#peg who lived near him that was big peg or tall peg or long peg

[oh2e]

Sometimes I think about the fact that one day I just decided, with nothing to back me up at all, that as a child James Barry went by ‘Peg’.

[just-here-for-the-moment]

Claire...may I request a lil' writing? I'm thinking of Javi maybe post Columbia and he builds up a routine. He goes to the same coffee shop every morning on his way to work and of course picks up the same order. You're a barista at the coffee shop and eventually, you can pin down his arrival to the minute so one day, you make his drink for the exact moment when he gets there, with your number written on the cup cause screw it, he's damn hot. What would happen? <3

Oh Maia, this was FUN to write for you!!! I hope you enjoy it! :D

Exciting update!!! GIF and media genius @nicolethered made an amazing video for me to go with this fic!! Go give her big love!!

Second exciting update! I was challenged by @quica-quica-quica to play the POV game for this piece (where someone Asks you to rewrite a piece from a different character's POV). So now there is a companion piece to this from Javier's POV, called: "Coffee Shop Girl". Enjoy!

For Now

Word count: 3900+

Rating: explicit, 18+ only

Outline: Javier Peña x “You” (Austin coffee shop barista; cis/het female reader; “blank canvas”/no physical description/no name/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: slow-burn; oral sex/F receiving; vaginal fingering; protected P/V sex; cigarette smoking

Ten days. It took ten days between the first arrival of the handsome stranger and you ending up in his bed. A new personal record for you, given how reserved you normally were. But it was nothing to be ashamed of, as long as you were careful. It was the 90s now after all, there was zero reason to have to keep your knees closed until marriage, as long as you used condoms and got tested regularly.

You liked the coffee shop well enough, situated on the southern end of downtown near the warehouses and a few clubs. It drew a full spectrum of Austinites: college kids closing out their club nights with breakfast tacos and pastries before going home to crash; early morning construction workers, employees from the big post office around the corner; and the usual boring lawyers and office staff who started streaming in around 7:30 every weekday morning. You could do the job well enough, even considering the odd hours: waking up early enough to open the doors at 5:30, serve the slow trickle of early morning customers with patience and ease until a co-worker joined at 7:00 for the morning rush. And the barista and food service parts of the job were physically but not mentally demanding. It was a job, and certainly less hassle than your bartending gig some weekends. At least here you only had to throw drunks out once a month.

And then one Tuesday in early June, at 7:47 a.m., he appeared. Tall, neatly groomed mustache, dark eyes, a sheaf of bangs swept to the side over his forehead. His navy blue blazer and tie said ‘accountant’ or maybe ‘state employee’ and his sideburns were just a little out of date. You pegged him at about 40, probably one of those men who visited the same barber their whole lives, not bothering to keep up with fashion trends as long as they looked neat and clean. When he reached to take his to-go cup of black coffee from you, you noticed that his ring finger was bare, and you liked that his fingernails were clean and trimmed. He offered you a nod in thanks, and you smiled at him a little more warmly than you had with your other customers so far. He held the door on his way out, pausing just a moment to let two women enter… and then he was gone, out into the bright sunlight and foot traffic and morning rush. You hoped you would see him again.

On Wednesday he came back again, a repeat of Tuesday except with a different tie, deep red today instead of navy. Black coffee to go, leather portfolio tucked under one arm, clean hands, eyes as dark as the coffee you handed him. This time rewarding you with a gruff and gravelly, “Thanks,” instead of just a nod. You relished the accidental brush of his fingers on yours as you handed the cup over, another flash of him imprinted on you, along with yesterday’s vision of him going golden as he stepped out into the morning sun. This time you watched him through the big glass window until he was out of sight, admiring his strong nose in profile, the curve of it perched over that mustache. Two extra seconds of handsomeness poured into your morning before you had to turn back to rinsing mugs and making change. You hoped that he’d come again on Thursday, making it three visits, a genuine pattern instead of a fluke.

On Thursday he reappeared, same time as the previous two days, waiting patiently in line behind two wake-and-bake potheads who were taking their sweet time staring up at the food menu. Today he was dark gray instead of navy, wearing a charcoal blazer and a sharp black tie. You waved him over with a smile, letting it melt all the way up to your eyes instead of flashing the tight, brief, closed-mouth thing you used on most customers.

“Black coffee, right?” You watched his face, taking in the dark eyes, the hair, the brief smile that made a surprise dimple appear in his cheek.

He nodded, “That’s right. Thank you.” He slid a rumpled bill across the counter. “Keep the change.”

You bit your lip as you turned away, preening at his thanks and seven whole words as if they were genuine praise. His voice was deep and rich, landing with a rumble in your own chest, like the remnants of thudding bass from a passing car. You poured the coffee and secured the lid, brain scrambling desperately for something clever to say. To make him come back, to talk to you more.

You turned and handed him the cup, and as he reached for it you again let your hand be in just the right spot to feel the brush of his fingers. Your eyes locked on one another, and for the briefest moment you forgot to let go of the cup. You wanted to swim in those brown eyes forever, get lost and let him drown you whole. He paused, and you thought you saw the briefest twitch of his mustache, a pinprick in his calm exterior before you drew your hand back. He inclined his head, a single nod, and then he turned to leave and your attention was swept back to the register and the next customers.

Friday he arrived “on time” and you met his eyes as soon as he opened the door. Today he was warm earth tones, a dark red shirt under a brown tweed blazer and no tie, a nod to casual Friday. You turned and prepared his coffee, tightening the lid and then holding it up to him across the room, smiling and tossing your chin up in a friendly greeting. He walked up and slid a few bills over the counter to you.

“Thanks.” He winked at you and something in your pelvis fluttered. “See you next week.”

You watched him go, stepping out again into a halo of golden sun, pulling a pair of aviator sunglasses from his pocket and putting them on before striding away. You suddenly felt lost, facing the many hours between now and Monday.

Your weekend passed in a blur of extra bartending shifts and catching up on sleep. You were forever napping at odd hours, trying to reconcile the slightly staggered rhythms of early morning coffee shop hours and late-night bartending. It wasn’t the hardest you’d ever worked or the worst schedule, but it wasn’t fun. At least, it hadn’t been fun until now. Now you had something to look forward to.

Monday morning you opened the shop and kept an eye on the clock. At 7:46 you poured black coffee into a to-go cup. Thirty seconds later, he appeared on the other side of the plate glass window, the navy suit and tie again, blowing out a long stream of cigarette smoke before dropping the butt and giving it a quick twist under his foot. He took off his amber-lensed aviators and tucked them into the pocket of his blazer, then pulled out his wallet. At 7:47 on the dot, he opened the door, met your eyes, and saw you holding up his coffee. And there went that smile again, the dimple, the wink.

You smiled as he approached the counter. “You psychic or something? Or am I just that predictable?”

“Both, maybe.” You grinned and wiggled your eyebrows.

He opened his wallet and passed a bill across the counter, larger than what was strictly necessary for a to-go coffee and a reasonable tip. “Great service, keep the change.”

You thanked him, giving him the full-watt smile and wishing him a good day as you opened and closed the register, putting the change into the tip jar. Thankfully there was no one else in line right now, so you could give his handsome figure your full attention as he left, watching how the navy blazer hugged his shoulders.

He went out the door, turned right like he always did, and then he turned his head and his eyes met yours through the glass. You should have felt embarrassed that he caught you staring, but you didn’t. Mostly because you realized that he had stopped to look back, too, which meant you weren’t the only one hoping for more. He nodded and lifted his cup in a gesture of thanks. Then he was gone.

Tuesday was the same, only with the charcoal blazer and the dark red tie this time. The wink, the flutter in your gut, the over-tipping. The glance across the counter as his fingers brushed yours around the cup. The aviators slung on as soon as he stepped out the door.

Wednesday, again, the navy suit and tie, another brush of the fingers, a smaller tip but a bigger smile, gracing you with that dimple again. Another gravelly, “Thank you,” that sounded warmer than he had to date. The handsome profile and a quick meeting of the eyes through the glass as he left again.

Thursday was the same, only better. You used a permanent marker to write something on his paper cup before you poured it precisely at 7:46 a.m., watching, waiting. He did not disappoint. At 7:47, precisely on time, you caught a glimpse of his profile as he came into view through the plate glass window. Charcoal again. He turned and saw you inside, then opened the door, holding it again for a woman exiting. You pointed at his to-go cup on the counter and smiled.

“You trying to get rid of me? In and out so quickly?” He smiled and twitched an eyebrow at you.

You smiled back, “Depends on how long you were planning to stay. We close at 1:00 a.m. after open mic tonight. After that you gotta go somewhere else.”

The handsome man chuckled and pursed his lips. “And what time do you get off, after the morning shift?”

“Depends on who’s asking.” You winked and immediately regretted it, it felt too bold, it wasn’t your normal mode.

He met your eyes and said simply, “I am.”

You felt your face split into a wide smile. “I finish at 1:00, after the lunch rush.”

He nodded. “Good to know. I’m Javier, by the way.” He stuck his hand out and shook yours. You gave him your name and a warm shake of the hand.

He fished a few bills out of his wallet. “Can I maybe stop by after your shift, take you to lunch sometime?”

“You can do me one better than that.” You rotated the paper cup so that the writing was facing him. “My phone number’s on the cup.”

His eyebrows popped up, and then he gave you an appraising glance, like he was impressed. You saw his tongue shift up under his lip to suck a tooth and you suddenly wanted nothing more than to see how that tongue felt on you. You flushed hot, tingling with desire.

He arched an eyebrow at you. “You do that for all your customers?”

“Just the best tippers.” You winked at him and laughed.

He stuck his hand out once more and you gave him yours. He lifted it and kissed the back of your hand, mustache sweeping ever so briefly over your knuckles before he gently released it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” his voice was low and something in it went straight to your groin, making your pelvic muscles clench. You watched him pick up the cup and go, smiling at you with that dimple through the glass as he left. You stood for just a moment, hoping, hoping, hoping. Maybe he would call you after work?

At 1:00 you finished your shift and handed the register off to Mike. You were just untying your apron and hanging it up when you saw a familiar profile sweep into view outside the window. Javier. Your stomach flipped over and a million little butterflies flew out.

He ducked inside the door and searched the shop for a moment, smiling when he saw you coming out from behind the counter with your bag slung over your shoulder.

“Hey,” you stood for a moment and hesitated, suddenly shy.

Javier slipped his sunglasses off and tucked them into his pocket. “Hey, I’m glad I caught you. Are you busy, or can I take you to lunch today?”

“No, I’m not busy. I’d love to go.” You smiled. “There’s a sandwich place around the corner, and a park we can go sit in.”

He smiled, wider than you’d seen him do so far. “That’s perfect.”

He let you lead, walking him across the street and around the corner to the sub shop. You made small-talk on the way there, finding out that he was from Laredo but new to Austin, a former DEA agent consulting for the state. You picked up your food and walked a block over to the small city park, where you told him about your roommates, your cat, your wish to go back to school and finish your degree. By the end of lunch you were both smiling, feeling that spark, the little magnetic pull that had started over his coffee orders. At 2:00 Javier said he had to get back to his office.

“... but I’d really like to see you again. Can I take you to dinner? Tonight if that’s okay, since you’re working tomorrow night.” He stood close to you, looking warmly into your eyes.

“Yeah, that would be great.” You felt that flutter again, that twitch of interest from looking into his warm brown eyes, seeing the way they crinkled when he smiled. You were so busy looking at his eyes that you didn’t see him reach his hand out, sweeping it around to circle your shoulders and pull you in for a kiss. You kissed him back, as urgently as was proper for the time of day and the public setting. When he pulled away to walk back up the few blocks to his office, you stood there dazed. Wow.

You went home and napped, then showered and changed into datewear. Javier picked you up at 7:30, and you were relieved that the little spark was still there. You had half-worried that it would wear off in the few hours between your lunch date and now, or that it was a localized feeling limited to a small radius around the coffee shop. But dinner was fun and warm, and by the end of dessert and coffee you didn’t want to leave him yet. You decided that you would be bolder than you normally were.

“Listen, my roommates are home, but do you want to go back to your place?”

Javier looked surprised for only a moment and then smiled, “Yes, let’s go.”

You kissed all the way back to the car, ran your hands lightly over the back of Javier’s neck as he drove, kissed all the way from the car to his apartment door, and tumbled inside together, feeling for buttons and zippers and helping each other out of your clothes. His erection felt warm and solid against your hip, and when he finally got naked you were nearly moaning at the expanse of his broad shoulders and golden skin. He was beautiful.

Javier walked you backwards to the bedroom and paused only to pull a wrapped condom out of a drawer and turn on the bedside lamp to chase away the dark. You lay back and watched him as he tossed the foil packet onto the quilt next to you and then knelt beside your legs. He looked at you as he ran his hands up and down your naked thighs. Then he butterflied your legs slowly apart and ran one warm hand up to your pussy, teasing you with his fingers, dipping them in and out between your labia and running them up to tickle your clit.

“Can I eat you out?” He asked almost shyly.

You nodded, a breathy “Yeah,” issuing from your lips. Javier dove down and licked into you with a rush. You gasped and threw your head back, clawing your fingers down into the blankets. Javier worked you open on three fingers and used the tip of his stiffened tongue to flick your clit rapidly from side to side while his fingers slipped slowly in and out. You moaned and fought the urge to close your legs while he curled and stroked inside of you, finding the spots you could never quite reach yourself. Within a few minutes you were cresting the wave of release.

“Oh God, I’m gonna come! Keep- keep going,” you gasped, “Just like that!” Javier kept his pace steady, working you along as you huffed and breathed faster. He curled his fingers just right and you sped off the edge into oblivion, gulping and grunting and making noises that were almost embarrassing, that didn’t sound like you, but you felt too good to even care. Javier stopped licking and slowed his fingers as you clenched around him, using the broad flat of his tongue to swipe a long, comforting stripe up the outside of your labia. When you were finished coming, he pulled his fingers out slowly and sat up on his haunches, smiling like a prizewinner.

He wiped one broad, flat hand down his mouth and chin, and then crawled up the bed to lay next to you, stroking you from hip to breast with his thick fingers. “Was that okay, cariño?”

You groaned out a chuckle, “Oh yeah, that was good.” You rolled onto your side to face him, and drew him in for a deep kiss. You loved the mix of how he smelled and tasted, your own salty musk blending with his spicy cologne and the smoky phantoms of cigarettes past and his after-dinner coffee. As you kissed, his hand came up to stroke a trail of goosebumps on your shoulder, and you reached yours down to stroke his cock to attention. The heft of him was thick and warm in your hand, and within seconds he was hard and throbbing. You ran the pad of your thumb up the bottom of his head and over his slit gently, and you giggled as he shuddered and reached down to pull your hand away.

“You keep going like that and I’m not going to last long.” His thick fingers wrapped around yours, and he pulled your hand up to place a long kiss to the inside of your wrist, blowing warm air out through his nose, the feel of it on your skin sending a thrill up your spine. He reached for the condom and opened it, rolling it down his proud length. He put his hand down and stroked your thigh before hooking one hand behind your knee to pull your leg up and over his hip. He held himself so that his tip was buried just at your entrance, then he thrust up and into you in one swift motion. You inhaled sharply and hooked your leg tighter around him, letting him set the pace. He nudged your jaw, nosing up into the crook of your neck and kissing you from ear to chin and back again.

His hot words sent chills down your neck and your nipples stiffened into sensitive buds. “Baby, you feel so fucking good, so hot and wet. Fuck, you’re amazing.”

You kissed him and shushed him, then you pressed an open palm to his chest, “Wait. Roll over. I wanna get on top.”

Javier grinned in the dim light of his bedroom, then he wrapped his big hand around your lower back and pulled you over with him. You shifted and settled into place, and the feeling of being speared on him, of his cock hitting deep inside, of his coarse curls rubbing against your clit was almost to the point of overstimulation. You whined and fell face down into the crook of his neck, smelling his warm spiced fragrance and going limp at the ‘too much’ of it all. He planted his feet flat on the bed and kept his arms wrapped around you, thrusting up, up, up into you over and over. He made the most delicious noises, sounds that might have been words or not, but which conveyed all of his pleasure in little grunts and groans.

You decided you wanted to watch his face, so you sat back up and braced yourself on your knees, rolling your hips in rhythm with his and helping him chase his high.

“God, you look so fucking good on my cock, cariño. So beautiful.” He started to turn glossy with sweat, tiny golden beads reflecting the single lamp beside the bed and making him look surreal. You followed a drip of sweat as it appeared on his neck and then ran down to pool in the hollow at the base of his throat. You tipped forward once more to lick at it, to taste the salt and the smoke of him and nip one tiny bite into his neck before moving up to lick and nibble at his earlobe.

Javier suddenly tensed his legs, giving one big thrust and then hissing out a “Fffff-” between his lips as he came. He thrust again and then stilled, relaxing back into the bed, but keeping you close against him. You let him hold you, your breaths slowing together until you were back, calm again, heartbeats back to center. He released you and held the base of the condom as you lifted off and rolled onto your back. He went to the bathroom, and you heard him run water before he returned with a wrung-out washcloth. He offered it to you, and you declined with a weak wave. He turned and tossed it into the bathroom sink and then motioned for you to scoot off the bed so he could turn the covers down.

He picked up a packet of cigarettes and a lighter, gesturing at you with a raised eyebrow. You put a hand up, “Not a whole one, but I’ll take a drag off yours if that’s ok.”

“Sure thing.” He lit one and passed it to you, and you took a deep drag before handing it back.

“Thanks.” You blew the smoke out in a blue stream.

He crawled into bed and patted the mattress next to him. “Stay,” he looked at you with a smile. “If you want to.” He parked the cigarette back between his plush lips.

You smiled warmly and crawled in next to him. “Okay, just for a little while.” You checked the digital clock beside the bed. “I gotta go home and change, and then get to the coffee shop at 5:00. Can you set the alarm for 4:00?”

He nodded and picked up the clock, pressed a few buttons and slid a switch into place. Then he raised his arm and settled it around your shoulders, and turned off the lamp. You watched the cherry of his cigarette glow and then turn faint, bobbing in the dark as he moved to flick ash into the ashtray on the nightstand.

He murmured low, into the quiet room, “You know, I’m only here for the summer. The consulting job ends in August.” He paused to take the final pull of his cigarette, then stubbed it out in the ashtray. “After that, I gotta go back to D.C.”

You yawned and nodded. “No problem. We can have fun this summer. I’ll take you to Barton Springs and Mount Bonnell, give you the real Austin tour. We can just have fun for now.”

He kissed your forehead, moving down your nose to land soft kisses on your lips. “Okay, summer girl. I’m all yours… for now.”

---

Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

The only tag list I have: @quica-quica-quica @anaaaispunk @justanotherblonde23 @gracie7209 @nicolethered @honestly-shite @driedgreentomatoes @dihra-vesa @1800-fight-me @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul @kesskirata @honeymandos @silverwolf319 @mourningbirds1 @greeneyedblondie44 @spacedilf @maxwell–lord @anxiousandboujee @cevvie @sherala007 @writeforfandoms @libellule2001 @deadhumourist @mandoalorian @javierpinme

[bistevethor]

Steve Rogers Fanfiction Recommendations

Happy birthday, Steve!

I know that there are some (a lot?) of steve fans who sometimes struggle to find fics focused on him, so I am here now putting a list of Steve fics. I was going to fics that I haven't seen recommended a lot and most of the ones on this post have less than 200 kudos only, but I end up putting everything (it's probably easier to put my bookmarks as public but well...). It's a massive list (over 100 fics?), so it's will be separated into several posts/reblogs.

Not all of them are from Steve's POV or even have him as the main 'main' character, but rest assured he played an important role and is featured heavily. Lots of these are friendship-focused but I categorized them. The shippy ones are mostly samsteve, thundershield, and some rare pairings because I don't venture to other ships a lot and when I did it's to the rare ones instead lol. Hopefully, any of you can find some gems from this list and these are as enjoyable or as good as I remembered. I'll continue to update it, hopefully, every time I find new ones.

Fics are under read more.

General

The Rocket's Red Glare

Steve was born on the Fourth of July (no joke), so a party is in order! Unfortunately, PTSD decides to rear its ugly head. Fortunately, Steve's got an entire team at his back to help him through it. And screaming goats.

an entry in the scrapbook of absurdity

In which Steve turns into a baby and bites people.

Baby Steve Adventures

Captain America gets hit by a spell during a battle. The rest of the Avengers look after him.

Do You Remember Being Happy? ('Cause I Sure Don't)

"Dragr," Thor called them. "Demons" Clint had said. "Thieves" is what Steve labels them as. AKA, the one where Steve is captured by creatures that feed off of happy memories, and the team is left to pick up the pieces. Post-Avengers.

In Search of (Bucky, Family, Home)

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov & Sam Wilson

A week following the events of CATWS, Steve recruits Natasha and Sam to help find Bucky.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Do we need to recap again? You were shot three times, beaten near to death by an enhanced super soldier with a metal arm and then almost drowned. Yeah, your ass is going to need a few more days of healing time.”

The Truth When Captains Meet

Steve Rogers wakes up on an alien’s space ship being carried bridal style by Carol Danvers. As far as first meetings go, it’s memorable.

Irish Coffee

Pairings: Jessica Jones & Steve Rogers

Jessica runs into an incognito Cap at a cafe. They form an unlikely friendship of sorts.

The Lifetimes of Steve Rogers (Series)

What happens when Steve Rogers steps onto the quantum platform to return the Stones? Where does he go? What challenges does he find? Who does he meet? How many lifetimes can one man have?

Fifty-Two Pickup

Less than a week after the fall of the Triskelion, Steve Rogers is released from the hospital. Although his physical wounds are almost fully healed, other injuries need a bit more time, and some help from friends.

little kids get big so fast

Steve ends up having to take care of the deaged Defenders.

Grampa Steve's Bedtime Stories

If Mommy was away for work, then Morgan’s Grampa Steve came over to stay with her. He’d tuck her in, let her give Mommy a kiss on video chat, then hand her the picture of Daddy for his kiss. Once Daddy’s picture was back on the bookshelf, Grampa Steve would turn off the bedside lamp so that Miss Friday could cover the ceiling with stars, and ask Morgan what story she wanted to hear.

“Captain Steve, Grampa! Tell me Captain Steve!”

Grampa Steve sometimes read to her from books and other times watched a movie with her, but her favorite by far was when he told her Captain Steve’s Adventures Through the Multiverse.

On Camping Trips

Sam is more Hermione than Natasha is, and Steve doesn't want to be Harry.

Powerful

Steve loses the advantages of the super-soldier serum. This is not a tragedy.

His Dream

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson

As if on cue, Steve cut him off with a loud sneeze.

"Yeah. Like that." Sam nodded. "And please sneeze into your elbow next time, dude. You could've just started an epidemic."

"Sorry. Allergies." Steve excused, and Sam raised an eyebrow.

"How do you know it's allergies?" Sam asked, and Steve sighed, putting the ingredients together and solving the mystery of what the gas had actually done.

The answer wasn't ideal. "It feels like the seasonal allergies I had before. Before the serum- and I haven't had them since the serum."

Realization clicked in Sam's head.

"The gas de-serumed you."

Steve swallowed and nodded reluctantly.

OR: Steve gets temporarily de-serumed, with his height and stature staying the same but his immune system being as bad as it was before, and has to stay in the hospital to prevent a severe allergic reaction or illness. Sam stays with him the whole time, making sure he's not alone.

A Strange Encounter

Things have gone awry and Strange is injured. With no other options, he's called for assistance from Captain America and his team.

even if we're apart, i'll always be with you

Steve finds a dirty toy bear at an abandoned gas station, on the way back from a school trip. He brings him home.

As Long as You’re Not Tired Yet of Talking

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov

When Steve Rogers tells her, “Don’t be a stranger,” as they’re all going their own ways after New York, it makes her want to laugh.

Draw/Breath

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov

Natasha like knowing what makes people tick. She likes knowing things, about her teammates and her coworkers and herself. Oddly enough, sometimes other people like knowing her too.

AKA: Natasha wants to know why Steve isn’t drawing anymore, and takes the long way round to get her answer. Because why not.

With Magic We Do Fly

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff & Steve Rogers

In Civil War we see Wanda fling Steve into the air with her magic. They must have practiced that, right?

Que Wanda throwing Steve against a wall. Many times.

Just Like We Practiced

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff & Steve Rogers

Steve had said, in the movie when he asked Wanda to lift him into the building, "Just like we practiced." But just how did they come up with the idea of her lifting people with her powers, and putting them up somewhere like an escalator? Perhaps it was because Wanda accidentally sent a certain tall, blond Avenger face-first into the floor once and he decided he would help her learn to utilize this as a confidence building exercise. Natasha keeps an eye, Thor and Sam help build the training grounds, and Wanda has found her new home. Takes place between AGE OF ULTRON and CIVIL WAR.

Black and White but Red and Blue

They're watching black and white film reels, but Steve sees them in colour.

"My shield may be black and white but it was red and blue. Just like the blue sky under which red blood was spilled. Like Bucky's blue eyes and Peggy's red lips..."

The Road Warriors

Characters: Sam Wilson (Marvel), Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Wanda Maximoff

It wasn't pretty, but somehow the four of them managed to make it through two years on the run.

We'll Fix It

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov

Steve has a hard time after his battle with The Winter Soldier and isn't sure what to do with himself. After not seeing him for a week, Natasha finally shows up to his apartment unannounced to figure out how they can get back to work. There is some crying involved.

From Here On Out

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov

The Accords, the search for Bucky, the fight at the airport ... In a world where nothing will ever be the same, sometimes the road to rebuilding trust and friendship is a little rockier than it should be.

AKA, the story of Steve & Natasha and how they got to where they are.

Set post-Civil War but pre-Infinity War.

I have this breath and I hold it tight

Parings: Wanda Maximoff & Steve Rogers, Clint Barton & Wanda Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff & Vision

Steve finally goes to Wanda’s tiny room and taps on the doorframe, although it’s hardly necessary, with the slightly warped floorboards creaking under his feet. “Hey,” he says. “Got a minute?”

Wanda's been a little withdrawn since Steve broke everyone out of the Raft. She's had a lot to think about.

to you.

Pairings: Pietro Maximoff & Wanda Maximoff, Clint Barton & Wanda Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff & Natasha Romanov, Wanda Maximoff & Steve Rogers, Wanda Maximoff & Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff & Tony Stark

It's Wanda's birthday today. She's not sure how to feel.

New Love

Pairings: Diana (Wonder Woman) & Steve Rogers

Near the end of World War II, Diana Prince finds herself attempting to reconnect to her long-gone, beloved Steve Trevor. However, she comes across Steve Rogers instead.

Sharing Life (And Canned Green Beans)

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov

It’s Thanksgiving, and Steve is hiding in the second living room on the 8th floor of the penthouse apartments with a can of green beans.

I'm Fine

Steve slowly began to realize that the problem with being a national icon, a hero, and a role model, is that somehow, he became more than human. He become a symbol, not a person. So when he becomes increasingly unhappy, deeply depressed, and utterly adrift in a world where he doesn't belong, the loneliness and isolation are unbearable. How could anyone believe that an iconic hero like himself was really just an ordinary kid from Brooklyn, dying inside because everything he'd gained still wasn't enough to replace everything he'd lost? How could he possibly bring himself to bleed on the ones he loves? So he tells himself the same lie over and over, hoping one day, he'll believe it.

dogpile

"My dog ate my mission report" An injured Steve remembers something he has to do. Unabashed Steve and dogs fluff. "Didn't peg you for a pet guy." "Allergies."

Alone In This World (Together)

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov & Sam Wilson

“We’re fugitives,” Steve said finally. “It might never get better.”

“The world’s always going to need saving," Sam replied. "We’re still Avengers. No one can take that away from us.” Then, like they hadn't been having an entire conversation before, “So when do we leave?”

“Once night falls.”

Do we have any idea where she is?”

“No.” Steve took a sip of his coffee. “But I know where she’ll be.”

it gets the worst at night

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov

Here's how it goes: Natasha sometimes shares a bed with Steve. It's not what it sounds like.

(In which there are Colombian drug lords, awkward boners, cuddly super-soldiers and the Avengers are all giant dorks.)

Shelter

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson

Sam and Steve, right after the fall of SHIELD.

Princely Bickering

Pairings: Jane Foster/Thor, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers & Jane Foster, Steve Rogers & Thor

Steve allows Sam to lean up and inspect his head for bruises and blood. He then checks out Steve’s eyes. ‘Do you know where you are?’ Steve rolls his eyes. ‘Don’t be an ass, Cap, apparently you can break.’ ‘London, England, chasing apparently useless Hydra intel despite having about five hundred international arrest warrants out for us because we’re just that stupid,’ says Steve. Sam pats him - gently - on the shoulder. Life on the run isn't easy, especially not after an injury. Fortunately Steve still has a few allies left.

And The Seconds Tick Down

AU of Civil War. How the world ended in twenty steps when Steve died.

"Grant" and "Francis" Go Shopping

Pairings: Clint Barton & Steve Rogers

Steve and Clint both have holiday shopping to do for their family of choice, so they make a day trip to an outlet mall, have a few heart to hearts, use some coupons, buy a bunch of presents, and eventually get through their shopping lists.

A Tune Without Words

Pairings: Jane Foster/Thor, Steve Rogers & Thor, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson

As he and Sam prepare to begin searching for Bucky, Steve gets various offers of help—some more unexpected than others.

Purpose

Tony Stark wins the fight in Siberia completely by accident.

Steve Rogers does not resist his arrest as he is taken to the Raft.

Sam Wilson, T'Challa, and Pepper Potts pick up the pieces.

