whole body wagging as she gets her ears scratched.

Jimin glances up when you round the corner, and rushes forward to take the items from your hands. “Thank you, let’s hope-” He pauses, staring down at the bottle. “Is this my hand-soap?”

You suppress a sheepish grin. “It says mild and unscented, I thought it would be better for Mango than body wash.”

“Fair enough,” Jimin allows, before turning back around to the other two. “Alright, let’s hope Mango likes water.”

As it turns out, Mango positively thrives with the water, panting happily as her fur is soaked with the warm water. Crouching to your side, you squirt some soap out onto her back, and you and Jimin begin massaging it in on either side of her while Jin holds up her head to keep it free from suds.

It takes a while, but Mango is patient, and you’re determined to make sure all the grit and dirt accumulated from a life of sleeping rough is washed away. Beneath the matted filth is beautiful white fur, the palest brown in places. With tiny feet and delicate ears, she may be a mutt but she’s a beautiful one, and out of the corner of your eye you can see Jin’s fond smile as he stares into her baleful eyes.

Taehyung rinses her down, the suds collecting on the back lawn, and before any of you even think to get away, Mango braces herself and shakes, spraying droplets all over the four of you.

Closest to her body, it’s you and Jimin that cop most of the downpour, and you hiss at the feeling of it soaking your shirt and running down your neck. Taehyung gasps and ditches the hose to chuck a towel over her wet body, but the damage has been done.

Across from you, on the other side of Mango, Jimin’s pink lips are rounded gracefully in a gasp, eyes clenched shut. You can’t help but grin as he slowly blinks away the water in his eyes with a low moan of disappointment, the delicately-applied makeup now smudging, a watery layer of mascara ringing his eyes. When he stretches up into a crouch, his pants are spotted with water though mostly okay, and it’s clear his shirt displays the majority of the water.

Clinging to him obscenely, the thin white cotton is made see-through with the effect of Mango’s shake-off. It exposes the harsh black lines of his tattoo, which winds around his ribcage, nevermind. You’d seen it laid bare twice before, but you’d been too wound up from his teasing to even really look. Now, though, you admire the way it stands out so starkly even behind a layer of fabric, the edges blurred but still strong and pure black.

As he huffs and wrings out the fabric, Taehyung cackles behind him, and Jimin’s face darkens. Without any time for the younger man to react, Jimin’s grabs the still-running hose and turns it onto Taehyung, drenching him with a triumphant yell.

“Hey!” Taehyung screeches, hair covering his eyes heavily as his pyjamas sag against his body. “No fair!”

You jump away as Taehyung begins to wrestle with Jimin for the hose, the two grinning like idiots even as they scrabble.

Jin, calmly patting down Mango, chooses to instead lift her into his arms bundled in the towel. He crooks his head at you. “Let’s go down to the pool and dry off a bit in the sun,” he suggests. “Save getting caught in the middle of this battle.”

You squint against the glare of the late morning sun that glints off the pool. You’ve never been there yourself or seen anyone swim in it, and its lack of use is clear by the uneven layer of leaves that floats across its surface. “If you dunk me in that dirty-ass pool, I’ll kill you.” Even with the venom in your words, you follow him over, the chaos of the two boys left behind growing quieter and quieter.

“Don’t worry,” Jin assures you sweetly, “I’ll clean it first.” With that, he steps up onto the concrete patio that surrounds the large rectangle and makes his way over to the three haphazard pool chairs beside the edge. “You and Mango can relax here.”

Eying him suspiciously, you sit on the gauzy canvas of one of the lounge chairs and lean back, letting out a sigh as the warm of the sun settles onto your skin like a blanket. “Fine,” you sigh out, too comfortable to protest, “just while Mango dries off.”

Jin works quietly, without haste. All you hear as you throw an arm over your eyes is the occasional tinkling of water and the snuffling of the dog Jin sat down beside you.

With the sun beating down on you, warming your soaked shirt, you let your mind wander lazily. You hadn’t really had a chance to properly think after the elimination. Or lack of, you suppose. All of Monday had you feeling a strange mix of relief and guilt, until Hoseok served your penance and allowed you to put your mind at ease again. Now, though, you take a chance to think over how the game has changed.

It was moments like earlier, when groups of you were together and laughing, that made you happy to be here. The thought that you were no longer evicting one contestant a week felt like a hundred-year burden finally being lifted off your shoulders.

Though of course, with all the good, came bad, too. The guys said they wouldn’t take you personally, and at least now everyone would know the decision was based on sex alone, but it didn’t take a psychic to see how bad things could turn if someone took it wrong. Already you can picture fights, sulking, resentment, and the thought scares you.  

And then the punishment for you touching them. It was something you hadn’t seen coming for a second, though all of Sejin’s twists had gotten you off-guard. The thought that the other guys would have control over what you wore if you ever slipped up gives you pause. You’re confident in your body, but they would be well within their rights to make you wear something humiliating. You bite down hard on your tongue. Just don’t fuck the outed members, you hiss at yourself. Easy as that.

Not so easy, perhaps, when the thought of every one of them made your heart ache and shift in your chest.

“You aren’t asleep, are you?”

You shoot up in fright at the sudden exclamation, startled out of your train of thought. “No, what?” your tongue fumbles, before you squint in front of you to the poolside and your mouth drops open.

As casual as ever, Jin stands on the far edge, leaning his weight on a long leaf skimmer, the net resting on the end of the pole, above his head. That isn’t what has your attention, though. As you raise a hand to block the sun, you feel your mouth water at the sight of him standing in nothing but a pair of dark grey boxers, hand on his hip casually like it’s nothing out of the ordinary.

“What the fuck are you doing?” is the only thing your mind can think to say.

Jin chuckles, the motion making his broad shoulders jump up and down. Your mouth drops wider open, eyes roaming his figure. Basking in the attention, he smiles broadly. “Cleaning your pool,” he answers easily, “Miss Y/n.”

Your brows knit together. “My po- Oh.” You take a moment to analyse the situation - single lady on the pool chair watching as a hot and scantily-clad young man cleans it for her. Pool boy. A bemused giggle bubbles up your throat as you remember Jin’s disbelieving reaction when he drew the card. “Really?”

Jin just shrugs. “I’m just here to do my job, Miss. Saving up money for college. But it’s so hot out here that-” Jin breaks off with a pout as you begin to crack up, curling over your own torso with the force of it. “Hey! Why are you laughing at me?”

You try to let your laughter die down enough to speak, still giggling wetly as your eyes tear up a bit from it. “Sa-saving up for college,” you make out before cracking up again. “You don’t have to pay to be a professor, Jinnie.”

His mouth drops open in offence at your quip, letting the leaf skimmer clatter onto the concrete dramatically. On the chair beside you, Mango wakes up with a start at the noise and flees, scampering off in the direction of the villa. Still offended, Jin turns and makes his way around the edge of the pool towards you with a huff. “The disrespect these days,” he declares, “I’m just a poor uni student trying to make a quick buck and all you’re doing is insulting me.”

You sit up, watching him keep your gaze step by step. The sun is beautiful on him, honeying his brown hair and bronzing the smooth skin of his chest, shoulders and arms. He’s beautiful, but of course he doesn’t need you telling him to know that. “You shouldn’t talk back to your employer, Jinnie,” you quip as he nears.

As intimidating as someone can be wearing nothing but underwear - you can spy his clothes haphazardly strewn on the concrete on the other side of the patio - Jin steps in front of the lounge chair, blotting out the sun with his broad back. “Luckily for you,” he answers smoothly, “I just finished. I’ll just collect the cash and get out of your hair.”

You stare up at him, eyes aching now that they’re not fighting against the glare of the sun. Even though you’ve never been in this situation before, and certainly don’t have much experience with role-play, the words come easy to you. “But I don’t have any money.”

His grin turns wolfish, like he’d been hoping you’d say that. Your stomach flips as he lifts one leg over the end of the lounge chair, straddling it. “I suppose I’ll just have to claim my payment in some other way.”

Your heart races as he sits down, boxers doing nothing to hide his straining erection. “Like what?” you ask weakly, breath hitching as his fingers stretch out to brush over the button of your shorts.

Jin’s eyes are hot on yours, twin points of heat everywhere they roam. First between your legs, then up to meet your gaze. “Will you let me taste you?” he asks, previous humour completely evaporated. He stares at you intensely, like nothing else is as important as this, and you find yourself nodding before you even process it.

“Wait,” you gasp as he slips open the button, zip sliding down smoothly, “out here? The others-”

“Have gone inside,” Jin cuts in easily, fingers dipping below the hem of your panties. Your breath hitches, hips lifting to help him slip them off your legs and onto the concrete beside, shoes and socks following. “We’re alone.”

The warmth of the chair’s fabric below you is strange on your skin, but Jin isn’t content with just your core being exposed. Tapping your arm, he guides you to raise them as he lifts your shirt, tossing it away in the same direction. Almost bare for him, the only thing that remains is your bra, and without hesitation his fingers find the clasp, leaning forward to capture your mouth with his suddenly as he slips the bra down your arm.

Naked beneath him, you whimper into his mouth as he presses his chest against you, arms caging you on either side. It’s been a long time since you’ve kissed him, and it feels just as heady as last time, his lips soft but so firm and thorough as they claim you.

Jin kisses with all his energy, like it’s his only purpose, and the intense way he works your mouth open and licks up into it, swirling his tongue dizzily over yours has you hooked on him, needing more even as he gives you more than you feel you can handle.

After a time, you feel him shift, and you groan past swollen lips as he slides down your body, trailing an unbroken line of kisses down your throat and chest until he’s cupping a breast in his hand, hot mouth descending on a stiff peak. You cry out, back arching with the delicious stimulation as he suckles on it needily.

“Still so sensitive,” he remarks with a chuckle, and any protest at his teasing tone is lost under the indulgent way he flicks his tongue over the bud, circling it deftly. It’s sinful, the way you watch him, watch his eyes close in bliss and your peak roll under the ministrations of his tongue, like a show of what’s to come.

Once he gives a final wet suck to bring it to its full stiffness, he moves across to the other one, thumbing the first lazily to keep those hot coals of pleasure burning inside you.

Sensing you can take it, he’s rougher with the second nipple, tugging at it with his teeth, sucking harshly and laving his tongue over it when you whimper at the sting. “Perfect for me,” his voice makes out in a gravelled tone, “you’re like a fucking four-course meal.”

You chuckle airily, though it’s cut off by a hitched whimper as he ventures lower yet again, letting his tongue and lips lead the way over the skin of your stomach, until you can feel the warmth of his breath where you need to feel him most. “Jinnie,” you breathe pleadingly, toes curling as he dips out his tongue to wet his lips.

“Will you be good while I taste you, hm?” Jin questions lowly, voice silken like his lips.

You nod with a swallow, but your throat has gone dry just watching him. The sight of his fingers digging in to the flesh of your thighs, his lips pursing, his eyes swirling with mischief and lust. “Need you, Jinnie,” you find yourself pleading again.

He hums in bemusement, and you unconsciously hold your breath as he finally dips his head down. The first contact isn’t his tongue at all, but his lips, pressed to the upper seam of your thigh. You gasp, core clenching, but he pays no mind, laying a delicate trail across your thigh, until he jumps over and begins the other side.

With a whine, you part your legs wider, bare feet grazing on the sunbaked concrete. The rough texture reminds you of the fact that you’re outside, bared to the world, and you whine again. “Jinnie, hurry.”

“Patience,” he chastises lowly, pinching the inner of your thigh between two fingers to make you jump. “I cleaned out the pool for you, the least you can do is let me enjoy you.”

You swallow down your needy moan, head falling back against the lounge chair. “Sorry,” you gasp out instead, hoping he appreciates your manners and takes mercy on you.

Instead, he just grins. “So polite,” the therapist muses, “I wonder how long that’ll last.” One at a time, slow like he’s drawing out your anticipation, he lifts your legs onto his broad shoulders, tilting your hips up to expose you to him better.

The moment he touches his tongue to your core, you know you’re fucked.

Languid, exploratory, he delves the muscle through your folds, swirling once around your sensitive clit before dipping back down again. You sigh out, enjoying every motion, but it’s far too slow, and he knows it.

As you glance down, his lips are stretched in a slick grin, which he makes no attempt to mask. Obscenely, he wraps his lips around one of yours and sucks, slurping at your juices without shame.

You sob, thighs tensing, but he holds you open calmly and gives the same ministration to the other side, collecting your arousal on his tongue like he’s savouring it. More and more leaks out of you at the feeling of him going down on your for his own pleasure, and he groans in approval.

In his grasp, you attempt to cant your hips down to angle your clit closer to his roving tongue, but he deftly ignores your attempt, devouring you at his own pace.

After the clouds pass, the sun pierces your eyes again, and you throw an arm over your face to block it out, body writhing under his slow stimulation. “Ji-Jinnie,” you hiccup, but he doesn’t even reply, fingers clutching tighter at your thighs and ass to latch you onto him firmer.

When a breeze picks up, it wafts over you, cooling the spit on your nipples and peaking them even more, and you shiver at the feeling. Hearing a distant swishing sound, you lift your arm up and glance towards the source, only to go stiff once you see.

About ten metres away, the outdoor dining area is not as empty as it was before, Yoongi pausing with two plates full of cooked meat and potatoes, eyes directly locked on you. With a flip of arousal and dread, you watch as more members of the house file out; Jungkook, Namjoon and Hoseok joining him and gawking when they see you and Jin.

Cheeks flushing violently, you push at Jin’s head. “They-they’re out here, Jin, you need to stop-” you break off as he pulls back and glances over, chin and lips shiny with your arousal.

“Lunchtime,” Yoongi calls out with a wry grin, and you groan as he continues to set the table outside, the younger ones following suit. Namjoon seems the most startled of the four, but not one of them has looked away. Jungkook’s eyes are so wide you can see them rounded from here, a hand pressing to the front of his crotch.

You make another effort to wriggle out of Jin’s grip, but without even looking at you he keeps you locked in, spread for him. “Thanks, but I’m already eating!” he quips proudly, and you sob in embarrassment at the pun, covering your hands and scrunching your eyes shut.

Unable to see, however, you’re taken off-guard when Jin suddenly descends on you like a man starved. You go stiff and shriek at the sudden strong suck on your clit, before clapping a palm over your mouth. The distant sounds of the guys having lunch just makes you drip more, and Jin doesn’t miss it.

“You like that, dirty girl?” You sob at the question, but he just chuckles lowly. “Acting all shy, all coy, but this pussy of yours just loves being watched. Shall we give them a show?”

You barely have time to muster a wordless cry in response before his tongue, lips and teeth are ravishing you with only one intent: to bring you to a screaming orgasm.

You writhe as much as his grip allows you, overtaken by the sudden onslaught of pleasure, but it’s inescapable. While you can muffle your moans with your fist, biting harshly on your knuckles, there’s no denying the four men dining outside can see the way you tremble and arch, and the thought just makes you cry out more.

Your high arrives quickly as you squeeze your eyes shut, not bearing to look towards the voyeurs or even Jin as his tongue delves deep into you, nose nudging your clit as he goes.

Risking a glance over to the dining area quickly, it’s the sight of all four men sitting down, eyes heavy on you as the food remains untouched that sends you over the edge.

You reach out desperately for Jin; one hand buried into his hair and the other clutching at his hand. He holds onto you tightly as he works you through your orgasm until your thighs are shaking and your chest is heaving with the force of it.

When the tremors finally subside, he presses one last kiss to your sensitive clit, and then lets your legs down. You pant quietly as he sits up and pats your pussy playfully with a grin. To your confusion, he then stands up and rubs at the red texture marks that the gauzy fabric of the lounge chair has imprinted, and begins to walk off towards the house.

You frown, sitting up with a still-racing heart. “Where are you going?” you question incredulously.

With a shit-eating grin, Jin sends you a wink, not even bothering to go collect his clothes or hide his straining erection. “Lunchtime.”

“Will Mango be okay?” Taehyung asks worriedly.

Jimin tsks, but his tone is warm as he levels a stare at the younger man. “She’ll be fine, Tae, she’s a big girl. Besides; Hoseok looked like he’d fallen in love. I bet she’s getting treated like a queen right now.”

Taehyung glances down the stairs morosely as they turn the corner. “Good,” he muses, “she is.”

Jimin doesn’t notice Taehyung following him until he steps into his room, only to see the masseuse still behind him. “Do you need something?”

Still in pyjamas soaked from the water fight, Taehyung looks nonetheless beautiful. Jimin takes a moment to look over the tanned boy, his lithe frame exposed by the clinging fabric and his hair hanging long with the weight of the water. His lips are delicately sculpted like from marble, and he can’t help himself from starting at the slight pout as Taehyung asks softly, “does your room have a bath? Jungkook said you did.”

Jimin blinks. “How would Jungko- Oh.” The already-faded memory of Jungkook barging in on his morning routine sharpens back into colour. Of course. “Anyway, yes, I do. Why’s that?”

“Just wondering.” Taehyung shifts, a ring of dark grey on the carpet around him from the water that drips off his body.

Jimin dares a glance at the cameras in the corners of the hallway. If the two of them soak the carpet much more, Sejin will have their heads. Sighing he steps further into his room, opening the door wider. “Do you want to use it?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Taehyung brightens up, grin so broad it exposes his back teeth. “Yes, please, hyung!”

Jimin takes a deep breath to stop himself from mirroring the smile, simply shutting the door behind them both as Taehyung rushes into the bathroom, skidding on the floor with his wet feet. “Careful,” Jimin scolds quickly, “you’ll fall.” Avoiding Taehyung’s imploring gaze, he steps past him to put in the plug and begin running water, shivering at the feeling of his wet clothes cold against his skin. “Do you like it hot?”

“Always,” Taehyung answers without hesitation. Though Jimin can’t see his face, the low timbre of the masseuse’s voice gives him pause. “Can we have bubbles?”

Like that, the moment of tension is broken, and Jimin straightens up with a laugh, turning to him. “We?”

Taehyung pouts again, shaking the hair out of his eyes. “You aren’t gonna shower while I have a bath, are you, hyung? That’s a waste of water.”

Jimin feels his eyebrows rise, but the motion catches his attention in the mirror. He gasps at his reflection behind Taehyung; with the liner and mascara around his eyes smudged like a racoon and his foundation patchy, he looks like a mess. “Goodness,” he sighs, “why didn’t you tell me I look like this?”

Taehyung’s eyes are wide with uncertainty as Jimin rushes to the vanity, hastily fishing in the drawers for an oil cleanser to remove the dregs of pigment on his face. “You still look beautiful, hyung,” Taehyung offers softly.

“I look like a teenage girl that just got dumped.” Jimin scoffs a laugh as he viciously rubs at his skin, rinsing it off in the sink with a sigh. Straightening up again, he winces at the reflection that greets him. Red nose and chin, cheeks round without the illusion of contour, eyes looking too small in his face. Every flaw makes him bite down on his tongue harsher, until he whirls himself around, unable to look longer. With his jaw tense, Jimin tugs off the silver rings that adorn his fingers. “Fuck it, I’ll have a bath.”

Instead of cheering like Jimin expects him to, wants him to, Taehyung just eyes him with quiet concern. Over the loudly gushing faucet, his voice is barely audible as he repeats, “you still look beautiful.”

“Do you want vanilla or peaches and cream?” Jimin offers instead. “For bubbles, I mean.” Busying himself with picking out the bottles from the shower, he misses the frown on Taehyung’s face.

“Peaches, please, hyung,” the younger man requests warmly, shivering at the strange tension in the air. “Peach is my favourite scent, you know?”

“Is it?” The thought brings a smile to Jimin’s lips, as he discards the other bottle and begins drizzling body wash over the stream, bubbles frothing immediately. The bright yet sweet scent begins to fill the room, and Jimin’s smile widens. “It suits you.”

Once the tub is aptly full, and bubbles cover the surface, Jimin caps the bottle and peels the fabric of his shirt off himself with soapy hands, sighing as the weight is removed. He spares a glance to Taehyung, who still stands motionless in the middle of the room in a puddle of water. “You can get in now,” he provides, “I don’t bite.”

The blatant lie tugs a grin from Taehyung’s lips as he obediently begins undressing. “You forget I’ve seen your videos,” he quips wryly.

“Oh, I certainly haven’t forgotten, Taehyungie.” It takes more effort to strip himself from his blue jeans, totally waterlogged, but Jimin kicks off his shoes and does it one leg at a time. Naked, he seeks out the warmth of the water, sighing as he steps in and sinks below the bubbles, glancing over to Taehyung, who avoids his gaze as he slips off his boxers, the fabric slapping wetly on the white tiles.

It’s the first time Jimin’s seen Taehyung fully naked, and he can’t help his eyes from roaming. Smooth chest leading to a narrow waist and soft stomach, Taehyung’s cock standing at half-mast like he’s still unsure whether he should be aroused or not. Hastily, he steps into the bath, facing Jimin on the other side, and Jimin watches those delicate, slender fingers flex on the side of the tub as he settles in. Those fingers that played Y/n like she was an instrument. Those fingers that relaxed Jimin more than he’d felt in years, without even needing a release.

“I did what you suggested, hyung,” Taehyung says lightly, knees poking out of the water as he sticks as far to his end of the tub as possible. He pokes his chin forward, running a finger over his jaw and lower cheek. “I’m growing it out.”

Jimin smiles at the younger man warmly, the warmth of the water relaxing his muscles and softening him more than he’d normally be. Or perhaps it was the earnest, non-judgmental air Taehyung always held. Either way, he finds himself leaning forward slightly to brush his fingertips over the bottom of Taehyung’s face. The slightly sharp texture of exposed hairs and beginnings of a dark shadow evidence that he hadn’t shaved since Monday morning. “It’s growing in fast,” he comments, eyes darting to see the way Taehyung’s pulse thrums visibly on his neck.

Taehyung swallows, eyes locked on Jimin. “That’s why I usually shave everyday,” he explains lightly. Perhaps unconsciously, the masseuse’s legs part slowly, water rushing in to fill the void.

Shifting closer again, up on his knees, Jimin continues to inspect the 5 o’clock shadow on Taehyung’s face. “It looks nice,” he says softly; “handsome.”

Taehyung’s eyes blink widely. As Jimin’s tongue darts out quickly to wet his lips, he wonders if, had there been no bubbles, he’d be able to see Taehyung’s cock stiffening to a full erection below the water. The thought sends blood rushing down to his own dick, and Jimin sighs.

Sensing the silence has extended long enough, Taehyung swallows. “Do you think she’ll like it, hyung? What if it’s too rough?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Jimin points out, voice coming out breathier than expected, and his hand snakes around the back of Taehyung’s neck to drag him into a kiss.

The black-haired boy squeaks in surprise at the first contact, but quickly he’s melting, reaching up to grasp blindly at Jimin’s shoulders with a whimper. The reciprocation simultaneously relaxes Jimin and sends him into a frenzy, and he slides himself closer, between Taehyung’s parted legs to deepen the kiss.

If Jimin angles his head just right, his chin feels the slight prickle of Taehyung’s unshaven face, and he makes a noise of approval low in his throat, nipping at the lips that have swollen under his ministrations. Of course the idea wasn’t for kissing Y/n, but if Taehyung could kiss that good with his scruff, Jimin couldn’t imagine what a joyride Y/n was in for when she’d feel that between her thighs. Jimin grins into the kiss at the thought.

The air is thick with arousal and peaches, and the heady combination has Jimin needing more, tongue slipping out to lave over Taehyung’s lips. The younger man whimpers, and Jimin takes the opportunity of his open mouth to run his tongue along Tae’s, leaning further and further forward until their chests are pressed together.

With a needy gasp, Taehyung pulls away, turning his head just slightly to the side to suck in some air, eyes blown with lust. “Are- Jimin?” he stutters out incoherently, the sound of his panting rivalled only by the sloshing of the water that their movements have stirred up.

Jimin’s heart races; thrill on top of arousal on top of concern, his grin falling. “Do you not want to?”

Taehyung narrows his brows like he doesn’t comprehend, and glances around the room. “But there are no cameras?” he supplies, voice lilting at the end like a question.

“I know,” Jimin explains, feeling his own brain struggling to keep time, “I don’t want the cameras.”

“Then…” The lost look on Taehyung’s face breaks Jimin’s heart, and he resists the urge to press a kiss right between his brows, where a crease has formed.

Jimin wills his heart to slow, taking a deep breath. “I- I think for once, I want to have sex not because it’s my job, but because I want to get closer to someone. I know you watch my videos, but… Taehyung, would you want to have sex with me? Just… just me? Not Park Jimin?”

Taehyung tilts his head, a confused smile beginning to tug at his lips. “But you are Park Jimin-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jimin cuts him off, leaning back to get out of the tub. “It was stupid and I shouldn’t have-”

“Minnie.”

Jimin freezes, eyes finding Taehyung’s with a wide stare.

The younger boy’s gaze is soft behind black curls, imploring. “I like you, you know? It was never the videos or the persona. Just you. Whether we have sex or not, you should know that.”

The backs of Jimin’s eyes sting. He ignores it, instead settling back down into the now-lukewarm water. “I-” But it’s too much. He doesn’t know what to say, how to deal with the words he hasn’t heard for years and years. So instead, Jimin just cracks a shy smile, heart easing. “I do still kinda wanna have sex with you, though.”

Taehyung laughs, wide and squared, his eyes little crescent moons. “I want to have sex with you, too,” he assures. “Shall we continue?”

Jimin feels his lips stretch instinctively into a smile, before he’s leaning in and pressing them to Taehyung’s again.

Kissing Taehyung feels good; it’s more addictive and heady than he’s ever felt it in years, bar that night with Y/n. Letting his own want and desire take over instead of worrying about camera angles, lighting, viewers - is this why people like it so much?

Taehyung seems to enjoy it, too, gasping into Jimin’s mouth. The blue-haired man can feel the tickle of Taehyung’s lashes as his eyes flutter with every stroke of his tongue, and Jimin swallows a groan wondering what he’ll sound like later if he’s this responsive now.

Testing it out, he runs a hand up Taehyung’s side, seeking out a dusky brow nipple, wet with steam from the tub, and thumbs at it. Back arching suddenly, the masseuse moans into Jimin’s mouth, reaching both hands up to bury his fingers in Jimin’s hair to anchor him.

Jimin continues to circle and flick at it until Taehyung is positively squirming under his touch. Only then does he let his hand slide down again, this time delving beneath the warm embrace of the water, seeking out the hard length between Taehyung’s legs.

“Fuck,” Taehyung gasps out when he feels fingers wrapping around his cock, not stroking yet but with enough pressure to make him need more. “Want you inside me, Jimin.”

“Yeah?” Jimin confirms breathlessly with a grin. Fingers trailing lower, he easily locates the tight ring of muscle, making the younger man groan as he presses gently at the rim with a single fingertip. “Have you done this before?”

“Bottomed?” Taehyung questions. “Of course. I’m fine, hyung.”

Instead of responding, Jimin takes a moment to lift up one of Taehyung’s knees, unfolding it so that it rested over the edge of the tub. Wide-eyed, the masseuse lets Jimin give the same treatment to the other, until he’s spread open, ass no longer quite reaching the bottom as he floats in the water.

Though he can hear the spatter of water on the tile, dripping off Taehyung’s legs, Jimin ignores it and begins to work a finger past the boy’s rim, drinking in his groans as it sinks inside.

Water isn’t the best lubricant, so Jimin goes slowly, and it’s only once Taehyung grows restless with just one finger that Jimin starts to use two. It takes a moment, but as he crooks his fingers just right, Taehyung lets out a shaky cry, clenching down suddenly. “Just there?” Jimin questions with a wry smile.

Taehyung’s thighs tremble. “Right there, hyung, fuck.” The black-haired boy fusses so beautifully as Jimin continues to stretch him out, pads of his fingers focussing on that sensitive bud of tissue inside. “I-I’m ready, Minnie, I need you.”

Jimin’s heart hitches at the nickname again, and his cock throbs at the thought of finally being able to fuck him. “Are you sure?” he checks one last time, receiving a hasty nod.