Full of Wounds and Still Standing on my Feet

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Wanda Maximoff

The five times Steve looked out for Wanda, and one time Wanda decided someone needed to look out for Steve.

Three Awakenings

The first three times that Steve Rogers woke up during his first twenty-four hours in the twenty-first century.

Making Your Own Future

Characters: Steve Rogers, Diana Prince, Steve Trevor Five times -- plus one -- that Diana Prince and Steve Rogers encountered one another.

Better Living Through Pizza

Pairings: Clint Barton & Steve Rogers

Steve takes some time off from soldiering and Avengering to get his head on straight, and Clint is assigned to keep an eye on him, because apparently SHIELD believes in the blind leading the blind. Steve really needs a hobby, since modern television shows baffle him, but Clint keeps bringing him DVDs and pizza.

Five Times Clint Barton Spoke with Steve Rogers about Growing Old and the One Time He Didn't.

Pairings: Clint Barton & Steve Rogers

When Steve Rogers reappeared from the past as an old man, there was a lot of catching up to do. Clint Barton made sure nobody got left behind.

Hammer's Totally Heavy-Handed and Incompetent Revenge

"So, at the end of IM2, Justin Hammer swears revenge on Pepper. He waits until Tony and Rhodey are halfway across the world to launch his attack.

Unfortunately for him, thanks to SHIELD, Iron Man and War Machine aren't the only superheroes in Pepper's rolladex. Steve thinks Pepper's just swell and doesn't take too kindly to somebody trying to hurt her."

Cue badass!Steve and competent!Pepper

Fan Mail

Steve starts getting his fan mail and receives an invitation to the prom. Written for a prompt at the Avengers kink meme. It was a great prompt, and so much fun to write and get feedback for!

Prom. Steve 'Grandpa Iceberg' Rogers at a 21st-century high school prom. "This isn't happening. This whole conversation is just an elaborate practical joke. Bruce really just has orders for widgets or something."

Bruce waved the printouts at him. "Fraid not. I don't really do practical jokes. Messing with other people's moods just seems. I don't know. Karmically unwise."

Mascot

Steve runs. People see Steve run. Steve gets adopted by the neighbourhood he runs through every week day morning. He finds this confusing. Tony finds it amusing.

Locks Not Replaced

Tony angsts back at Avengers' HQ, Ross is a bully and Steve makes sure he doesn't get away with it. In other words, there is much regret, a bit on the philosophy of locks, adventure and far too many Robin Hood metaphors.

woof

For a prompt on the avengers kinkmeme: "...something different happens when Steve gets Dr Erskine's serum plus the Vita ray treatment... Steve does get taller and stronger, but when the first full moon hits, he turns into a big friendly looking dog. Yes, he's a weredog, not a werewolf."

Mission: Baby

Pairings: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers

The Asset finds himself in charge of the care of a small baby, but somehow he knows—he has to protect the baby from all harm, whatever the cost.

14 Tracks

Pairings: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Avengers Team 14 tracks from Steve's iPod and how they got on there.

Life Will Rattle Your Bones

Pairings: Erik Lehnsherr & Steve Rogers

Captain America and the Howling Commandos find Schmidt sooner than they thought... wait, what do you mean this is a *different* Schmidt?

In war-torn Germany, the paths of Steve Rogers and Erik Lehnsherr cross, part, and cross again.

come build me up

Pairings: Sharon Carter & Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers

“Do you ever feel like -- like you joined up because you wanted to do good. You wanted to do the right thing but somewhere along the way, you just lost the whole fucking plot.”

“All of the time.”

Or: the one where Captain America and Agent 13 give long distance friendship a whirl.

Down in the Worn Out Place Again

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Wanda Maximoff

“You don't look a day over 85, Captain,” Wanda says.

Natasha smiles, just barely, and nudges Steve with her elbow. “She makes jokes now.”

(Post AoU, stories about friendship.)

Satellites

Characters: Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Tony Stark, Clint Barton, Nick Fury Pairings: Natasha Romanov & Steve Rogers, Minor Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov

In the immediate aftermath of SHIELD's collapse and Steve's plunge into the Potomac, Natasha considers her place in the world. Also the fact that Steve is depressing.

Timeless Classics

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Avengers Team Five An undetermined number of times (six, apparently) Steve unexpectedly got the reference (sort of), and one time everyone discovered something new together.

you just wait and see

Pairings: Rocket Raccoon & Steve Rogers

“Thor said you’re the captain.” Rogers says, his voice distant, sad smile growing into a sadder grin. “Tough job.”

The Small Hours

Pairings: Steve Rogers & T'Challa, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers

"I'm not getting him back, am I." The words were flatly delivered – not a question so much as fatigued resignation. "We will do everything we can to help him," T'Challa quietly replied, but he wouldn't lie, not about this. Not to a fellow warrior he respected on and off the field of battle. "The possibility does exist, however, that the triggers are permanent."

The Man We All Remember From the Newsreels

Still getting used to the twenty-first century, Steve comforts himself with memories of long-gone friends. But Howard Stark, the man Steve remembers, is nothing like the man he sees in the newsreels.

we're all choir boys at best

Characters: Steve Rogers, Johnny Storm

You are totally getting laid tonight. "Please stop talking." You hijacked my brain first, this is totally not my fault.

Epistaxis

Steve doesn't worry the first time he gets a bloody nose that won't quit. But when it happens a second, third, fourth... He, and his teammates, start to get concerned.

You Close Your Eyes and the Glory Fades

His body isn’t his own, he knows that, knew before the procedure that everything would change. That was the easiest thing to wrap his head around, actually, the physical changes. He’s used to his body betraying him, so this is just another thing to learn his way around. But the colors of everything, even the sliver of blue sky he could see, craning his head at the tiny window, look different.

Looking For Answers (From The Great Beyond)

After the Battle of New York is over, and Loki and the tesseract are returned to Asgard, Steve takes a road trip across the country, and tries to figure out what he wants to do next.

Mourning the Future

Steve's ties to the past and the future are pretty tenuous, and the serum ensures he lives in an eternal present state of ever-youthful vigour. When an old war buddy gets handed his last marching orders, Steve has to wonder if everyone will eventually leave.

Riviera Life

Sam and Steve have been traversing Europe looking for Bucky. Not everyone is convinced it isn’t an open invitation road trip.

Voluntary Bros.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Johnny Storm

"Dude, you could be twins, they tested you before they defrosted you to see if you were a clone or something, or if he was a clone," Clint said.

"I want to talk to him, I think. I mean, a girl threw her latte at me last week for not calling her back and this dude felt me up at an art gallery yesterday," Steve said.

Two Brooklynites and One Big Apple

Pairings: Miles Morales & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers

“You did good out there today,” Captain America said, brushing a layer of detritus from his unfathomably broad shoulder. “I’ll see you around.”

“Not if I see you first,” replied Miles, fingergunning with one hand as he sent a web rope fwipping off into the distance with the other, catapulting himself away at tremendous speed.

... in which two superheroes battle with bad guys, embark on community art lessons, and a friendship forms along the way.

Battle Fatigue

Steve thought he was doing okay. Things weren't going great, but they were fine, manageable even, and then suddenly they weren't.

We Become New Yorkers (or: Five Times Steve Rogers Looked For Home, and One Time Home Found Him)

New York is a million cities at the same time. This is how Steve found his.

A beautiful day in the neighborhood

In which Steve and Peter learn that the best way to get through a bad situation is together. And to avoid collapsing buildings. And that concussions are terrible, terrible things.

Leviticus 25

"You want to save Bucky Barnes? You are going to have to put your own house in order first because he is going to need a rock to cling to. You are not ready to be that rock for him. You owe it to him -- and more importantly, you owe it to yourself -- to figure things out, figure out how you can be happy in this time and place, whether or not Barnes is with you."

Strike

Sometimes the road to recovery involves bowling. Conveniently, so does the one to the Grand Canyon.

Conversation in Wakanda

“I have been told that you had the privilege to share a training session with some of our Dora Milaje,” T’Challa says. “May I ask how it went?”

“Well,” the Captain huffs. “There’s no polite way to say it: I had my ass handed to me. Repeatedly.”

He sounds and looks utterly delighted.

Contact Light

Everyone thought computers would be the thing that really blew Steve's mind about the 21st century. They were wrong. When he finds out that he missed the moon landing, it's the start of an ongoing obsession with space that maybe involves Neil deGrasse Tyson, Twitter, and Star Trek marathons.

Twenty-Two

“This is Lucky,” Clint said when a dog got between him and Natasha. Lucky’s vest was bright, like desert mornings and night explosions.

“Does he help?” Natasha asked.

Clint pressed his hands flat on the counter behind him. “He saved my life.”

Natasha looked at Steve, her expression fierce. Steve resisted the urge to yank down his sleeves. Instead, he dug his nails into the puckered skin on his forearms.

AKA An AU in which Steve is a veteran just trying to survive (or not).

Gray

Peter doesn't expect Steve to show up at his house one night when he gets home from school. He also doesn't expect to have a long conversation with him, and choose to be on his side instead.

We're Happy, Free, Confused, and Lonely at the Same Time.

"Tony isn't sure, but he *thinks* Steve Rogers is going to try and argue with him about not being a kid, while wrapped up in a fluffy blanket and plaid pyjama pants watching a Disney movie. Tony really hopes that is the case. The Captain America voice looses all affect when wrapped up in that blanket and Tony can't wait to inform him as such." - The one where Tony realises that Captain America and Steve Rogers are not the same person, and Steve is so much younger then he thought.

This Isn't A Love Song, This Isn't A Fable

Steve's not OK with people's perception of Captain America, no matter what he says or how much he pretends otherwise. It's like no one in this time period realizes that there's more to him than a spangly outfit. And yes, he's including the Avengers in that. ... or, the one where everything's all right, until it's not.

it's safe here in our new world

Post TWS. In which Natasha and Steve go shopping, have Thursday night movie nights, and learn that Natasha loves to platonically kiss Steve. Which is good, because Steve loves being platonically kissed by Natasha.

Shadowboxing

Pairings: Matt Murdock & Steve Rogers

It doesn’t matter how many times you fall – what matters most is how many times you get back up. Steve Rogers knew this lesson far too well and it was one Matt Murdock had endured all his life. With both men at their lowest, could a chance friendship bring each of them to their feet again?

Everybody Eats When They Come to My House

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers

“You’ll ruin your dinner,” Sam says, gesturing with Steve with his spatula.

i fear for the calendar; its days are numbered

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson

Before she goes off the grid, Natasha gives Steve her phone number. He’s honored that he’s the only one to be trusted with it, but quickly learns that she spends most of her free time texting him Dad jokes.

Status Quo Ante

Pairings: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers

A tale in which Sam suspects he should be used to this by now, for values of 'this' that involve certain folks he hangs out with and situations he finds himself in, Team Cap becomes Team Ex-Cap becomes TBD, and nobody but Clint really wants to know what happened to Scott Lang's GI Joes. (Sam Wilson from the final scene to the mid-credits scene.)

The Glass Parade

Pairings: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov

Steve thinks that he’s seen Natasha be at least three different people in the short time he’s known her, and he isn’t sure which one is real.

In which the most confusing part of the future is how much Steve has in common with Natasha, and the fact that she seems dead-set on being his friend.

Still Life

Steve Rogers and a very modern form of art therapy. (The one where Steve draws himself out of despair and into some notoriety when his cartoons hit the internet, but he's still not allowed to look at Tumblr without an okay from Pepper.)

Selective Service

The serum's given Steve a lot, but it hasn't taken anything away from him. Not even the things he never wanted in the first place.

I'm a Hustler, Baby

Steve Rogers has a talent for pool--and for making others believe he's terrible at it.

The Healing Properties of Felt-Tip Pens

Rapid healing has worked wonders on Steve Rogers' body, but occasionally it really screws with his head. In the aftermath of torture, Bruce Banner helps Steve to reconcile mind and body.

If I Die Before I Wake

It's his job, as their leader, to endure the sadistic focus of their captor, and that is the one thought that carries Steve through.

Even Gods Do

Captain America doesn't have a good relationship with sleep anymore. Also, he's not a toy.

Under My Skin

Written for a prompt on avengerkink: I want to see something where, for whatever reason, Steve's accelerated healing turns out to be a bad thing. Something where the faster healing is making things worse. I would prefer something other than the standard, super-healing allows for more torture without death. “He's lucky – to have the serum, to have you all.” Tony wasn't sure about that first part. When one faced death and destruction every day on the job, there were many advantages to having a healing factor...and a great many disadvantages as well.

A Glossary of the 21st Century

Pairings: pre-Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov

Steve's sick of not understanding what's going on, and the team are not all that helpful, so he starts keeping an illustrated notebook for further research. With the help of wiki, google and Logan he starts to settle in and find his place in the twenty-first century.

Blanket Gift Policy

“You didn’t,” Bucky said, with no real hope of being contradicted. Clint shrugged helplessly and passed him the large, soft bundle wrapped in shiny purple foil.

“Sorry.” Tony covered his eyes with one hand.

“I’m getting a migraine.”

“So,” Bruce said wearily, “counting Clint, me, Bucky, Tony, and Sam, that brings it up to five.”

“Excuse you, mine’s not a blanket,” Sam said. “Mine’s a slanket. Big difference.”

Bucky resisted the urge to throw the whole heap of parcels at Sam’s head. “Because it has sleeves? It’s still a blanket, Wilson. They’re all blankets. Even Thor’s direct-from-Asgard raven gift delivery was a cloak, which just means it’s a blanket with a strap. We all got Steve a goddamn blanket.”

One Tin Soldier

Written for a prompt at avengerkink: Because really, under any other circumstances, why would they follow him when he's some guy who's younger than the rest of them (time as a Capsicle aside), who goes around wearing that spangly outfit, who's not even used to the modern world? Why Steve Rogers, rather than a Norse god or the CEO of Stark Industries or anyone else?

“Love is for children,” she'd said, but respect knew no such bounds. The five times the Avengers accepted Steve as their leader, and the one time they followed without question.

and if there's life we'll see it

Steve is instantly taken with this idea of having the picture of the person calling you flash on your screen when they ring your cell.

Secure Your Own Oxygen Mask (Before Assisting Others)

Steve keeps going, because they need him. Being Captain America - having the serum - is a responsibility and a privilege he takes seriously, and he won't waste it by sitting around resting in the middle of a crisis. But then the work is over, and the original victims of the crisis aren't the only ones needing looking after.

Way of the Eagle

Clint introduces Steve to kung-fu movies. Things escalate quickly.

Walking Wounded

In the aftermath of the battle against the Chitauri, Steve's doing just fine. Until he's not. Fortunately, Thor is a perfect mother-hen, Tony makes decent back-up, JARVIS is a genius, and Soap Operas are life-changing. (Or, Post-Shawarma Feels.)

[burnedbyshoto]

pet

— “Go on, pet,” you nip at his throat, skin that was much softer than you would think with the scales that plagued his body. “Make your owner happy.” —

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pairing: spinner (shuchi iguchi) x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, fluff, cursing, bondage, desperation, dom!fem, praise, begging, orgasm denial, toys, over-stimulation, multiple-orgasm, xenophilia, marking/biting, cunnilingus, pegging, human-pet-play, collar and leash, and breeding

word count: 7,750

a/n: THIS IS SO LATE BUT LMAO COMMISSION FOR THE INCREDIBLE AND SWEET AND SUPER PATIENT @beauty-in-ferality​ THANK YOU FOR BEING PATIENT BECAUSE THIS SHOULDVE COME OUT LIKE A MONTH AGO ;-; I hope you like it!!! the breeding snuck in im sorry

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The life of a villain was one of… inconsistency. 

To say the least, being a villain meant knowing that with every passing day, you were at risk. Unlike heroes who had a safety net in life, villains had nothing to catch them if they fell. Society was better with the help of influential individuals, but how you saw it, how you knew things to be, it was only better because the marginalized groups were easier to pick out. 

It was always easier to push down those who scared you, those who were abnormal. With the emergence of quirks, the transformations once average humans made to become who they are now that marginalization increased. 

Sure, All Might may have brought the crime rate to 6%, but with it, he took down millions of helpless people who also needed heroes but went ignored.

You were among one of those groups, a once happy family pushed to the brinks due to collateral damage brought by All Might. Saving people with a smile, but ignoring those he didn’t see. Your family had a long line of quirks dealing with death, and for so long, no one cared. After a massive villain attack occurred in your hometown, people feared your family, blaming you all on bringing death to over three hundred people. The heroes did nothing, All Might had solved the case in less than an hour but never returned.

You were bullied, ridiculed, put down.

It was no surprise to you or anyone of your neighbors when you finally disappeared and joined an albeit messy group called the League of Villains. 

In this rat-tat group, you found a family.

Heeding the will of the Hero Killer: Stain, you for the first time since you were six found yourself among equals. 

Just by the looks of them all, they were outsiders too, marginalized, hated.

The leader Shigaraki, well the dude had corpses all over his body and was quite the bratty man-child. Dabi looked like the love child of Frankenstein’s monster and some living girl. Toga had a cruel obsession with blood, knives, and death. Twice seemed mentally deranged, going from polar opposites in such a comical way that you were suppressing your snickers with every shouted sentence. Big Sis Magne and Compress, you couldn’t quite figure out why they had joined, but they evened out the team.

But the most marginalized, the one that had you stopping and staring while he walked into the meeting room, was Spinner. 

Shuchi Iguchi.

A lizard man.

His pink eyes locked on you, and your lips pulled into a smirk. You did not miss the way his green scaly cheeks seemed to turn impossibly pink, embarrassment coursing through his veins.

This was good, you thought, letting Twice throw an arm around you while he screamed at Dabi about who knows what. Of course, the lizard wasn’t used to having anyone stare at him, especially without a look of disgust or hatred. 

This was the first day you met your family, this misfit crew that left you wanting to tear your hair from your scalp at times, but without a doubt, you’d do anything for them.

As for Shuchi, well, to say the least, the two of you forged quite the relationship. You knew that he was someone you wanted, someone you craved, the ability to get with someone who wasn’t normal was too grand a chance for you to even pass by. One that ended with being caught with tongues down each other’s throats behind the building of an old hideout. Outed by none other than Twice — of course, it would be him.

But that was almost a year ago.

Today, in the present time, the two of you had been on the road for what seemed like ages. It was without saying that Shigaraki did not trust the MLA, and to be honest, even though your rag-tag group managed to beat them in the end, you agreed with his distrust. It was, however, a constant battle of wanting those he trusted near him and sending the ones he trusted most to do the scouting he needed. 

So begrudgingly, Shigaraki deployed you and Spinner off to do his bidding outside of the confinements of the hideout. After a year of truly being against the law, it was weird being out in the open, attempting to blend in with the oblivious people of the world. But if there was one good thing about being a scout for your family, it was definitely the ‘pretending-to-be-normal’ part.

Six months of dating Spinner left you two with only one actual date.

To even call it a date would be a joke as well, the two of you had simply sat out eating lunch post-training one day. Both of your bodies screaming with exhaustion, muscles beat into you, and the chill of the winter sun looming gently on your skin while the two of you ate together. 

So here, under the pretense of false disguises and the entire MLA wealth under your fingertips, you and Spinner felt like an actual couple.

However, it was those damn dates that kept putting the both of you down. 

Every time the two of you tried to go out on a date, disaster struck.

The first date was plagued with the restaurant being destroyed when a villain threw a local hero straight through the wall. 

The second date was ruined because a member of the MLA discovered the two of you, so you had to watch your food grow cold while you passed information.

The twentieth attempt at the date was ruined by a video chat from Shigaraki. Oh, how infuriating it was to see the phone too close to his face. Only for his scarred lips to scowl while you tried to explain why you both looked better than average. 

But this was now your forty-third attempt, and you’d be damned if you didn’t actually get your loving boyfriend to do some cliche date things.

So it had started off with a simple date, the two of you decided to order in. 

It took twenty minutes for someone to come knocking on your two’s motel door with a box of pizza, hot wings, and a box you didn’t know what it was. You paid off the man, not bothering to continue the light chatter he tried to attempt. You, after all, had more pressing matters at hand rather than attending to small talk. 

Turning with the boxes in your hand, you smiled, seeing how Spinner had laid out a nicer blanket on top of the bed, trying to emulate a picnic that had failed for you two on multiple occasions. Being a villain to the world beauty was something hardly seen, tranquility and serenity was something saved for the heroes, but this? This was perfect.

Your head had been resting up against Spinner’s shoulder for some time now. A comfortable silence between the two of you. Your eyes trailed over to the green scales of his arm, the same arm that had once been skinny and lean had become muscular and broad. At the initial meeting, he could never beat you in an arm-wrestling competition. Something the league used as an ice breaker weirdly enough, but now? He could carry you above his head without breaking a single sweat. 

That knowledge sent a pleasurable shiver down your spine, and Spinner was on full alert.

“Y/n?” he says slowly, sensing the gentle waves of lust that slowly rolled from you. 

He could always sense it.

“We haven’t been able to do anything lately,” you pout, but there wasn’t even the slightest bit of sorrow in your voice. 

Your eyes trailed up to his face, the scaly green face was flushed pink, and a lazy smirk filled your face. You thought it was amazing that despite the color and thickness of his skin, you could still see the colors of embarrassment riding through his cells. You rolled onto your knees, straddling him where he sat, and delighted in the way his pink eyes widened.

Spinner was not naive, but hell, was he so innocent.

“I want you to go into the bathroom and put on your collar,” you murmur against his cracked lips, his skin cold under your touch while you graze his shoulders. “I want you, Spinner…”

His breathing was harsh, and his eyes were slitted when he stared into your lustful eyes. He was falling under the control of your pheromones, and you took that to your advantage. You ground against his growing bulge fingers digging into his skin. He moaned in his throat, his eyes fluttering, his head mindlessly nodding.

“Go on, pet,” you nip at his throat, skin that was much softer than you would think with the scales that plagued his body. “Make your owner happy.”

There was no hesitation when you rolled off him and him standing up and walking into the shitty bathroom. Smirking at the sound of the bathroom door clicking closed, you stood up from the bed. You stripped your clothes, moving your hair from your face. Staring into the mirror, you could see the lacy black teddy you wore.

You were glad you had managed to pack a pair of heels with you, and while he remained in the restroom, you slipped them on. With grace and ease, you walked to the dresser provided by the motel and opened the first drawer. While you shuffled around in the drawer, the bathroom door unlocked.

It made no effect on your slow movements; in fact, you definitely moved slower while you pulled something long and leather out of the pile of clothes. 

Tall, scaly, naked, and so very green. Your eyes drank in your boyfriend's nude state, naked as the day he was born with nothing but a pink leather collar sitting around his neck. 

“Come here,” you hithered him with your finger, your legs parting, hip jutting out. 

Spinner gulped audibly, and with a proud smile on your face, you watched him sink to the ground, his fingers pressing against the dirty floor, his ass in the air while he crawled to you. You continued to watch his every movement, amused with the way that he shamefully crawled to you despite the boner pressing against his stomach. 

“Good job, Spinner,” you praise, your hand stretching out, cold metal burning against your warm skin. His eyes drop down to see you attaching the long leash to the collar before straightening out again. “Follow.”

You don’t give him time to heed your words, already tugging at the leash to the point where you heard a muffled choke. Grinning, you watched him scamper to keep up, his voice trying not to speak any louder than a whisper. Seconds before he could reach the bed to crawl up on it, you quickly turned around, ball of your foot slamming on the leash, choking him once again, sending his snout to the floor. 

“Oh, sorry,” you smile at the way a ragged pant expels from his lips. So sweet, so rewarding. “I thought you were trying to move without your owner's permission!”

Spinner was trying to move without permission, but he couldn’t respond; after all, he was your pet. With a proud grin at how well he was behaving, you pressed the flat of your heel on his snout and shoved him up, your eyes looking at him with amusement. “On the bed, before I change my mind, pet.”

You’d never seen him scramble that fast to get on the bed. 

His pink eyes stare at you, wide-eyed, and slits incredibly thin. He was on edge, he was ready for his first orgasm. You weren’t a cruel dom, that was the truth, but you weren’t prepared to give in yet. Not after hearing him choke twice, no, he needed to hold out some more.

You moved on top of him, your thighs straddling his smooth chest, the leash in your hand binding to the metal bar of the bed frame. It wasn’t too tight where he had to adjust his position on the bed, but just close enough where his Adam apple bobbed under the collar in worry that he would make noises.

Pet lizards didn’t make noises after all. 

Once the leash was secured on the bed, your head turned around to look at his hard cock. It was large, monstrously large. Sheathed around green skin, this was one of your favorite parts of having a mutant as a boyfriend. Once he was really ready, the green skin would retract and show up to pink cocks that you would drool over any day. The thought of the two pulsating cocks immediately set a flare of fire to your core, the soft thumping of your body pleasantly reacting to your thoughts was enough ammo for you to continue.

You wanted to see the writhing cocks now.

“I want your eyes on me at all times,” you state, sliding back on his torso, making sure to circle your hips teasingly against his softly throbbing cock. “You look away, and I’ll leave for the rest of the night.”

You arrived at his cock, the salty scent of his slick pre-cum already invading your senses. Your mouth watered at the thought of his massive loads exploding down your throat. You had never been a fan of swallowing the near acid that was cum, but it was different with Spinner.

You wanted to milk his cum from his overstimulated cock for the rest of eternity.

Inhaling sharply, that was it, you needed to move.

Your lips wrapped around the head of his dark green cock. The angry green head seemed to sizzle against your cold saliva, and the taste of his salty pre-cum dripping down his length invaded your senses. Fingers continued to stroke and massaged his throbbing cock, and your tongue pressed flat against the slit in his head. His strained gasp of shock sent shivers down your body, your ass wiggled in the air, he was so fucking turned on. Your boyfriend was so, so innocent.

Hollowing out your cheeks, you let your teeth scrape against the underside of his cock, and you pressed down against his buckling legs. That must have hurt him a bit, but you went to trace over your movements with your tongue, nulling the pain.

His eyes were in and out of focus while you sucked him off, an internal battle to keep them on you while your mouth manipulated him. Your jaw relaxed more, the overall girth of his cock becoming too much when you went down further, but you needed to persevere. You wanted him to crack.

Further, you went down against his length, the more your tongue wrapped around his thick cock. Teeth dragging against the bulging veins on his member. You wanted to hear him scream your name, you wanted him to break character, to beg you to do what he loved most. Scream your name until his throat was hoarse and fucked him until his cock was a limp slab of flesh. 

He did this to you. 

You wanted to do this to him.

Your eyes dared his fluttering ones to close, he was finding it hard to keep them open, and that was all you needed. Shifting your hand to the base of his cock, you willed yourself lower against his slightly thrusting hips. The feeling of his cock pressing further down your throat thrilling you with this sense of competition.

You couldn’t let your pet win.

But shit, he was thick. His cock was mercilessly stretching out your throat, the throbbing and heated skin imprinting itself against your throat. 

More, you willed yourself when your hand sharply twisted the base of his cock before continuing to pull the skin up and down. A restrained screech of pleasure resonated from Spinner's mouth, not enough for you to call him out on it, but enough to make you bob your head faster; his hips subconsciously thrust further into your mouth. 

Tears pricked at your eyes, and Spinner’s body quivered under his restraint to not slam his hips into your mouth. The knowing of a reward is too perfect for him to risk losing control right now. Your free hand shifted to his balls, grabbing onto the heated flesh and kneading it until hisses escaped his disorientated mouth. 

With one low groan from your throat, it was over for Spinner.

His body stiffened underneath you, and fiery sticky hot cum squirted into your mouth, shooting straight down your relaxed throat while he spasmed. Moaning, you rose from his cock, strings of saliva and cum attaching his cock to your lips. 

He had managed to beat you at this, you thought with the smallest bit of pride. He was improving. 

Making an effort to show that you had swallowed his cum. His chest rose and fell with his ragged breathing, a testament to his suppressed orgasms this entire time. 

“Amazing,” you sigh, your eyelids heavy when you stare at him. “I do wonder how much you’ll like this next one. But for your owner to play fair, you’ll be able to speak.”

You don’t waste any time, pushing your boyfriend over onto his stomach, a small grunt of understanding escaping him when he landed on his face. How typical, his first orgasm was always a critical point for him. If you weren’t fast enough, he’d fall asleep.

Sliding off the bed, you grabbed the harness and strap on that had been in the dresser by the bedside. 

Your eyes remained on his own, a smirk on your face as you slip your legs through the restraints. Fastening them tight around your thighs, you made a show to make him see just how good you look as you jut out your hip in a sultry fashion when it’s done. It’s tight against your legs, but you enjoyed that feeling. Spinner groans, his body sprawled out onto the bed as you saunter towards the bed. 

Why did he look sensuous with his ass in the air and red staining his cheeks?

“Hands and knees,” you command, stepping back on the bed.

Spinner babbled for air, his chest ragging, tiredness evident in his every movement, but nonetheless, he shifted over to the position you ordered. Ass in the air, spluttering noises still heavy on his mouth. 

“You look ready to pass out, yet you’re so ready for my cock,” you laugh, your index finger peaking through his pert hole. “I haven’t even fucking started fucking your asshole with my strap, and you look ready to cum again.” You ease your finger in as Spinner lets out a string of whines, his body trembling as he falls onto his forearms. Your tongue pokes out, savoring the way that his asshole contracts around your finger. 

How he was going to survive this thicker dildo was beyond you.

“Does this feel good?” you grin, your finger inching in him, touching the soft walls of his rectum.

“Y-Yes, it does, oh my god,” Spinner stifles a wail while he thrusts his hips out towards you, trying to fuck himself against you.

Your finger makes it all the way in, and Spinner stammers out your name as you begin to pull it back out. 

Your finger thrusts into him, and his hips tremble with resulting lust and need. Your hips are shifting in your own excitement, pressing the bottom of the dildo against his back. The discomfort from your own need is ignorable because god.. the way he trembles like a leaf sends your eyes rolling backward. His chest falls to the mattress as you continue thrusting into him. Spinner’s moans were stirring you on as you add another finger stretching him out.

“This feels — fuck, so good!” Spinner moans, fingers digging into the bedsheets while you work your fingers in a circle. You don’t bother to respond back, choosing to instead grip his balls again, watching his hips snap backward in retaliation.

He makes audible gawking noise, his spluttering fueling your massaging fingers. You chuckle as your free hands trail up and down his muscular thigh. Pinching and pulling at his scales until his ass clenches against your fingers. Your name was a broken prayer on his tongue. Your hand moves to his inner thigh, nails teasing the skin, and then grab onto his hard hot and leaking cock. 

Spinner let out a silent scream into the mattress when you began to fist his length, the simultaneous activation of his cock and his anus making him drool. You watched his scarlet and green snout shoved into the pillow, his eyes not focused at all in his pleasure with a puddle of drool, holy fuck did that make your clit throb. “You’re taking my fingers so good, pet,” you groan against his rippling back muscles, your teeth biting into the sensitive skin. “I hope this feels as good as you’re making it look.”

Spinner spasms as your nails ripple against the puffy walls of his asshole. He’s nearly crying, and his desperate gasps turn you on further. Your hand that is moving down his length, fisting him as you go. A sadistic smile on your face as his cries continue. His body trembled. Your fingers were moving in a wave-like function as he gasps so desperately it was almost impossible to say that it was anything but art.

Your cunt is now throbbing at the sight of your boyfriend like this. Your heart hammered in your chest, the adrenaline rush of seeing Spinner being unable to do anything but babble incoherently made your thighs scorching hot. Your other hand releases his twitching cock, flicking his leaking tip when you pull away. Spinner’s pleading gasps are interrupted when you slap his ass, the way his body jerks at the stinging sensation, making you laugh.

“Don’t worry,” you say, grabbing the lube and placing a large amount onto the dildo. “I hope you’re ready for my cock, I want to see you squirm.”

“W-What?” Spinner pants, his eyes dazed, unable to focus on you while you stroke the plastic dildo in your hands.

“Think it’s too big to fit inside you, Spinner?” you wound with a pout; your hand shows off the cock that’s a bit thinner than his own dick. “I haven’t used it on you in a while.”

“It’ll… it’ll fit,” Spinner promises, sweat falling down his cheeks, eyes full of promise.

“Good.” you grin, “I just hope you don’t cum…”

Spinner shudders a shallow breath escaping his nose. The noise taunts you beautifully, a small spark of excitement going down your spine when your tongue slides against your lower lip.

“You’re doing so well,” you praise pressing the head of the black dildo onto his asshole, the head pressing into his clenching pert hole. Your grin widening when Spinner’s hips stuttered beneath your, a failed attempt of getting you further within him and trying not to give out entirely on you. “Now, you’re going to take my cock like a good little pet, and don’t cum.”

Spinner’s voice lets out a whiney splutter, and you shiver at the sound as you move your hips forward. The head of the dildo sinking into his awaiting and eager hole.

He splutters loudly, his fingers tearing holes into the bedsheets. You grunt at the sound of the tearing fabric, but you’re much more concentrated on the way that he is relaxing to the dildo up his ass.

One of your hands is moving up to rub soothing circles on his back as you push deeper inside him, you try to distract him from the initial and long-forgotten pain. Spinner replied with pitched noises, his back muscles flaring with every small movement of yourself. Rutting his hips back into you until you were undeniably inside him, bottoming out entirely so that your thighs push against his ass. 

But you do not wait for him to adjust because he’s done this before, and he loves it when you’re rough. Your thighs twitch with your anticipation, and your hands find reins in Spinner’s hair, and with a small shift of your hips, you drive into him while slamming his head back. The pool of heat within you intensifies as Spinner’s back arches more intensely then you’ve ever seen him span before.

“P-Please go faster!” He begs, and you smirk, your thighs slamming heavily onto his ass, the spanking noises sending chills down your spine. “Faster!”

“Such a good little pet, taking my cock so well, maybe you do deserve to cum,” you praise, and Spinner dares to moan in horny pleasure, his head nodding in his emotional disarray.

“Owner is so good to me, so good, so good,” Spinner babbles as your hips drills against his ass.

A shriek of pleasure leaves his lips as you begin accelerating your hips against his ass. Your pace a lot faster than it has ever been. You began to plunge your hips against him, your fingers yanking at his roots so harshly you swore that you were ripping hair clean off his head. 

But you were also lost in your sadistic glee in the way that Spinner moans loudly, obviously enjoying how you drilled into him. His hips slammed backward to meet yours, his ass bouncing with every thrust. You pant, one of your hands letting go of his hair to land another hard smack on his ass, expecting a raw noise in response. Your face lights up when your boyfriend lets out sinfully ragged moans at the action, his jaw-dropping as he mewls.

“I bet I don’t even need to move to fuck you like this,” you scold, your nails scratching against the curve of his spine, watching his scales flutter around your hard nails. “Maybe I should stop moving and watch you fuck yourself against me like the horny pet that you are.”

Your mouth perks into a prideful smirk, and Spinner is staggering again. Your fingers latch at the hair by the base of his neck, and you snap his head back, delighting in the way that he can no longer keep his eyes open, tears in his eyes.

“Please, owner, more!” Spinner gasps as you shift your hips harshly. His back arching as he clutches the fabric between his fingers. You laugh, your head leaning to press a few harsh bites against his spine.

Biting against scales was indeed a different experience; it was hard yet soft against your skin, it took a bit more strength, but finally, his skin broke, and Spinner howled like a wounded beast.

“Fuck, you look so damn pretty when you’re crying for me,” you moan, uncaring about how your thrusts are becoming more and more sloppy in turn for the power you’re giving. Spinner is so responsive to your actions that you could feel your essence beginning to coat your inner thighs. You’re positive that you’ll be coming as soon as you mount his cock later. 

You grip his hips, angling your body so that you’re thrusting into him at a better angle. Trying to desperately find that angle that will make his eyes roll to the back of his head, to leave him lost of all and any words. To find the edge that will make him scream and drool and babble. The pitched, loud, and raw ‘fuck’ that leaves his lips lets you know you found his prostate. You continue in at that angle, the same power and depth as the rawness of his voice send sharpness down your spine.

Your body feels like it’s on fire as you feel so much power. Your boyfriend’s continuous whimpering is stirring you on because even though Spinner was a sub, whimpering was often something he would never do. Your right-hand leaves his hair, moving to grasp his still rock hard cock in your grasp. “Oh, poor baby,” you coo. “Does your cock need to come?” You pant, the action of your thrusting hips making you sweat.

“Yes, fuck, owner… yes, let me fucking cum!” Spinner blabbers, his eyes barely open, his face burying into the mattress as you fist his length up and down.

You stop your movements, panting against the shell of his ear while you watch his body desperately move against you still, eager, needy, wanting you to continue. Spinner lets out the most pained yelp you’ve ever heard from him, his body desperately and wantonly thrusting against you. “That's right, fuck yourself against me,” you giggle lightly almost too lightly for the activity the two of you were engaging in. “I love seeing your perky ass slamming against my cock, such a good pet, teach me how you like it.” 

Spinner stammers, but his hips are relentless against your stilled body as he continues fucking himself against your dildo, the smacking of his ass against your thighs, an invigorating cry. Your laughs nearly inaudible at the sight of him still fucking himself against you.

“Owner!” Spinner cries, his cock is twitching spastically against your hands.

“Don’t cum yet!” you challenge, your fingers leaving his length, your hips pulling away.

“Please let me come, baby, please!” Spinner pants his hips on a one-track mind while he continues pushing against the strap-on, fucking himself against you despite your attempt to getaway. 

Shoving him forward, you roll off the bend onto the ground, quickly getting yourself free from the dildo.

“Don’t make me take away your reward for not cumming,” you warn, watching Spinner's green cock skin move down, teasing you with the appearance of the two cocks you had been craving for a while.

You stripped yourself of the teddy, shivering slightly when the wet fabric from your slick brushed against your warm thigh. You returned to the same drawer you had once found the leash and pulled out three objects you had put on top of everything for this exact reason. Turning your head, you smiled lazily at the sight of Spinner on his back again, his eyes studying you while the painful-looking erection throbbed against his stomach.

“Legs straight out for me!” you cheer, watching him groan while he extended his legs.

He was behaving so well, with the amount of pre-cum dripping from his cock and spilling onto his stomach — hell you could smell it from all the way across the room — you knew it had to be painful for him right now. He had been so good, such a good little pet for you.

“You’re allowed to cum this time around,” you tell him calmly, your fingers securing knots around his ankles and fastening them to the bed frame. You held up a vibrator, and you saw all the color leave Spinners face when you pressed the probe into his ass. “I just pray you’ll be out of commission once I turn this on…”

Spinners heave when your fingers shove the device until only the top of it is keeping it from going all the way into his clenching asshole. “I guess I’ll have to make you start eating me out before I really let you have fun, ne?”

He doesn’t have the chance to respond because you’re already on top of his face. His pink eyes stare at you, almost red in his lust and passions. You slyly smirk pressing two fingers against your slick before rubbing it against his lips, “I hope you can tongue fuck me as good as my vibrator can fuck you,” you wink as you sink onto his face before he can interrupt you.

His parched lips separate as you move above him, you relish in the feeling of his smooth scales gliding against your skin. It was so much more beautiful than human skin, so much cooler than humans too. But then you felt his tongue tease the center of your lips; you were the master, not him. Your eyes narrowed, unwelcoming of his shy approach. So with the remote to the vibrator in your hand and the leash in the other, you used them. 

The buzzing of the vibrator shakes the mattress, Spinner practically spitting into your cunt with his vicious and strangled yelp — courtesy of the collar. You moan loudly, yanking onto his hair as you shift your hips as if you were riding a mechanical bull, not wanting to let him adjust to this new position. Something hot and sticky splattered on your back, and you turned around to see that Spinner had cum, and by the looks of the milky white substance still unloading from his cocks, he wasn’t done yet.

“Look at your pretty cocks,” you coo, your chest fluttering in excitement, “I bet you can’t wait to cum in my hot pussy, huh, pet?”

You grin at the sight of the two twin pink cocks that stood erect. They were out the reason why you enjoyed fucking your pet so much. Excitement and heat flood your body, your hips are bouncing sloppily against his snout. But you were getting ahead of yourself. Spinner’s tongue pushed against your slit, lapping at the essence that had already gathered. And then a soft and pained groan escaped him as the tip of his tongue pushed against your cavern, and you whined at the way it vibrated through your core.

Your head tilted back as you ground your hips, big bucks shifting through your body as you attempted to get your own high off so you could mount him. His left hand gripped your soft thighs, trying to hold your moving body in place as his right hand curled towards your unappreciated sex, and he mewls at the way your body moved to help him press his claws into you.

“Fuck, pet,” you groan loud enough to be heard as the tip of his nose brushes against your clit, his teeth nipping at the skin of you fold as you grind downwards. 

His tongue finally pushes through your softly throbbing core and twirls against your spasming walls. Then you’re also met with his fingers that run against the opposite wall of his tongue. Your cry of pleasure was loud as you yanked at his hair, your hand landing hard on the mattress as your hips slam against his face. You can feel him trembling underneath you, the wet sound of the vibrator well up to his ass, and his once leaking cock exciting you. But this situation doesn’t deter him, nor does it slow him down as he tries to desperately keep up with your demanding pace.

Pleasure taints your skin like alcohol, making you dizzy, letting incoherent thoughts babble from your tongue at the feeling of his long and cold tongue well within your spongy walls. You struggle to keep your eyes wide open as the pleasurable sensations continue to crash into you as he continues this assault on you. And as you try to reign in your mind, so that you could take control, he enters another finger into you.

Spluttering loudly, you nearly scream at the way his talons scissor within you, or how his tongue laps at your secreting juices as if he was a starving man with only one chance of salvation.

“You taste so good,” he moans against your dripping sex, and you almost scream his name at the way his words cement within your center. “Does this feel good, owner?”

The hand holding your right thigh moves to pinch and twist your clit, and you shriek as your hips buck wildly as sharp pleasure rips through you. Despite your lack of response, your action was enough to make Spinner pleased as he continues to whisper in tongues to you.

Your eyes lull to the back of your head as the tightened pressure, and blazing heat within you only grows with every push and flick of his tongue and fingers. But it's the chuckle that reaches you truly as you will yourself to take back control.

Gasping, you grab a handful of hair and yank his head backward, his tongue now reaching you at a new angle. Your eyes come down to meet his, and the lust and excitement in his eyes affect you as you bite down harshly onto your bruised pink lips. You then begin to bounce against his face in short yet hard jumps, your pussy grinding against him as his eyebrow arches in his pained pleasure.

“W-Who said you were in charge?” you gasp as you swivel your hips, and you can feel his lips smirk as his tongue twirls in rejection. Your hand presses another button on the remote, and you’ve never seen Spinners' eyes slam to the back of his as quickly as you had then. You turned your head around to the creaking of metal, his legs spasming erratically. The high pitch of the vibrator was loud in your ears, and his tongue went slack within you, his fingers falling from your cunt. Once more, milky white seed spurts from his cocks, getting everywhere

“Let’s see how you keep up, pet.”

Your hips were relentless as you rode his mouth, his tongue no longer able to keep up with his slurping and lapping into your moving cunt. Your fingers remained firm in his hair, and the free hand now plays with your nipples in your power drive. You twisted and tugged on the sensitive nubs as you rocked forward and backward. Your panting was growing with the increased pleasure in your body became electrifying, and Spinner was drowning in this new domination.

His tongue remained within your cunt, firing in and out of your spasming walls until he curled them the right way and hit your g-spot. Spinner could not doubt what he hit as your reaction was evident as you not only shrieked loud enough to wake the dead, but your thighs came slamming against his head. 

He hit your g-spot again and again. The accuracy mindblowing as the slurping of your cunt hit your ears in the most ludicrous of ways. Your fingers dug into his skin as you drowned him between your thighs, and then it hit you.

Your release ripped through you the second he hit your g-spot again. The pleasure in your belly is too overwhelming, and your toes curl in electrifying pleasure as you sob into your hand. You can’t handle it anymore, the desire being too much, and your vision turns white as your jaw drops as your screams go silent.

When you come through, you slide off his face. Spinner's face was coated with your juices, shining so prettily against his scales, but his eyes remained at the back of his head, tongue falling out of his mouth, whines, and mewls pouring from his lips.

The vibrator!

Your hand shot out to grab the remote that had fallen from your hold while you were deliriously shot silly from your orgasm, and you looked at his trembling legs and pathetic hips thrusting into the air as if that would satisfy his raging boner.

A thought curled through your mind, and it sat so prettily within you, that you went with it.

Vibrator still on, you swung your leg over his thigh and loomed over him. The two cocks were vertically aligned, and although you had gone many times double penetrating yourself with his thick cocks, you wanted them both in your cunt. 

The ties on his ankles are gone, as is the collar on his neck, and while he snaps up, desperate to get the vibrator off, maybe, you grasp the hot flesh of his cock and impale yourself on him.

“Holy shit.”

White-hot pain flared through your entire body at the feeling of his cocks burning into you. When you had lowered down onto him, his hips had spastically bucked up into you, sheathing you without giving you the time to accommodate to the pulsing flesh of his cocks. Unlike human cocks, his cocks also had the ability to move, and as if you were being fucked by tentacles, they withered inside you. Pushing against your hot velvet walls, scissoring against your spongey wetness, slamming against your cervix wall until your head dipped back in your ecstasy. 

With you bottomed out on him, the both of you were unable to move because Spinner’s mind was revolving around the euphoric feeling of your wet and hot heat clamping around him, unable to completely accept his insertion. Your walls resisted his thickness, squeezing so tightly he thought his cocks might snap off within you, but it spit a lustful fire into him. 

You swore you could feel the vibrator within your core, and you moaned voluptuously. 

“Fuck me, pet.” He mewls as a painful throb in your pussy lulls, and you writhe your hips against him, “N-Now fuck me right. Don’t fucking make me regret letting you help out your owner,” you command as his eyes lock on yours.

There’s something that clicks between the two of your stares, it’s unsaid, and you smirk at the way that he nods his head, his cock twitching within you, sending a crashing pleasure through you once more.

Spinner chuckles breathlessly, small and knowing, and rightfully so as he adheres to your demand. His hips position to a better angle underneath you, a quiet attempt at testing your dominance, and you can only watch behind clenched eyes as he begins thrusting up into you. Your hips move down and in time with his. Both of you desperate under your nearing second orgasms. This heightened state of pleasure brought by the rawness of this all. Spinner’s hands grip your waist. His grip will, for sure, leave bruise marks as he slams your body faster against his. He’s stretching you out with every move, the feeling of his writhing cocks sending shockwaves through your body while you bounced on top of him. By god, does he know how to use his cock even on the brink of insanity. His hands shift as they drag out under your ass, clenching your supple flesh as this difference stretches you out in unimaginable ways.

His hips crashing into yours, the sounds of the vibrator, and your squelching sexes the loudest things in the room, and your cries fuel him.

Your body feels as if it is turning into jelly as he shifts you suddenly onto your back, your legs pressing over his shoulders. His cocks are bottoming out into you, slithering against your cervix, making your back arch off the mattress as you wail out his name. Spinners' heated claws press against your throbbing clit, the nail flicking at the puffy nerve. 

You suppress a sob as he rubs harsh and delicate figure-eights onto your clit. Your pussy is clamping down on his hammering cocks, but not at all slowing him down, and he still grunts and increases his speed and strength.

Your noises of pleasure silence as his cocks hit the back of your walls, your teeth sinking into the flesh of his neck. Spinner howls, a predatorial glaze is coming over his eyes that screams his thoughts of mating and breeding and you, only you. Your legs are thrashing around as he drilled powerfully into you the same way. 

Over and over.

Again and again.

Harder and harder.

His cocks smashing against your walls until he tilts the angle of one of his cock heads and crashes down hard against your g-spot.

“SPINNER!!!” You scream as he continues pounding into your g-spot, a soft thud, and a noisy buzz in the air, letting you know that the vibrator had fallen from his ass. But his pulsating cocks are too much for you to care, too much for you to even want to shove the vibrator all the way up his ass. It’s your turn to recite his name like a prayer as he continues fucking your brains out.

You shoot up off the mattress, your screams muffled through more bites on his neck, blood pouring into your mouth, the metallic taste making your eyes roll back in glory. He was yours. He was yours. He was yours. 

Even though your legs were on his shoulder, you held on. The angle allows Spinner to drive his cocks against your g-spot over and over again. Your body is bouncing with every single slam. His body is giving you exploding sensations, your tightness making Spinner moan and curse.

“I needa – fuuuuck, pet do that again – I needa come!” you pant as your body slams against his own.

“Come for me, owner,” Spinner sighs into your mouth. “Come around my cocks.”

The built-up pleasure in your belly is profuse, it’s built up so fast, and your toes curl in electrifying pleasure. You can’t handle it anymore, the desire being too much.

Your orgasm slams through you, your vision nearly turning white as your jaw drops as your screams go silent. Spinner's mouth continues to move against yours, kissing sloppily against your teeth as he chases his own orgasm. His fangs are digging into your bottom lip as his jaw slacks.

His hips continue slamming into you. They’re brutal as they slam over and over again. He’s chanting your name as your stimulated cunt keeps clenching around his length. His pace is making you grow numb in his arms, although your hips still continue to desperately roll against his. His breathing is heavy and tense. Panting as he struggles to keep himself composed.

“Come inside me…” you whine into his ear, desperate to feel his hot seed within you.

His cocks now move apart, stretching you out in a new way as he presses your back onto the mattress again. The protruding veins on his cocks create insane friction against your walls, and it feels as if you’re being split into two. Spinner fucks you mercilessly, his fingers clenching your ass as you come apart for him. Hito curses loudly as he finally loses himself within you. His hips drilling forward one last time as a heavy load shoots into your throbbing cunt.

Load after load comes spilling from his cocks, your still clenching walls milking him dry. He cums so much, so much so that your belly swells and you moan absolutely satisfied.

“Shit,” Spinner murmured, relaxing entirely on top of you.

“Happy anniversary, pet…”

“I love you, mate.”

“Mmm… Get off me really quick,” you sigh, pushing him off of you. 

Spinner grunts, falling onto the bed with tired eyes, “Where’re you going?”

“Gotta clean up my baby,” you smile, wincing when you land on both your feet. The soreness of your body is very apparent, and it has your head spinning slightly before you walk over to the sink. You warm up a cloth under running hot water, against your slightly aching fingers the warm water is a relief and you watch the dried blood slowly leave under your skin.

You wring the cloth of water and walk back to the bed, you easily climb it and see Spinners calm form on the bed. He breathes in deeply, his chest rising and falling contently.

“How are you feeling?” you ask rubbing the cloth against the dried cum on his stomach.

“That was intense,” he chuckles, his eyes cracking open to watch you clean him of the cum. “You?”

“Pretty damn good,” you smile, crawling to his neck, rubbing the dried blood gentle away. You press a gentle kiss against his mouth, living for the way he sighs against your hold. “Do you want to shower after waking up?”

Spinner can only grunt, no longer able to speak.

Giggling you pulled the blankets over the two of you, and despite the heavy smell of sweat and sex clinging to the both of you, you cuddle in close. Relaxing when his scaly arms tighten around you contently.

“Thank you,” he whispers when your nose presses against his chest.

“Sleep, baby,” you yawn. “Sleep.”

And so, the two of you drifted off, perfectly in love and content with how your night went.

[writingsofmyimagination]

Conjecture |12|

Idol Reader Au, Enemies to Lovers AU

Summary: Your management refused to renew your contract unless you collaborated, so you ending up working with Min Yoongi. A guy you’d disliked from before both of your debuts. There is more to their past than meets the eye.

Links to other parts:  | 1 |  2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 |11| 

So this will be the penultimate chapter :)

Hope you guys have enjoyed the series.

Words:4600

Rating:18+

Warnings: SMUT!! (BDSM themes, Sub Yoongi, Slight exhibitionism maybe, squirting, pegging) Swearing, alcohol comsumption. General sass.

Permanent Tags: @msunnsstuff  @rosey-roseu @eyelessmin @backtonormalthings

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I’ve done some Domme reader stuff that I haven’t done before so please comment on how i did :P

//

It’s been two months since Yoongi heard those three words slip past your lips from your lips in the hotel room. He made love to you that night like you couldn’t believe. He didn’t let you lift a finger because you were exhausted, especially after the performance and the emotional drainage loaded onto you that day. He worshipped your body, like the goddess he truly believed you were. Everywhere your body liked to be touched received his lips in the form of a kiss or light nip. Your body was subject to wave after wave. You were left a wrecked, exhausted shaking victim of his tongue technology.

//

It had been a week since Yoongi had heard you mutter those words in person. You’d been in the in the States. You’re reunion was going to be at a house that you knew pretty quickly you’d wanna excuse yourselves from. The … had been gently stroking at your walls since you left the airport. You were slowly getting needier and needier and every bump and damn pot hole was making it worse. If Yoongi had been good and done what you’d asked then he would have a smooth silicon butt plug making him just as needy.

Why do I do this to myself

-How long are you going to be?-

-Missed me huh? :P-

-Is it a crime? And besides Tae keeps trying to get me to dance and linking arms with me…help-

-Lol, I will pay extra to see this. I’m here anyway-

The bass could already be felt through the lit porch. The wide white door with gold embellishments; the window to the party inside. The house was extravagant, so says Greek god of music Apollo posing for the stone fountain you passed on the way to the porch.

“About time you showed up, pretty sure Yoongi is swamped with Tae affection and needs you” Lee chuckled welcoming you inside.

“I’ll make sure I take my time getting a drink then, thanks for inviting me by the way”

The annex floor war marble, the black pattern laced in the white marble resembled mosaic, this room was clear but the noise flooded out through the open living room door.

“Oh please, how much have we worked together these past two years. You basically lived in my here for two months this year” He wasn’t wrong he’d near enough help you produce most of your last album.

“Alright! I was just being polite jeez!” he slid your coat off your shoulders storing in in the cloak room large enough to be a childs room.

You followed him through to the king sized kitchen. The flurry of people drifting in and out, in addition to the smalls groups conversing conveniently next to the generous snack table the kitchen appeared to be much more cramped. You responded to a few smiles and waves in turn; there was a fair share of Idols around; as well as dancers, producers and various other roles from the music industry. All the alcohol bottles were shoulder to shoulder along the back of kitchen unit.

“Mixers all in the fridge, you good?”

“Yeah, yeah” you were already eyeing up the different flavour gins. His only response was a thumbs up and he merged seamlessly through the people and out the back sliding doors.

Mid pouring the lemonade arms wrapped round your front and you were squeezed tightly, all with added sound of a high pitch squeal.

“Oh my god I’m soo glad to see you” Sophie squealed. When you were released you turned to find her and a couple of the hair stylists from your company equally brimming with slightly drunk infused glazed over eyes. Karen was already handing you a shot. Sambuca! The worst!

When your sambuca disgust face twitching stopped you followed the girls outside. The sun was low in the sky, ready to pass the illumination baton on to the tall lamps dotted around the pool. The swimming pools lights were already glistening below the calm blue as perfect yellowy ovals. The calm blue was disturbed by a couple of splodges of green, white and pink; an inflatable dinosaur and unicorn ring were happily bobbing on the surface. Untouched, for now at least. You didn’t need to scan the mass of smart casually dressed people around the pool for long until Hobi’s laugh pierced through the music yanking your gaze to where your legs were now taking you.

Of course, it was right next to the music deck. Underneath the permanent veranda. ….. had moved his music deck outside, as far as you could tell there was no one actually manning so the music must be from the speakers with just the option to mix. You clapped eyes with Tae, a grin and an amused shake of your head greeted him. He chuckled, Yoongi’s hand captured firmly under his arms. You shushed him. You wanted to enjoy every miniscule reaction up close. Yoongi was naturally trying to pull away from affection to find solace in the chairs in front of him. When you were easily within range Tae let go stepping behind for you to come darting behind Yoongi wrapping your arms around him.

“Seriously, I swear to god I will end you!” Yoongi warned, blind to the more feminine hands at his waist. The other boy’s mouths dropped which hastily got covered to shield their amusement.

“Rude!”

His body stiffened before fighting in your grip to turn and face you

“Babe.. I’m so sorry I thought you were Tae” You kept your face straight for as long as you could to enjoy the panic washing over Yoongi’s face. It was a mere and feeble few seconds before you erupted into a giggle. You could feel eyes migrate onto you; as much as you were amongst your own industry and there were no paparazzi the two of you were still pretty big news.

“Hey” the saccharine low voice melted into you like butter on a hot crumpet.

“Hey” you replied, his hands dropped to envelope yours into a squeeze. His lips were screaming to you, begging for yours to comfort them but you were not a huge PDA fan. Yoongi who seemed more than happy using you as an excuse to go sit down and out of the zone of dancing Tae; who’d now moved onto Jin who was much more pliant.

“You look nice” Yoongi spoke plainly clambering through the glasses on the table until he reached his wine.

“I look nice?” You mocked teasingly

“You haven’t seen me for a week and you just say I look nice?” you goaded further. His eyes rolled, smile twitching at his lips.

“God! you’re sooo demanding what do you want me to say?” he whined sparkle glinting in his eyes.

“I missed you, can’t wait to have what nice clothes you are wearing on the bedroom floor while I fuck you until your begging me to stop”

The remainder of your mouthful of drink sprayed onto the stone, darkening Infront of you. Your glance quickly scanning your immediate surroundings for potential heard ears. Your core clenching around your toy. The dampness of your underwear becoming mildly uncomfortable.

Did he just?...out loud? Where has my shy Yoongles gone

“Well… I mean that’s certainly more… interesting”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, not bad, if it was me though I probably woulda said… missed you can’t wait to have my mouth round your cock drinking down your cum”

“Ooof touché. Now no more otherwise you’ll start giving me…issues. Where’s Sophie and Karen disappeared off to?”

“Well we wouldn’t want that would we” pecking him on the cheek.

“No doubt to get me more shots to catch up, has Lee played your track yet?”

“Not yet he’ll, he’s got my memory stick”

“You trusted him with the password? Bitch you don’t even give that to me!” you whined.

“Damn right I don’t last time I did you put our private videos on there, I don’t need that kind of distraction when I’m at work”

“Not my fault you have no restraint”

You were right. Sophie and Karen had fought their way back over to you each with two glasses in their hands. Jaegerbombs.

“The hot tubs freee and has our name on it…” You’d packed your bikini in your overnight just for this. You wrote some of your favourite tracks from your last album in that hot tub.

“You saw Lee wave at Yoongi flagging him over

“You guys go I’ll be like 5 mins, got to hear what my boys made”

“Babe, you’ll hear it wherever you are, you go I’ll catch you in a bit” The kiss to your forehead signalling finality

“Fine!” you huffed squeezing his hand off your waist

“Sure it’s not just because you want me in a bikini quicker?” you teased out loud.

“You flatter yourself way too much” He countered acting disinterested; the glint of insincerity clear as day through his eyes. The hand he’d refused to let go now slid from his grasp.