The moment Jimin slowly bottoms out, hips flush against Taehyung’s ass, he knows he’s not going to last long. Luckily, Taehyung seems to share the sentiment, groaning obscenely and clutching at his own length, hissing at the contact.

“Fuck, Tae-tae, you feel so good,” Jimin sighs as he begins to set a languid but deep pace. It was natural for his tongue to run during sex; dirty talk was huge in his industry, and sometimes he felt like part of him ran on autopilot during his scenes. Slutty pussy this, dumb cock that; but this didn’t even feel like dirty talk to him. As he buried himself in Taehyung over and over, it felt closer to a confession.

“Ah, Minnie,” Taehyung whimpers, beginning to stroke himself in time, chest arching out of the water, “kiss me.”

His eyes are dark with lust but puppy-soft as he blinks up under his lashes at Jimin, and it’s impossible to resist. Not that he wants to, when Taehyung’s lips feel so perfect on his.

The younger boy whimpers delicately into Jimin’s mouth when they’re joined again, and Jimin feels his high creeping up on him. Embarrassingly fast, he’d think normally, but he doesn’t feel embarrassed now.

“I’m close,” he whispers quickly to Taehyung, picking up the pace so that the water sloshes loudly around them, bubbles dissolving.

Taehyung groans, wraps his free arm around Jimin’s shoulders to hold himself closer, and speeds up his hand. “Me too,” he confesses, “cum inside, Minnie.”

With a low curse, Jimin is spilling inside Taehyung, hips stuttering their pace. Taehyung chases his lips through his own orgasm, gasping so much that he can barely reciprocate. It feels dirty and exquisite; the way their lips and tongue join so messily together, shuddering in unison as pleasure wracks their bodies.

Once Jimin finally comes down from his high, he’s panting. Hair damp from the steam and face hot, for once he doesn’t worry about if his o-face was attractive or his voice gravelly enough. He feels beautiful.

---

Taehyung’s nowhere to be found by the time you and the other boys finish lunch, and so there’s nobody to protest when Jin suggests the two of you can look after Mango.

Although not trained, Mango is nonetheless polite, and it’s far past sunset by the time Jin and you finish up your photoshoots and online shopping, Jin happily spending a fortune on a dog bed, pedigree food and enough toys for a whole kennel. He insists it’s because Sejin would have his ass if he asked the producer to spend more of the show’s funds, but that doesn’t stop the therapist spamming Sejin’s personal cell with pictures and messages, determined to make a point.

The two of you are exhausted from a day well spent as you snuggle lazily in Jin’s bed, a laptop propped up on your lap as you yawn away to a documentary on squirrels.

“We can go to sleep if you want,” Jin reminds you as a deep baritoned narrator explains the child-rearing techniques of female squirrels. “It’s past midnight.”

“You’re past midnight,” you retort sleepily, before your brain catches up with you. “Ah. No. Maybe you’re right.”

With a teasing smile and kind eyes, Jin takes the laptop away, plugging it in on his desk before returning back. “I’m glad, you know,” he muses as he slips under the covers again, your arms and legs immediately latching onto his frame.

Once he settles, you place your head on his chest, the internal beating of his heart a soothing metronome. “Glad about what?”

“Glad that this week’s challenge was you sleeping in different beds. I never got to sleep beside you that first night.”

“You could’ve,” you point out.

“It was only the first night,” he allows, voice rumbling in his chest, “I didn’t want to cross any lines and you fell asleep before I could get an answer.”

You hum, snuggling closer even as your whole body is pressed against him. He’s just so warm, and he feels so safe when he wraps his arm under and around you, holding you there. “I was gonna seduce you,” you whine with a yawn. “Tonight, I mean. You didn’t fuck me before so I was gonna seduce you. But you smell so good. I just wanna sleep.”

Jin seems to share the sentiment, muffling the yawn he caught from you. “You can seduce me in the morning.”

“Promise?”

Jin laughs, wincing when it jostles you violently on his chest. “Fuck, sorry. But yes, I promise. Now go to sleep. I’ll be here.”

Your hand unconsciously finds the collar of his pyjama shirt, clutching at it. You feel the warmth of his hand wrapping around it, flipping it over to lace his fingers through yours. You think you could stay here forever, but perhaps tonight is a good place to start. “Goo’night,” you mumble.

Jin’s voice is barely audible, naught a whisper, but you feel it in his chest. “Night, sweetheart.”

[boykingsofhell]

Aftermath

I couldn’t get John’s Journal out of my head regarding him making Dean salt and burn dead gay nuns for his 17th Birthday. Here’s a short fic about the aftermath of that <3

Dad’s asleep when he returns, sprawled out on a motel bed, boots on, .45 held loosely in one hand. The ratty yellow curtains on the motel room windows are drawn shut, sun streaming through anyway, lighting up the room with a sickly yellow glow. Sammy’s gone, at school if he’s got any sense at all. Something aches in Dean’s chest. He should have been there to walk him, though he hadn’t stepped through school gates himself in near two years. Dad had been pleased when he’d looked old enough to be out of school years before he actually was. Sammy with his baby face would be stuck in that hellhole a few years longer at least, but Sam never looked at school with the same disdain and get-through-it attitude Dad and Dean always held onto.

Anyway. Point was, Sammy wasn’t there. Not that Dad’s snoring wouldn’t have driven him from the room by now, even if the little shit wasn’t such a nerd.

Dean’s hands were still stained with grave dirt, crusted under his fingernails and God knows what else. The duffel slung over his shoulder clanked as he set it down, guns and loose bullets rattling where his hands had been shaking too hard to pack them down proper. His hands were still shaking. Not just from the hunt, from the sweat and effort of digging up two graves instead of one, and not just from the bruises blossoming on his left side where one nun had thrown him into the wall.

Dad knew. He knew.

Dean didn’t know how. He’d been so careful, had fucked plenty girls, looked away from enough boys, had laughed at Dad’s jokes and sneered at the right people.

And still, John Winchester had shoved a shotgun loaded with rock salt into his hands and aimed him towards exactly the sort of people he was meant to despise. He’d called it a Birthday present.

Happy fucking Birthday to him.

He sat down heavy on the empty motel bed, toed off his boots and dug crescents into his fists. He turned and his left side flared, pain radiating with each inhale. Nothing was broken. Dean had long learnt to tell if an injury was bad enough to tell Dad about, and this one wasn’t. He dug two advil out of the bedside table and swallowed them dry. Give it a few days and he’d be fine. Plus, he’d avoid the dressing down he was sure to otherwise get for being so careless on a hunt. Five minutes of careful breathing and the pain had lessened to only a sharp throb.

Carefully, Dean rose to get a glass of water, rinsing the motel glass before he filled it from the tap. He got another, set it on the table near Dad, for when he woke with a throbbing head and who knew what kinda mood.

Back into the kitchen, he leaned into the counter too hard and recoiled, fresh pain shooting daggers down his side.

“Shitfucksonofabitch,” he hissed, closing his eyes against the stars burnt onto his eyelids.

John sat up immediately, .45 clutched tight, eyes bright and aware even when Dean knew the pounding that was going on behind them. He saw Dean wincing against the counter and relaxed incrementally. Even half-asleep and hungover, John Winchester could evaluate and dismiss threats in seconds.

“You hurt, son?” Dean didn’t notice the worry in his voice behind the question.

“No. I’m fine, Dad. Don’t worry about it.” He grimaced, propping himself as the stars disappeared from his vision.

Despite the evidence to the contrary, Dad was willing to take him at face value. This time.

“How was the hunt?” John got up and moved closer, reaching for his pistol, checking and rechecking the safety. A habit.

Dean gave an easy grin and stood straighter. “Great. Easy. Malevolent, but nothing too crazy. I busted them up pretty quick. Rock salt worked great.”

“You learn anything?” The words were casual, forced. There was steel in that question. Dean’s guts churned even as he nodded. Matched John’s tone.

“Yes sir.”

Silence hung between them, heavy and uneasy in a way Dean usually didn’t let it get. John broke first.

“Go to bed. We’ll debrief once you got some shuteye.”

“Yes sir.”

Dean moved to lay down over the covers, grave dirt still clinging to him like sin. He’d wash it off in the evening, and everything would be fine. He’d been waiting to check the water pressure anyway. Dad moved around the kitchen, sighing and clanking and pulling open yesterday’s newspaper, no doubt to circle the right kinda stories in red. Dean fought the urge to turn away. He made his breathing even out, let his eyes slip closed. Both he and John knew he wasn’t sleeping.

Later, when dark circles haunted the space beneath his eyes Dad wouldn’t comment. Wouldn’t reprimand him when his voice cracked over the debrief except to tell him to speak clearly.

When Sammy got home, he’d stand by the door, eyes narrowed, trying to figure out what no one would tell him.

No one would tell him, and it would be twenty years and the hundredth read of Dad’s journal before he connected his memories and the written word. He'll curse John Winchester and Dean both, and look over at his brother, standing too close to Cas. He won’t mention it.

[justlookfrightened]

Second Zimbits bingo post #2

See the first post

Urban fantasy

Bitty woke to weak sunlight illuminating a bare room.

The corners were dusty, but the sheets on the bed were clean enough, if a little scratchy. The T-shirt Jack had given him to sleep in was plenty soft, and so big it  covered Bitty down to the thighs.

He crawled out of bed and to the radiator, where he’d draped his wet clothes the night before. He prodded at them with a finger. His underwear was dry, thank the Lord, and his jeans were only a little damp around the waistband. His own T-shirt, rinsed in the bathroom sink with his underwear and socks, had also dried. 

His shoes, though … maybe he could get away with stocking feet until he actually had to leave the house. Haus? Jack had pronounced it kind of funny when he welcomed Bitty inside the night before and showed him the living room with its truly disgusting couch. If the living room was his only choice, Bitty had decided, he would sleep on the floor. It was still miles better than trying to find shelter outside.

But then Jack had gone upstairs for a few minutes. When he came back down, he said, “Looks like Johnson’s away again. You can have his bed for the night.”

Jack had shown him the bathroom, which was also gross, but had hot water, and given him a clean shirt that fit Bitty like it was meant to be nightclothes anyway.

Bitty had reveled in the feeling of the shower raining down on his shoulders and back, and he uttered a silent apology to whoever owned the soap and shampoo he used. Once he was clean, he washed his smalls as best he could. He was just wringing them out when Jack knocked on the door and called, “I don’t know if you have a toothbrush, but there should be a new one in the drawer on the left if you want it.”

“Thanks, Jack,” Bitty called back, and lost no time in cleaning his teeth,

“No problem,” Jack said. “I have to be up early, so I’m going to bed. Good night,”

“Good night,” Bitty replied through a mouthful of toothpaste.

Jack really had turned out to be a godsend after a less than auspicious beginning. Bitty had felt the tears coming when he turned to leave Jack’s shop after hearing it was already closed; he didn’t know how far he he had walked in the snow already, and he just wanted a chance to get warm, even if the cost of coffee or tea would have put a dent in the meager funds in his wallet. 

Maybe his magic had somehow summoned Jack when he needed him? Or if not summoned him, given him a change of heart?

No, probably not. Bitty’s magic didn’t usually work without him making an effort, and he had never tried to work it on people. That seemed wrong, somehow. Besides, if he could have used magic to change hearts, he would have used it on Mama and Coach and stayed in his old, comfortable life.

At any rate, it was way past early, judging by the winter sun, but Jack hadn’t woken him to send him on his way. He wasn’t even sure which room was Jack’s, and he didn’t want to wake up a stranger by mistake, so he couldn’t look for him..

Once dressed, Bitty folded Jack’s T-shirt over his arm, picked up his shoes and padded down the stairs. He wasn’t exactly sure how many people lived here, or what their relationship was to one another, but Jack didn’t seem to think they’d mind Bitty crashing for the night. He could at least do some muffins to thank them, assuming there was a working kitchen.

The living room with the disgusting couch was empty of people, and so was the kitchen just beyond it. Well, kitchen, if he used the term loosely. There was a refrigerator, and a stove, and a sink and cabinets. Maybe the appliance that got the most use was the microwave, judging by the food spattered on the inside of the door.

The floor didn’t look like it had been mopped this year, the refrigerator was full of beer and convenience foods and the cabinets held boxes of protein bars and at least a case of sriracha.

How had Jack made such good coffee yesterday? If this was his kitchen, it was really no wonder that he thought it acceptable to microwave a stale scone. The wonder was that the scone was edible at all. 

No matter. Bitty could make his muffins and get this kitchen set to rights. It was really the least he could do for the people who took him in last night, even if most of them didn’t know it yet.

Bitty wrinkled his nose as he stuffed his feet into his damp shoes and made his way to the counter. He pulled his old recipe book from the pocket of his hoodie and turned the pages, looking for what to make when ingredients were scarce. Soon, he had a batter mixed with eggs, flour, oil and milk that all came to hand at just the right time. So did blueberries. They were frozen, but Bitty supposed he couldn’t be too picky when it was February.

The oven was ancient, and it took ages to heat, but it did get hot. While Bitty was waiting, he made a start on the cleaning. Once the muffins were baking, he looked at the ingredients he had left and made a start on a pie. Muffins were good, but it really would take a pie to show the depth of his gratitude. Besides, he couldn’t even think of leaving until it was done and the kitchen was set to rights. It didn’t hurt that he found apples for the filling as soon as the dough for the crust was chilling.

The muffins were out and the pie in the oven when he was interrupted by two men, both at least Jack’s size, maybe bigger, standing in the doorway.

“What the fuck is that smell?” one said. “It smells like my aunt’s house, but with more love and innocence.”

“Bro, no offense, but I’ve been to your aunt’s house,” the larger one said. “Compared to this, her house smells like a shithole.”

Bitty stood stock still. He was pretty sure they meant the food smelled good (because really, it did), but the way they expressed themselves …

He was still standing and staring when the first man who spoke noticed him.

“Uh, who are you, little dude?”

“And what are you doing in our kitchen?” the bigger guy said. “Are you like some kind of an elf out of a fairy tale?”

An elf? This man was mistaking a full-grown man for an elf? Sure, he was a kitchen witch, but you couldn’t tell by looking.