The appeal of the hot tub was it was embedded into the floor. You stepped down into the shimmering warmth. A square area immediately around the circular pool the floor matched that you’d find in a sauna. You’d be on your knees on the seat of the tub, relaxing undulation of bubbles swarming your skin while you’d be writing lyrics on the wood, elbows growing sore with how fast your ideas were flowing out. The biggest appeal was the one-way glass, you could see the pool and if the patio pool area was free of swarms of people you had an aesthetic view of the skyline. The blanket of lights from the sea of buildings of Seoul.

The flow of water was circling and bubbling away, diffusing weakly into your tired muscles. The condensation had made the room soothingly stuffy and warm. The one-sided glass leaving the three of you in a tranquil heat filled space. You’d initially packed an overnight bag as you weren’t sure if you’d be staying at Yoongi’s or yours. You’d packed a few… extra things for Yoongi which you made sure were coated underneath the pyjamas.

The music filtered through the speakers in the top corner of the room, your ears alert for Yoongi’s new music that he’d refused to share with you. You’d tried every legal blackmail your mind could possible to torture Yoongi. When it came to music you’d very quickly learned he was as stubborn and private as you. You’d only hear it when he was happy for everyone to hear it; the only way you’d hear something before was if you were actually collaborating.

“Don’t you think Kihyun is looking damn good tonight” Karen cooed.

“You’d eat that boy alive” you chuckled

“How do you know I haven’t already?” she challenged from the side of the hot tub, the thin waves of steam failing to cover her deceptive smirk.

“Oh come on! you know Wonho would have told me” triumph filled the air. The three of you shared amusement

“You still talk to him then?”

“Not as much, but we’re still close”

“Well that’s hardly surprising most of your messages were absolute filth.”

“Well, there is that” you laughed, Sophie blunt as always.

“Anyway cheers girls, you bitches are the best” Glasses klinked, the beat of a song you’d never heard before started seeping into the room

“Oooh this must be it” you buzzed, the lower tones and bars of music ringing true of Agust D.

Your heart thumped to the bottom of your stomach, lead weighted. Blood plummeting southwards leaving your face drained. The sounds reaching your ears unbelievable.

“Well that’s erm different” Both girls eyes on you to gauge your reaction, you’d not moved. Face frozen eyes stuck wide.

“Wait…that’s not you…is it?” Your stiff expression face obviously confirming. The whole intro of the song he’d mixed in was the unmistakeable sounds of your moans. You completely blocked out anything when the lyrics started.

“I’m going to kill that asshole” Your shock morphing into pure anger out of embarrassment and self-preservation from m completely falling into tears.

“That’s a fucking dick move, he didn’t even ask?” mouth falling into a O.

“Would I want to hurt him if he did? I mean Jesus how could he, that’s so humiliating”

“He’s an artist right, you guys get soundbites from everywhere, people won’t even think it’s you. No one would expect Yoongi to do something like that. And it’s remixed pretty good, it’s pretty sexy actually”

“Don’t you even dare support this”

“I’m just saying” Karen shooting to defensive mood

“And anyway, that’s beside the point! How could he do that to me”

He is going to learn the full meaning of in dog house back home and he’d be a fool if he didn’t know that already.

When the songs was at its end the crept open. As soon as you saw his face you made sure you gave him daggers, right now you hoped they were primed and sharp. His hesitant movement into the room, sheepish aware of the wolf’s den he knew he was sacrificing himself to. Swim shorts over his shoulder.

“We’ll just go” Karen elbowing Sophie.

//

“What the actual fuck Yoongi! Your joking if you think you’re getting in” you seethed. He took a small step forward but no further. The barrier of your blood boiling giving him no choice but to choose wisely and come no closer.

“I’m…sorry, it was a complete accident, please let me explain” He rushed.

“An accident?” you scoffed.

“You don’t make a whole fucking song by accident, I don’t even wanna hear it. Do you know how embarrassing that was?” His head drooped low, eyes regretful looking up desperate at you.

“No one knows it’s you…I”

“You don’t know that! That’s besides the bloody point, you used something private without even asking for permission” He slumped himself down on the wooden bench that ran along half the room.

“I know I’m sorry, it wasn’t meant to be played”

“Oh the song you’d made that Lee Asked if you could play at his party you mean?” you snapped.

“I made two versions!” his voice never even raised but it strongly spoken.

“I thought I’d removed that one off the memory stick, he obviously played the wrong one” You churned the fact that actually he’d never meant the song to be heard through the grinder of your thoughts.

“Please forgive me I never meant to…” he pleaded

Fine!

“You know what fine! If you didn’t play it on purpose… just get out I’m too angry, I need to cool off” he stood without a word of contest. He knew by now how hot blooded you were. Eyes never leaving the floor, the now wounded sheep made his way towards the door. His face wringing the anger from your body as quick as it had flared. Leaving you empty with just guilt for company.

“Yoongi wait”

“Want to make it up to me?” He recognised your tone, he recognised the devilish smirk slowly creeping across your face.

“I’ll do anything you want” Instant submission.

Good boy

“Well that’s exactly what I want, lock the door, get changed and come in”

He joined you in simple black swim shorts, his V-lines more prominent than the last time you saw him. As soon as he settled you straddled his lap. A spring recoiling in his arms looping round your waist to hold your hips. He shouldn’t get to touch you, you wanted to pin them but you’d missed his touch too much to argue with yourself. You let it be, for now.

“You need to stop working out” You delayed his reply

“Wh..y” you went onto his lips, hard; catching his bottom lip between his teeth with just a much force. You heard the soundless exhale, a soft breeze from his lips. The growl was stuck in his throat but your hand felt it where it was resting loose on his throat.

“You can’t be hotter than me. Now are you ready to be a good boy and do exactly as I say?” his amused smile switched to an open mouth whine; dragging his hair back in a short tug.

“Well that’s impossible and yes I am yours to use” to hear those words roll off his lips was just…

“Sit up on the side I can’t have you make me cum with all this water” You clambered off him to resume the same position.

“I’ve missed those hands and I know how much you like to use them but to make it more of a punishment I won’t be moaning for you or calling your name” Your ability to do this was partially his fault, when you’d stay at the dorm with the others Yoongi actually wanted to keep things quiet from his brothers. You would always make sure you’d seduce the fuck out of him so he couldn’t refuse. You’d test how quiet he could be and he did the same. So in short it was actually mostly your fault.

You pulled at the bow at the back of your neck, the top flawless in the way it fell from your skin. You held it up biting your lip letting it fall from your hand. Yoongi pulled at the tie just below your hip, bottom lip also disappearing becoming victim of a bite. The lustful coffee swirls of his eyes focused on yours waiting for approval before he removed it from your glistening skin.

The grip of your hands tightening on his shoulders, his hand dipping, tracing his fingers from your neck down, your chest rising under his touch, through the valley of your breasts. His palms flipping up when they reached between your thighs. Pursing the heavy breath through your lips, dissipating the moan in your throat. Both your foreheads pressing together eyes challenging each other in a battle of unbridled lust. Throwing your white flag back with your head when his finger pressed to the front of core, too quickly finding the precious velvet wall. The double hit being in this position his palm was also pressed against your even more precious bundle of nerves. Your neck quickly succumbed to a wave of open-mouthed wet kisses; each igniting a different line of nerves rerouting them between your thighs. Your chest pressed to him your back arched in a perfect crescent. He tilted you back slightly leaning further to you. His fingers could go that much deeper. His palm pressed to your clit with just more pressure. Before your head buried in his neck the unknowing hustle of the people received such an arrogant devilish smirk before a harsh thrust of his hand had you clamping down on his shoulders. He was trying to make you lose your own game. All your moans you made sure were caught in your throat.

“Fuck this is infuriating without you moaning” Yoongi breathed in your ear. His fingers pumping harder.

You could support less and less of your own weight; you became heavier in his hand and lap. He knew he had you.

You fell completely apart, your legs tensed so hard convulsing around his thighs. His fingers still pressed hard to the front of your walls; palm still snug on your clit. He hooked his finger harder inside you, the next pulse of your muscles with the pressure of his fingers right there caused something deeper to release

Your cry flooded past your lips, the moan and expletives loud and breathless in Yoongi’s ear. If his shorts weren’t wet from the hot tub, they’d definitely be soaked with you.

“Did you just?” he asked through heavy exhale, smugness caked on his face.

“I did just”

“That was…so fucking sexy”

“Great punishment” he toyed like a brat.

“Oh babe I’m not done” The glint in your eyes made sure he knew. You tugged his hair dragging his head so your mouth was next to his ear

“I’m going to fuck you from behind while you look out at everyone. I want you think how much of a good boy you are”

“What? You can’t?” you’d already got yourself out of the hot tub.

“And why not?” You challenged, fully prepared for his response.

“Don’t you need…”

Yes I do you thought to yourself holding the harness in your hand

“You brought that to a house party?” the wideness of his eyes briefly sheltered the mischievous creases that built in the corners of his lips.

“Well I was hoping I’d be coming to stay at yours”

“But seriously…here?” he still challenged

“Oh so you don’t mind making me squirt like that, but fucking you is a bit too far?”

You butted in before the guy had a chance to respond

“Now stop being a brat, I want those off and you bent over the side of the tub” The lack of smile and piercing eyes dissuaded any more backchat.

The gold metal buckle lightly pinched the skin at your hip as you stepped into the pool. Yoongi’s head already resting on his arms. He exhaled through his teeth, your hand gently reached around and wrapped at the base of his cock.

“Are you so hard it hurts yet?”

“Getting there” he admitted, the colour fading back into his knuckles when you let him go

“Well you’re not going to cum from this” you warned.

“That’s never not happened” The complaint coming through a low echo with his head weighted on his hands

“You’ve been doing sooo much better. You’re just going to try extra hard for me today. Promise I won’t make it too difficult”

“If you do then you’ll just have to go without making me cum for a month. And you know I’ll make you watch when I do it myself”

“Ready?” hand slick with raspberry lube stroking the thin purple silicone shaft.

“What do you say?”

“I’m sorry for playing that song…ugh!” If he was going to say anymore, he didn’t with you teasing

“Thank you, now ask for it. Ask for your punishment like a good boy” His head took a quick glance up soaking up the view. He couldn’t deny it had definitely become quite a kink. The danger and the audacity of it just ruffled his feathers in all the right ways.

You deemed the silence too long. Fingers skipping up his spine, twizzling in his hair. Sharp tug.

“Ugh!”

“I’m waiting”

“Fuck me…please… I won’t cum…I don’t deserve it” His words hitting you like honey, sweetening right in between your thighs

“God, you drive me crazy when ..” Your leg propped up, hand resting at the base of his neck. Another hand tight on the masterpiece of his ass.”

His head dropping, groans deep in his throat. Hips slow pressing into him.

“Head up, look straight” Knocking your hips in a jolt against him

“I want you looking at all those people while I fuck you”

“Do you think they’ll be surprised to know how much you love it when I have you from behind” You leaned as far forward as you could, slithering your words at the top of his spine. Feeding into his love for you dirty mouth.

He was attempting to choke his moans away, half conscious of the open space of the room. He was struggling to hold himself together. When he’d whine a certain way, you knew he was close so you’d stop and give him a moment to control himself. You weren’t feeling cruel enough to actively try and make him fail.

Your hips had slowed now, and the long drawn tortured moans you were rewarded with. Oof. You could have quite easily stopped and wrapped the mouth he loved so much around his cock and given him the release he so desperately needed. You didn’t.

“I…can’t…anymore” he panted, exhausted. You still inside him pushing your hips to meet his ass once more

“Say please”

“Fuck please!” he cried. The desperation calling your punishment satisfactory. The top half of his body collapsed onto his arms. A beautiful panting mess of your own creation.

“Now I’m so hard it hurts” he breathed, muffled. Buckles undone, harness carried to the bag. Satiated smirk solid on your lips. You made no attempt to hide it when you re-joined him back in the tub. He shuffled round and slid fluidly onto the seat. The creases around his eyes glistening with tears. You swept them away with a gentle swipe of your thumb.

“Such a beautiful boy. Such a mess for me”

“I’ve been good, please…let me cum…Babyyy” Oh god the whine was sounded so perfectly with need and beauty. You were actually impressed he managed it. He’d normally come undone pretty quick.

“Fine, you can cum but… you have to tell me, and you only get my hand” His hands excitedly grabbing your hips as you sat on his lap; gasping when you most definitely on purpose guided his cock through you as you lowered yourself.

He really was desperate.

He breathed a curse as your thumb rolled over his tip. Eyes automatically firing warnings your way. Inhaling your bottom lip between your teeth, the evil smirk responding. You are still in control and you are not done.

Back arched into his chest, hand spread at the base of his neck. Lips dangerous, finding that spot he loves you to clamp down on.

“Fuck, I’m not going to last long” he breathed already flushed trying to contain himself. The small bulge of his adams apple bobbed underneath your lips, his legs stiffened in between yours. You kept your hand movements slow and deliberate. Wanting to drag each long groan past his lips that you could.

“Is that nice baby?” Asking the obvious you knew but you wanted to hear it.

“Mmm so…” his words choked as your hand worked faster. His fingers locked tighter onto the outside of your thighs, head dropping back mouth agape stuttered soundless whimpers. Your hand constricting the side of his throat coaxing him to just topple off the edge.

“I’m going to…” Your hand abandoning his cock before his hips started spluttering. Even though you still had pressure on that beautiful milky throat of his. The sweet exasperated groan and breathy curses tweaked the sides of your lips up. His tortured pupils looking so feebly at you, devastated you’d just ruined his climax that he was gagging for. The water settling around you, your arm dragging droplets round his scapula, rolling down his chest perfect little drops.

Wet hands toying with the bottom of his hair line.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that” his chest still rising and falling in rapid undulations beneath you.

“And you know you can’t get enough of it” you countered pressing an adoring kiss on his plump lips.

“Babe you seriously gotta stop trying to leave me like this” it was a weak tired plea more than being a brat so you forgave him. If you ruined him just right, he’d stay hard; giving you plenty of extra play time. You retrieved your bikini halves from where they were shamelessly dropped.  Facing the gap in the wall towards the changing area wringing out your hair; your ass a full spectacle to him to enjoy.

“Well I won’t because we’re not finished and you’re going to come and fuck me against the wall”

He followed you through into the changing rooms like the absolute love-struck horny puppy you know he is and you wouldn’t change him for the world.

[jabbajambler]

10

Human

The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x f!OC

Word Count: 1,919

*GIF by @weloveweird​*

         It was so beautiful outside of the ship. Each star appeared to shine brighter than the other, although Mando corrected me a few times by telling me they were distant planets and moons. I never pegged him as someone who would know so much about the galaxy. He would even tell me the names of stars and the stories behind some of the constellations.

         As much as I loved gazing out the window at the passing planets, there was one in particular that caused a sick feeling in my stomach.

         Nevarro.

         I used to love coming home to the gray planet, but now it was strange to me. I couldn't seem to recognize it anymore, at least not as my home.

         Mando's focus remained on the skies as we neared the planet, but I couldn't take my eyes off of him. He was so much more than I imagined he would be, more than most Mandalorians. I didn't want our time together to end when it was just beginning.

         The only sound in the ship was the control panel's beeping and whirring. We had been quiet for a while. I couldn't find the right words to say. I hated that I had grown so close to him.

         It made the goodbyes so much harder.

         Mando moved his hand to press a button that lit the cockpit with a hologram of Greef Karga. My mouth went dry at the sight.

        "Mando. I've received your transmission. Wonderful news. Upon your return, deliver the quarry directly to the client. I have no idea if he wants to eat it or hang it on his wall, but he's very antsy...And Mando? When you arrive...Could you please search for Myrah? I haven't seen her for a few days and I'm worried. I'm willing to pay anything if you find her... Safe passage! You know where to find me."

         I gulped, trying to get the lump out of my throat as the image disappeared. I could hear him talking to the child as it tried to mess with his controls. I only hoped that perhaps it would lighten the mood.

        "Mando, I-"

        "You were running away?"

        "Well, no. Not exactly."

       He spun to face me and I quickly tried to turn away from him, but his hands landed firm on the arms of the chair to keep me from moving. I kept my gaze down on my hands, or, at least I tried to. He gently pinched my chin and pulled my head up to look at him. He made me feel weak.

         "What were you thinking?"

        "I wasn't running...I wanted to prove myself."

         He sighed and pulled his hand from my face, allowing his fingers to linger on my jaw a while longer. The delicate touch left goosebumps on my skin.

         "I can't go back." I whispered.

         "What?"

         "I have to leave once we're done. I've stuck around too long, I can't stay there any longer, I-" I jumped up, grasping his hands tight in mine. I was surprised when he didn't flinch or pull away. "Come with me! We make a great team. The possibilities are endless, we could become the best damn bounty hunters this galaxy has ever seen."

         "Didn't you try to kill me less than a week ago?" He asked while rubbing small, soft circles on the back of my hands. The subtle action filled my stomach with butterflies.

         "I didn't try to kill you. I knocked you out and tied you to a chair... There is a big difference." I joked and pulled one hand free from his grasp to trace the lines on his helmet. The craftsmanship of the Mandalorians never failed to amaze me.

         I could hear his breath hitch as I ran my fingers over the curves of his helm. He quickly yanked his hands away from mine and took a step back, nearly stepping into the panel. My chest clenched and I could feel my cheeks grow warm from embarrassment.

         "Myrah..." He mumbled. "I can't."

        It took me a moment to realize what he said, but once I did, it hit me like a speeder.

        "You're afraid..." I scoffed and tried to hide the pain. It was silly, childish, even, to ask him to run away with me. Still, a part of me hoped he would. "Kriff, I never thought I would see the day where a Mandalorian would act so- so-"

         His head snapped towards me, apparently I had struck a nerve. "So what, Myrah?"

         "Weak! Pathetic! C-" I stopped myself before I could go too far.

         "No, continue. What were you going to say?" He demanded and took a few steps closer, towering over me.

         "Cowardly." I hissed, immediately regretting my words.

         The air had been sucked from the ship. We stared, daring the other to make the next move.

         "Okay, Princess." He scoffed and turned away from me.

         "What did you just call me?" He was silent, trying to look busy while poking around at the controls. "You know nothing about me."

         "I know enough!" He snapped and spun around to face me again. "I know that you would never have to work a day in your precious little life if you didn't want to. I know that you walk around and act like everyone and everything else is beneath you. And then you want to run away? Like your wonderful life isn't perfect enough for you?"

         I could feel my eyes burn as I fought off the tears that threatened to fall from them. Still, he continued.

        "It doesn't take a genius to see that you don't care about what happens after this. You're just in it for the reputation and money."

         "Wow." I scoffed and tilted my head back, trying to hide the tears that escaped my eyes. "You think you know everything, don't you?" I shook my head and looked back at him. Sometimes it was hard to argue with a chunk of metal. "You're so smart, Mando. I should give you an award for how much you know about my life. Guess what? You don't know shit...Just land the damn ship and get this over with."

┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉┉

         Mando landed the Razor Crest on the gray, dusty terrain of Nevarro with ease. He was unbelievably calm even after our argument while I could still feel myself shake from the adrenaline. I guess I misunderstood our friendship, or, what I assumed was a friendship.

         We all exited the ship in silence and began our journey into town. I tried my hardest to stand tall as we walked through the streets. Greef said the citizens here lived off of other people's sorrows. It was best to not show it at all.

         I underestimated the intensity of the mission. It wasn't the average bounty, it was more underworld than what we usually did. Although, I didn't expect for us to have to travel down shady alleys to reach the client's 'hideout.' Something was very fishy about this mission.

         He knocked on the door and held up a card for the small round droid to scan. The door opened to reveal two stormtroopers armed with guns. The air had been knocked out of me.

         Now I knew there was something up with this client.

         I could feel that gross, sick feeling coming back when they herded us down the hall. They roughly grabbed onto the child's pod and yanked it behind them. I opened my mouth to speak, but Mando beat me to it.

         "Easy with that."

        "You take it easy." The trooper snapped back.

         We had finally reached the door that opened to reveal a large, cold, stone room. It was practically empty except for a desk in the center of it all with a balding old man behind it. His eyes lit up when we entered and he quickly strode towards us.

         "Yes." He whispered. "Yes, yes, yes."

         He weirded me out. I found myself inching closer to Mando with every step he made. A young scientist came over and scanned the whimpering child with a bright red light.

         "Your reputation was not unwarranted..." He grinned and looked towards me, his eyes narrowing. "And who is this?"

        "I-"

        "How many fobs did you give out?" Mando interrupted.

         For once, I was thankful that he cut me off. I was worried that if I told them who I was, they would sweep me away as well. Greef never believed me when I told him that the Empire wasn't completely gone. I couldn't imagine his face if he witnessed this.

         The client sighed. "This asset was of extreme importance to me. I had to ensure its delivery... But to the winner... Go the spoils."

         He grabbed a large container and lifted it onto the desk to reveal its treasures. It contained more beskar than I had ever seen in my life. I wasn't even sure there was that much beskar left in the galaxy.

         We moved towards the desk to admire the rewards. It was beautiful and more riches than I could have ever imagined, but I couldn't keep it.

         I had no use for beskar and it belongs back in the hands of the Mandalorians. I had no place taking the reward at all.

         "Such a large bounty for such a small package." The client hissed.

         A heart broken cry caught my attention from the other side of the room. While I was busy gaping over the payment, I had completely forgotten about the child. It cried again as it was brought into another room, refusing to take its eyes off of us.

         It hurt me to see it so sad.

         I turned to see Mando watching the child intensely. Could he have been wondering the same thing I was?

         "What are your plans for it?" He asked.

         "How uncharacteristic of one of your reputation. You have taken both commission and payment... Is it not the Code of the Guild that these events are now forgotten? That beskar is enough to make a handsome replacement for your armor."

         My eyes darted across his armor. It was rather beat up and seeing its harsh damage, I assumed it wasn't too durable. A full suit of beskar was fitting for his job, but I would miss his old, rusty fit.

         "Unfortunately, finding a Mandalorian in these trying times is more difficult than finding the steel." The client finished and with a stern glare.

         I quickly tore my gaze away from him, occasionally glancing at Mando out of the corner of my eyes. His focus was stuck on the client for a moment longer before he grabbed the reward and we left.

         The stormtroopers followed us the entire way out, making me feel incredibly uneasy. Again, I found myself moving closer to Mando and immediately scolding myself for it.

        ��"I have to make a quick stop... I'll meet you at the bar in an hour." He looked down at the container of beskar with a soft, sad tone to his voice. I guess he was going to get an upgrade.

         "Right... Listen, Mando, I-"

         "We'll talk later." He ended quickly and spun on his heel to leave.

         I wanted to run after him, but he was already out of sight. I needed to apologize or just, something. I wasn't sure why I needed him to know that I didn't hate him. If anything, I should just forget he exists and move on with my life.

         But I couldn't.

         And little did I know, I wouldn't.

[certain-as-the-sun]

Hey Jealousy

A High School-is AU. Inspired by the Gin Blossoms’ song of the same name. Contains: Alcohol Abuse, miscarriage, unwanted sexual touching. 

Hey Jealousy 

Tell me do you think it'd be all right If I could just crash here tonight You can see I'm in no shape for driving And anyway I've got no place to go And you know it might not be that bad You were the best I'd ever had If I hadn't blown the whole thing years ago I might not be alone

It was a rainy night. Belle sat in her father’s house on the edge of town, far enough away that she got the peace and quiet she craved, but still close enough that running errands into town wouldn’t take all day. She sat in her favorite chair, a hot mug of tea steaming beside her. Her bookcase gleamed in the firelight, beckoning her to choose from her vast collection. Tonight was a night she didn’t want to dwell on. Five years ago her whole world changed. Her first love had been lost to her. Her true love if she still believed in fairy tales. They had been so good together. They had their lives figured out. She would finish school, open her bookshop and live happily ever after. Fate it seemed, was not as kind. The accident wasn’t Adam’s fault. He knew that, but it didn’t stop people from talking. Small town like theirs, it didn’t take long for word to spread about the group of teenage boys who took a joy ride that left one dead. 

Adam never could hold his alcohol. He tried so many times to quit. Rehab, counseling. Through it all, there had been Belle. She was the one constant in his ever changing life. He was trying. He was trying to be who he needed to be, who Belle needed him to be. But there are some demons that are just too hard to get rid of. Orphaned at ten, bounced around from home to home. He was an angry young man, a temper that could explode at the smallest of things. He starting drinking at a young age, stealing what he could from his less than desirable foster parents. He fell in with the wild crowd. The kind of boys who stole cars, drank, partied hard. It landed him in a group home for at-risk boys. 

He was adopted at sixteen by an older gay couple. Cogsworth and Lumiere could not have been more opposite in their manners and appearance. Cogsworth was portly and fussy. Lumiere was flamboyant and loud. Between them, they showered Adam with the love and acceptance he had so desperately needed. They got him into AA, helped him find a good sponsor, someone Adam could always call when and if he needed to talk to someone other than his dads. Hatter whose real name Adam never knew, had been a foster kid too, adopted as an older teen. Hatter understood the pressure Adam felt, the loneliness that came from a life spent apart. Between the three men loving Adam he was able to stay clean for over a year. 

Belle was an only child to a widowed clockmaker. She was an honor student, on the fast track to the Ivy League. They met when Cogsworth signed Adam up for an English tutor. Cogsworth valued education and wanted Adam to improve so he could attend college and make something of himself. At first Adam and Belle wanted nothing to do with each other. He didn’t think he needed a tutor and not one as attractive as Belle was. His teenage brain envisioned her as the naughty librarian he had seen in dirty magazines. Acting on horrid advice from his friends, he was rude and demeaning. His efforts were rewarded with a slap and disgust. At home that evening, he sought out better advice. Cogsworth told the boy to write her an apology. Lumiere told him to bring her a rose. Hatter, the straight man in his life agreed that Adam had treated Belle poorly, asked him what he was going to do about it. Adam had to do better. 

And better he did. He apologized, profusely. Belle wasn’t sure she could trust him. She knew who he hung around with. But they started spending time together. Little by little the real Adam shone through. Behind the tough as nails exterior he showed the world, he allowed Belle to see him. He could very kind to those in need. He organized toy drives for foster kids. Once at the store when the cloud let loose a deluge of water, he offered to pull her car up for an elderly woman so she wouldn’t get drenched to the bone. 

He still had his temper. If his temper got the better of him, Belle wouldn’t stand for it. More times she left him where he was standing when he was losing it. He’d never hurt her but she wouldn’t take that chance. He scared her badly one night. They had been in his room and she had accidentally knocked over a framed photograph. The glass broke and damaged the photo. He roared with anger and before he realized what was happening he had tossed everything from his desk and slammed his fist into the wall. She ran from the room. In his angered haze, he heard her cries from the living room. He stopped thrashing and stepped into the hall. She was still there. Seated on the couch, his dads on either side of her. Cogsworth shook his head at his son. 

Anger management with Hatter came next. He never wanted to see anyone he cared about be subject to his temper. He wrote Belle a letter, even mailed it. He never knew if she read it but she did forgive him. 

The day of the accident started bad. His anniversary of sobriety was coming up. He would be two years clean. A milestone for any addict. It was little things piling up to big things. A memory of his parents, long gone from his life. A bad grade on a test he and Belle had studied so hard for. An argument between Adam and Cogsworth about grades and school. A misunderstanding between Lumiere. The anger simmered to a full boil. A temper flare from Adam had him storming out of the house. Deep in the back of his mind he knew what he had to do. He needed to call Hatter. Get his head on straight. 

He could call Belle. But she was busy. She had an interview in the morning. An interview that could make or break her college plans. She didn’t need him distracting her. Maybe she would let him just sleep in her bed while she prepared. If he was with her, he could calm down and be able to go home and apologize. If he was with her he wouldn’t be able to do something stupid. Pausing over her contact, a text popped up. 

Pre-game with boys. Don’t be a wuss. 

He had been ducking texts like these for weeks. Gaston was from his old life. A life he didn’t want anymore. Gaston had been his best friend once upon a time. Before his dads. Before Hatter. Before Belle. Adam dropped Gaston soon after he began seeing Belle near constantly. Belle hated Gaston. She found his crass and chauvinistic behavior revolting. Rumor has it he had three kids with three different girls. 

When he and Belle first started dating, he took her to a party that Gaston was throwing. He had taken over his parents cabin in the woods. Everyone from school was there, even people from other schools that had heard about the bash in the woods. Cars lined the dirt road leading up to the cabin. You could hear the party before you saw it. Belle, to put it plainly was not a party girl. Her idea of a Friday night was spent at the small bookstore on Main Street, browsing and putting books on layaway. Mrs. Potts, the owner kept a log of Belle’s books and would sometimes write off a few when she needed to. Belle was happiest when she and Adam had dinner together at the cafe next door to the bookstore and just took a walk in the park. But she agreed. Adam had been doing so well and she thought it was only fair that she share in his world when he spent so much time in hers. 

Gaston saw them first. The feeling between Gaston and Belle was mutual. He blamed her for changing Adam from the guy he was to the guy he is. Behind her back he called her a bitch, a nag, killjoy. The tall, broad teenager with coal black hair strode up to them as they entered the house, a bottle of beer in his hand. He snapped his fingers at Kevin to get Adam a drink. He saw red when Belle took Adam’s hand and shook her head when the small portly boy offered them both bottles. He was going to take her down a peg or two.

It took some time but he finally got Adam and Belle separated. She had gotten tree sap on her hand when they had gone outside. She was expecting Adam to be waiting for her outside the bathroom when she came back out from washing her hands. But he wasn’t. He had gotten pulled into a conversation with Gaston’s latest blonde. She started towards him when Gaston got in her path. 

“Never thought little miss perfect would grace us with her presence,” Gaston taunted. “Thought you were too good to hang out with the likes of us.” He leaned closer to her, pushing her back against the wall. “Not sure what my boy Adam sees in a frigid bitch like you.” 

His breath reeked of stale beer, corn ships and tobacco. He ran his hand over her bare shoulder, she had lost her sweater somewhere. She tried to move out Gaston’s way but he caged her. “Gaston, please. Just leave us alone.” 

“I want to know what kind of spell you got my boy under,” he said, his hand moving its way down her body, over her. Tears stung her eyes. Where was Adam? “Maybe if I get a taste, I might understand.”

“Stop it, please.” 

Across the room Adam caught sight of his girlfriend. He pushed through the crowd of drinking people. Gaston had Belle pressed against the wall, his hands on her. Without thinking he charged at Gaston shoving him away from Belle. 

“Get away from her!” Adam all but growled. He kept himself between Belle and Gaston, his fists balled. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“She came on to me man!” Gaston argued. “I told you. I warned you about her. She’s a bitch. You’re better off without her.” 

“Adam let’s just go,” Belle said, putting her hand on his arm. “He’s not worth it. Let’s just go.” 

“Shut up, you stupid —“ Gaston didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. Adam swung his fist forward and knocked his former best friend square in his jaw. 

“You will not speak to my girlfriend like that ever again,” Adam said. He took Belle’s hand and they left. Alone in her car he held her close as she cried. No one had ever touched her like that before. Not even Adam. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I’d never come if I thought that’s what he’d do. Please, I’m so sorry.”  

Staring at the text, it was a siren’s call. If he was honest with himself, he did miss his friend. Hanging with he boys would be the easy choice. It would be so easy to just fall into a stupor with the boys. He wouldn’t have to think about anything else. Not school, not his dads, not even Hatter. He knew what he needed to do. The siren call was stronger. He wanted to go. He wanted to fall into oblivion. He could fall for one night and when the dust settled he would start over. That was the life an addict. He knew what he needed to do and did what he wanted. He made the easy choice.  

Where you at? Three words. That’s all it took to ruin his life. Three words. 

The ravine. And don’t bring that bitch. 

Don’t call her that. 

Three hours later Adam had fallen off the wagon hard. He had drunk two bottles of Stoli, his hard liquor of choice and finished off a six pack of a cheap beer Stanley brought. Once he started Adam couldn’t stop. He couldn't have just one drink. He would keep going until he couldn’t see straight. When Adam polished off what they others had brought they went to get more. Driving a town over and with Stanley’s fake ID and Cogsworth’s credit card, the boys loaded up with more. Two more bottles of Stoli down and Adam was drunker than he had been in his life.

Neither Adam or Gaston had any business driving. The only sober one among the boys that night was Kevin also known as LeFou. Kevin was Gaston’s lackey. The small, overweight, nerdy boy just wanted to be popular. He did Gaston’s homework, really anything Gaston wanted. He was in the backseat with Adam that night. Gaston sped down the road, the radio screaming profanity laced rock. Reckless and stupid. Empty bottles rolled around the back of the car. They were invincible. On top of the world. Until they weren’t. 

No one was sure as to the exact nature of the accident that left one dead, two severely injured and one with minor cuts and scrapes. Kevin, the sweet boy who just wanted to belong was dead. Stanley walked away. Gaston had severe brain damage and would likely require twenty-four/seven care for the rest of his life. Adam broke his right collarbone, the three bones in his right arm, the femur of his right leg and had broken glass embedded in his face. Scars he would bear for the rest of his life. 

Belle, Hatter and his dads sat constant vigil by his side while he recovered from surgery. His handsome face distorted and scarred from the accident. Mixed emotions filled Belle. Anger, betrayal, hurt, sadness. How could he do this? Interview or not, he could have called her. Should have called her. In fact, he had called her. Several times. The first time she answered. She heard the shouts and loud music in the background. In his slurred speech he told her how much he loved her and how he was sorry. She begged him to tell her where he was. She would come get him and take him home. Get him to Hatter and his dads. Get him sober again. He wouldn’t listen. After the calls ended, texts came through. At first they were from Adam. Drunken decelerations of love. Disjointed thoughts of an unclear mind. Then they changed. They called her names, demeaned her. She turned her phone off. Adam had to be beyond reason if he let Gaston talk to her in such a way. 

Adam and Stanley had to be the ones to face the music when it came down to blame for the accident. They each took a lesser sentence, community service, mandatory rehab, counseling and they were expelled. Adam became the worst version of himself. Guilt over took him. He withdrew into himself, became bitter, letting his anger consume him. If he did speak to anyone, there was no kindness in his words. Belle stood by him, did her best to help him through the darkness. Her breaking point came during her second year of college. He had done well over the holidays. He was getting better. So when the stick said Pregnant she was able to think to the future again. They had taken their lives day by day for the last two years. She could see a glimmer of hope in their darkness. 

Fate, cruel as always, laughed. He had been working at the grocery store when she came in. Gaston’s mother. Seeing Adam whole set her grief anew. He stood there unmoving as she berated him, blamed him for everything that happened that night. Her son wouldn’t do the things they had said about him. Adam was a dirty orphan who drug her son down with him. Management lead her away from him but the damage had been done. In a stupor he walked out of the store grabbing a bottle of his poison on the way out. He missed her calls. Ignored them. Ignored everyone as he drank himself stupid again. 

Belle was done. She could only watch him destroy himself for so long. And losing her child was the final straw. 

“I won’t sit by and watch you drink yourself to death,” she said. “I can’t do it anymore.” 

The last time she saw Adam, he had passed out on her dorm room floor. The last she heard he’d voluntarily checked himself into an in patient clinic. Belle kept in contact with Lumiere and Cogsworth. They came to her graduation when her own father was too ill to make the drive. They stood by her when she lost her father. The two men rarely mentioned Adam except in passing. He was out of rehab. Seemed to be doing well. He was working. Stocking shelves at a big box store. Somewhere he didn’t have to see customers. 

Belle sighed away the memories and stood up from her chair and took out her favorite book. A leather bound copy of Sense and Sensibility. Opening it at random, dried flowers fell from the pages. Tucked between another page was a yellowing piece of notebook paper. A letter. A letter from Adam in the Before. 

 My Belle, 

It feels so great to be able to call you mine. I know I’m not the easiest guy you could be with. I’m so grateful that you are. As promised, I’m doing better. Learning to take a breath to settle my anger before speaking. I need to explain what happened. The photo in my room, was my mother. The only thing I managed to keep throughout my childhood and moves. I am so sorry that I lost my temper. It wasn't acceptable behavior and I know that. I am going to forever be working on myself, to be who you need me to be. 

I love you, Belle. Don’t give up on me. 

Yours always, 

Adam

She slid the letter back into the book. That Adam was long gone. He had a way with words. One minute he was a master poet, extolling words of love and devotion. But there was the other side of the coin. His words, when used in anger could tear a person down and leave them shattered. But that was then. She was a different person now.  

You can trust me not to think And not to sleep around If you don't expect too much from me You might not be let down Cause all I really want is to be with you Feeling like I matter too If I hadn't blown the whole thing years ago I might be here with you

His shift was ending. He didn’t have anywhere to be. His dads had taken a cruise, trusting they could leave Adam home alone for the first time in years. He didn’t have many friends that he could call to see if they wanted to grab a bite. In fact not counting Hatter, he didn’t have anyone he could call anymore. He took out his phone to check the time. It was just after eight. Jack in the Box would still be open. He could go there, eat a cheap burger and fries and go home. He smiled sadly looking at the picture that was a perfect moment in time. Belle. Lumiere had taken the photo. Together on the tire swing in the backyard. They had been so happy. Back when she was still his. Back before everything went to hell. 

He still had her number in his phone. He never called it. He was sure she’d hang up on him before he ever got a word spoken. That was if she hadn’t blocked his number altogether. There was so much he wanted to tell her. To apologize for. He loved her. Loved her enough that he would be okay if she never came back to him. Not that the sting of jealousy didn’t bite him in the ass when he saw her with someone else. 

He had seen her from afar so many times over the years. She still called his dads when something good happened to her. They would always tell him if she was coming over or if they had talked to her. Adam never asked Cogsworth or Lumiere to say he was thinking of her. That he still loved her with all the passion he still had. He wouldn’t do that to her. Not again. 

He found himself walking in the rain. After the accident, he never drove again. He wasn’t sure where he was going until he found himself outside her house. She was sitting in front of the fire reading, like she always did. Taking a breath, he walked away from the window and to the front door. He pressed the doorbell and waited. 

Belle never imagined who would be on the other side of her door. 

“Adam?” 

“Belle.” No matter how many years passed by, Adam saying her name was enough to send shockwaves through her whole body. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked. 

“I know if I hadn’t messed up that night, I wouldn’t be standing out here in the rain,” he said, his blue eyes staring at her. “There are so many things that I’ve done that I’m not proud of. Hurting you, driving you away will always be on the top of my list.” 

“You really hurt me, Adam. How can I ever trust you again?”

He fished something out of his pocket. A bronze colored coin. Belle had seen the collection of sobriety coins Hatter had. Hatter was eighteen years sober. So often they just wanted to get Adam to thirty days. Thirty days. Then to ninety days. To a hundred and eighty. To one year. The bronze coin in his hand had a 2 stamped in the center of it. 

“Two years, yesterday Belle,” he said. “730 days. Dad and Pop came to the meeting. Hatter actually cried.”

Two years. Belle tried to imagine Hatter crying. The thought made her giggle. She caught his eye and in an instant it was like they were seventeen again. He pulled her to him, expression nervous but hopeful as he waited for her to make the next move. Maybe it was too much to hope he would take her back so soon. But she had to know. Had to know there would never be another for him. She was it. He would spend the rest of his life making up for the last five years of hell he put them through. He needed and wanted her with every fiber of being. She must have seen it, weighed the consequences in her own mind. Seconds passed and her lips crashed into his, igniting a passion she had long buried. He walked her backwards into the house, kicking the door closed behind them. Between their increasingly fervent kisses, he was apologizing. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when Maurice died,” he said as she pulled his wet coat from him. “I’m sorry for passing out in your yard.”

“Adam, if you list everything you’re sorry for, you’ll be here until Christmas.”

Christmas sounded good to Adam. He could spend a Christmas with Belle. A birthday with Belle. God, was this really happening? Was she really there? He had to be sure. 

“Am I really here?” he whispered into her hair, holding her close to him. 

“Yes, you’re really here. I’m here.” Belle traced the marks on his face.

“You can count on me now, Belle. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

“Prove it.” 

A low chuckle escaped his throat as he kissed her again. He drank her in, every sight, every scent mixing with memories. Lifting her into his arms holding her close. He pressed her against the wall, his lips finding all the places that brought her pleasure. The places only he knew. Her legs wrapped around him, as if they had never been apart.  

Her senses came back to her first. She shouldn’t be doing this. She shouldn’t let him back into her life. She knew the risks and her heart could only break so many times. 

“Wait, Adam. Stop. Put me down,” she said. With her feet on the ground, her head was coming out of the clouds. 

“Belle? Aren’t you happy I’m back?”

“Oh, Adam,” she sighed. “I have wanted nothing but for you to be sober and happy. But I can’t be the root of your happiness. I won’t survive it again.”

He nodded. He’d heard this before, from his fathers, from Hatter. He expected it from Belle. She had been hurt the most by his actions. Because she could walk away. 

“I understand Belle. I do. It will take more than just words and promises. Because I’ve said and done things that I am not proud of. I’ve hurt you. The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you. I love you.”

He took out his phone, opening the notes app. Scrolling down he found a letter he had written to her during his final rehab stay. He began to read. 

“My dearest Belle, there is nothing that I can say that will ever make up for my behavior. There is nothing I regret more. I lie here in my bed thinking about what — no not what — who we lost. Who they could have been if they’d had a better father. I will never forgive myself for walking away. Walking away from you, from what you meant — mean to me. I am so sorry that you were alone. I am sorry that my selfish wants overtook me when you needed me most. Nothing I can ever do will make up for that. In the worst moment of your — our lives, you were alone. And that is not right. It will never be right. And if you can ever forgive me, I will work forever to earn back your love and your trust. And even if you never can, knowing that I tried will be enough for me. I love you Belle. I love you enough to walk away if that’s what you want from me.”

 He stopped reading and looked up at her. “What do you want Belle?”

She didn’t even hesitate. “You. Demons and all.” 

[esoanem]

VIII.

“I didn’t want to believe you could be capable of doing something like that. But I couldn’t convince myself that you weren’t“

Major Content Notes:

None!

Wikipedia Synopsis:

The hunt for the Urca de Lima begins when Silver divulges the schedule to Flint, taking them to the ship's location. Rackham stops paying Ms. Mapleton, which causes her to threaten to blackmail Rackham. She threatens to tell the locals what really happened to Mr. Noonan. Meanwhile, Vane makes his way back to New Providence with his new crew. Eleanor's situation changes when a small band of men take over Hornigold's fort and start sinking supply ships in the bay. Gates threatens to call off the attack of the Ranger, so Flint kills him. The final scenes of the season show that the Walrus has beached itself upon the same isle as the Urca de Lima.

This is the final episode of the season so quite a lot goes down, but for the first time I don’t think we’ve needed any major content notes. There is some blood & gore, and nudity at various points, but nothing especially graphic

Summary:

Rackham is docking Mrs Mapleton’s pay because of her skimming. She threatens to tell all the merchants that he murdered Mr Noonan, saying that they’ll band together and see Jack hanged for it. Jack calls this insubordination and fires her. As she reiterates her threat, Max arrives, and points out that the merchants are all enjoying steep discounts (affordable now the books are in order) right now and that because of that, they won’t much care what Mapleton has to say

At sea there is a terrible storm, with the Walrus and Ranger climbing waves as tall as their masts. Belowdecks, as the crew play music and card games, Dr Howell has made a peg leg for Randall and is trying to get Silver to convince him to wear it, saying that a crutch is too big a risk in this weather. Randall is reluctant. Silver tries to convince him by sarcastically pointing out how he’s helped Randall in the past, before throwing the peg leg to him, but Randall just tosses it to the floor and goes back to eating his apple

“Oh, Mr Silver, how can I ever thank you? First you save me from ending up as a stain on the Walrus’s underside, then you secured my position on the crew on the verge of an historic haul, and if that weren’t enough, you’re still trying to find something comfortable to put at the end of my stump. From the bottom of my heart, thank you“

Two crewmen come down from the deck saying that a launch from the Ranger has arrived with Captain Gates. Logan wonders “what could be so fucking important that he has to row through all that shit out there for it”. Silver hears this and hurries to Flint’s cabin

He sits down, and Flint pushes an inkwell over to him saying they’ll make landfall in the morning and need the last part of the schedule. Flint compares what Silver writes out to a book of his own reconnaissance, of bays and inlets in the right area that could reasonably be used for the Urca to take on water. Flint tells Silver to take the information to de Groot and set a course for Division Bay. As Gates says he better get back to the Ranger, Flint says it’d be better not to tempt fate and pulls a bottle up

“Talbot Rhodes’ private stock. I’d been waiting for an occasion. My reckoning is, tomorrow we’ll be able to afford a lot more of it or -”

“- we’ll be too dead to care”

Mr Scott comes into Eleanor’s office to tell her that Captain Lawrence is almost ready to leave. She is worried by the storm, calling it a ship-killer and wondering if God is on Mr Scott’s side in opposing this plan. Mr Scott reassures her, saying that the trouble might have happened anyway, with or without the schedule

“Tomorrow, a thing that you conceived out of thin air becomes real. A thing that will give this place a chance to find some small measure of peace. That is not nothing”

Back on the Walrus, Gates & Flint are finishing the bottle, and reminiscing about the man who found it, Mr Cregg, the carpenter’s mate who could sniff out booze on a prize ship like a bloodhound. Flint tells a story of one time he found a bottle hidden behind a baseboard on a prize and, thinking it was the captain’s best booze he took a big swig in front of everyone, only to realise it was piss.  Gates is trying to seem friendly, but in cutaways he seems melancholy, mourning his lost friendship with Flint, whilst Flint seems to be acting as if nothing has happened between them. Gates remembers that he brought Cregg over with him, having both served under Avery together as kids, before getting up to leave, a tear in his eye

"For years, he went on how he’d got this huge stash hidden away, and I should live to survive him because one day, I will be a rich man. As you know, we lost him on the Pembroke. 

So I open his locker and what do I find? 

Twelve pesos, a busted pocket watch, and a letter with instructions to deliver it to his sister in New York.

Lying sack of shit was Mr Cregg!

So I bought the boys a round with the pesos, traded the pocket watch for a bit of tail, and spent two weeks that winter in New York, trying to deliver that fucking letter to his sister. Looked high and low, never found her. So on the way home, I waited until we were in open water and I could see no land in any direction and I dropped it over the side. Return to the sea. 

There are no legacies in this life, are there? No monuments, no history. Just the water. It pays us, and then it claims us, swallows us whole as if we’d never been here at all”

Anne bursts in on Jack whilst he’s taking a bath. She yells at Jack for cutting Mapleton loose without telling her, saying she could tell the entire island about them killing Noonan. She then says the fact he’s keeping council with Max is bothering her even more, and accuses Jack of fucking her

"Jesus H Christ I can’t win with you. She’s in the camp with the men and it’s ‘come on Jack, let’s go kill everyone see if we can’t get around there, hope you don’t mind, made that decision on your behalf’ and now she’s out making us a small fortune by the way and you’re pissed off about that too, might you consider making up your fucking mind about her, please!”

After telling him to fuck himself she leaves, and sees Max standing by a mirror naked, drying her hair. Anne looks bashful, and hurries downstairs as Max turns around and puts on a dressing gown smiling

Vane arrives at Nassau with a few rowing boats full of the men from the lumber camp. They row past a series of lobster pots before beaching the boats and stepping ashore

The Walrus & Ranger are sailing along the coast flying Spanish colours, Division Bay is just past the next headland. Flint gives a brief speech to the crew, before ordering full sails for their final approach

“Llisten here! When we clear the point ahead and spot the Urca at anchor, we’ll begin our final run at her. The Spanish banner may earn us a few hundred yards of confusion before the captain identifies us and opens fire so we’ll close fast on her, hammer her well with our guns, and then take the fight to her decks. That fight will be the fight of our lives make no mistake. But on the other side lies paradise!”

As they round the point though, there is no ship to be seen. The entire crew, including Flint are dumbfounded, and after asking de Groot if he’s sure of their position, Flint storms into his cabin leaving the crew bemused on deck

Eleanor meets Naft, Frasier, & Lawrence at the end of the pier, where she hands Lawrence two manifests, one true, one false, and a substantial purse and wallet for bribery. Lawrence is impatient and wants to leave. As Eleanor comes off the pier she is met by Hornigold & Scott. She tells them that she still needs to remove her father entirely, that she knows he’s on the Underhill estate scheming to undo everything they’ve done. Hornigold reacts in disbelief

“You’re truly amazing, in the moment when stability is at hand and the world is at your feet, your first instinct is to go out in search of someone new to fight”

Scott asks for a moment with her but is interrupted by cannonfire, the shot landing near Hornigold’s ship. After a couple more shots, they realise the cannons being fired are from the fort. Hornigold realises someone other than his men must be in the fort and, as we see a mast break Scott says they need to get off the beach. As they march towards the tavern, Jack comes out of the brothel to ask what’s going on, when he’s told that someone’s taken over the fort he looks over at Anne who swallows anxiously

Gates comes aboard the Walrus and is led to Flint by Dufresne who tells them that the crew have agreed to Flint’s plan. They will land the Walrus and then he has two days to send out scouts to find the Urca. Flint gives the order and heads into his cabin. Dufresne tells Gates that de Groot is bitter that they didn’t listen to him about the cook, that he says there’s no Urca out here, that justice has been delayed long enough, he wants Flint tried immediately, and he believes that for all his talk Gates is just protecting Flint

“I’m protecting all of us! These men are right on the edge, and he wants to rile them up more by talking about a lying thieving captain, then stand on a deserted beach and talk about elections? Before you know it, half a dozen men will have laid claim to the captaincy, council will divide. it won’t be dark yet before the fighting starts

We’ve got to see Flint pay for his crimes, but we’ll do it at home, and we’ll do it like civilised men and that’s how we avoid the abyss!”

Dufresne asks how they can trust Gates, as they know the two of them spent the last night together drinking. Gates hands him a letter asking if it’s good enough, which Dufresne reads and seems surprised by

Sails are spotted, a Spanish man-o-war, and it will be on them in half an hour. Flint signals the Ranger to raise the black and fire two shots off the Walrus’s bow, as well as rigging a spring to the foreward anchor and dropping her immediately. Below you can see, the main anchor cable connected to the bow of the ship running straight up, with a second line, the (slightly slack) spring tied onto this and connected to the stern. By tightening the spring, he can pull the stern out to windward, and turn the ship without moving

De Groot is astounded that Flint means to fight the man-o-war, but Gates shouts to the crew that they have their orders before dragging Flint into his cabin. Dufresne and de Groot share their concerns

"If he engages that ship in battle, we’re dead!”

"I know”

"I know you know, but does Mr Gates?”

Gates tells Flint he can’t let him go down this road. Flint ignores this and explains his plan to Gates, the man-o-war will see them as a Spanish merchantman under attack by pirates, the Spaniard will pass them by to give chase and, before she realises her error they’ll turn and have her trapped, the Walrus raking her stern to bow, and the Ranger raking her bow to stern, and that the warship shows that the Urca is here after all

"all I see is an empty bay, a gardacosta warship, and a captain that’s lost his fucking grip on reality!”

Flint says that the ship isn’t a gardacosta (coastguard) here on patrol, that the only explanation for it being here at this time is that it’s an escort. Gates points out that the entire justification for the venture was that the Urca would have no escort. Flint suggests that they changed their plans, at which point Gates says he’s leaving with the Ranger, leaving Flint dumbstruck in disbelief. They hash it out, furious at each other

“What did you just say?”

“I��m going to weigh anchor, I’m going to make a run for it, and if I can keep ahead of her before dark there’s just a chance we could slip away”

"Without the ranger, I have no chance against that ship”

"I know”

"So you’re deliberately challenging my authority here? Deliberately violating you duty?”

"My duty? My duty is to them, not to you! Although I have violated it more times than I can remember in your defence. Helped you deceive good men, who put their trust in me because I was convinced they would be better off for it! But not here! Not this! This is fucking madness!”

"Mr Gates, if you walk through that door with the intent of subverting my plans, I will have no alternative but to interpret that as an incitement of mutiny”

"You think I’m inciting mutiny?

"You are inciting mutiny!”

"I’m managing one! There are men out there right now that know about Singleton, the book, the cook, all of it! They know! And they mean to see you hang for it!”

Flint goes quiet, asking if Gates told them

"After Billy, I just, I didn’t want to believe you could be capable of doing something like that. But I couldn’t convince myself that you weren’t. That’s when I realised that this has got to end.”

"So what then? You preside over a trial that sees me hanged?”

“No. I’m going to go home. And I’m going to see you and Mrs Barlow secreted away before anybody knows you’re gone. You’re going to go to Boston. You’re going to take the pardon that she’s offered you and that is the last that you and I will ever see of each other”

Flint looks ashamed, and downcast, and begs Gates not to do this. Gates tells him to take a moment, that he’ll deal with the crew, and goes to leave. Flint looks up, and stares intently at the back of Gates’ head, his lip quivering into a snarl

He starts up, slams Gates into the door, and chokes him from behind, repeating “this is not what I wanted, I’m sorry” before snapping Gates’ neck. He repeats “I’m sorry” as his snarl softens and he starts crying, cradling the body of the closest thing he had to a friend

The door creaks open, Flint’s face immediately hardens again and he draws his pistol. It is Silver, saying he came to back Flint up in his case that the Urca can still be won. Flint drops his arm, looking exhausted. Silver comes in and hurriedly closes the door behind him, locking it, before checking Gates’ neck for anything incriminating. Flint bats his hands away, asking “what the fuck are you doing to him” before telling Silver to stop. Flint is utterly defeated, but Silver tells him there is still a way out

"There’s no way out of this”

"Take it from me. There’s always a way”

A letter is delivered to Hornigold and the rest of the consortium, saying that a small band on men were seen approaching the fort from the west that morning, but no-one could identify them, and all the local crews are accounted for. Mr Scott asks if the fort’s great guns could be repositioned to aim at the street. Hornigold’s only response is that he hopes whoever it is won’t be mad enough to consider that and proposes to retake the fort when he is interrupted by Vane & his men on the street outside demanding to speak to Eleanor

Flint steps out of his cabin and, looking Dufresne straight in the eyes tells him that Mr Gates’ heart gave out. He gives orders to signal the Ranger with the plan, telling Mr Thompson he’s in charge, to sail North and, when the Walrus fires on the target, to tack hard to port and join them. Dufresne barges past de Groot into the cabin. As he looks down at Gates’ body, Silver starts speaking

“The question you need to ask yourself is what good can I do. 

You can call this murder, a number of the men might even believe you, but will that be enough to stop this fight that is about to happen? 

Because if it’s not, a fight we might win becomes a battle we are doomed to lose because the men went into it infected with your suspicions, with your doubts.

 So, Mr Quartermaster, is that truly what’s in their best interests?”

Dufresne steps out and walks straight past de Groot again, over to Flint.

"When the warship draws close, she’ll ask our last port of call. Saint Augustine is the closest and as she’s likely a customs ship, we must identify our cargo as anything but tobacco; Seville regulates the trade heavily”

Vane is Eleanor’s office, his boots up on her desk, rolling a cigar as she comes in, and sweeps his feet off asking what the fuck he did

"Spend enough time on an island, you begin to forget there’s a whole world out there. A world where the rules are different” he puts his feet back up and goes back to rolling his cigar “I went out there and found men who don’t know the rules here and who don’t much care to learn them. They helped me surprise Captain Hornigold’s men, we took his fort, and not once were any of them burdened with the though ‘what if this were to upset Eleanor Guthrie’”

He threatens to keep sinking ships, and maybe even sink the Walrus when she comes back with the Spanish gold, just out of spite. He says that because the fort controls the bay, Hornigold was her partner when he controlled the fort and so now, he should get to be her partner. He says being a tenant didn’t work out so well, and now he’d like a stake

He then describes the first time he saw her, when she was thirteen, and sneaking out despite Mr Scott’s rules. He says that despite her age she walked between the camps like she owned the place, completely fearless. He then suggests that all she really wants is to not have any men bossing her around, and that he has no intention of telling her what to do as long as he gets what he wants. She begrudgingly agrees, but promises that she will drive him out once he inevitably gets comfortable

“I know you. Better than your father, better than Scott, maybe better than anyone. You don’t give a shit about money, or respect, or the things you’ve built here. I think you’re just tired of fathers telling you what to do and so I’m offering you a life free from them. With me in that fort, you do as you like as long as it doesn’t cross me you’ll hear no complaints”

"You know I have no choice but to say yes. But before I do, know this: you’ll sit in that fort for a while, you’ll get comfortable, and that’s the day I’m going to push you and your men right into the fucking sea”

As Vane saunters out, he dismissively nods at Hornigold, calling him “Ben”. Eleanor tells him that Vane now has his seat on the consortium. She tells Hornigold that it’s no use him trying to take the fort, because she told Vane about the tunnels he’d have used to launch a surprise attack. She defends this as acting in everyone’s best interests and Hornigold leaves, promising that this won’t be the end of this

“You told me to keep emotion from clouding judgement, to act in everyone’s best interest. I believe that’s what I’m doing”

Vane enters the brothel and is met by a nervous Jack. He says that in some ways it had to come to this: him deciding if Jack lives or dies. We see Mapleton standing behind Vane’s men. Vane confronts him about killing Hamund and his men, and we see Jack speechless, and Anne wearing a frightened expression for pretty much the first time

“Hamund brings you out of bed, marches you down to the wrecks to look for a stash of stolen pearls and somehow only you and your dog make it back alive?”

“Quite a moment. Jack Rackham with nothing to say. Had I a shrewd quartermaster right now, he would tell me that I can’t let what you did stand, he would say that an offence like that demanded an example be made of both of you, the bloodier the better, but today I’m a little less worried about perception than I used to be. As long as I own that fort, it doesn’t really matter, so the street will know what you did, they will know that you betrayed your brothers for a woman. That story will spread far and wide, and you’ll never sail beneath the black again. You’ll sit in this place and rot with the rest of the whores. Something tells me that will sting worse than dying”

The man-o-war comes alongside the Walrus, and Silver shouts across, with Flint behind the rail next to him feeding him lines. He says that they were attacked by pirates, that their last port of call was Saint Augustine, and that they are carrying tobacco. De Groot questions Dufresne about this

"If I’m not mistaken, you told him to state us as anything but a tobacco trader did you not?”