“I’m not an elf,” he said. “Jack let me stay here last night, and I figured I’d make y’all some food to thank you for your hospitality.”

“Jack’s gone already, bro,” the not-quite-as-large one said. “Sorry if you were expecting to see him this morning.”

“Imagine that,” the other one said. “Jack bringing a guy home, and then sneaking out of his own room while the guy’s sleeping. Sorry for his lack of manners, uh —”

Bitty knew his face was burning at what the man was implying. He would never, not just after meeting someone at least. Not that he hadn’t thought about it a little before falling asleep, wearing Jack’s T-shirt. Jack was … very attractive, and kind, even if his manners left something to be desired. Bitty had laughed at himself then, for thinking his life could be like one of Mama’s romance novels, with a hero with a chiseled jaw and six-pack abs coming to his rescue. 

“Eric,” Bitty finally managed to sputter. “Eric Bittle. And if you were implying what I thought you were, it wasn’t like that. I took shelter from the storm in Jack’s coffee shop last night, and he let me stay in — I think he said it was someone named Johnson’s room?”

“Johnson,” the blond snorted. “Dude’s never here. Anyway, I’m Adam. You can call me Holster. This is Justin, but he goes by Ransom.”

“Okay,” Bitty said. “Y’all can call me Bitty, if you want. Sit, and have some muffins. The coffee’s probably not as good as Jack’s —” Bitty glared at the crusty old coffee maker “— but it should do.”

Ransom and Holster sat and ate. They ate so much that Bitty had to keep a close eye on the basket, especially after another man, this one in nothing but a mustache and Wonder Woman briefs, wandered in.

“Hell — holy shit, what is this?” he said, seeing the basket of muffins that the first two hadn’t quite been able to finish off. Probably because Bitty had multiplied them when no one was looking.

“Breakfast,” Ransom said, taking another bite. “Thanks to our new best friend, Eric Bittle.”

“He’s ours, Shitty,” Holster said. “You can’t have him.”

“That’s not how friendship works,” the new guy — Shitty? — said before Bitty could protest. “Where’d you find him?”

“In the kitchen,” Holster said.

“Actually, Jack found him,” Ransom said. “Brought him home and put him in Johnson’s room last night.”

Bitty took the pie from the oven and set it on the cooling rack before clearing his throat and saying, “‘Him’ is standing right here.”

“Sorry,” the new guy saud. “Shitty Knight at your service.”

“Shitty?”

“Long story,” Shitty said. “How do you know Jackabelle?”

“I don’t,” Bitty said. “I just stopped into the coffee shop, and he realized I was stranded and took pity on me.”

“That — kind of sounds like something Jack would do,” Shitty said.

“Anyway, I made the muffins and the pie to thank him, and all of you, for your hospitality,” Bitty said. “My name is Eric, but call me Bitty.”

“I guess I can see how you got that nickname,” Shitty said, standing up to pour his own coffee.

“I’m not that small,” Bitty protested. “It’s a hockey nickname, ‘cause my last name’s Bittle.”

“Right,” Shitty said.

“Wait, dude, you play hockey?” Holster said. “We played in college.That’s how we all met.”

“Used to play,” Bitty said. Because that was in high school, back in Georgia. 

“What do you do now? Besides turning out wicked muffins?” Shitty said. “Where did you even find blueberries? Did you go to the store?”

“Did you remember the part where he was stranded?” Ransom said. “How would he get to the store?”

“That’s right,” Shitty said, and helped himself to another muffin. “Holy fuck, these are good. So what’s your plan?”

“Um, maybe someone could direct me to the train station?” Bitty said. “I walked from there last night, to Jack’s coffee shop, but he drove me here, and I don’t quite know how to get back.”

“Dude, you’re not gonna walk there,” Holster said, eyeing Bitty’s sneakers. “It’s too far. And the snow’s like a foot deep. Streets are mostly plowed, but it’s messy.’’

“Maybe you could tell me how to get to the coffee shop then?” Bitty asked. “I did want to leave that pie for Jack and if I leave it here …”

“Yeah, no,” Holster said. “It’ll definitely disappear. How’d you make it so fast anyway? I thought pies were, like, hard.”

“Not really,” Bitty said. “And sometimes when I’m in a kitchen, pies just appear.”

“Cool superpower, brah,” Shitty said. “But you don’t want to carry that pie all the way to the shop. I can drive you in a little bit. I was headed that way anyway.”

Ransom and Holster left, off to do whatever kind of work it was they did (consulting, they said, but what did that mean?). Shitty disappeared upstairs, presumably to put some clothes on, and Bitty cleaned up the kitchen. And made two batches of cookies: chocolate chip and ginger snaps.

He made sure to hide the cookies and the leftover muffins under clean dish towels on the counter, in hopes they would be discovered later, when he was gone. Shitty had already been looking at him like there was something strange going on, and he had no wish to explain his magic.

Well, really, he had no ability to explain it, either. It started when he was small. When he was just a tyke he could produce pies and cookies and cakes better than bakers ten times his age. Back when he was five, he didn’t question that there were always chocolate chips in the cupboard when he needed them, always eggs and butter in the fridge, and the flour canister was never empty.

It had been going on for a matter of months when MooMaw noticed there was something more than unusual baking talent there. She pulled him aside and said she was the very same way, and he must never tell anyone. Not even his parents. Apparently, the magic skipped a generation.

Over the years, she told him what she had learned. She was always able to bake good food, but some of the magic only seemed to kick in if she was baking for other people.

“If I wanted to make a cupcake, just for me, and I needed some almond extract, do you think I’d find it in my cabinet?” she said. “Never. But if I was baking a whole batch of cupcakes for your class at school, it would be there, sure as there’s a nose on my face.”

“But MooMaw,” he’d asked. “Why would you ever bake just one cupcake?”

Over the years, he’d found that he couldn’t always get exactly what he wanted. There were no in-season strawberries in December, no matter how much he needed them. Some recipes seemed to work better than others when he needed to put his magic to use, and they were usually the ones he copied by hand from MooMaw’s book. But his cakes and pies and cookies seemed to bake faster than most people’s no matter what recipe he used, and once baked, they wouldn’t run out during a meal or a party, not as long as he kept watch and willed the serving basket or plate to stay full.

No matter how harmless his magic seemed, he knew MooMaw was right. People didn’t like somebody who was different, and he was already different enough. Mama and Coach hadn’t kicked him out, precisely, when he explained that the kids who tormented him for being gay weren’t exactly wrong, but his relationship with them had grown strained overnight.

Best to find somewhere where he could be himself, by himself, and bake for people who didn’t know who he was or question why it tasted so good. It was already far too late for that here. He would take Jack his pie and be on his way.

Read the next part

[socialmediasocrates]

hi i’m back, i’m bored, and i’m still hungry so let’s make some savory oatmeal

Some things of note: -toasting the oats is always a good idea if you have the pan and the patience, because it’ll give real nice roasty toasty flavors to your oatmeal yum -as with any recipe, salt and pepper this to your personal tastes -a lot of recipes will recommend dredging chicken in flour before searing it but i have had absolutely shit results with that so i don’t do it -any time i’m recommending frying something, i’m using olive oil! that is my preferred frying fat, except in some cases where i will use bacon fat or lard (i fry my chicken wings in lard don’t @ me i’m not taking criticism) you can use any that you prefer! it’s your life!  -you can make this recipe with grits too if that’s what you’ve got on hand or if you’re one of those people that won’t even consider savory oatmeal

recipe under the cut, along with other suggestions

So for this you will need: -oatmeal; the cheap unflavored kind; i use quaker oats -chicken breast, with skin is ideal but you can use skinless too you’ll just skip one part -chicken stock; again, it can be as cheap as you want you don’t need to use homemade -garlic -egg -olive oil -scallions -chili flakes if you’ve got them -some ground ginger, if you want, but only a very little; i use the smallest pinch -hot sauce if you want it -a pot -a pan

You will need to be able to: -slice chicken -stand for about an hour. things come together pretty quick, but you do have to slice chicken and chop scallions and garlic. 

For the chicken:

-if you’re not using a skinless chicken breast, carefully remove the skins and set them aside we’ll be doing stuff with them in a sec -turn the heat on to medium-high, put about a tablespoon of olive oil in there, and swish that bitch around to coat the bottom of the pan; if you end up over-pouring the olive oil just soak the extra up with a paper towel -season your chicken with salt and pepper pretty liberally -you can add other seasonings if you want here; i usually go pretty simple -plop that chicken down in the pan and LEAVE IT ALONE; YOU ONLY WANT TO FLIP THE CHICKEN TWICE SO THAT IT FORMS A CRUST -at this stage a lot of recipes online will recommend that you should have dredged the chicken in all-purpose flour to encourage crust formation, and you totally can if that works for you! never fucking works for me! so i don’t! -you wanna cook your chicken for about 5-7 minutes per side or until the internal temp reads 165F/74C on a meat thermometer if you’ve got one; they’re really useful and i totally recommend them but i get it if it’s not in the budget. you can also make a small incision in the thickest part of the chicken to check internal doneness, or kind of gently push down on it with a fork to see what color the juices are. you want them to be clear -once the chicken is cooked, set it aside and let it rest so the juices do that thing where they redistribute and your meat doesn’t get dry as fuck and gross

For the chicken skins (optional but tasty):

-so you have those chicken skins maybe -if you do, cut them bitches into strips; you want them to be about two finger-widths wide -use a butter knife to scrape off excess fat and gross shit and give them a bit of a rinse -pat them dry with a paper towel, give them a sprinkling of salt, pepper, and chili flakes if you like them a little spicy -put more olive oil in your pan, and a pat of butter, and set the heat once again to medium-high but a little more to the medium side -fry them in batches until they’re all nice and crispy and set them aside on a piece of paper towel to drain -this step is completely optional BUT THEY DO TASTE GOOD

For the oatmeal:

-drip some olive oil on a paper towel and wipe the bottom of your pot with it before getting the heat going; once the pot is warmed up, drop in your garlic and let that cook til it’s soft before mashing it up with a fork; add the chili flakes and ginger if you want them at this stage -once you’ve done that drop in your oats, a little at a time, and stir them around to get them toasted -once the oats are toasted, check the recommended amount of water on the package and pour in that much chicken stock. add your cracked black pepper at this point. let this come to a boil and then let it cook til thickened, stirring occasionally, about 3-4mins depending on your preferred consistency NOTE: canned/boxed chicken stock is salty as FUCK! wait until the oatmeal is done cooking and taste test before you add any more salt!

What you need the egg for: -crack the egg into a hot pan and give it a sprinkling of salt and pepper and maybe a little garlic powder or smth if you want idk your life -cook that until the white is set and the yolk is at your preferred level of done-ness

Now assemble: -add oatmeal to bowl -put your beautiful fried egg right into the middle -your chicken should have rested while the oatmeal was cooking (did you forget this was an oatmeal recipe); slice it into strips and fan them out pretty like on one side of the egg -top with your fried chicken skins if you made those -clean your scallions and chop them into little scallion donuts and sprinkle those over top of your oatmeal -drizzle the whole deal with hot sauce if you live like that (do this step before adding the scallions if you’re concerned with the food being pretty) -take a picture and post it on Instagram or smth -???? -oatmeal

Some general notes: -oatmeal is great because it’s got a lot of carbs and fiber and it’s cheap, but it doesn’t have a lot else which is why we added things to it. the more complex proteins and fats you can introduce, the better, because your body needs that fuel yo -i added a small amount of ginger and some chili flakes because i’ve found that those two things by themselves will make a lot of boxed or canned chicken stocks taste better to me, but the seasonings are totally up to you this is a pretty blank slate of a recipe honestly -there’s a whole wide world of things you can do with oatmeal if you think of it as the base of a meal rather than the meal itself and most of them are pretty cheap. add some bananas and nutella! some apples and a nice drizzle of honey! candied bacon and sharp cheddar! i don’t like mushrooms, but a sautee of mushrooms and cheese with some caramelized onions on top of a nice garlicky oatmeal would probably be good if you do like them! the possibilities are endless! -if you have a hard time acquiring chicken breast, what you can also do is a quick sautee of some canned, shredded chicken, onion, and garlic, and top your oatmeal with that along with the fried egg and scallions; it’ll still be pretty good! -cooking is about creativity! BE CREATIVE!! HAVE FUN!!

[falconxwinter]

sambucky fanfic rec list

Since I’ve read each and every sambucky fanfic that exists I think it’s time to list the ones I love the most, in no particular order. 

there is a sweetness in you  by Someone_aka_Me

AU: Your soulmate is the only person who cannot hurt you. Sam gets kicked off a helicarrier — yet he can't help but notice the boot to the chest doesn't hurt like it should.

The Captain's Club for Wayward Veterans by  ShannonXL

What's a superhero to do when the Big Bad is finally defeated and the world doesn't need the costumes and capes anymore? Sam and Bucky use their newfound spare time wisely. Looking out for the little guy, seeing more of the world, and flirting as only two wisecracking sweethearts can.

A quick detour and a sudden arrival by  iwillnotbecaged

He found Wilson shivering in the snow, left for dead. Sloppy. You couldn’t trust the elements to do your job for you. They were rarely so obliging. A mission gone awry, unexpected help, and close quarters makes for an interesting couple of days.

I Want Statements by  chase_acow

“His therapist suggested he work on his ‘I want’ statements,” Steve explained in a stage whisper once he and Sam finally crossed paths in the kitchen. “You don’t have to do whatever, but it’ll help him start to think about his preferences and then practice verbalizing them. Maybe, be nice to him, okay?”

“You know he still has super hearing, right?” Sam pretend whispered back, rolling his eyes as the blush conquered Steve’s face. “Anyway, Sam Wilson does not acquiesce to anything Sam Wilson does not want to acquiesce to.”

“I want to sit in here now,” Bucky said, slouching to the table and aggressively sitting down in the corner. He glared at Steve until the other man ducked his head and shuffled out.

“Damn right, you do,” Sam agreed, handing over the sudoku and flicking a pen at Bucky’s face.