"II did. He means to prove that ship is not gardacosta, that it’s here for the same reason we are. If that ship lets us pass, he will have both renewed the men’s lust for gold and their faith in his judgement”

“Time and again he gambles with our lives, that is when he’s not taking them in cold blood and once more his influence grows. We’re at his mercy with no way to challenge him”

The Spanish ship sails on and Flint orders all hands to quietly go to their stations, and to fire at 300 yards. The Walrus starts pulling on its spring line to bring the stern out slowly, so the Spanish ship thinks they’re just drifting. At 100 yards, he orders the gunports opened and sights down a gun saying “we only get one shot at this. If we miss, we die”

Just after 200 yards Dufresne pulls his pistol on Flint, accusing him of piratical crimes against his crew, that he murdered Singleton, Billy, & Gates, and that he planned to steal a portion of the treasure fleet for himself. Flint gives the order to fire, but the crew do not. Belowdecks, de Groot is taking Silver into the Surgeon’s cabin. Dufresne hands the letter to Logan saying it is a confession from Mr Gates of his knowledge of & complicity in Flint’s crimes, and Logan confirms that it is written in Gates’ hand

Flint continues to repeat the order to fire growing frustrated at the crew’s inaction, shouting that they’re going to lose the enemy and don’t have time for this. Eventually he strides down and grabs one of the slow matches used to fire the cannons and goes to light the touchhole firing the cannons, but is shot in the shoulder by Dufresne

Silver wrestles with de Groot, but is knocked to the ground. As de Groot readies his pistol, he is knocked out by Randall who has hit him on the head from behind with the peg leg. Flint is pressed against the side by a gunport watching the Spanish ship slip away when one of the Walrus’ cannons fires, taking him, and the entire crew by surprise. Silver looks out at them, saying that it had to be done. Flint tells Dufresne to fight

“There’s no running now. Fire, Mr Dufresne. Everything you’ve got. Don’t waste this moment”

Dufresne hesitates, and the Spaniard’s sternchasers fire, hitting the Walrus. At this, Dufresne and Flint both start shouting orders to hire, and the crew slip into battle. Both the Walrus and Ranger get some volleys in, scoring several hits and causing a small explosion and fire onboard the man-o-war

The man-o-war comes about, her gunports open, and she fires. The Spanish broadside tears into the Walrus sending yard arms crashing down, and gun carriages flying. We see the Ranger’s magazine explode, and more and more holes be shot into the Walrus. As Silver tries to help an injured man, crying out for the doctor, Flint is knocked into the water. Seeing people and debris continue to be sent flying from the Walrus, he stops treading water and allows himself to be dragged under by the weight of his clothes and equipment

Eleanor is on the bridge between the tavern and brothel and Max comes out to meet her halfway. Eleanor starts to apologise to Max, but she tells her not to, saying she was “standing between you and your dreams for this place, you did what you had to do” and Eleanor reminds her of her words, that Nassau is just sand and cannot love her back but Max pushes back

"Sand has its virtues. On sand nothing is fixed. Nothing is permanent. Fates change so quickly. 

Yesterday Captain Hornigold was immovable from that fort and Captain Vane was a beggar, now look at them today. 

Yesterday I was a whore of little consequence, easily dismissed, easily forgotten, today I am a madam with an income and allies, and a woman who has learned the most important of lessons, never let anyone stand between you and your ambitions. Thank you for teaching it to me”

Vane sits in the fort as we see Lawrence push off, Hornigold’s damaged ship still in the bay, and Hornigold and Scott look on. Eleanor watches in the shallows, teary-eyed over what her ambitions have lost her

Flint wakes up on a beach, topless, a bit of cloth pressed to his wound as a dressing. He sits up and we see Dufresne, Silver, several other pirates, and the Walrus next to them on the beach with several holes clean through her hull. Flint asks why he’s still alive and Dufresne tells him to get up. As Dufresne leads them over the island they’re wrecked on, Silver says he was certain about his information regarding the Urca

“Unfortunately, you & I failed to take into account the weather. The Urca de Lima wrecked at sea last night. Dashed by the storm”

As we peek over the brow of the hill and see the Urca broken in two on another beach, the Spanish sailors unloading her onto the beach with the man-o-war at anchor in the bay, Flint seems to regain his resolve

[alolanrain]

Can you tell us more about the tapus? I'm really interested in your version of them

Wosdh I kinda portrayed them differently than what the anime has a lot of the time tbh.

Tapu Bulu is like a giant Samoyed dog that loves cuddles to the max supreme yet has the cats complexities of “only look, don’t touch.” Going on so he’s very conflicted on if he wants humans to touch him or not. You can usually spot him around Nanu’s police station and or by the shady tall grass area by Acerola library. Tapu Bulu likes time stay close to his Kahuna, especially since he’s the oldest and already kinda on his last stand against time and fate. He’s kinda the chill stoner uncle that some people have and Bulu reminds Ash of Professor Oak as well which is a very weird combination. Ash is “technically” the first person Bulu let to touch him, Nanu touched Bulu a few times before bing instated as Kahuna a very long time ago and Acerola once when she was trapped in a cave while younger and needed help getting herself out. Tapu Bulu is the second oldest out of the four yet doesn’t really act like it.

Tapu Lele and Tapu Fini share the 1 (one) wisdom aunt brain cell and it’s split between them. Tapu Lele anyways is kinda like that annoying little sister/brother that follows you everywhere but like... at a distance. Unless she wants to play and then it’s Goodbye Human And Pokemon Ribs! She can be really sweet at times when she wants to, especially to Kahuna Olivia when the women is having a particularly bad day with people and Pokémon. She’ll make a shell necklace or a flower crown and bring it up to her temple and waits for Olivia to give it to her after Olivia prays every day since she was coined Tapu Lele’s Kahuna. She even brought a rare find or stone when Olivia had started crying after praying once. She cares but in a sister/distant aunt sort of way. Surprisingly she’s the most attuned to the other Legendaries and mythicals in their shared world, knowing when one is near Alola or swimming by. Sometimes she’ll catch on of them on her radar and talk about it later to her siblings and they’ll be confused because they didn’t notice anything different on their isles or another God coming by. Tapu Lele usually gets treated like the little sister and it’s because she is.

Tapu Fini is a very distant God, but oh does she loves her Kahunas. She’s the oldest out of the four and acts like the emotionless dad with everyone. The other three hate it in their own way but don’t really say anything because it’s how Tapu Fini shows her own affection. This time it’s true that Ash is the first human to touch her, Newly made Kahuna Hapu was second. Both didn’t say or hint anything at Hapu when she stated she was the first one for Tapu Fini to be willing touch. She’s the wine aunt as well and can get some pretty stupid over the top hair brain ideas that Tapu Koko is forced to step in and knock her down a few pegs. She and Kyogre have a very big rivalry for sea space between them, they don’t dare touch Kanto/Johto see’s because Lugia will actually 100% kill them if they do and fuck up the Prinal Current. Everything else is free game though.

Tapu Koko is actually the most emotional wise to the people living on his lands Tapu Koko is protecting. Except Viren, he can go choke. He gets very connected to his Kahunas and their family so he’s pretty attacked to Hala and Hau and Hala knows a lot more about the Gapus then the other three Kahunas. Tapu Koko is the most curious as well, peaked when a God comes nearby to their island. That’s how he actually originally met Ash, Tapu Koko had felt a powerful presence only to be met with a human boy. Unlike the other three siblings, Tapu Koko is not afraid to show who’s his favorite on his island. He’s the mom out of the four and is usually the one talking down his siblings from killing each other or themselves.

[drrjsb]

Happy Holidays! Body and Soul: The Endgame Fix "Part 16: Tea and Empathy"

Summary: Bruce and Natasha return home to find a friend waiting on the porch. They tap into Bruce’s supply of Girl Scout cookies, make a call across the galaxy, and later they answer one from closer to home. Yes, we earn our mature rating.

Notes: Happy Holidays to those who celebrate! Here’s nice big chapter for those who’ve waited. It’s still the evening of Monday, October 30, 2023.

AO3  Fanfiction.net  WattPad

Excerpt . . .

The last thing they'd expected to find was Dr. Stephen Strange waiting for them on the porch, but the Sorcerer Supreme was relaxing on the carved wooden swing with a gray cat on his lap as Bruce pulled up and parked the HX in its usual spot.

"Dr. Strange," Bruce said as he got out of the vehicle. Natasha didn't hesitate to hop out of the passenger's side door. She'd never met him, yet he looked exactly like the pictures she'd found when she researched him after Tony and Nebula had arrived back from Titan. She guessed the large gray cat that jumped out of the tall man's lap must be Gertie.

"Dr. Banner . . . and Ms. Romanoff, I presume," the magic-user returned in his deep baritone voice as he stood up.

"You presume correctly," she said as she joined Bruce. It was nice not to have her identity questioned from the get-go. The cat darted inside through the pet door, and Natasha caught Bruce huffing out a rather flummoxed breath through his nose.

"Stephen, good to see you. I assume you've already met, Gertrude. May I introduce you to Natasha Romanoff," Bruce said, extending his right hand. "Nat, this is Stephen Strange, Earth's Sorcerer Supreme," he explained and mirrored the same open-handed gesture of introduction with his left hand.

"A pleasure," the dark-haired physician said with a slightly amused smile. Natasha came forward and shook the hand he offered her as she stepped onto the porch with Bruce right behind her. "It's a pleasure to meet you," she said. Nat noticed his hand was every bit as scarred as Bruce's was and almost as warm, too. She'd read about the auto accident that ended his surgical career in his file.

"It's good to finally meet you, Ms. Romanoff." He held onto her hand a moment longer than necessary, and Nat knew he was scanning and scrutinizing her, so she stared steadily back into his intense blue eyes and matched his firm grip.

"She's the real one," Bruce assured the sorcerer as he used the tile pad to let them into the house. "Please come in and have some tea, Doctor."

"I can't stay for long, but tea sounds good," the physician admitted and followed the couple through the mudroom and into the kitchen where Sirius greeted them with a low "Whoof!" as Bruce assured the dog the guest was welcome. Strange held out the back of his hand, and the overgrown pup gave it a brief sniff before backing off and circling Natasha protectively.

"Have a seat," Bruce said and filled a copper kettle with water and placed it on the stove before reaching into the cabinet for cups and saucers. Natasha collected Bruce's jacket and hung it up with hers on a peg near the door. She offered to hang up Strange's cloak but he kept it draped over his shoulders as if he were still warding off a chill from the evening air.

"Darjeeling, oolong, green, herbal, some other kind of herbal, or Earl Grey?" Bruce asked as he checked through the containers on the cabinet where the loose-leaf teas had congregated.

With a mischievous smile, the sorcerer suggested, "Surprise me."

"All right, but I doubt you came here for the tea, Stephen."

Strange looked at both Bruce and Natasha, moving around each other with the ease of an experienced pit crew. "No, but I did come for the company and to compare a few notes on certain loose ends, which have turned out to be something more like an unraveling than a tying up of threads."

Bruce sighed. "No neat dénouement for the Time Heist?"

"No, apparently not." Strange studied Natasha who had found Bruce's oversupply of Girl Scout Cookies in the pantry. Without missing a beat, Bruce handed her three small plates to go with the teacups and saucers he'd just set on the counter. The sorcerer was still marveling at how well they coordinated and in-tune they seemed, despite being separated for so long. "Please tell me you have the peanut butter ones dipped in chocolate," he requested. Those had always been a weakness of his.

Natasha dispensed with formality and handed the physician an unopened box of his apparent favorites. She stacked half a box of Thin Mints on a plate for Bruce and pulled out a few butter cookies with chocolate backing for herself. She placed the opened boxes in the middle of the table since it might take the remainder to get through the conversation even if it was brief. Bruce passed her some spoons and napkins to lay out, too. The honey and sugar were already in the table's center. None of them took cream with their tea.

Natasha sat down across the table from Strange whose back was to the mudroom door while Bruce stayed leaning against the higher section of counter, waiting for the kettle to boil. She'd missed seeing what type of tea he'd put into the stainless mesh ball, so it was going to be a surprise for her, too.

Strange cleared his throat as he slid the remainder of his box of cookies into the middle of the table with the others. "First, Ms. Romanoff . . ."

"Natasha, please."

"Natasha, I'm very happy to see you are among the living. I spoke to Wanda earlier, and she passed along the good news. I've since communicated with Fury and Captain Danvers, so I have some information about your captor to pass along if you'd care to hear it."

"Of course," Natasha affirmed.

"Please do," Bruce said with his burly arms folded across his chest.

"As you've already surmised, your impersonator was indeed a Skrull, Natasha. The assumption was the Skrull was either from a different group that Earth hadn't encountered before, one which split off during their diaspora, or perhaps he was some kind of a rogue agent. However, once Fury's allies, the Skrulls under Talos' leadership, compared cell samples collected from the craft in the lake to their database, it became evident that there was a connection."

"So, Nat's fake is related to some of Talos' people?" Bruce asked.

Strange nodded, "Four of them to be exact."

"I hope we're talking siblings or cousins," Bruce said with a frown.

Natasha cut to the other possibility, "Would they be grandparents?"

Strange nodded toward Natasha in acknowledgment, "In a manner of speaking, you were dealing with a being who doesn't exist yet."

The kettle's whistle gradually crescendoed to its full-throated high note as the implications sunk in. Bruce removed the kettle from the burner and turned the gas off. "Something tells me there's a common thread between this issue and what's been happening since the Time Heist. Clint told us there have been more paradoxes turning up."

"Yes, more than just the ones we've been dealing with concerning the Sousa family. In that case, it does seem to come back to a certain individual."

"Speaking of him, have you had a chance to sit down with Steve?" Bruce asked.

"We spoke about a week ago at a coffee shop in the Village, the day after he arrived (or reappeared?), but I can't say that he was extremely helpful. We went over what he'd done and where he said he was for all that time he was absent from our reality, but there were discrepancies almost from the beginning. Before I came here, I stopped by his apartment in Brooklyn, but he doesn't appear to have been there in some time if at all since Tony's funeral."

Bruce continued to frown. "I was hardly able to speak with him the day our Steve left and the old man arrived before that version left the Compound grounds. I asked if he understood the implications his little side junket might have for our timeline, and he clammed up tight. Sam and Bucky got in my face when I asked him again, so I thought it was better to back off before heavier things than words were flying. Do you think he's skipped?"

Natasha was imagining Sam's over-protective reaction and the possible outcome of a three-on-one fight with Bruce and the control it had taken on his part to avoid one. Even with those odds, a damaged arm, and a reluctance to harm the others, she'd have still put her money on Bruce. Nevertheless, the whole thing bothered her. She'd been at Peggy's funeral, and Natasha knew just how much Peggy had meant to him. Natasha also remembered seeing Peggy's husband Daniel there, not an older version of Steve. Selfishly throwing the rest of the universe into chaos and creating multiple splinters of the timeline—multiple conflicting realities—didn't match up with Steve's character or ethos at all.

The sorcerer shook his head. "I believe you were right not to press the matter, under those circumstances, Bruce." Strange thought a moment before answering the physicist's question, "If he's still in our reality, it seems likely he's gone underground. I've not been able to track him, and I suspect that's because he's not who he claims to be."

"Or he's found a way to cloak himself from a magical search since I imagine that's what you've already done," Natasha suggested. Strange nodded his confirmation. He'd used a hair from Steve's apartment to weave a tracking spell, and the magic had completely failed. "Do you have any idea exactly what he did to affect the timeline?" she asked.

Strange tried to keep from rolling his eyes with frustration before he dove into his explanation. "It appears he created a parallel timeline in which he lived out his life with Peggy Carter and then renounced that reality after her death to return to our own long enough to drop off the older version of his shield to Colonel Wilson. I'm not completely certain why he felt so compelled to return it, except that he seems to have wanted to pass along his mantel to Sam."

Bruce shook his head, feeling just as frustrated as the magic user. "Why would he want us to think he'd lived his past out in our timeline? Are you sure this really was our Steve?" the physicist asked.

"Those are good questions," the sorcerer stated.

"Was he human?" Natasha asked.

Strange shrugged the slightest bit. "That's also a good question."

"So, we really don't know if this was our Steve, another version of Steve, or a Skrull or something else?" Bruce posited. He'd warmed up a large ceramic teapot and steeped the tea, so now he poured their three cups full and settled them on the saucers for the other two.

"Correct, and that also leaves us with the anomalies involving the Souzas' background shifts and other exchanges or apparent 'edits' of digital footprints," the physician noted and blew on the steaming tea in his cup. "Mmm, white tea, ginger, and . . . bergamot?"

"You're good," Bruce said and placed his larger-sized cup and saucer at the head of the table and sat down in his extra-sturdy seat between the other two. "Whether this was our Steve or not, I'd seriously like to know where he acquired the Pym particles necessary to do the extra hop back to our reality," Bruce groused.

"Although I couldn't get him to say as much, I imagine he stole an extra vial or two when he returned the Space Stone," Strange surmised.

Bruce nodded, "That's the most likely explanation, but I'm amazed that didn't sabotage the whole Time Heist. Damn, it likely created at least one more splinter." The physicist clenched his jaws and then his right fist tightened. Now, he wished he'd thought faster, swallowed his pride, and called in Carol as soon as the old man had appeared on the lakeside bench. Things might have gotten messy, but they also might have had definitive answers to some of their questions. He felt Natasha's hand on his left forearm and realized his frustrations were getting the better of him. Bruce relaxed his jaw muscles and quit grinding his teeth as he loosened his clenched fist, flexing his damaged hand.

"Is Carol the only one who can detect a Skrull?" Natasha asked as she reached for a jar of honey in the middle of the table. Strange flicked his finger to levitate the jar gently into her grasp and unscrewed the lid. She raised an eyebrow and smiled her thanks.

"Please tell us you've figured out some method of detection, Stephen," Bruce said a bit forlornly.

Strange chuckled. "That actually brings me to another interesting piece of news," he said and unfastened his cloak to expose a familiar artifact resting on his chest.

The scar behind Bruce's right thumb heated up even before he realized what was once again housed in the amulet. A green light flared behind the metal housing, making the connection unmistakable. "How did you get it back?"

"As you might know, Stark returned the broken amulet that housed the Time Stone to Master Wong who had it repaired and returned to the place it had previously been kept. Two days ago, the Time Stone reappeared in its housing. I and several others have been investigating this phenomenon since then."

"How is this possible?" the scientist asked in disbelief. "Did Steve pocket it and bring it back?"

"I don't think so. Our surveillance cameras would have detected that" the sorcerer noted. The couple both gave him slightly incredulous looks. "What? We're not allowed to use both magic and technology?"

"You're right. That makes perfect sense," Natasha said. People were only human even if they were powerful magic users.

"What was on the recording?" Bruce asked, moving on with his inquiry.

"There was a green flash and the Stone manifested, once again whole and seated in the amulet just as it had been before."

"You wouldn't happen to have had a spectrometer nearby?" Bruce asked ruefully, wishing there had been more solid data collected.

Strange sighed, "No, but we can talk about adding one if you think that would be useful in the future."

"I'll start the paperwork for you myself," Bruce offered.

Natasha had grown quiet, her mind racing through possible scenarios and ramifications. "Is there any way to check for the presence of the other stones? If the Time Stone has returned, it must be possible for the others to do the same, right?"

The men looked at each other before Bruce spoke. "That's why I wish we'd gotten an energy signature and a reading on the Time Stone's manifestation; then, we might know what we need to look for with more specificity."

"Don't you have some of the data from the testing you and Tony and later Shuri did on the Space and Mind Stones?" she asked.

"You're right. We have data on those two energy signatures, which leaves . . ."

"The Power, Reality, and Soul Stones," Nat finished for him.

Strange held up his hand. "Perhaps another angle of inquiry that would help narrow a search would be to focus on the most likely places each Stone might manifest." The couple looked at each other and nodded. Strange gave a little snort as he watched them telegraphing and ending each other's thoughts. "Are you two sure you've been apart?"

Bruce went a little pale and then flushed beneath his verdant complexion as he looked at her with adoration. Natasha simply smiled back at the sorcerer and patted Bruce's muscular thigh beneath the table. "Now, Doctor, you're sounding like Tony Stark, except he'd have said something more embarrassing, and Bruce would be blushing less."

Bruce started to object but stopped himself. "True," he admitted with a thoughtful nod. "Anyway, as you were saying, Stephen?"

"I think it would help facilitate our search if we looked in the other Stones' last known locations," Strange suggested.

"You mean before Thanos 'acquired' them," Nat clarified.

"And using them and destroying them," Bruce added.

The sorcerer stroked his beard in thought. "Yes, and I believe I may know whom to ask for help with some of that. Bruce, can you still contact the Benatar?"

"That depends upon where they are and whether or not they're using a jump port," Bruce said. "Have you spoken to Fury about this? He may have better equipment and more contacts."

"Fury already knows and is checking through his channels, but I suspect the Guardians and Thor might be closer to Nowhere, Morag, or the remains of Xandar and Asgard than Fury's contacts."

"I have the prototype communication linkup that Rocket and I first put together if you'll give me a few minutes to set it up," Bruce said.

"I can spare it, especially if it gives us some answers," the physician responded.

"Back in a minute," he said and stood up from the table. Sirius watched as his master disappeared out the back door and headed to the warehouse, but he stayed at Natasha's feet.

"How about the Mind Stone?" Natasha asked. "Would Wanda be able to sense if it reappeared?"

"So far nothing," Strange admitted. "She was the first person I contacted after returning from the Kamar-Taj."

"And the next?"

"Wakanda."

"To check on Vision?"

"Yes, but nothing new, no manifestation. His body is still an empty shell."

"But Bruce, Shuri, and Helen are all working on it now," Natasha said.

"That's my understanding," Strange said. "The last time I spoke with Bruce they were working on integrating the programming and data from different sources, but still searching for a power source to replace the Stone."

"That's my understanding, too," she said, not wanting to get ahead of what Bruce may or may not have shared.

Sirius stirred and Bruce entered the kitchen with a reinforced metal case in hand, which he laid out on a clear spot in the middle of the kitchen floor and opened. "Give me a minute. This wasn't designed for hands my size. Friday, bring the array online and prepare the reactor for a higher power demand."

"Already on it, Doctor Banner," the Interface intoned brightly.

The physicist tapped a tile in the wall next to the counter to expose a variety of ports and outlets. He'd looped a coil of cables over his shoulder, which he unrolled and attached to the outlets first before connecting it to the device.

As Natasha rose from her seat, she looked at the open case that was unfolding onto the floor around itself to create a circular pad. She recognized some similarities to the diagnostic device at the medical facility from earlier in the day and the holographic communication array Bruce had designed for the Avengers Compound. She'd used it for almost a week to communicate with Okoye, Rocket, Rhodey, and Carol before the Skrull replaced her, but that device had been larger and less portable. Nat was certain this was the beta version of the machine, on which Bruce had kept tinkering after Rocket and he had designed it. Luckily, he kept it because the larger one was probably destroyed. "Do you need some help with the controls?" she asked.

"If you could flip the input lens up and handle the keypad, I'd appreciate it," he said as he handed her a modified Stark-pad and pointed to a manual set of switches on the base that stood out from the sleeker parts of the design. "That should give control of the contact calculations over to Friday." Nat did as he'd requested and adjusted the lens when it flipped into position. "Friday, engage please," Bruce said.

"Aye, initiating. Doctor, whom would you like me to contact?"

Strange caught himself before answering and Bruce grinned back. Having another degree holder in the kitchen was only slightly unusual. "Whoever is on the Benatar—Rocket, Nebula, or Thor will do. I imagine we'll be talking to all of them if this goes through."

"Please, not Drax or Quill," Strange said half under his breath.

The device hummed slightly and they waited a few moments. "Where is your antenna set up?" Natasha asked.

"The warehouse roof. It's the one place flat enough and big enough to hold the communication array, the telescopes, and some other equipment. The local Historical Society would have thrown a fit if I'd stuck anything on top of the house."

"And the reactor?" she asked as the pad in her hands began to display a map that looked like a detailed, three-dimensional star chart.

"It has a lab to itself. Why? Are you worried we'll need more juice?"

"Just thinking ahead to the Christmas lights," she teased back. "Can I display this with the holographic projector in the device?"

"There should be an option for that in the dropdown menu at the upper left," Bruce explained. She quickly had the images flashing into life in a gold column of light, and Strange moved around the table to get a closer look.

"I've found them," Friday said. "Do you want me to hail the Benatar?"

"Please," Bruce said.

In a moment, they heard a crackling that quickly resolved as the channel cleared. "Awwww . . . Did ya miss me, Big Green?" Rocket Racoon's voice asked as the golden image of the stars broke up and reformed into a life-size image of their friend that almost looked solid.

"Just the person I wanted to talk to," Bruce said.

The Guardian tilted his head and squinted. "Holy shhhh... .? Natasha?" Rocket sputtered as he recognized her. His fists went to his eyes and he wiped at them with disbelief before staring back again. "Nice haircut. What's going on? This better not be a joke!"

"No joke. Long story," she said, stepping further forward. "I lost about five years, but I did get to work with you for about a month and a half on the policing council we were setting up before I was grabbed."

"Sweet sushi! Then who was I working with? Who died? Who said she wouldn't let me in the kitchen anymore if I ate something out of the garbage can again?"

Natasha looked at Bruce for direction, and he raised his eyebrows and gave her a small shrug. Strange nodded briefly when she looked at him. "It was a doppelganger, a double who was also a very talented spy," she said.

"A Face Dancer or a Skrull?" Rocket asked.

"A Skrull. So, you've heard of them before?" she asked.

"Well, there aren't a lot of them around since the Kree went all empire on them, but they are known for their shape-shifting talents. I've never heard of one doing it for a whole five Earth years though. That's a hell of a commitment."

"Natasha! I knew I heard your voice!" Thor rumbled as he came into the column's projection field, pushing Rocket a bit to the side as the little technician protested and held his nose.

"Thor?" Natasha asked, sounding quite puzzled by his shaggy and fleshy appearance in exercise shorts and a tank top.

"Damn, I meant to tell you about him," Bruce whispered apologetically. "He got very depressed."

"Sorcerer Strange, do we have you to thank for her resurrection?" the Asgardian asked.

Bruce and Stephen looked at each other, and the sorcerer cleared his throat and stepped closer to the communication device's input lens. "No, I believe Natasha managed to free herself."

"Then you escaped Vormir on your own? That is truly auspicious!" the thunder god assumed.

"No, Thor, I was held in stasis for about five years."

"Five years? Baldur's ghost," he stammered and looked away, calculating how long she'd been a prisoner. "I . . . I'm so sorry. Then who did we work with? How did it happen?"

"A Skrull spy, you smelly dope," Rocket growled and slapped Thor's belly to back him up a bit.

"Is that who died?" Thor asked.

"Yes," Natasha said with a nod.

"I guess that explains some of her behavior and the shabby way she treated Bruce. You've told Clint, right?"

"He knows. He was here earlier," she explained.

"Ah, good," Thor said with a nod. "I'm glad you called me."

"You weren't the only one they called," Rocket said irritably as he elbowed in front of the gigantic blonde again. "Why don't you go back to helping Quill put that Bo-Flexier thing together?!"

"Looks like you've lost some weight," Bruce noted.

"Only because we're outta beer," Rocket snapped.

"Thank you for noticing," Thor said with a pleased smile.

"Actually," Strange spoke up, "there is another matter we wanted to discuss. If Nebula is there, we'd like to include her in the conversation." It took about ten minutes of discussion to get everyone up to speed between interruptions as the rest of the Guardians joined the conversation, except for Groot who mostly rolled his eyes as he worked a newer handheld game in the background before leaving the cabin. No, they'd not heard any news of the Infinity Stones manifesting, but they'd been mostly focused on following Gamora's trail and looking for Asgardian survivors. There was confusion, but also a lot of joy after Bruce's Snap returned people.

The Guardians had good news on that front. The spaceport where the heavily damaged hulk of the Ambassador had been hauled after its destruction at Thanos' hands had doubled its population of 1,200 as unsnapped Asgardians and even some resurrected ones rejoined the living along with a few Sakaaran gladiators as well. Thor teared up as he thanked Bruce for including so many of his people in the Hulk-Snap.

"It was the least I could do. I really wasn't sure if it had worked. Were Loki or Heimdall returned?" Bruce asked.

"No news of them yet, but we've not given up hope," Thor said with a shrug. "Most of the survivors will be immigrating to New Asgard to join the rest as ships become available," he explained.

Rocket chuckled, "It's not like we could get them an Uber Lift, but the locals seemed pretty motivated to get them all off the station and resettled."

"Before they eat them out of lauder and breathe them out of oxygen," Nebula added. "We're headed toward Nowhere next as we search for my sister. Perhaps we'll hear something about the Power or the Reality Stone there."

"Hope so," Quill added. "We've heard stories that don't match up. Some reports say there's nothing left of Xandar, but others say only the capital was damaged and it's slowly and quietly being rebuilt. When we get closer, the information should get more reliable."

"If there's something to see, we won't know till we see it with our own eyes or not," Draxx said stoically.

"I hate to break up this love fest," Rocket intoned, "but we are nearing the jump port. Has everyone made their requests, kissed their moms, and said their good-byes?"

"Please let us know as quickly as you're able if there's news of a Stone manifesting," Strange entreated.

"We certainly will," Nebula replied in her husky all-business tone. Bruce had a good rapport with Rocket and an abiding friendship with Thor, but he placed most of his confidence in the tall blue cyborg.

"Just a moment," Thor said and got close to the device as the others receded from view. "Let me know when the wedding is, okay? I'd like to be there." Before Bruce or Natasha could respond, he'd winked and signed off.

"Well," Strange asked impishly, "when is it?"

[justanultrastressedwriter]

Aw Hell No - Ch I

Next          Masterlist

TW: Homophobia (slurs), Violence, Swearing. Let me know if I should tag anything else

“Uh, DJ! Can’t you believe it?” the bouncy redhead squealed to her tall, curly-haired best friend with excitement.

“Can’t believe what? That you could somehow reach super supersonic levels this early in the morning?” the guy standing next to her muttered, frowning down at his best friend.

“Don’t be a dick, Daniel. Can’t you at least pretend to be excited? It’s the first day of our senior year! This is the home stretch, baby!” the short imp said, with an excited grin on her face.