He Can't Cook, But Gosh He's Cute by  wickedwitchcraft

Prompt: some Bucky being the most terrible cook ever fluff would be nice

in your black heart (is where you'll find me) by  notcaycepollard

“Hey,” he tries, “hey darlin’, can you pass me the milk?”

“Oh sure,” Sam responds after a long pause. “Here you go. Sweetie.”

“Thanks, hon, you’re a real doll,” Bucky drawls, and pours himself another bowl of cereal, tops up his coffee, takes a mouthful of milk straight from the carton just for good measure. Sam narrows his eyes.

“That’s disgusting,” he sighs, and Bucky makes deliberate eye contact, swallows another mouthful. Sam holds his gaze. “Cupcake, come on, I gotta drink that shit, stop putting your mouth all over it.”

“I’ll put my mouth all over wherever I want,” Bucky tells him. “Sweetheart.”

“Will you just,” Sam mutters, and sips his black coffee like he’s totally unruffled, and Bucky is startled to discover that he’s the one who’s blushing. Shit. Maybe this was a tactical error.

i'm a ghost when i walk in (holy spirit when i walk out) by notcaycepollard

Remembering is like nothing.

It’s like nothing and like everything all at once. He’s two people or three or four, crowded in together against the bone of his skull. Tight in the skin of him. Startling as if he’s coming sudden into himself, coalescing like smoke into the shape of a person.

Finding his way back, that's harder.

the grace in monsters series by notcaycepollard

you touch me within and so i (know i could be human once again) 

It’s inevitable, the way it goes. He’s my friend, Steve says, and he is, he is, he must be. Sam’s best friend is Steve, and Steve’s best friend is a werewolf, that’s just how Sam’s life works now.

But once he realizes he’s attracted to Bucky and Bucky can tell, everything becomes, like, a thousand percent more difficult to negotiate. Sam’s just trying to live his life, that’s all, and he keeps getting confronted by Bucky Barnes in a soft flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair all soft and shiny. Bucky glances over at him and smirks, and this is really very embarrassing, how Sam can’t hide his attraction even if he keeps a totally straight face.

Hunger for Your Touch by  coffeeinallcaps

Of course it’s not the first thought that crosses his mind when he loses the arm, but. Well. He really did like those smooth hard metal fingers a lot, is all. The new arm looks similar but feels different. Lighter. Its nerve sensors and pressure pads are more sensitive, and the surface adapts to his body temperature, which takes some getting used to. The first time he runs one of its fingers down his crack and over his hole, his entire body jerks. “Oh,” he gasps, surprised, and does it again.

This is exactly where I want to be by Kajmere

Sam doesn’t think Bucky and him are quite at the sentimental gift giving stage of their friendship, so he settles on the first Falcon themed merchandise he spots.

Steve laughs in his face and tells him he is going to regret this.

Sam does.

i wanna be the place you call your home by notcaycepollard

Sam is pretty sure he’s gonna die.

He’s been fucking sick with this fucking cold for two fucking weeks now, and he’s reasonably goddamn certain this is how he’s gonna go.

It’s not the cold that’s going to kill him. Bucky’s looked after him so well he’s in no danger of dying on that front. Honestly, Bucky’s the best nurse Sam’s ever had, which is nice and all, of course it’s nice, but he’s still fairly sure he’s gonna die right now, or at least soon, because he is so sexually frustrated he’s just gonna go up in flames.

Progress by ImpishTubist

Sam's getting better at fielding Bucky's more difficult questions.

Your Eyes Are My Sunrise by patchwork_daydreams (orphan_account)

“Can you pass me the last slice?” Bucky says, motioning to the box next to Sam.

He’s not sure what makes him do it – maybe some last ditch attempt to break this weirdness between them – but Sam picks up the remaining slice of pizza and stuffs the whole thing into his mouth.

“What last slice?” he asks thickly, through his mouthful of pizza crust.

A smile breaks onto Bucky’s face, and Sam thinks thank god. He holds his gaze, just a little too long, and is surprised when Bucky responds by glancing very deliberately down, running his eyes down Sam’s body. Holy fuck, what is this?

“Dick,” Bucky mutters after a moment, his eyes flicking back up to Sam’s face, and quirking an eyebrow.

In Our Bed by Unclesteeb

5 times Bucky came into Sam's bed and one time the bed belonged to both of them.

Far Away by misspronounced

5 times Bucky thought he wasn’t good enough for Sam + 1 time Sam told him so.

and i run, further than before by hermionesmydawg

Basically, the 5 times Sam actually found Bucky and the 1 time he tried to hide from him. Don't tell Steve.

just flesh and blood exist by hupsoonheng

honestly i don't know how to summarize this neatly. this is a fic about bucky, and this is a fic about sam, and this is a fic about how neither of them believe they're "ready" to be loved, and how wrong they both are. this is about making zines, and baking tarts, and training falcons. this is not about finding yourself in other people, but in finding understanding in them, and healing. and maybe making out, too.

He says his name is Sam, and you're instantly embarrassed.

Not because of him, exactly, although the way he holds out his hand to shake when the only one you have is occupied holding up the rest of you on a cane, that's pretty awkward in itself. It's more that he's beautiful, clean, smiling—a human that got put together right and keeps himself that way. And you're anything but.

The Lion Sleeps Tonight by prettylittlementirosa

Sam’s too cold to be embarrassed by how quickly he scrambles to get in there. It’s a tight fit, getting two grown men into one regular sized sleeping bag, but they make it work. Bucky shifts this way, Sam slithers that way. Bucky pulls Sam flush against his chest, Sam tries not to dwell on it. Bucky breathes hot air onto Sam’s exposed neck, Sam tucks his ice-cold toes in between Bucky’s legs. Bucky sighs contentedly, Sam wills his dick into submission.

(Or 5 times Sam and Bucky are forced to share a bed + 1 time they choose to.)

do i tell you i love you or not (cause i can't really guess what you want) by notcaycepollard

Shampoo, he thinks. Conditioner.

The kind of hair that’s nice to touch, he hears Sam say again, and reaches for one of the bottles.

It’s different than soap. Smells nice, like fruit and flowers. The shampoo lathers up soft as clouds, washes away easy. Conditioner’s worse; he can’t tell when it’s fucking rinsed out, his hair feels weird. But he grabs the plastic comb - yes, thank you, Wilson, he does know what a goddamn comb is, he’s not a barbarian - and it slides through without catching, like all the knots are just gone. There could be benefits, he’s willing to admit.

Talk to Me by bioloyg

Sam finds himself hurt after a mission. Badly. But, when he gets back it seems he isn't the only one walking around with some bruises.

~ Something small for SamBucky week 'cause I found out that's a thing that was happening.

Ok, this is it for now. Maybe I will come back later for a part 2!

[profitinaecho]

Scars

Michael had had a bad night and gotten into a bar fight at the Wild Pony. Again. In the melee he broke several glasses with his bare hands and started bleeding all over the floor just before closing time. If he had been less drunk, he would have been worried about his extraterrestrial DNA all over the floor of a public space. But since he was completely shit faced, he reveled in the pain.

“Oh my god! Michael we need to clean you up.” Maria locks the door to the Wild Pony early since it is just the two of them left and approaches Michael like he is some sort of wild animal. “It’s okay. Just let me look at it.” He tentatively holds his bleeding hands out to her and Maria winces. They are both cut up from glass. “I don’t think they need stitches but follow me.”

Michael dutifully follows Maria to her apartment upstairs and then into her bathroom across the way. “First we need to rinse them.” Maria speaks calmly and turns on the water faucet. Michael steps up behind her, pressing his chest against her back. He wraps his arms around her waist and nuzzles into her hair. Maria freezes for a second and looks up at their reflection in the mirror. Michael is a little taller than she is but so much broader and his eyes are currently as wild as his curls. For the first time, she wonders if she should be afraid of his rage but trusts that she isn’t for a reason. Maria lifts her hands and his hands tighten and she feels his lips in her hair. Michael is muttering something to himself but she can’t make it out.

“Michael?” He makes a snuffle sound into her neck and then he kisses it. Maria’s stomach clenches and she feels a rush of desire. Nothing will happen between them tonight. Michael is drunk and clearly on edge. But that doesn’t stop Maria from thinking about it. She gently coaxes him to release his grip and stick his hands under the sink. She pumps out some apple scented hand soap and gently runs her palms over his knuckles to clean them. Michael keeps his face buried in her neck. His lips are still moving against her neck and she can feel his growing erection against her back. She ignores it and keeps working, switching to his already injured hand to get rid of the dry crusted blood to access the damage. The hand looks different, as if he underwent plastic surgery or something, but he will not answer any of her questions when she asks.

When she is done cleaning the blood from his hands, she pats them dry with a purple hand towel. Michael starts to wrap his arms around her again but she raises her arms to stop him. Michael finally lifts his head blearily to give her a questioning look. There’s anger under the surface, but sadness and rejection dominate his expression. “Let me take care of your hands.”

Michael drops them and steps back enough that she can turn around, but not without brushing against him. When she does, she feels his erection and belt buckle against her stomach. Michael looks anything but apologetic as he blinks down at her. There’s a wall up right now, one she’s seen before but usually stayed away from. He’s closely guarding emotions he usually tries to contain. She can see that clearly in this moment.

His fingers brush up her arms, a barely there whisper of touch. They travel up over her shoulders, sweeping her hair back to cup her cheeks. His hands are trembling, she can feel the vibrations against her skin. “You’re so perfect.” Michael whispers. “I’m not good enough.”

“Of course you are.” Maria argues and he shakes his head no. With a heavy sigh, he moves over to her closed toilet and sits down with a thunk. Resting his elbow on his knee, He props the other one towards her on the counter to give her access to his broken knuckles. Maria opens up the cabinet over the toilet and stands up on her tiptoes to reach the handle of the first aid kit. Pulling it down, she sets it next to her tube of toothpaste and hair brush. Flipping the kit open, she finds the antiseptic wipes and tears them open. Taking his left hand in hers, she gingerly dabs at his knuckles.

“You don’t have to be gentle. I can handle a lot of pain.”

Maria glances up to see him watching her closely. “That doesn’t mean you should have to. He huffs at her and she wipes across his knuckle again. Then she blows on the cuts.

“What are you doing?” Michael asks curiously. No one else has ever patched him up before.

“Taking away the sting.” She answers him like it is obvious, but he just stares at her confused. “Didn’t anyone ever do this for you as a kid when you got hurt? One of your foster families?”

Michael shakes his head. “I took care of that stuff on my own.”

“Even when you were really little?” Maria doesn’t know what she would have done without her mother and feels for him. Michael shakes his head no again. He doesn’t really want to talk about it. Maria refocuses onto his other hand and repeats the process of cleaning his cuts with the antiseptic. Both of his hands have little scars around the knuckles from breaking things and fighting. She goes to step back but he takes her hand in his and places it against his cheek.

“Why are you so good to me, DeLuca? I’m a bad person.”

“Sure you are. You just make mistakes sometimes.”

“Come the fuck on. I’m going to ruin you.” Michael insists with a growl. “ Look at the chaos I drag you into. I don’t have any control over this. Definitely not over myself right now. You’re going to get tired of my shit. I know I do.”

He was voicing a lot of Maria’s fears and somehow it made things better. What she should want did not match what she did. And what she should do did not match what she did. “You keep saying things like that but I don’t get the logic. Everyone makes bad decisions when they’re hurting, Michael. You can’t define yourself only by the bad decisions you make.”

Michael scoffs and Maria finishes cleaning his wounds. He doesn’t even flinch when she wipes neosporin across the cuts then wraps them with gauze. Michael sighs. “People have a lot of preconceptions about me, and most of them are true. I know that. But just because I do bad things doesn’t mean I like that that is the way it is.”

Maria wants to ask what that means but she knows he will answer her because he is drunk and she isn’t sure she is ready to know. “I’m going to get you some aspirin and water then put you to bed. But no funny business.” Maria pulls herself up by the counter.

“I’ll get it” Michael goes to get up but sways and drops back down.

“Oh, Guerin.” Maria shakes her head sadly. She fills up a glass of water and retrieves two aspirin from the cabinet.

He takes the water and aspirin from her and dutifully swallows it. “I really hope I remember this tomorrow.”

“Me too. Now let’s get you to bed.”

[bittys]

dads slutty new shorts are really a bear magnet - seirei - 1/3

READ ON AO3 

Pairing: reigen arataka/serizawa katsuya 

REBLOGS > LIKES 

Summary- Reigen decided to make his new highly attractive neighbor a pie as a "welcome/thanks for waking me up at six in the morning/sorry for your ugly house" gift. And it was a good idea at first, he thought, it coming out of the oven lopsided could have been the only problem. Until it turned out that the new neighbor, while highly attractive, was also allergic to almonds. Yikes. Seriously, who doesn't consider nut allergies?

...At least he gets a date out of it.