“Charlotte Elizabeth Thomas. It's barely even 8 am, I’ve only had one cup coffee because you, for some ungodly reason, wanted to get to school ridiculously early, you have been shrieking in my ear for the last half hour, and I have the first period with the teacher who hates me the most because he’s the most bigoted person on the face of the Earth. What the hell do I have to be excited about?” Daniel James frowned at her, glaring. He was nowhere near being a morning person like his best friend was. Daniel could barely function before 9 am without numerous cups of coffee.

“Well, Mr. Grumpy Gills, for starters you have little old me. I’m taking the time out of my busy life to grace you with my perfect existence. My mere presence should make you ecstatic, you utter peasant.” she said cheekily, tilting her head to the side and raising her chin arrogantly. Daniel couldn’t help but crack a smile at her.

“Charlie, I have no fucking idea how I have managed to be your best friend. Your massive ego should be your best friend instead of me, you annoying little twerp.” Daniel teased.

“But, I’m your annoying little twerp and you can’t help but love me,” Charlie said with a reckless grin and a quirked eyebrow.

Daniel was about to respond with one of his famous witty one-liners when his thoughts were interrupted by a strong force against his back, shoving his face into the cool metal of the lockers he had been leaning on. He knew that at least one bruise would appear there the next day.

“Happy first day of school, faggot.” a voice hissed from behind him. He could hear the sneer and disdain in the person’s voice, which helped him recognize the voice. It made his muscles tense as he turned to face the biggest prick in the entire school.

Connor Smith; the popular jock that had been tormenting Daniel since they were in preschool. It had started back then with small childish antics: the breaking of crayons and toys, blaming Daniel for everything - which made all of their teachers peg him as a troublemaker and hate him, despite being one of the quietest and most polite kids in school - and a long list of other things that didn’t really matter in the long run.

Ever since Daniel had been forced out of the closet in their freshman year, though, Connor Smith and the entire school had gotten worse. Connor had inspired the football team on numerous occasions to jump Daniel in the school parking lot after school or to tie him to the goalposts naked, they all constantly shoved Daniel in the halls and into lockers, made him spill his lunch all over himself, broke into his locker to ruin his textbooks or his schoolwork and notes, but those were just things the sport teams did. The entire school would simply trip him or call him cute pet names, ‘useless queer’, ‘faggot’, or Daniel’s favorite ‘dirty little cocksucker’.

Of course, no one ever did anything about Daniel’s predicament. The best people would turn the other cheek to everything going on. Daniel’s mom had gone to the school boards countless times, even a few teachers had gone to the administrations on his behalf, but nothing happened. Either it was because “they were just boys being boys”, “that there wasn’t enough evidence”, or that Daniel brought this upon himself either by not sticking up for himself but Daniel knew what they really meant.

“Hey, Meathead! Leave him alone! He’s done nothing to you!” Charlie yelled, getting as fiery as her red hair and glaring up at the jock. Standing at 5’3”, Charlie yelling at Connor, who stood at a whopping 6' 3”, looked like David challenging Goliath. It could have been considered comical by an outside party.

Connor smirked as if he were amused, but then his favorite lackey spoke up, with a lustrous look. “You wanna dance, Red? I can make sure you have a great time. I can think of so many ways to make you scream.”

Charlie’s cheeks turned red at the implications and she began to struggle for words. Daniel felt a fire of anger ignite up within his chest. He knew exactly how uncomfortable his best friend was about anything sexual. She hadn’t even kissed anyone for fucks’ sake. So Daniel came to her rescue, standing up to his full height to look the jerk in the eyes and shield his best friend from the pair of Neanderthals. “Leave her alone, Tyler. She has nothing to do with this, you know that. Your problem is with me.”

Tyler Roberts. Daniel’s second-biggest tormentor and Connor’s best friend/lackey. He was also known for being the biggest man-whore around having slept his way through at least half of the town.

“Or what, fag?” Tyler said, his voice filled with scorn and disgust, making Daniel flinch at the word.

“Or we’ll take our problem to the cops, jackass,” Daniel said, glaring at the other boy. “You are eighteen, right? How does jail sound to you? And if not, oh well. I’ll just settle for getting you kicked off the football team. That will lead you to have a problem with the rest of the football team and Coach Jamison- aren’t y’all expected to go to the playoffs this year? I don’t think the team will make it without their starting lineman, huh? Not to mention all of the colleges that are willing to offer you sports scholarships. The rest of the world is pretty damn liberal these days, I don’t think they’ll take too kindly to you being charged with a hate crime against a poor innocent gay kid, now would they? But by all means, if you want to risk it all by beating me to a pulp - then bring it on, asshole. I’ve been through worse and I’ve got nothing to lose.”

Daniel raised his arms out to his sides in a challenge. He’d rather get his ass kicked a dozen times over than watch those goons touch his best friend again. He watched as the larger Neanderthal’s brain worked through the concept that actions do have consequences.

Apparently, Connor’s brain worked a lot quicker than his counterpart, because he clasped a hand onto Tyler’s shoulder as if to calm him.

“Danny-boy’s right, man. There’s too much at stake for us.” Connor turned back to Daniel with a glare, “We’re not finished here, faggot.”

As the two jocks walked away, Daniel and Charlie shared a look and a sigh of relief, “You okay, Char?”

“I should be asking you the same thing, sweetie. They barely even looked at me.” Charlie said, looking at her best friend with concern.

Daniel shrugged, rubbing his forehead. “I’m just so tired of this shit, Charlie. These giant jackasses thinking that I’m dirt just because I’m gay. It’s so fucking stupid. But, I mean, are they right? Am I less than they are because I’m a faggot?”

Standing at 5 foot ten, with curly black hair that was constantly hanging in his light grey eyes framed by the pair of round glasses that rested on his freckle covered nose, Daniel James was gay.

After coming out to his two best friends at the time Charlie and one of their former friends Grace, he was forced out of the closet. Grace had panicked after hearing the news and she told her parents who then told the entire town and because they lived in a small-ass town in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere of the deep South. That made Daniel a social pariah.

Charlie pulled her best friend into a tight hug, “Oh, honey, no. You are not less than them. If anything, you’re so much more. You don’t have to put other people down to make yourself feel big. All of these ignorantly homophobic assholes are piles of shit compared to you.”

Daniel felt himself be slightly comforted by his friend’s words, but he couldn’t stop the negative thoughts and self-disgust running through his head. The bell for the first period rang, causing the two to pull apart. Daniel grimaced, knowing what that bell meant. For the next fifty minutes, he would be at the will and mercy of the most bigoted teacher on the small campus. “Wish me luck.”

“Oh, yeah. You’ve got P.E. with Coach Jamison, huh? Hell, yeah. I wish you all the luck in the world. You’re gonna need it.” Charlie said with a playful grin.

“Don’t remind me,” Daniel said, rolling his eyes and walking towards the boy’s locker room to change into the required gym uniform. Hopefully, if he got there early enough, Daniel could change in peace and hurry into the gym to get this torture over with.

Daniel found the locker to be empty and he quickly changed out of his flannel and T-shirt, then entered the gymnasium where Coach Jamison glared at him as if Daniel was a piece of dirt on his shoe. It made Daniel’s throat clench.

Daniel hung his head in shame and waited patiently for everyone else to show up in silence. Daniel only looked up after the door opened and he could feel someone’s eyes on him and what he saw made beads of sweat appear on his brow and his throat clench. It was Connor Smith, wearing a grin that sent chills down Daniel’s spine. He thought, ‘This class just somehow got even worse. Fuck me.’

[wesker20]

Fallen Hero 1.5 Episode 5: Let's play Little Voice

It’s like the world is out to get you. Every time, every single time you think you finally got what you wanted, the world decides to rip it out of your hands as some sort of cruel joke. And you are not laughing, but rather beating this bag senseless. You’ll be surprised if Jane cannot knock someone out with one punch after this much punching the poor thing.

But something more is going on. One week has passed and you have yet to receive another call and in that time the Army has grown in size and power. They are currently one of the top gangs. But that’s not the worst of it, oh no. The worst of it is that it is someone from your past, a past you have long decided to forget. But alas it has come back and you are not having it. Just last night you remembered, the memory of how it used to be, how you used to be, how you got your name… the name she gave you.

Alpha, Kappa, Zeta… your original team, your brother and sisters, your family. A family you destroyed by treating them as such. You shouldn’t have, you knew it was wrong, you knew that it could get you and them killed or worst, but you kept going, treating them as your family, challenging the general and the other higher ups. Trevor never really cared, to her as long as you were useful you could behave however you pleased, she even seemed to approve and encourage it. But you knew, you knew you were not supposed to act like that, like a person. It was all your fault.

You throw another punch that hits harder than the rest, and it seems Jane’s body is starting to catch up with you. You take a breather and drink a bottle of water, sitting not far from the boxing training ground of the gym. You rest long enough to hear another person punching another bag not far from yours. There you see a young woman, not very tall, long black hair, and a thin physique. She punches the bag with a lot of rage and frustration, almost like she’s venting, just like you. You also notice a bit of bandage around her back and neck.

“You know that poor bag is not going to last that much longer if you keep that up,�� you say to get her attention. She turns around looking for the source of the voice and when she notices no one else but you she turns back to punch.

“Look who’s talking. I arrived while you were still punching that one to hell,” she shoots back. Not complete dismissal but you notice a bit of annoyance in her voice.

“Yeah well you know what they say, do as I say not as I do.”

“Heh, can’t argue with you there.”

You stand up and walk to her, paying close attention to how she moves and punches. She’s decent, but nowhere near as good as some of the other people you have seen here. Her technique is strong but predictable, a good base but nothing you use seriously. Overall, someone who has just began fighting and is still learning.

“Ok, strengthen that stance. Anybody with half a brain cell will take you down faster than you can say shit,” you tell her, wondering why the hell you bother. She turns and looks at you with one eyebrow raised. Yet she doesn’t say anything and does as you say. You were waiting for some back sass but surprise, surprise you did not get it. You walk around and behind the back to hold it in place.

“So, problems in paradise?” you ask, trying to begin conversation.

“Something like that. You?” she says a bit suspicious but no longer annoyed.

“Something like that. A couple of problems have sprung up, making my life hell,” you answer, giving a bit more than she does.

She looks at you, indecision in her eyes. If you had to guess, she’s considering whether to share or not. “I made a stupid mistake, and that got… it hurt someone I cared,” she finally says and goes back to punch the bag.

You empathize with her, against your better judgment. “And now you are punching this poor bag to see if something comes up,” you say with a smile.

“Speaking from experience?” she asks now smiling.

“Oh, incredibly so.”

“Does it ever work?”

“Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t,” you answer with a mix of sarcasm and frightening hidden honesty.

“I sometimes think it’s a waste of time. But then…” she doesn’t finish. You decide to finish it for her.

“But then something kicks your ass down and this is the only thing you are left with.” She looks at you with a soft smile and then chuckles.

“I was going to go say shit hits the fan, but sure, that works too.”

“Does it have to do with that bandage on your neck?” you decide to tackle that now.

“What?” she says with almost surprise. “Oh this, no. This was… just me being stupid. I heated the shower a bit too much.”

Your eyes slightly narrow on her. “Ouch, that had to hurt.”

“Like hell,” she whispers and rubs it lightly. You can’t tell what’s on her mind but you see a faint grimace. She finally raises her sight and stretches her hand. “I’m Emily by the way.”

You give yours and shake hands with her. “Jane. You come here often?”

“Actually I used to go somewhere else but, well, let’s just say it had a terrible case of being the center of a fight.”

Yeah, those happen a lot. The media only really reports what happens in the city, or when a famous hero and/or villain is involved. Smaller places get trashed all the time without anybody realizing it. “Who were the participants?” you ask as you two move away from the punching bag.

“Red Doll and some guy named Traxis.”

You ignore the surging feeling of satisfaction growing within you. “Oh, you mean that heroine that was on the news recently?”

She tries to hide it but you notice a small cough. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Never heard of the other guy though,” you mention.

“And you probably won’t. He’s currently living on the prison for boosts at the edge of Los Diablos,” she says standing her chest and chin up and proud.

You chuckle as you begin to dress. “Well that’s one less criminal on the streets. Now she just has to deal with the other ninety nine thousand.”

“Yeah, she does.”

You prepare to go and bid farewell to Emily. “Thanks for the chat. I needed it.”

“You and me both. You’ll come back here?”

“Might as well. It’s not far away from where I live.”

You swallow a chuckle. “Well then. When I come back I’ll see if I teach you a couple of other things.”

“Yes please, I need it.”

You leave the gym, thinking about what just happened. You guess it was about time something went your way. You are about eighty percent sure who she is. Still it’s better to wait out a bit, make sure you are one hundred percent right on this; that you just met and befriended Red Doll.

The Hide out

You arrive just in time to have Rosie bombard you with questions. All of them boiling down to ‘what the hell are you going to about the army.’

“I have no idea,” you finally answer. They stare at you dumbfounded.

“Well then let’s ask the boss. They’ll know what to do,” Nehal says in her ever defiant and impatient manner.

“Mastermind is handling other things. For now we wait,” you say, purposely forgetting to tell them about the caller. You don’t know who from your past is after you, and the last thing you need is your crew finding out about you. You are still not sure if to share it with them.

“What!” both Zaza and Nehal say at the same time.

“The more we leave those fuckers, the more they going to spread and smear their name,” Nehal says with Zaza nodding right behind her.

Rosie steps in in your defense and says “Now settle down. When the boss’s not here, Jane’s the boss. And if she says we wait, we wait.”

“Like hell we are. Nehal’s right, those assholes need to be taken down a peg or two,” Zaza barges in.

“If we just barge in blindly, we’ll lose, just like last time,” Pelayo finally steps in, always calm and collected.

“But we can’t-“ Nehal begins but you shut her up immediately.

“As Pelayo said, we can’t just barge in. For now, we wait.” You eye Nehal as she crosses her arms and looks the other way. You walk towards her and close the distance, standing over her. combining the five foot nine of Jane with the plain five foot of Nehal, you look like a giant next to her, which enhances your point. “Unless you have something to say Nehal?”

She stares at you in defiance at first but in a couple of seconds it changes to fear and submission. “No ma’am.”

You turn away from her and address the rest of the team. “Listen up, I know how angry you all are over what happened, trust me I’m just as pissed off about as you are. But right now, they are a bit too big for us. That said they are getting attention. A lot of attention, that includes some big fishes who hate wild ones like the Army.” They all look at you with interest. You, Jane, smiles. Rosie asks what are you talking about and you oblige. “A certain someone hates trouble makers, and the army is a trouble maker.”

Late afternoon, parking lot

You never expected to have to deal with him. Ok, no, you expected to deal with him eventually. But not like this, not actually asking for help. Asking help from Hollow Ground. You spent all week talking to your contacts, asking if they had heard anything at all about the Army or some new player, but no one knew anything. The Army of Mastermind apparently sprung up from nothing, and no one has heard anything about a new player. Whoever this is, they know how to cover their tracks, which leaves you with nothing because everyone from your past knew how to cover their tracks. So you are left with this, contacting one of Hollow Grounds men to grant you information, for whatever price they might ask.

“Good afternoon Miss,” you hear and turn around to see an old man dressed formally. You wonder if he is supposed to be Hollow Ground’s butler or something similar.

“Jane will do,” you answer him as you two shake hands. Instantly you can tell this guy is a mod, his handshake being pretty strong and cold, like Steel’s.

“Of course Miss Jane. I heard your employer was interested in information from mine.”

“Name your price,” you respond with the softest of smiles, never letting it show what you are thinking.

“That is actually what I wanted to discuss,” he says. You can’t read him.

“Really? Is there a problem?”

“Not at all. You see my employer has certain sensibilities when it comes to new groups. Your employer has yet to prove themselves a problem. This “Army” had proven themselves worse.”

You look at him trying to figure out his game. You get nothing from his face but you can see the suggestion coming a mile away. “So for now, consider this information a gift from my employer to yours.”

Gift? You feel more like it’s a favor. Which means you’ll owe him. Shit. “How kind of your employer. I’ll make sure to pass it on to mine.”

“Indeed. Now to what you came here for.” He hands you over a folder. You open it up and eye it up. “To summarize its contents, someone is after your employer. Someone who knows how to hide and has been working from the shadows for years.”

Your eyes open wide and you look up to him. “Years?” since when? Since your first escape? Or since your second? Have they always been watching you?

“Indeed. They made the Army, though the gang did not named itself that until after your employer’s little… tour to the museum.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. They were planning this, somehow they knew what you were planning. “Is that all?”

“More details are on the files, but that’s the gist of it. You will find several whispers and rumors that not everyone on the underworld have heard. A pleasure doing business with you,” he finishes and puts on a hat as he walks away. He stops and turns to you and says “By the way, if anything were to happen to your employer, know that mine has an open seat for you, Miss Jane.” He tips his hat to you and goes, leaving you alone to ponder about what little you have learned.

You proceed to walk away from the lot, preparing to head home. Watch out, behind you! You instantly duck as you feel the rush of air from something going over you. You roll away and take a stance. Four thugs stand in front of you, all armed with armed, one with a bat, one with a crowbar, one with a chain, and another with a knife. “Hey, pretty face. Sorry we are going to have to beat you up. Nothing personal.”

You wonder if this was Hollow Ground, but somehow you doubt that this is his style. “You are surely welcome to try. Warning though, I’m not afraid of beating up children,” you say with a devilish smile. The four of them rush but you knew they were going to do it, just as you know the one with the bat will strike first and the one with the knife will come second. The one with the chain will try to sneak up behind you to choke you with his chain, and the one with the crowbar will attack you from the side.

You know each and every single one of their moves before they happen, not like how you used to do as Sidestep but more like you have seen it already happen before. They think that they are the dangerous ones, but they are wrong. They are not the danger, you are. You’ll show them exactly how and why you are Mastermind’s second in command, why he would send you all alone without protection.

They try to strike you but they fail, they fail and you retaliate, punching them with the same strength that you used in the morning, while beating up the bag. They stumble back and try to strike you again, but you see them coming, all the time. They are not fighters, or even adults, they are children, small kids compared to you. Time and again they aim and attack and time and again they fail. You soon take the guy’s crowbar and hit him in the head with it. The four retreat for a moment, staring at you with shock and fear.

You stare at them while smiling. “What’s the matter? Don’t tell me you are already scared. I’m barely even getting started.” You don’t know what this is. This pleasure you are having. You want to see them on the ground, bloodied and beaten, begging for their lives while you stare down at them smiling like only a devil could.

They try to run away but you rush them, swinging your crowbar with deadly precision. Some of them try to hit you again but like before they fail. Only these attacks aren’t meant to kill or hurt, but merely delay. They are attacking out of desperation. Good, that’s what you want. Beat them down, have no mercy, they tried to do the same to you, they are nothing. Idiotic children who have failed to live in this world. Beat them, destroy them. Their attacks are nothing, you can see them before they happen. Like a blur you move and stab one of them with the crowbar, the one with the knife. As he lets go of it, you position yourself to let it fall on your hand.

You are barely even trying at this point, you could just sit back and relax. Yes, relax. Sit back and let me handle this. These thugs are unworthy of fighting you. The knife moves in blurs, cutting bit by bit every single one of them. You, she, could easily cut their necks, let them bleed to death, but where’s the fun in that? No, you want them to suffer.

In a couple of minutes the fight is over, although the fight was over long before it began. You stand over all four of them, covered in cuts and blood. Two of them lay dead, one of them dying, and the last one still has enough strength to beg for his life.

“Please,” he whispers. You quiet him with a soft “Shhh” kneeling beside him.

“Don’t worry. You’ll go to a better place soon,” you begin as you put the blade beside his neck. “oh no wait, no you wouldn’t. There is no after this,” and with that you push the blade right into his neck and watch him as he chokes on his own blood. The other dies before you turn to him. Too bad, you would have enjoyed watching him die too.

But as you prepare to leave, you hear a cell phone. It’s coming from one of the corpses and you search it. Once you find it you answer, already expecting who will be on the other end.

“Whoa hohoho, that was incredible. A lot more brutal than I expected it to be. More brutal than when you fight as Mastermind.” Your eyes narrow at the last thing. Of course they know that too.

“So this was you? Gotta say, I’ve seen better murder attempts.”

“oh please, you wouldn’t have died. I just wanted to render that little doll of yours useless. Guess that’ll teach me.”

You smile. This idiot thinks they have you, but they are wrong, you are not a prey, you are hunter. “Indeed, that’ll teach you. That will teach you what will happen when I find you.” you hear an “oh” on the other end. Your smile grows. “You see this? This is how you will end up, bloodied, beaten. And I will be there to watch as you die. You messed with the Mastermind, time for you to meet the Hunter,” you finish and hang, not giving them a chance to retort. You throw the phone away and leave, taking the knife with you as a memento. You want to play? Let’s play little voice of my consciousness.

[writeouttaluck]

This is a quickie. Partially inspired by my childhood and teen years.

Both Elementary and Middle school had hammered home the idea that people are shitty and that they will fuck you up at any given chance in any way they think of. I started spending more time by myself and away from people. The only time I ever left was to hang out with friends and even that seemed to be falling apart for me. It was rough, really. Ive known my friends were shitty for a while, but its what i got. Everybody else is either too stupid or weird for me to fit into. Not to mention the assholes.

Everyone in my class was a fucking asshole and they could suck a fucking dick if they thought i was about to drop years of resentment and turn the other cheek.

Fuck that.

Ill stick with the criminals. At least they can be fun.

After my first day of 7th grade, I felt about 3 feet tall and twice as exhausted. I had an inkling that it was depression. I did some looking online and thats what matched how i feel. Tired, lack of motivation, easilly upset by everything. It felt like i was loosing my edge and i cant say im too happy about that.

At the same time, it seemed that as one fire was being put out, another was being discovered. Something felt wrong. I was still angry as ever but it was different. I was more angry at the world than i was angry at a particular thing.

I was slowly realizing that things just arent gonna get better and if they do, it wont be for a long, long time. I was pretty much destined to do nothing with my life considering i wasnt smart enough to carry myself education wise. Ive needed help with a lot of things for as long as I remember.

It felt unfair. I was supposed to be such a smart person, right? Yeah what a crock of shit. It seems that adults have been lying to me about far more than just santa claus and the tooth fairy.

And right now I really felt like knocking someones teeth out of their head.

Like the universe had read my fucking mind, I heard a few pebbles get tossed at my window.

I got out of my chair and peered behind me. Out the window stood Dylan. He cupped his hands and shouted.

“Lets fucking go!”

I nodded and slid the bandana up my face. I grabbed my leather vest and walked out of my room, making sure to close the door behind me as quietly as possible. My mom was passed out on the couch again with the dogs laying beside her. I stared for a moment, watching her breathe heavilly in her unconscious state before i decided it was safe to sneak away. I practically slithered to the door before taking one more look back.

Mom layed facing the tv and away from me. I knew the dogs were gonna go apeshit as soon as the door opened and so i prepared myself.

Then like ripping off a band aid, I swung the front door open and hopped outside, swinging it shut behind me. They started barking like crazy as I thought they would and so I stepped down the stairs on my porch real fast and ran around to my backyard where Dylan was waiting.

“What took you so long?” he said to me as I caught up with him.

I didnt answer, deciding that answering him was just a waste of time.

We walked through our backyard and through the tall grass of the house that lived behind us. It happened to be on the market for years now and didnt seem to be selling anytime soon. That made it a great place to break into and hang out. It was a regular thing at this point. Although since the yard was so open and surrounded by other houses, we kept the hanging in there to a minimum.

“Dude, this fucking kid has been talking some mad shit about me recently.” Dylan started in, “Hes been talking to my girlfriend and saying some really fucked up shit to her. Saying what he wants to do to her and all this shit and I swear if I get my fucking hands on him…”

He spoke with gnashed teeth and a vein fit to burst from his neck. He said all this while looking at his phone screen. I could only assume he was looking at this guys facebook profile.

All at once Dylan turned back to me and showed me the phone screen.

“This fucking faggot. Im gonna fucking kill him!”

I looked at the photo and quickly recognized his name. That was the guy my girlfriend cheated on me with. I could feel my blood draw to a boil as i stared at him. I balled my fists at my side white knuckle tight. Each digit made an audible popping sound as they rolled up.

“You know this kid?” Dylan asked me.

I looked away from the phone and to dylan and nodded my head.

He nodded back at me in understanding and we both had the same idea in mind.

“Lets find this motherfucker”

…

After some talking and walking and all kinds of looking, we figured the easiest way to get this fucker out of his safe space was to have Dylans girlfriend bait him into coming to a secure location. We decided that under the bridge in town was a pretty good place considering that not many people know how to get to the path down under. We headed there and waited for the little bastard.

After a while of sitting around, it was about 9:00. The sun had gone completely down at this point and it was dark. There wasnt any foot traffic above for nearly an hour until we heard a bicycle rattle its way over the wooden slats. I nodded at Dylan and he ran over to the bushes to go hide while I stayed in the the open. I leaned on one of the concrete beams and crossed my arms.

This was going to be interesting.

“Bella! Psst, Bella!” I heard him whispering as he walked down the little hill. He waded past some real tall grass and walked out onto the smooth surface before he noticed me standing there.

“Uh...hi?” He asked, looking at me.

I stared at him and waited.

I watched as Dylan stood from the grass behind him and bolted in the guys direction. Dylan decked him from behind in the back of the head and he stumbled foreward, falling on his hands.

That was my cue.

I walked over and pulled him up to standing level. He had his eyes squinted shut and teeth together. That punch definatly hurt.

Not taking time to hesitate, I held him infront of me with my hand around his mouth and holding his right arm behind his back.

“So, you think youre hot shit, huh?” Dylan said standing over him.

He drove a fist into the guys gut and I struggled to hold him as he doubled over in pain. I snapped him back into place as dylan got into his fighting stance. He stepped over and punched him across the face hard. It was the kind of hit that would leave a bruise the size of an apple. I felt the guy breathe heavier, and tears hit my hand that was still clamped over his mouth.

Dylan reared back again and swung, hitting him right in the teeth. The guys head rolled back a bit at the force of the hit. Im suprised that didnt knock him out.

Than dylan got a start and drove his foot square into his gut. The guy moaned in pain under my hand.

Then the guy did something balsy. He bit right down into my hand, hard. My instant reaction was to let go of his mouth and suddenly he pulled his arm away too. He tried making a dash for it but my anger had flared at the pain. I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and yanked him back hard into the rocks and gravel at my feet. He flew into the rocks face first and tried getting back up. I grabbed his belt and tossed him again, swinging his face into the rocks once more. At this, I didnt wait to see if he was gonna get up again. As soon as his head was raised, I crouched to his level and put my hand on the back of his head, slamming his face into the sharp rocks again. He yelped a bit in pain so I flipped him over and clamped my left hand around his throat. I squeezed like I meant it and closed off his wind pipe. He looked up at me in pity as he choked. I picked him up off the ground a bit and slammed him back down. I brought my right up like a big ass flesh hammer and brought down hard on his face. I raised it again and smashed him in the face again.

Once I saw the color start to drain from his face, I let go of his throat. He coughed and gasped for breath he desperately needed. I saw something move quickly out of the corner of my eye and brought my arm up to sheild my face. Dylan pelted a handful of sharp rocks at the guys face before following it up with another hard punch. Once I knew dylan had this, I stood up and brushed myself off.

Dylan crouched to his level and looked him in the eyes. Than he did something that actually shocked me. He produced a knife from his pocket and flipped it open real fast in front of the kids face.

Holy shit, was he actually going to kill him?

Dylan brought the knife up and dragged the dull side of the blade down the guys face, who now was so terrifyed that he had full on tears streaming down.

Right as I imagined dylan jabbing the knife through his eye, He stopped just short and whispered real low.

“You come near my girl again or If I hear you talking shit about me around down, Im gonna come to your house and kill you and your whole familly. Do you fucking understand?”

The guy just looked at him in fear.

“DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND?!?!” He shouted in the guys face.

He quickly nodded out of fear.

Than Dylan clamped his hand on the guys face and shoved him back to the ground.

I got up as did dylan and we both started walking back to the top of the bridge. Once we got up there, we saw the guys bike parked next to the bench without a lock. So Dylan kicked the peg up and started walking it over the bridge.

At first I thought maybe Dylan was gonna steal this guys bike but that didnt seem like something he would do. Then we got to the mid point in the bridge and he stopped walking. I stopped too. He suddenly grabbed the bike by the middle and flung the whole damn thing over the edge like a big ass frisbee.

It dropped for a second before we heard it smash into the water below.

“That will teach that fucker…” Dylan said.

…

[rebelquilts512]

Little Match Boy

So this is a little Star Wars Rebels thing I came up with a little over the week ago and finally finished it.

It’s based on The Little Match Girl Disney animated short (I’m sorry I don’t have a link) and the preceding story by Hans Christian Anderson.

It takes place in the same time period as the short (so it’s Human AU), but not necessarily the same location as the short.

Don’t worry, this has a much happier ending than the short it’s based off of!

Oh, and this has a different writing style than the other stuff I’ve written. I tried to replicate the style the short is presented in, so there’s no dialogue, but a lot of paragraphs and descriptions. Ezra is the only character addressed by name.

There wasn't much orphans could do to survive the winter; they either went to the workhouse, were taken in by kind people or ones who were eager for cheap help, or they were stuck selling matches on the streets, where their life was placed in the hands of the generosity of the passersby.

Ezra, at seven years old, was in that last category. He had a tray of matches that was supported by a rope hung around his neck.

***

Ezra was standing on a bridge watching people skate on the frozen ice.

Then a horse bumped him and his matches spilled out over the snow. He quickly gathered them up and put them back in his tray.

It was so cold. He was only wearing rags and his feet only had strips of cloth wrapped around them.