   Saturday morning, Reigen awoke to the sound of a buzzing truck engine and soft laughter. The frame of his bed was vibrating softly with the noise, the first time it had moved with such expeditious energy in a while. He groaned. It was early, he could tell as he carefully slid his eyelids open to the bronze sunlight that peaked underneath the cracked window and brought in the smell of last nights rain and early sunrise dew. He lolled his head over to the clock that shone in red, 6:37 A.M.    Who was awake, causing this much noise, at 6:37 in the fucking morning? Oh how he’d love to meet the bastard.    He rolled back over to the empty space next to him, stared for a moment, and then swung his legs over the mattress. There was no use in trying to sleep again, not with the constant vibrations of the truck parked but yet to be shut down out front. Beside the noise that seemed to come through louder when his bedroom door shut, the rest of the house was silent; Absent of the screaming, annoying kids that he loved so dearly. He shoved the curtain at the window by the front of the door aside, and squinted past the sun rays that painted across the pink and orange horizon, to see a large moving truck.    The house that been for sale since they had moved into the neighborhood six months ago had finally been sold, apparently, with a cost that wasn’t the absurdly high mortgage price. It was downright ugly. At first, Reigen had thought that it perhaps had been haunted or something, it couldn’t of been that bad. But the more he had to live next to it and look at the damned thing when he was parking, the more he realized that even the dead had to have taste. The dreary green topped off with the growing moss on the shutters was enough of a sight to make him want to go over and paint and clean the entire thing himself.    There was only one simple moving truck outside, the name of the company printed in bright orange on the side. A few movers came back and forth from the house to the truck, doing what you’d think they’d be doing, carrying boxes to-and-fro. But absent of the generic beige outfits the movers wore, was a taller man, thickened around the edges of his body, wearing a pair of track pants and a white sweater. By the ruffle of his dark hair and the shadow on his face, he looked as equally as tired as Reigen.        But hell, if he wasn’t attractive.    Reigen pulled the curtains shut and turned to the kitchen with a sudden need for a cup of coffee.    He poured his cup. Straight black, as always. And he sat on one of the leather stools at the island. The house was quiet without the kids up to make trouble. It made him shift awkwardly in his seat, like he didn’t know what to do with himself. Usually, when the kids weren’t up to bother him, he’d be talking with Ekubo, or sharing smiles, or ignoring the chatter on the television because they're too distracted with their own gossip and gentle kisses. But in the end, he did what he did best and left the house with a deafening silence. Reigen sipped his coffee.    He thought about the new man living next door. Perhaps he should strip his bitter mood with a bit of sweetness; he could make the new neighbor a pie. That wasn’t something he’d normally do… and hell, did neighbors even welcome each other with sweet pies and casseroles anymore? He wasn’t sure. But he was sure of the thoughts of disgraceful men in his head, how tired he was, and how maybe a bit of good karma would help him out. It didn’t have to be of good nature, did it? As long as he made it with kindness and love, he could totally write in pink icing: Sorry about your ugly house! Or say something along the lines of: Thanks for waking me up at six thirty in the morning and ruining my entire day! Whilst handing the man the pie.      Okay, so Reigen didn’t know much about how that worked. And that man was far too attractive to get something with such ill-mannered intentions. But he did know that there was an overwhelming amount of strawberries growing from his and the kids’ strawberry bushes planted in the pots in the backyard, and a package of almonds he’d bought a few months ago before he realized he absolutely did not like almonds. The kids could pick the strawberries, he could make the pie and bring it by during lunch later. It was a rare, yet good, idea.    For the good karma, not the hot men. Of course.    He pushed himself up from the barstool, leaving his coffee half-drunk. He pulled open the pantry door and located what he needed: Flour, sugar, salt, cornstarch, extract, shortbread cookies, and of course the opened bag of almonds with only one almond missing. He towered them in his arms to carry to the island and lay them out in the order they’d need to be in— not including the refrigerated items. He then slapped his hands together to brush off the stray flour accumulated on the bag and transferred to his hands from carrying, and turned to the fridge to do the same with the rest of the ingredients: butter, milk, and whipped cream.    It was 7:16 A.M by the time he began baking, and 8:40 A.M once the boys had awakened from their slumber. They came padding out of their shared room, eyes lazily half-lidded. “Smells good,” Mob mumbled as he rubbed a small fist against his eye.   Breathing in the sweet scent of the almond crust, Reigen pulled out the pie pan from the oven. The crust was baked a perfect golden brown, small cracks around the curve of the pan but smooth over the thick bottom. “Pie!” Reigen exclaimed, twisting to place the pan on the counter. He pulled off his pink mitts and kicked the oven shut with his foot. “Do you boys wanna go pick some strawberries for me? We’re gonna go visit the new neighbor today and I need it for the pie.”    “Only if we can have a slice,” Ritsu responded. He was already walking to the back door to flip the lock.    “If he offers it, sure. But don’t be spoiled,” Reigen said. “Mob?”    Mob shrugged. “Sure.”    Reigen gave them a smile and watched as they left to the backyard. It was a small deck surrounded by the limited greenery of the yard, but it was enough to carry a few medium sized planters pots for their growing fruits and vegetables. They didn’t get into the gardening hobby until Ekubo left, leaving them with less funds for food and outdoor activities like beaches and parks. Despite that, it was fun and good for bonding. So far, they had plenty of cucumbers, melons, tomatoes, strawberries, and other sorts of foods that they enjoyed better than store-bought.    They came back inside a few minutes later with strawberry stained fingers, pink around their mouths, and handfuls of dark red strawberries. They release them onto the counter, watching them roll across the surface before losing interest and scrambling up onto the barstools to watch Reigen instead. The both of them are in sync, leaning their cheeks onto their tiny fists. Reigen collected the strawberries off the counter. In the cup of his hands, he rinsed them of the soil and— a contribution from the children— stickiness, cut the leafy green tops off, and threw them into a bowl. He mashed them, poured sugar and a couple other ingredients in, and stirred.    “We have a new neighbor?” Ritsu asked. “Do you think they have kids?”    There only seemed to be a man present, but Reigen wasn’t sure. He found himself hoping that there weren’t any kids, that it was just a single man living on his own in an ungodly green house. “We’ll have to find out, won’t we?” He said as he poured the mixture on top of the crust. As soon as the mixture emptied the mixing bowl and filled the pan, apart of the crust crumbles. “Shit.”    He frantically tried to push the crust back into place with the tips of his fingers, but he was far too shaky and the crust was already too hard to shape. He sends a prayer to the Gods and simply covered it with the strawberry mixture and a spoon.    “You messed it up, Daddy,” Mob pointed out. Reigen rolled his eyes and shoved it into the oven, annoyance prickling at his chest.    “I did not. This is fine. It’s fine.” He clicked the button on top of the oven to start the baking again.        Brunch went by quickly, and the house was beginning to fill with the scent of bitter sweetness. After he cleaned up his mess, he poured himself another hot cup of coffee, and made bacon and eggs for the boys and himself. They ate with some chatter here and there, but it was mostly a comfortable silence until they finished eating.        “Will you marry the new neighbor, daddy?” Mob suddenly asked.    Reigen almost choked on the sip of his coffee. “Not in the foreseeable future,”    “But you’re making him a pie~” Ritsu chimed in, a song to his voice.    “Why don’t we go get dressed and decide on that when we bring it by?” Reigen set down his cup and smiled awkwardly, a tight grip at the sides of the stool to push himself down. The kids jump out of their seats with a clap to their feet as they run to their bedroom, apparently delighted by the idea of another marriage.    With Reigen’s own luck, the man is going to wind up married with five children. Or maybe 70 years old with a great skincare routine.    Reigen rinsed the plates and set them into the dishwasher, then retreated into his own bedroom to pick out clothing. It shouldn’t of mattered what he wore, but he found himself pulling things out of his drawers carelessly until he decided that nothing was right for the matter of occasion. He decided simply on a t-shirt and a pair of new pink shorts that reached barely mid-thigh. He’d recently bought them on sale at a thrift store. The kids didn’t hesitate to make fun of him for them. They exposed the coarse hair that rose to his thighs, and the fact that he never really went outside.   Mob and Ritsu are dressed when Reigen leaves the bedroom. They’re bouncing excitedly on the couch.    “Are you ready to go?” Reigen asked as he moved to the kitchen to pull the pie out of the oven. The thickly filling had seemed to cover the collapse for the most part, but it was still evident in the way the red leaked out and snuck between the crust and the pan. Yikes.    He pulled it out, wrapped the pie in foil, and they left the house.        The sun beamed down on their skin as they walked. Reigen was already sweating by the time they were half way down the sidewalk, an uncomfortably damp residue beneath his armpits. The moving truck was gone, and the outside of the ugly green house was absent of any other person. There’s a couple of small boxes on the concrete patio.    They walk up the dusty pathway, Mob and Ritsu trailing behind. Reigen used his hand free of the intense heat seeping through the tinfoil to ring the doorbell. The walls of the house are thin enough to hear the echo of the ring from the inside, and the sound of approaching footsteps. He straightened his back and checked the tinfoil that covered the pie to make sure of no flaws like a rip or a hole.    The doorknob twisted and the door swung open.    No woman or small child, it was the same man that he had seen out front earlier. This time dressed down to a white t-shirt, and the same tracksuit pants with white lines at the sides. He looked more rugged up close, but daringly attractive at the same time. His hair was a sweaty, ruffled mess. His beard far more lighter and sparse than what it looked to be through the window, and there are prominent bags under his eyes that could not have been visible from so far away.    “Oh! Company. Hello!” The man smiled through his tired look.    Reigen swallowed down the dryness working its way up his throat. The resent for his early rising was suddenly gone, replaced by heat buried deep in his chest. “We’re sorry to bug you, you must be busy unpacking and stuff. But we made you a pie to welcome you to the neighborhood.” He shoved the pie outwards with a lopsided grin. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. With the short pause in the conversation, Reigen scrambled for a grip on his introduction that was being pulled away by new infatuation. “Reigen Arataka, by the way. These are my two sons, Mob and Ritsu.”    The man looked down at the tin foil, then up from Reigen’s pink shorts to the two children behind him. Under the glaze of the sunlight, a flush creeped up his cheeks. “It smells great, thank you! I’m Serizawa,” He paused just as Reigen did, and then, “Katsuya. Sorry, Serizawa Katsuya. Hah, It’s been a long morning moving in this heat all alone.” He scratched the back of his neck.    Reigen doesn’t want to think it, but, score!    “If you ever need any help, I live right next door.” He doesn’t exactly mean the offer, because really, who willingly moves and unpacks boxes unless there was something in it for them like money— or in his case— an attractive man.    Serizawa Katsuya reached out and grabbed the pie carefully. The thicker tips of his fingers brush over Reigen’s as he did so. “I think you’ve done enough already, nobody would ever do this in Tokyo.” He gestured with the pie. “But if I may, would you like to come in and help eat some of this? I live alone, it wouldn’t be respectful to let it go stale…”    While Ritsu did tug on the back of Reigen’s shorts as if to say yes, yes! he’s already hastily accepting the offer. They followed Serizawa into his home.      It was nicer on the inside than it was on the outside, with a similar layout to their own home. Boxes were strewn out across the living room, some opened, some still sealed. The couch, a mustard color with a soft looking texture, sat covered in plastic in the middle of the room. There was a television already on a glass stand, unhooked. But besides that, unopened boxes, and a few paintings hung on the white walls, the place was practically empty. Nobody else was around, it seemed. The house was just as quiet.    They were lead to the kitchen. There were two chairs already pushed underneath the island, a different colored marbled top than their own. Serizawa set the pie down and began dismantling the tinfoil. Reigen’s heart skips a beat or two. If only he could turn back time for a few minutes and bake the pie just two minutes longer. It wouldn’t look like the lopsided mess that it was now.    “Ah… The pie is a bit…crumbled. Amateur here.” He stared down at the way Serizawa’s hands slow to intricate movements across the foil, nails sliding carefully underneath as so not to cause more destruction.    “No worries,” He got most of the foil off but kept it beneath the glass pan to rewrap with later. “Do you bake a lot?”    “Sometimes. The kids and I garden, so we have lots to make sometimes.” Serizawa bent down into an open box, and pulled out four glass plates and a wrapping full of utensils. Apparently, the utensils were more important than the glass dishes. He set them out on the island. The kids each grabbed a plate and held it close to their chests, eagerly awaiting a taste of their fathers baking.    He doesn’t bother with the collapsed side as he cuts it, and Reigen doesn’t feel the slightest offended. The strawberry filling floods over the sides and collects in a puddle at the bottom of the glass, steaming with a sweet sent. “So is it just you and the kids?” Serizawa asked and then stopped his movements, “Sorry, that was rude.”    Reigen opened his mouth to speak, but proving to be listening, Mob chimed in. “Daddy is thinking about marrying you! You can be our new dad also!” Ritsu slapped him on the arm. “Ow.”    Reigen’s eyes widened, heat flushing across his cheeks to match the newfound coloring on Serizawa’s.    “O-Oh.”    “No, no, no, no!” Reigen waved his hands in front of himself frantically. It suddenly felt hot in the room, all across his body. He wanted nothing more than to slap the shit out of his child. Or maybe himself, because he did say that in a way. “No. I did not say that oh god—Mob!— I am so sorry. K-kids, you know?”     Beneath the island looked far more comfier than beneath the sight of surprised eyes. But then, he laughs and goes back to cutting. “Oh gosh, that’s okay. I can take that as an answer to my question, yeah?”    With a quick nod, Reigen grabbed himself a slice. He considered not giving the kids a slice so not to fulfill their hyperactivity again, but Serizawa placed each of them a sliver of a piece before he could object. “Thank you, Mister,” Ritsu said.    They ate in silence. It’s unsettling to not know if it was because his kids had big mouths, or there just wasn’t much to talk about. At the very most, the pie was delicious. A smooth filling, bitter but sweet with the soft chew of melted down strawberries. Serizawa threw a few compliments his way, and that made up for the lack of conversation until their plates were empty with leftover crumbs and jelly-like spots. Eating was a great first date, because you didn’t have to talk through the awkward parts. You could simply just fill your mouth with savory foods until you pile up your dates bill and leave, or find something else to talk about. But this— to Reigen’s misfortune, anyway— wasn’t a date, just a welcome made awkward by a seven year old. The idea, he supposed, still counted.    Serizawa was on his last bite when he coughed out the barely chewed forkful. It landed disgustingly on his plate, a splat. Was it really that bad? He dropped the fork next, his hands flying up to his throat.    The kids jumped up from their squeezed spot in the chair and run to Serizawa. They pull on his shirt.    “Woah, woah. Are you okay?” Reigen followed behind and started clapping his hands against his back.    He struggled. His shoulder blades quivered beneath the frantic touch of Reigen's hands. As his own hands awere wrapped tightly around his throat as if to help the choking somehow, he managed out, “What was in the pie?”    Ritsu let go of his shirt and looked at Reigen accusingly. “Dad, did you poison the pie?”    Reigen pressed his eyebrows together. “What? No. There’s uh…” The memories of the ingredients fall short in his memory. He didn’t do good under pressure. “Uh, strawberries…sugar…almonds…butter-“    “Almonds!” Serizawa choked. “I’m- a-allerg-“ He coughed more. He didn’t need to complete his sentence for Reigen to realize what was happening. He dealt with it all too much when Mob was little. Fish, peanuts, you name it, he couldn’t have it. He was having an allergic fucking reaction, all due to his shitty, sloppily made pie. Who makes things with nuts on the first day of not knowing someone? That was purely idiotic, a thought that had escaped him due to the need of wooing a man.     He stopped and pocketed his cellphone to dial an ambulance.    The hospital waiting area was stuffy, the air carrying an undertone of strengthened bleach. The few people that sat in the dull grey chairs didn't look like they needed to be there— one had a cough, the other sat on their phone, bored with half-lidded eyes. Quick moving nurses took Serizawa immediately. By the time the ambulance had arrived, his face had grown purple and puffy, and disregarding of the thousands of fumbled apologies Reigen gave while they wheeled him out.        Mob and Ritsu played at the small children’s corner with a bead rollercoaster and a couple of small toy trucks, when a nurse came out. She was pretty, long black hair tied into a ponytail, with the same dull look on her face as the people in the waiting room. “Mr. Serizawa seems to be holding up okay. He’s awake and has been treated. You’re free to visit him now if you’d like. Room 203.” She explained before she walked off to tend to another, her ponytail flipping onto her shoulder.    Reigen nodded as if she could see him and he walked over to claim Mob and Ritsu.    They walked down the hallway, where the scent of bleach only grew stronger. It had about as much personality as the rest of the hospital; opened doors exposing bored-stricken sick patients, dull blue floors and dove walls with paintings of oceans and lakes and trees. The place certainly isn’t run by risk-takers such as Reigen, baking pies for people with nut allergies, and he guessed he should be grateful for that.    Amongst the various slates with numbers besides the doors came room 203. Reigen knocked gently and twisted the knob. The kids stumbled through the cracked doorway into the room, excited to see Serizawa in all his swollen glory.    Except, he looked rather fine now.    “Hey, Serizawa…” Reigen cracked an awkward smile.    Serizawa lay covered by the thin hospital sheet, a pillow perching his head up to view the television, turned to a news broadcast. His face, unlike before, was slimmed down again with only a flushed tint around his eyes.    “Reigen,” He greeted. He pushed himself up, sheets falling into a bundle atop his lap. The kids moved to sit on the two visitors chairs pushed against the wall by the counters. “Thanks for following me here,” He sounded sincere, not sarcastic.    Reigen perched himself on the mattress with precision as to not sit on Serizawa’s feet and cause even more damage than before. “I’m really sorry, this has been an awkward meeting from start to finish. I hadn’t considered the possibility of an allergic reaction…I-I—“    Serizawa cut him off. “Oh, Reigen. Don’t worry. I’m fine! How could you of known? You did the right thing, I don’t even have an Epipen in my house.” He chuckled nervously and scratched the back of his neck.  “It could have been worse, really.”    “How can I make it up to you?” Reigen ran his hands down his face.    Glancing from the kids to Reigen, a soft pink blush matches the red around his eyes. “Tomorrow,” He said, “You can take me on a date.” 

[the-deathboy-ghostking]

One lump, or two?

Prompt: Solangelo Week 2018 | Day 1 | College/Roommate

Summary:  Will jumped back, startled, and quickly grabbing his towel around his hips. He looked at the dark-haired scrawny guy leaning against his kitchen counter slowly sipping coffee out of Will’s favorite mug. 

Word count: a whopping 928

(Author note at the end)

Will groggily woke for work. He slept awful after trying to finish a paper for class. (A wonderful way to spend a Friday night.) Having to go to work on a Saturday morning was rough. He dragged himself into the shower.

He emerged from the shower, and the smell of coffee beckoned him to the kitchen. He was amazed that his roommate was up this early and making coffee. It was practically unheard of.

“Well, hello. Not what I was expecting to see this morning.” A voice that was not his roommates said from the coffee maker.

Will jumped back, startled, and quickly grabbing his towel around his hips. He looked at the dark-haired scrawny guy leaning against his kitchen counter slowly sipping coffee out of Will’s favorite mug. The thought that this guy was attractive briefly crossed Will’s mind before the confusion of seeing a complete stranger in his kitchen threw a wrench into a wheel in his train of thought.

The stranger wore a grin, taking some joy in the confusion plain on Will’s face. He poured another mug of coffee.

“Sugar?”

“Creamer.” Will said and bemusedly watched him pour the creamer into the mug before stepping forward to hand it over.

“So, who are you?”

“Nico.”

“And...what are you doing in my kitchen?”

Nico grinned again. “Your roommate brought me home last night and passed out on me, so I crashed on your guy's couch. I planned on drinking this coffee and then heading out.”

“He’s not even gay!”

Nico shrugged and laughed. “He thought he was last night.”

Awkwardness settled in Will’s stomach. He stood in his kitchen, shirtless, a towel wrapped around his lower half, chatting his roommate’s kind of hook-up. “You know what,” Will began, setting his mug down on the counter. “I’m going to go get dressed.”

It was way too early for this shit. He wanted to wake his roommate and give him shit for bringing a stranger home and not being awake for the awkwardness that was now happening.

Will pulled on his clothes and ran the towel quickly over his wet hair. He regrouped his focus and headed back to the kitchen. Nico was still casually leaning against the counter, looking completely at home.

Will tried to continue his morning routine while a complete stranger watched him. He felt very on display, but his mother taught him better than kicking someone out. He looked around for the bread and put two slices in the toaster.

“So, what are you doing up this early?” Nico asked as Will searched the fridge for his strawberry jam.

“Work.”

The toast popped. Will placed the toast on a napkin and slathered the jam to the edges of the crust. He offered a piece to Nico who raised his hand gesturing ‘no thanks’.

“Where do you work?”

“Work study in the library.”

“Fun.”

Will bit into his toast, keeping an eye on the clock. He still had a half hour before he had to head off to work.

He slurped his coffee. He glanced over at Nico and noticed he was watching him over the rim of his coffee mug. It made Will uncomfortable. Not in a creepy way, just he couldn’t remember the last time another person looked at him the way Nico was. Interested? Will felt the heat rise to his cheeks. He guessed he was also looking at Nico with mild interest.

He was attractive in a bad-boy type way, harsh angles from his gaze to his cheekbones, jaw to his chin. He seemed like someone that wouldn’t put up with bullshit. He wore a dark long-sleeved shirt, a skull ring clinked against the mug’s handle. Dark jeans with a chain front on the front belt loops to his back pocket. A chain wallet? Will thought those had gone out of style. But again Nico seemed to carry an air about him where he didn’t give a fuck what people thought of him and the look somehow worked for him.

But among this bad-ass vibe, he had picked the most flamboyant coffee mug with rainbows and a cutesy sun smiling. The contrast was pure humor and Will couldn’t discern why of all the mugs, Nico had picked that one.

Nico ruffled his thick black hair and pushed it from his face. Bringing attention to his eyes again. While his gaze was hard, his irises were a soft chocolate brown. They were still watching Will in the silence that had fallen over the two of them.

Will pushed the fuzzy feeling that rose his chest back down where it settled and purred in his stomach.

“I got to go.” Will broke the intensity of Nico’s gaze. He rinsed his mug and placed it in the sink. He opened the door and quickly headed down the hall.

“Wait,” Nico called out from the apartment complex’s main entrance. Will stopped walking and waited for Nico to reach him. He handed Will a folded piece of paper.

Will opened it and recognized the pattern of numbers as a phone number. “If you wanted to leave this for him, you could have left it on the fridge.”

“It’s not for him. It’s for you.” Nico looked at him quizzically as if it were very apparent as to why he was giving Will his number. “See you around.”

He turned the opposite direction and started walking away, his hands in his pockets.

“You don’t even know my name!” Will blurted when he realized that glaring truth.

“We can talk about it over dinner sometime, Sunshine.”

Author’s note: So, writing a college au really kind of took my creative juices for this prompt so I went more of the roommate path, but also didn’t want to go with the usual Will/Nico as roommates so, there ya go ;p This is rough, I may revisit this (and probably the other prompts) and publish on my ao3.

[surrounded-by-superheroes]

The Soldier and the Assistant Ch. 4

Click here for chapter three!

Summary; You run into a mysterious stranger on the street while running late for work and spill coffee all over yourself in the process. Later, you find out the man was none other than James Buchanan Barnes and your company is about to write a story about him. The thing is, he’ll only talk to you. As you get to know one another, you both start realizing this relationship is a little more than work. Will both of you let the romance bloom? Or kill it before it starts?

A/N; Bucky and Steve crack me up and I never get enough of their bullshit. Amen.

Warnings; Language.

Tags; @farfromjustordinary @ria132love @karlilarki

Words; 2,595

Chapter Four

Change of Plans

*Bucky’s POV*

“What the fuck would you have me do, Steve? I wasn’t going to let her cry alone in her apartment, still terrified.” I justify my reasons for bringing you here as you sleep soundlessly on the couch. Steve rolls his eyes and rubs his temple.

“For the last time, I’m not upset you brought her here. Just surprised. Stop trying to convince yourself you need a reason to feel like protecting her, jackass.” Steve snaps back, an entertained smirk on his face. After sighing, I remain silent as we stand across from your sleeping form. I’d brought you up and in Steve and I’s apartment and sat us both on the couch. You’d told me the whole story in a calm, distant voice then proceeded to realize you’d left the coffee I got you at work. Honestly, you seemed more upset about that than about Jim, but that’s most likely the shock. Afterwards, you calmed down and fell slowly asleep in my arms. Steve finally got here and that’s when I laid you down and told him what happened. Now, the both of us are just standing across the room from you lying on our lumpy tan couch. Steve’s hands are in his pockets, most likely missing the perch his suit’s belt usually provides, while my arms are crossed across my chest.

“I’m not sure what to do.” I admit uneasily. “She can’t go back there and work for that asshole again.” That’s one thing that absolutely cannot happen. Steve nods along with my words.

“Agreed, but her future is up to her. We don’t know if she’ll want to press charges or just quit and be done with everything.” Steve says, ever the reason to my insanity. I frown at the thought of Jim walking free and briefly think of holding a gun to his head, but dismiss the thought. I’m in enough trouble and I’d rather not get Steve blamed for anything else, or you. “I’ll call Natasha. See what she can find on this Jim guy. Maybe there are other people willing to speak up. I doubt this is the first time it’s happened.” Steve claps a hand on my shoulder and I nod at him once before he heads to his room to make the call. My place is in here, watching over you. Suddenly, your legs crumple into your body and you frown. As quietly as I can, I walk over and grab the blue blanket off the back of the couch, laying it over your body and tucking it under your feet. The frown disappears and I find myself smiling down at you. That’s when I decide that if you don’t wake up I’m not taking you home. Sleep is a precious peace and I refuse to disturb yours after a day like today. Carefully, I reach down and brush my lips across your forehead.

“What are you doing to me?” I question you and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Almost imperceptibly, you smile.

*Reader’s POV*

Waking up is fucking hell most days, but today especially. My eyes are still covered in makeup and now are crusty from sleep and tears. My mouth tastes weird and dry from the lack of, well, any drinks yesterday and my body is still cramped inside my pencil dress. I wipe the crust out of my eyes without a care to what I look like; I’m sure I already look like shit. Finally, I break the film and open my eyes to reveal an unfamiliar bedroom. Looking down, I see navy sheets and comforter covering me in a pale-yellow room. Some paint is chipping off the walls, but everything else in the room is pristine. The bed is in the center and is flanked by two small, white tables. Straight across is a honey-colored dresser and on the wall to my left is the doorway to a bathroom in the corner, another door on the wall that meets it. Symmetry. The setup is definitely a soldier’s room, but the accents are not. It isn’t hard to guess that this is Bucky’s room, especially since I can smell him in here. Bar soap, spice, and something bitter like gasoline or oil.

There are pictures placed on the dresser and both bedside tables. Mostly of Bucky and Steve, but a couple of just places. Drowsily, I climb out of bed and wander around to get a better look at the pictures. All are black and white with the exception of one, but I love seeing Bucky in uniform. The one on his right nightstand, most likely closest to him when he falls asleep, is a colored picture in a white frame. He was clearly coerced into frame, judging by how he’s angled and Steve’s arm drawing him in by the neck like a noose. They’re both grinning even though Bucky is in the middle of an eyeroll and it makes me smile. Straightening up from my crouching position, I glance at the walls of the room. What I love most is that most of the walls are covered in drawings and writing. Carefully, I let my fingers trace the fine script on one of the thin pieces of paper. I’d have never guessed Bucky’s handwriting to be so fine. Feeling a little more awake, I head to the bathroom and find a little pile of clothes with a note.

“For you. Figured being in these would be more comfortable than a dress. Soap’s in the shower and you’re more than welcome to it. Bucky.” I read the words aloud, feeling the soft fabric of his sweatshirt and sweatpants under the paper. “Sweet.” I murmur and glance up at the mirror, nearly shouting when I see how bad I look. My hair is a mess, my makeup is slathered over my face, and my dress is askew. Immediately, I shut the bathroom door and strip. I let the water be freezing to wake me up and do my best to get all the stuff off my face. After giggling a little at Bucky’s old spice shower stuff, I use a little and rinse fast. I’m in and out in less than ten minutes, then walk out in fifteen wearing Bucky’s big clothes.

The note he left me is folded up in my dress that I take out with me. I open the door and wince a little at the bright light. Bucky keeps his own room dark. Then, the smells and sounds start hitting me. Bacon overpowers everything else and I can hear it sizzling. My eyes find the source of the sound to my right, in a small kitchen. Bucky stands there in sweatpants and a loose T, poking the bacon with a fork in his right hand. There’s no Steve in sight, but it may be too early for him. I have no clue what time it is. All of a sudden, I feel extremely embarrassed. One bad day and you call a stranger to pick you up, spend the night at his place, and sleep in his bed. God. Even so, I set my dress beside my purse at the door and walk over to Bucky.

“Morning.” I bid him quietly, my voice still a little croaky from sleep. Bucky’s head snaps up at the sound of my voice and he turns to look at me with a comforting smile on his face.

“Afternoon.” He corrects and points at the clock on the oven. My eyes shut as I sigh, a headache already on it’s way. “Here.” I open my eyes to find Bucky gesturing to a small breakfast table for two. Smiling thankfully, I sit down where he tells me.

“Uh, so listen, I’m really sorry about all this.” I tell him sheepishly as he returns with Motrin and coffee. “Thank you. Anyways, I’m really thankful for everything you’ve done for me, when you really don’t know me and others would’ve just kicked me out.” I continue as he now brings me eggs and bacon on a plate with a fork. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, I’m listening. You’re just being ridiculous. I’m not going to throw a crying girl out on her ass, no matter who she is. What would the reporters say?” He teases and the discomfort in my chest evaporates.

“You know what, I really don’t feel bad anymore.” I quip and he smiles lopsidedly. “Thank you for breakfast and coffee, you’ll make a fine husband one day.” I tease right back as I fold my legs under me, getting comfortable. His eyebrows shoot up as he sits across from me with the same breakfast, but he says nothing about my comment.

“You’re welcome.” He responds softly as I take my meds with my coffee. The taste is perfect, somehow, and breakfast is delicious. “Now, it may be too early for you to talk about this, but I wanted to ask you what you’re planning to do. About Jim.” Bucky asks and his voice is careful, not knowing my mind on the subject yet. My eyes shut a moment and I pause to collect my thoughts.

“Ugh, right. Well, obviously I’m going to press charges against the son of a bitch, come what may. I’m out of a job pretty much either way. Especially since I’m not going in today and there’s no way I’m calling.” I explain my plans, then look back up at Bucky. Those blue eyes are striking and shining with pride as he looks at me. The look cements the plan even more in my mind; if he’s looking at me like that, then I must’ve made the right choice.

“Sounds good to me.” He agrees and I can’t help but smile at his handsome face. “Hopefully you won’t mind, but you actually won’t have to do that. Steve’s already taken care of it.” Bucky reveals and starts eating his breakfast as I stop in shock.

“What? How?” I ask instantly, flabbergasted.

“Well, Steve called Natasha to dig up what she could on Jim. He could’ve had his own cemetery with the amount of skeletons in his closet. Natasha rallied them and was there when Jim was arrested.” Bucky allows a chuckle to slip from his pretty lips. “She was ecstatic at the opportunity.” He tells me and my mind reels with the addition of such new information.

“So…he’s gone? That’s it?” I ask him, still trying to wrap my mind around it. Bucky nods, his face quizzical at my not understanding.

“Yes. He’ll be in prison before the year’s end if Natasha gets her way, which, she always does.” He reports, eyes scanning me for what I’m thinking. After a few moments of silence, he gets up and kneels beside me. “It’s over, doll. I…apologize if this isn’t the way you wanted it done, but the bastard didn’t deserve to breathe any more free air.” He tells me, those eyes burning into mine as always. I shake my head, reaching out and messing up his hair lightheartedly. His grins, although it is a lonely grin.

“No, I’m not upset. I’m only surprised.” I tell him sincerely, then smirk. “You’re ruining your reputation for being bitter, Bucky.” His grin reappears as I tease him, and we both stay there for a moment. With our eyes connected and my hand still in his hair, the air around us seems to charge with heat and electricity.

“And whose fault is that?” He whispers gruffly and I see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. My hand falls from his hair to his jaw and I smile slightly when I rub my thumb over his scruffy cheek.

“You know, you look lonely sometimes. When you smile.” I tell him in a sadder tone, letting my hand drop to my lap. “When you allow yourself to smile.” I continue.

“Do I?” Bucky asks and fleetingly I think his ankles must hurt from crouching for so long.

“Yes.” I tell him simply, my eyes fluttering from his eyes to his lips, then back again.

“I don’t feel lonely when you’re around, doll.” Shock courses through me, but he doesn’t give me a chance to respond. “Damn. I sound like an idiot.” He mumbles and stands. I catch his hand before he walks away and he looks back at me, his eyes swimming in vulnerability.

“I already know you’re an idiot.” I tease and get a laugh out of him, then a happier smile.

“You’re still a smartass. Eat your breakfast.” He tells me and takes his own plate away, rinsing it and putting it in the dishwasher while I finish my food in silence. Once I’m done I follow his lead, which coerces another smile from his lips. “How about this, you think I’m lonely, so why not spend the day with me?” He asks and I notice he seems to force the words from his mouth, or perhaps they were so eager he couldn’t hold them in anymore. Either way, they bring an amused smile to my face.

“You make it sound like a chore, Bucky.” I tell him honestly before continuing, “of course I wouldn’t mind. Do you have any plans?” At that, a mischevious smile overtakes Bucky’s face.

“Yes, actually. I do. I want you to write that article.” Bucky says firmly, steel and determination written all over his face. My eyes widen at the prospect.

“Bucky, you’re aware that I don’t have my own private printing press, right?” I ask, gesticulating dangerously with my fork still in my hand. Bucky leans over, takes the fork, puts it in the dishwasher, then nods.

“Yes, thank you. I want you to write it anyways. Think about it.” He tells me as I heave myself up on the counter while he washes dishes. The corner of his mouth twitches at the action. “What paper, magazine, whatever, isn’t going to hire the author of that article? An article about the world’s most wanted assassin?” He continues dryly and I snort.

“Right, the fluffy assassin that just made me breakfast and let me stay at his place.” I find it more important to address what he thinks of himself first, instead of his offer. Bucky smirks and shrugs.

“Maybe don’t include that.” He suggests and I nod with a silly grin. “But, what do you think of writing the article?” Bucky stays on course, drying his hands on his shirt. I tap a nail on the counter while I consider him and his kind offer.

“Why? Why are you doing this?” I ask seriously, losing the levity for a moment. Bucky sighs and runs his hands through his hair while he thinks.

“I like you. You’re different and seem like you deserve a chance. You certainly deserve a hell of a lot more than the treatment you’ve had so far.” He growls and I hop off my perch and stand a little less than a foot in front of him. The irony of is words aren’t lost on me, but I choose not to point it out.

“That isn’t an answer, Bucky Barnes.” I remind him and he rolls his eyes. “But anyways, I like you too. I’d be happy to do the article.” I relent and pat his arm, then head to my purse. After grabbing my notebook and pencil, I sit back down at the breakfast table. “Ready?” Sighing in resignation, Bucky comes over and sets a cup of coffee down in front of me.

“Born ready.”

[rockhoochie]

No Apologies

(*Edit, previously titled “He Brings Me Sugar”)

Pairing: Dean/OFC

Warnings: Adult Content, Smut, Slow Burn, Somewhat Dubious Consent, Angst, Prescription Drug Abuse, Drinking, Knife play (very brief), Minor OC (sibling) Death, Language, Oral Sex (M/F receiving).

Summary: After losing her sister Anna to a demon, the Winchesters have taken Lexi under their wing. She studies and trains with them, tense friction quickly growing between her and Dean. When Sam and Castiel leave to take care of the demon that killed Anna without her, the levee of tension amidst Lexi and Dean breaks, flowing into something neither of them expected.

A/N: This is an edit of a fic I’ve posted previously. I meant to write a brief smutty one-shot and ended up developing the OFC a bit. Since the word count is 10K+, I decided to chapter it out. There may still be some errors, so please forgive me as I haven’t had this beta’d yet. Thank you for reading and as always, if you’d like to be tagged just send an ask!

 Chapter One

I needed to get the hell out of this car.

This last hunt had been hell. It was supposed to be just a simple salt and burn, but the spirit had been exceptionally strong and incredibly pissed off. Sam had gone off to the cemetery where the corpse was buried, leaving Dean and I to fight the thing. After it blew out our salt circle, the spirit had grabbed me by my ankles, whipping me across the room before Dean was able to get a good blast at it with the salt gun. After Sam had torched the bones and the spectre finally went up in flames, Dean practically had to carry me out as one of my ankles seared in pain.

I knew the boys were itching to catch a break too. After hours on the road and several nights in one of the skeeviest motel rooms we had ever been in, it was good to be getting back to the bunker, the closest thing any of us could call a home.

Dean and I had been bickering on and off for several hours, and constantly during the last hour of the drive. He had been driving like a maniac for miles, refusing to play anything but Motorhead on the radio, ate the last of the snacks, and was just acting like a brooding oaf in general. I was making sure to tell him how I felt about it every twenty minutes or so, and Dean made sure to tell me exactly how much he valued my opinions. Sam had done a fairly decent job of drowning us out with his earbuds, but once his phone battery died, the only soundtrack he got to listen to was mine and Dean’s cacophonic symphony of bitching. By the time Sam had finally lost his patience and screamed at us to shut the hell up, we were just turning down the road that led to the bunker.

Sam, Dean and I immediately made beelines to our rooms when we finally got back, just as the sun was starting to rise.

Once in my room, I tossed my gear bag unceremoniously down on the worn wooden floor. I couldn’t stand the thought of going through it now - unpacking, cleaning weapons, and doing laundry. I sat on the edge of my bed, sighing in relief to have my ass on something other than the leather bench seat of the Impala. Catching a reflection of myself in the mirror above my desk, I barely recognized the woman looking back at me. My long dark hair was greasy, tangled and tousled halfway out of the messy bun I had tried to contain it with. The circles under my eyes seemed to tint themselves darker with each passing second. Scraping at some dried blood that had crusted on my forehead, I noticed a smudge of something black and sticky - I didn’t even want to think about what that was from - decorating my jawline. My eyes clamped shut as I let out a labored breath full of frustration and sheer exhaustion. There was no way I was getting in my bed without a shower. Grunting, I pushed myself up back onto my feet. I grabbed my shower caddy, some pajamas, and a towel from my dresser drawer and headed down the winding halls to the shower room.

The sound of running water met me at the door. I opened it a bit, just wide enough to poke my head in, my ears immediately assaulted with a desecrated version of Cherry Pie.

Dean. Dammit.

“Hey,” I shouted, “you guys both in here?”

“Just me, darlin’!”

“Ugh…I’m disgusting! Are you gonna be much longer?”

“Depends on how long you keep bugging me about it!”

What a little shit he could be.

“Fine. I’ll wait outside, but move your ass!”

Despite the close quarters the three of us would usually have to share on the road, I always wanted my privacy for showering. I shut the door, leaned against the wall, and slid down to sit on the floor. My eyes were fighting me as I willed them to stay open, my ankle was still a bit painful, and every aching muscle in my body was begging to be submerged in hot water. I started tapping my foot to keep myself awake while I waited for Dean to come out.

Waiting…and waiting…and waiting…

Growing increasingly vexed, I got back up and flung the door open.

“Dean! Come on, what are you doing in there?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know sweetheart!”

I was ready to scream. Fuck this.

I barged in. I could see Dean’s bare upper half over the ledge of the third shower stall, covered in bubbles.

“What the hell Lexi?!” he bellowed.

“Look,” I snapped, “I’m exhausted. I’m tired of waiting for you to finish up. I’m filthy. And I’m going to take a shower whether you’re in here or not, and whether you like it or not.”

I got in the first stall, leaving two stalls between us. Once I was sure he couldn’t see anything too far below my neck, I began stripping out of my grimy hunting clothes.

“Well, I was here first,” he grumbled.

“Whatever. It’s not like you’ve never seen a naked woman’s body before. Deal with it.”

I turned to look at him. He was resting his forearms over the ledge of his stall, that same look in eyes that he gave every cute waitress in a roadside diner. I half expected him to belt out one of his cheesy pickup lines.

“Never seen yours,” he said suggestively, grinning like an idiot.

I laughed out loud. “Ha! Winchester, you wouldn’t even know what to do with me.”

He mumbled something as I turned on the shower, stuck my head under the water and let it flow all over me. Dean had told me the first night I came to the bunker that the water pressure in the showers was marvelous – at least he was right about that. I lost myself in the warmth, the dirt and blood and god-knows-what-else skimming off my skin, flexing and extending every muscle I could to stretch them out.

Dean had astonishingly found it in himself to finish cleaning up quickly. I stole a few quick glances at him as he rinsed away the soap, turned off his shower and stepped out of the stall with a towel wrapped around his waist. As he walked towards me, I glanced at his broad shoulders that connected to his fairly sculpted biceps, his firm chest muscles that accentuated the strength in his upper body, his tight abs that edged the slight v-line of his waist…

“See something you like?” he asked me, jolting me back to attention. He had one eyebrow cocked and a much-too-satisfied-with-himself smirk on his lips.

Shit. I wasn’t sneaking glances, I was staring.

I opened my mouth to make some kind of witty retort, but he had left the room before I’d had the chance, slamming the door behind him. I breathed out hard, irritated with myself for staring at him, irritated that he caught me staring at him, and irritated that I had kind of enjoyed staring at him. Who was I kidding, Dean was gorgeous – even though he could really drive me crazy sometimes. It was as though he knew exactly how to get under my skin. I slipped back into the enveloping warmth of the water, soaking, shaving, and scrubbing away the filth that covered my skin and the thoughts that bemused my brain.

***

On the way back to my room, a silhouette of a bottle sitting on the steel island in the kitchen caught my attention.

“Hello, beautiful” I said out loud, cradling the scotch in my hands.

I unscrewed the cap, raised it to my lips and took a huge mouthful. It burned down my throat, but I delighted in the tingle of that warmth only alcohol could produce as it spread through me like a soothing fire. I shuddered as the after-taste hit me – give me whiskey any day, I hated scotch – but it was a better flavor than the last few days and the gut-tingling thoughts I’d had as I stared at Dean in the shower. The bunker was dead quiet, thank god. I took one more pull on the bottle before screwing the cap back on, feeling more relaxed and slightly flushed while I walked down the winding hallway back to my room.

My ankle was throbbing now. Reaching into my gear bag, I pulled out a plastic prescription bottle. Sam had managed to find some painkillers somewhere – he had given them to me the night we killed the spirit. I took one out, hesitating before I swallowed it – maybe taking it with two huge shots of scotch wasn’t a great idea? Deciding I didn’t care, and reasonably sure nothing too horrible would come from it, I swallowed it down.

Tossing the top blanket back from the bed, I threw myself down onto the mattress like it was an old lover’s body. Wrapping my arms around the pillow while wriggling and nestling like a cat against the sheets, I prayed for sleep to come quickly and mercifully. I was so tired that I didn’t even bother to try to get the image of Dean’s bare chest and cocky smirk out of my head as I finally drifted off.