He went back into the streets and tried to get someone to buy a match, but nobody was paying attention to him.

Ezra saw someone pull out a pipe and he rushed to give him a match to light it, but he already had one.

Ezra decided to climb up on a barrel by the light pole to get people’s attention.

Suddenly, he was distracted by a family coming out of the toy shop. There was a girl holding a doll, a boy carrying some boxes, a woman holding wrapped packages, and a man with another boy atop his shoulders.

They made Ezra miss his parents even more. They all climbed into a fancy sleigh pulled by a big brown horse and drove off.

In his moment of distraction, a man walked up to him. He picked Ezra up and set him down on the ground. He looked like an officer of the law. Ezra offered him a match, but he walked away.

It was getting late. Someone was already lighting the gas lamps.

It was getting colder and people were starting to head home. Ezra knew he wouldn't be able to sell any more today.

Ezra found an alley to spend the night in.

It was still so cold. Ezra tried his best to keep warm.

He saw the matches in his tray. He thought about lighting one, just to get warm, but he knew it would be a waste.

He shivered again as the wind picked up.

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore and he lit a match.

It was so warm.

Suddenly, the pile of junk across from him turned into a toasting furnace.

Ezra warmed himself by fire.

Then it was gone, just as the match burnt out.

Ezra shivered again.

He lit another match.

This time, a table full of wonderful food appeared.

Ezra grabbed a turkey leg, but it turned into a burnt match as everything disappeared.

All that food reminded him that he was starving.

A small drift of snow fell on Ezra’s head. He brushed the snow off his head and saw that the snow got all over his remaining matches. He dusted them off.

Then he decided to light another one.

A golden sleigh pulled by three black horses came riding in and Ezra was whisked into the seat. A big furry blanket covered him and off they went.

They rode all the way to a big house.

Ezra walked up to the door and rubbed one of the fog-covered front windows to see what was inside. Then he knocked on the door.

The door opened to reveal his parents.

Ezra was so happy he rushed to hug them, but then they were gone, leaving Ezra with another burnt match.

Ezra was about to grab his last three matches when he sensed a presence. Someone had come into the alley. Ezra looked up and saw a man standing in front of him.

He was tall and was wearing a coat and boots like all the other grown-ups he’d seen today. The man bent down until his eyes were level with Ezra’s. He looked concerned, but Ezra knew better than to trust strangers.

The man reached out to touch his hand.

Ezra pulled his hand out of reach and held it to his chest.

The man saw this and took his hand back.

Ezra looked into the man’s eyes. They were a teal color Ezra had never seen before, and... they seemed kind.

Something told Ezra he could trust this man.

The man extended his hand again and Ezra took it.

He tried to stand up, but his legs were to weak from hunger and cold to stand.

The man saw this and picked him up.

The man was strong. Ezra could tell.

The man grabbed Ezra’s match tray and slung it over his shoulder.

The man then wrapped Ezra inside his coat and carried him out of the alley.

Ezra was warmer than he’d been in a while inside the man’s coat. He tried to poke his head out, but the only thing he could see was part of the man’s neck and shoulder, and it was still freezing out, so he stayed inside.

The man carried him down the street.

Ezra’s muscles relaxed from being so warm and he closed his eyes.

He didn’t open them until he heard a door open. The man had taken him home.

Ezra maneuvered so he could see what was in front of him.

A woman had come to greet them at the door. She was pretty, had bright green eyes, two long braids, and was wearing a orange, green, and brown dress.

She moved to kiss the man, but paused when she noticed Ezra peeking out.

She gave the man a questioning look that seemed to ask: ‘What have you gotten yourself into now?’  Ezra guessed this was the man’s wife.

The man just smiled sheepishly and entered the house. He took off his hat and hung it on a peg by the door. This revealed that he had long brown hair that was tied back.

The woman was still giving him a look, so the man took off his coat in such a way that he never put Ezra down. He did so by going one sleeve at a time, with the other arm always supporting Ezra.

Once the man hung his coat on a hook and put Ezra’s match tray down, the woman took a good look at Ezra. Her face turned sympathetic and she brushed some of his bangs out of his face.

She looked at the man again. They had a silent conversation over Ezra’s head.

Then the woman stepped aside and the man carried him further into the house.

They came into a room that was probably the main living area. There was a dark haired girl a few years older than Ezra sitting in a small chair with paper and a pencil, a fat orange cat curled up by the fire, and a larger older man was snoring in one of the big chairs who Ezra guessed was probably an uncle.

When the girl noticed them come in, she got up and ran over to the man with a big smile on her face.

She slowed to a stop when she noticed he was carrying Ezra. She tilted her head curiously at him.

The man smiled down at her and extended one arm in her direction.

After a moment, the girl’s smile returned and she hugged the man’s leg. Then she looked up at Ezra and waved at him.

Ezra figured this was the man’s daughter.

The man patted her head.

When she let go of his leg, she didn’t go back to her chair. She stayed and continued to look up at Ezra.

Then the man carried him over to one of the other big chairs, that was near the fire, and the woman wrapped him in a thick blanket. The trip wrapped in the man’s coat had warmed him considerably, but they probably wanted to make sure he stayed warm.

The girl climbed up in the chair with him, bringing her pencil and paper with her, while the man and woman went into what Ezra supposed was the kitchen.

Ezra sat in the chair for a while; the girl let him watch her draw so he wouldn’t get bored.

Then the man and woman returned and the girl got up. The man came up to him and picked him up again.

Ezra was reasonably sure he could walk now, but decided not to protest.

The woman went up to the sleeping uncle and shook his shoulder.

It took a minute for him to wake up, but when he did his eyes went to Ezra. He looked back and forth between the man and the woman as if to ask a question.

The woman just smiled and shook her head while the man grinned sheepishly.

The uncle just shrugged and followed the girl out of the room. The woman came next and Ezra and the man brought up the rear.

The first thing Ezra saw when he entered the room was the table covered with food set for five people.

The girl and the uncle took places at the table while the woman got food out for the cat.

The man set him down in the seat beside the girl -they were both across from the uncle- before taking his place at the head of the table, which happened to be right by Ezra.

The woman returned from feeding the cat and sat down at her place at the other end of the table.

Ezra’s plate was filled with as much food as everybody else’s, possibly even a bit more than theirs.

It wasn’t until about halfway through the meal that Ezra realized that he finally found a home.

[rubyboys-archive]

Nascitur - Draco/Harry (11k one-shot, angst and porn. Check out the tags on ao3 for TWs.) 

It is May. Buds bloom into life, richly pink and near-shimmering with vibrancy. The world is pooled in sunshine, shoots unfurling into glittering greenness, and the sky has never been bluer. Indoors, an angry Harry and an ashamed Draco make love against the dingy, cold backdrop of their traumas.

Read on ao3, or read below the cut! 

It is May.

Buds bloom into life, richly pink and near-shimmering with vibrancy. The whole world, for the first time in over a year, seems pooled in sunshine, shoots unfurling into glittering greenness. The sky has never been bluer.

Two weeks ago, Harry murdered Voldemort.

And everyone’s so bloody happy.

It’s as though Harry’s world has been pressed on pause, but everyone else is sidling on through quite easily. Static crackles in his periphery, renders him still, stagnant and alone in Hogsmeade. He wakes up every morning to stare at the partial-ruins of Hogwarts, dead and quiet in the sunlight. Every morning, he shifts a few paces to the left, so that the view from his inn bedroom’s window obscures the wreckage of the Ravenclaw tower, and blends away the smoke marks splattered like crude fingerpainting around the windows of the west wing. It doesn’t obscure the view at all though, not really, doesn’t blend a thing away, and Harry just ends up standing in front of the wall, feeling stupid and angry.

Voldemort’s death was a white, outstretched finger jabbing at the button on one of Dudley’s old VCRs, and making everything shift sideways horribly in limbo.

Nobody told Harry what to do, when it ended. There isn’t anything to do after disaster. Not when you don’t have anywhere to go.

And yes, fine, okay, he’s had offers. Over the past two weeks, he’s had plenty of offers. Places to live, places to stay, places to hang out. The Weasleys damn-near begged that he come on holiday with them, but Harry wasn’t in the mood for all that heat and luxury, not now.

All of these offers make a weird change, an unsettling one, after spending such a long time in tents, moving from place to place. And, apparently, the students of Hogwarts and their families don’t hate him, as he could easily believe, for having brought the battle to them. That’s weird, too. People, some he knows well and others not so well, trying to open their homes to him. No—trying to split open their lives for the sake of some strange, angry kid who did one good thing once, in a terrible way, in a pointless and unspeakably cruel war. Maybe it’s a nice gesture. It doesn’t feel nice.

Rationally, really, he should be in one of those places. With the Weasleys, most probably, or Hermione’s parents—they’d surprised him with an offer, and they barely know what happened at all. It feels more genuine, in a way, than all of the other offers from strangers. And, after all, he’s still got dingy old Grimmauld Place, which could be okay, in a way, once cleared of all the curses and magical parasites and the feeling that Sirius is still there, just out of sight.

He, most certainly, should not be here.

Malfoy Manor is as grotesquely enormous as he remembers it. Narcissa looks small and awkward inside, sat at the large dining table in her long, near-glowing gowns, her eyes dreadfully wide and anxious every time she smiles at Harry. Lucius isn’t about, of course. He’s not the type to just hang about and await trial. He’s either out there somewhere, schmoozing, or just gone. Harry doubts there’s any noble reason Lucius could have for being totally AWOL.

You wouldn’t know, just by being there, that this was the very house Voldemort had roamed for the past few months. That he slept in those bed chambers, ate at that table, lectured and paced in this hall. It’s not something Harry notices immediately, which must be a good thing. With Voldemort dead, he can’t sense even the places he used to be. What he does notice, obviously, are Narcissa’s hunched shoulders and darting eyes, Malfoy’s quiet footsteps (taught himself to walk quietly here, probably—he never used to be one to not make himself known) and the way his lips draw in and go white whenever they move into wide open spaces. No, Harry can’t tell that Voldemort used to be here—but the stench of Voldemort lingers on in the behaviours of Narcissa, Malfoy, and in Lucius’s absence.

It’s not as though he’s staying here, though. Just a few visits. He’s been holed up in one of the grim and shabby Hogsmeade inns over the past twelve days or so, owling Ron assurances over and over that yes, he’s on his way, he just has to pack. Still. And then Malfoy made him a strange offer at the side of the bar of the inn, letting Harry know that Narcissa said he was welcome anytime. Malfoy looked at him weirdly as he said it, as though Harry was so unpredictable he had to watch carefully for any signs of volatility. Which is hilarious, coming from Malfoy, who presents as a nervous, jumpy, hollowed-out husk of a person, standing close to the walls and keeping his head down, as though that’ll keep any pair of eyes in a half-mile radius from honing in on him.

It was yet another offer that Harry was going to reject. And then Malfoy called Harry a, “jumped-up, brainless hero,” and Harry called Malfoy something along the lines of, “a cowardly little Daddy’s boy,” and added that he needed to be, “taken down a peg or twenty.”

And that was about a week ago.

Because Malfoy gets it.

They’ve been hurling insults at each other for a good few days now, in and out of pubs, and on the floor of Malfoy Manor’s Great Hall, between beer-logged punches and the ever-increasing number of bloodied kisses. So many kisses, in fact, that Malfoy stopped making snide, mocking jokes about it, and Harry stopped laughing.

It’s been a daily cascade of uncomfortable small talk turned vicious, which turns into punching and throwing each other against the wall of whatever establishment they’ve ended up in, which turns into a firewhiskey binge back in one of the main rooms of the manor—which turns into hard, toothy kissing up against the wall or the back of a dining room chair or the kitchen door. That turns into more drinking, most hissed insults, Malfoy awkwardly trying to drop into conversation the fact that he has, in fact, dated girls, and Harry eventually leaving, bored with Malfoy’s anxious charade. They’re past that, now.

So this, ending up in Draco bloody Malfoy’s bedroom—he’s known it was coming for a while.

The grand tour doesn’t last long. Malfoy doesn’t make any pretenses, and Narcissa doesn’t seem to notice how antsy they are to escape her absent-minded small talk. They have to be normal around her, obviously, but it feels uneasy, having to be civil in each other’s presence; this is not a relationship that sits down and has a cuppa and chats.

It’s more fun than that, Harry thinks. It’s brazenly, brilliantly, thoughtlessly destructive.

It’s exactly what he needs.

As they head up the stairs (stupid, massive, marble staircase), Harry sees Narcissa twirl in her gown, lost in thought, cupping her cold mug of tea close to her chin without drinking it. She’s by the huge, wall-length windows, a colourless pale thing in the sun. It’s a sad sight. Everything in Malfoy Manor is sad. It’s been emptied of most its furniture, seized by the ministry, so everything is just dust and too much space and cups of tea to fill the time. Sunshine doesn’t look right here.

Malfoy doesn’t look right here. Poor little rich boy—he seems to cringe constantly when he’s downstairs, or out in Hogsmeade, or sober in any shape or form. A far cry from the arrogant wanker sprawled over the sofas of the Slytherin common room, back when Harry and Ron snuck in, in second year.

And, again, there’s no real reason for Harry to be here. No reason good enough that he could cut it up neatly into a sentence and owl it off to Hermione. This is why I’m spending all this time with someone totally unbearable instead of with my friends after one of the most traumatic incidences of my life. It’s because… Nope. Nothing. No reason good enough that he could escape without one of her hesitant, concerned questions in response, at the very least. Or, even worse, an outright “what on earth are you doing, Harry,” as though they’re eleven again.

They’re not, though. Everything’s ruined, now.

Well, anyway. Maybe this is ridiculous. But he’s here now.

Malfoy’s room is large and luxurious, all glossy blacks and opaque whites, like it’s been pulled directly from a magazine. It’s so not the right room for an eighteen-year-old boy; there’s too much space, too few things, and a bed so big and gorgeous that it kind of pisses Harry off. Nobody needs a bed that big. Not unless they’re half-giant. And Malfoy might be all tall and lanky now, shot up even more in the year Harry was away, but he’s no Hagrid.

It doesn’t seem to matter, though—at least, the decor doesn’t come up in conversation. There is no conversation. Malfoy’s on him before the door even closes properly.

That’s just what Malfoy’s like now, been like, for the past week. Reckless. Not caring who sees, or what happens, or if it’ll hurt him in the long run. Which is fine, because Harry’s been feeling pretty reckless too.

Ergo, Malfoy Manor.

Harry doesn’t want to muck about with awkward pleasantries, even if Malfoy is, already, looking a little spooked. He doesn’t want to fake passion either, act as though all he wants to do is rip their clothes off and get at it. He just wants to do it, and piss Malfoy off as he does, and get pissed off by Malfoy as he does. Fun.

He settles up against Malfoy’s front, his palms cupping Malfoy’s hipbones. Malfoy’s taller than Harry, now, but he’s not stronger, especially not now that he’s rocking that tired, emaciated look.

They’re both bruised and cut up from the past week; Harry’s bottom lip is split and aching, and Malfoy’s right cheekbone is coloured purple. Harry likes to let Malfoy get a couple punches in, so that he can hit him back as hard as he likes. He likes hitting Malfoy. He likes doing lots of things to Malfoy.

Harry smoothes up Malfoy’s belly with his thumbs, and wonders how long Malfoy will let him get away with just touching him, stroking him. He looks up at Malfoy, challenging him, and sees that Malfoy is definitely not having it.

“Are you here to pet me, then, Potter? Maybe you should go find a Hippogriff or something. Any one of your giant mate’s dumb animals.”

Harry fights a laugh at Malfoy’s sheer audacity, and feels an equal push of anger roil in his belly, and settles finally on talking. “If you want me leave, I’ll leave,” he says, making no move away whatsoever.

Malfoy exhales heavily, just looking at him.

Fine, Harry thinks.

He swings Malfoy round by his hips, and shoves him onto the big, stupid bed. He lands sprawled on his arse, looking up at Harry: a little surprised, a little breathless, a little thrilled. Harry shifts up the bed on his knees, kneels over Malfoy’s hips, and slides his fingers into Malfoy’s hair. He doesn’t pull, but he closes his hand around a bunch of it, consideringly.

“Is this a power trip, then?” Malfoy asks beneath him. “Shall we stare at each other until our clothes come off all by themselves?”

Merlin, he’s annoying.

“Take your clothes off,” Harry says brusquely, and shifts back to undress.

“How seductive.”

“Off,” he says, pulling off his own top over his head, and getting to unzipping his jeans. He glances down at Malfoy, lying there with his eyes glittering, and says, “Off,” again, emphatically.

Malfoy reaches into his back pocket for his wand, and murmurs something unintelligible, a spell Harry doesn’t know.

“Are you seriously—” Harry begins, and stops, as the spell starts to get going. Malfoy’s robes steal off of his body in a matter of seconds, rolling off of his skin in an impossibly smooth, quick movement. They fold up mid-air and land somewhere across the room, leaving Malfoy nude right there, in front of Harry.

Harry shivers, looking down at Malfoy’s soft, white chest, the pink pricks of his nipples, and the light ramble of dusky hair between his spread legs, which are splayed lazily over the sheets. Supine on the bed, the beam of springtime daylight from the window misses Malfoy entirely, and sits instead in a slanting shape on the floor, barely a meter away. In the diluted grey light, just sat there, just naked, not even doing anything... he looks absolutely sinful.

And he used a bloody spell, instead of undressing himself.

Poncy Pureblood git.

Harry lets out a low, shaky sigh as he finishes undressing, and finally rubs his hand down Malfoy’s chest and belly. He lets his nails drag, just slightly, over his skin, and Malfoy sucks in a harsh inhale, wetting his lips.

“Am I seriously what?” Malfoy asks darkly.

Harry moves his hand to Malfoy’s nipple and takes it, hard, between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it roughly between his fingers. Malfoy visibly gulps, hips jerking up involuntarily, and Harry lets go with a slow pull.

“Seriously such an arse.”

He’s brutal with Malfoy, he knows he is. But, it’s okay, because Malfoy returns it in equal measure. It’s all okay, the whole thing, because Malfoy gets it.

How angry he is. How shit everything is. Everything.

How they spent years trying to get rid of Voldemort, and then they did, and then everything was bleak and pointless and everyone was dead, and what even is the point of winning a war if everything that happened in the war doesn’t get bloody undone?

There’s not exactly any point in anything. Most definitely not in continuing on, finding a house, getting a life, studying for his OWLs or getting a job, getting up every single bloody morning to pour cereal and brush his teeth and get dressed and go out and work and come back and eat some pasta and brush his teeth and get undressed, and what’s the point, what’s the bloody point.

Because it’s not better. It doesn’t get better, and it hasn’t gotten better, and it won’t get better.

Everyone’s dead. And everyone else is just living their lives, standing in the sun, as though life can possibly continue onwards. Teddy doesn’t have any parents anymore, for Merlin’s sake.

But Malfoy gets it.

Harry knew he got it the first time Harry threw a punch. Malfoy had stood there in front of him, touching the blood on his lip thoughtfully, and as voices behind them rose and they got kicked out, all he did was look at Harry. Quietly. Thinking.

And then they ended up outside, and Malfoy punched Harry’s jaw so hard Harry thought he might’ve lost a tooth.

He called Harry an, “arrogant, no-good, miserable piece of nothing,” and Harry told him, “that’s funny, that’s exactly what I was going to say to you,” and the night ended fuzzy, with blood in the back of his throat, and his heart high in his chest.

So, with Malfoy, they don’t have to waste time with disingenuous comfort. They just do exactly what makes them feel better. Or what makes them feel nothing. Whatever, whichever. It doesn’t matter. And, you know, whatever, maybe it’s not healthy. But it’s fine. It works.

So. This is that.

Tension now high in Harry’s chest and shoulders, he moves his focus to Malfoy’s arse. “I’m gonna,” he begins, awkwardly, stroking up and down the warm cleft of Malfoy’s arse with his thumb. “Okay?”

He’s brought lube in a little vial, and a single condom; they’re a bit old: the lube in particular is courtesy of Ron in fourth year, courtesy of Fred and George in third year, but it should be fine. He’s never used it at all, and never really thought he’d ever use it. The only reason he has it is because of Ron awkwardly fumbling it off to Harry in an embarrassed show of support when Harry mentioned how good-looking Cedric was. He definitely didn’t think he’d be using it on Malfoy. Fourteen-year-old Harry probably would’ve been disgusted at the idea. Eighteen-year-old Harry is pretty pleased with it, though.

He empties a puddle of the lube over his fingers, and draws his lips into his mouth nervously. He can get Malfoy ready; he just hasn’t done it to a guy before and he doesn’t it to be stupid. As he goes to open him up, Malfoy says lightly, “There’s a charm for it, you know.”

And Harry says, “I know,” and keeps going.

Malfoy shivers; Harry knows he does, because Malfoy stops himself with an obvious jolt, and takes a deep breath. Smug, Harry continues.

“You can skip this bit,” Malfoy says then, in a rush of breath. Harry glances up at him, and Malfoy’s staring down at him, expression unfathomable, lips parted as he breathes a little harder.

“How would that work, then?” Harry says tiredly.

Immediately, Malfoy says, deeply irate, “Just be fast. Merlin, Potter.”

And that’s what’s so infuriating about Malfoy. Unreadable, pissy, and endlessly demanding. It’s also what makes him so incredibly fuckable.

Harry plunges an oiled-up finger as far into Malfoy’s arse as he can, which turns out to be not very far at all. Harry thinks for a second that there’s no way this is going to work, but then Malfoy exhales pointedly, lets his legs fall apart further, and starts to relax his inner walls, until suddenly Harry’s able to push his finger in all the way down to the knuckle. It’s disgustingly hot, watching Malfoy’s arse swallow his finger completely; it makes his cock jerk of its own accord, and his brain go a bit fuzzy.

After a moment of riding Malfoy’s hole with his finger, he can finally manage two fingers, and then three. He spears Malfoy open with his fingers until Malfoy’s inner walls manage to relax completely around him, and he feels pretty coated in lube—his pink wrinkled hole is practically shining with the stuff—so it should be fine, now. Harry sits back and eases the condom on around his dick, and tries not to acknowledge the blatant way Malfoy is just staring at him.

When the condom is all the way at the base, and he’s sat back on his haunches, Harry sighs, and says, “What?”

Malfoy raises an eyebrow. “Nothing,” he says. But that’s a lie, because he’s openly appraising Harry’s body.

Harry feels hot under Malfoy’s gaze, but not because of the staring. He doesn’t really care what Malfoy thinks of his body, or anyone, for that matter. What he doesn’t want to submit to is Malfoy’s stare, the way Malfoy seems to be claiming Harry with a look, staring and staring and taking in as much as he can, as though he can own it.

“Are you gonna keep doing that?” Harry asks coolly.

“Doing what?”

“Staring.” He feels like a twelve-year-old all over again, indignant and obsessing over every single annoying thing Malfoy does.

“I’m not staring.”

“Just—shut up. Fucking hell.”

Malfoy tilts his head, wetting his lips thoughtfully. “Why?” he says, after a pause. He sits up as he talks, ends up kneeling back on his haunches just as Harry is, but taller, grander, infuriatingly gorgeous.

Harry lets out a loud sigh, and wills himself to make eye contact, not to be cowed away by Malfoy’s dumb challenge. “You wanna know?”

“Oh yes,” Malfoy says, his voice now positively frosty, focusing on Harry with narrowed eyes, his lips curled in the furthest thing from a smile, “manhandle me. Take me like the big, strong man you are, why don’t you?”

Of course—even here, even now, everything Malfoy says is absolutely marinated in sardonicism.

The thing is, Harry has grown up in a lot of ways over the past few years. He certainly hasn’t, however, outgrown the compelling desire to throw Malfoy around a room hard enough to wipe the look right off of his face.

Manhandling Draco Malfoy? It comes naturally.

With an unforgiving push, Malfoy collapses back onto the pillows with a breathy grunt, looking up at Harry hotly. Harry grips Malfoy’s ankles and drags him closer; he slides down the bed and lands right up against Harry’s thighs, where Harry’s kneeling on the mattress.

“Rough,” Malfoy insists, because of course he’s such a brat he has to dictate exactly how this plays out. Luckily, Harry’s not in any mood to challenge that. Rough is good. Rough is right. Rough is exactly what he intends. He doesn’t think he can do anything but rough.

Harry considers then, for a second, and pushes Malfoy onto his belly. Quick as a flash, Malfoy finds his way onto all fours, unquestioning and eager and so bloody demanding, as he always is.

Harry holds his breath at the sight of it. He’s been over Malfoy all week—shoving him against the walls of pubs and inn bedrooms, punching him and getting punched back, splitting lips and bruising cheekbones, and, every day, pinning him down against something and straddling him until the kiss runs dry and things get too quiet in his head. So they know how to touch each other by this point.

But Malfoy’s hole looks too small, now, even all wet and opened up. Then again, the ache of want twists doggedly in his gut, and Merlin, yeah, Malfoy wants it, and he wants it. He wants it, for a whole plentitude of confusing, weird reasons.

He kicks himself into action, and sinks into Malfoy with some force. Slow, obviously, because he’s not a total wanker when it comes to Malfoy. It takes him a moment, once he’s eased in, to catch his breath, and let the full tide of the sensation wash over him. It’s too much to bear, at first—Malfoy is too tight, stupidly tight, too tensed up for the lube to matter, too silky-smooth around him, too much—and Harry sucks in an urgent breath, not sure how this is gonna work, or how he can last at all if Malfoy feels like this.

Doubt pulls at his attention, but Malfoy says, “Hey,” blunt and loud, and Harry finds his gaze in the full-length mirror standing before the bed. “Do it, then,” he says. So bloody rude.

Harry stiffens his jaw, pissed off at Malfoy’s wild lack of sensitivity, and starts to fuck into him. The lube has gone further than he thought, easing the way, and the resistance of Malfoy’s inner muscles breaks down in just a couple of thrusts. Harry’s not as careful as he should be, starting with choppy, urgent strokes until he settles into a sensical rhythm, but god. God. Malfoy’s hole hugs his cock with such mad, ridiculous tightness that it’s damn-near immoral. Yet, it still opens around Harry’s cock, accommodates the slick push and pull of each thrust perfectly.

Malfoy’s positioned perfectly: on his hands and knees in front of him, facing the mirror, so Harry can see everything. Harry feels drunk with it, breathless, his thoughts slurring together. He could really get carried away here, lose control and end up coming in seconds. It’s an unmuted, outrageous assault of sensation over every inch of his cock, and every single bit of that sensation seems to thread up into his body: spreading warmth into his belly, his chest, his fingers, his toes, his head, making everything flush with heat.

This was a bloody great idea.

He groans, rolling his head deliriously, and takes hold of Malfoy’s hips, starting to fuck him in earnest.

“Talk to me,” Draco says.

For half a second, Harry’s stomach twists in uncertainty; he hasn’t done that before, and Malfoy hasn’t asked that of him before. He thinks that if that’s what Malfoy expects of him, then maybe this isn’t right for them right now. He opens his mouth without much idea of what he’ll say, whether he’ll just ignore him or tell him to shut up or just go for it—but then he looks at Malfoy’s dumb, vicious gaze in the mirror, his pinched face all flushed, and he just looks at him for a moment. Because Malfoy has no business looking that fucking pretty.

His hair is too long, a sheet of pale blonde, as though he’s a bloody Veela, and it drapes itself over his ears and sticks to his sweat-slick cheeks and forehead, and curls over his parted lips, as fat as rosebuds and expelling hard breaths. He’s newly skinny, too skinny for his frame, so bony that his arse, where it nestles against Harry’s thighs and belly, prods him a little with every thrust. Harry can see the little bumps of his spine over his back, but Malfoy is so pale that his blush really does reach over the whole of his body, making his back all pink and nice and touchable.

Harry reaches up and smoothes out a snarl in Malfoy’s hair, before knuckling down into it and yanking Malfoy’s head back, so that he can see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat, and maybe hurt him too. Yes, he thinks, as Malfoy exhales sharply. Definitely hurt him.

Malfoy seems to grin for a second, but it’s lost in a sweet, long noise that seems to burn its way out of his mouth.

And in that grin, Harry sees the Malfoy that joyfully bit hurtful insults at Harry’s friends, and the Malfoy that always flew just as well as him at Quidditch, the only thing Harry was any good at. He even sees the Malfoy that stood awkwardly in Lucius’s arms at the Battle of Hogwarts, newly-shamed and grinning no longer. That Malfoy was never this pretty, never this scrawny and blush-pink and tight , never making all the right noises to make Harry’s cock twitch and jerk of its own accord in sudden flashes of heat.

He feels the words lurch rapidly into place like there’s a backlog of dirty, hateful litany that’s welled up in his mind, and suddenly, he doesn’t just want to say it, he has to say it. With his wide, brown palms spread over Malfoy’s bony white hips, taking him over and over and over in sharp, hard snaps of his hips, so hard and so rushed that it threatens to overtake Harry entirely, he just lets the words fall out.

It’s an endless barrage of filthy, furious language, dirty talk at its absolute basest, cruelest level. He shouldn’t be saying this, because no one should ever say this to a person. No one should be crashing into another person as wholly and immeasurably as he is, in body and mind, in hate and lust and whatever fucked up solidarity this is, and also be saying these kinds of things.

These are the kinds of things you regret saying to someone. Even someone like Malfoy.

But he keeps going.

In the mirror, Malfoy stares at him with his head bent back, blown pupils half-hooded by heavy eyelids, his mouth slack and panting. Barb-edged and vitriolic, Harry says something about Malfoy being a, “no-good Pureblood brat,” or maybe it’s that he’s, “just a coward, just a punching bag, good for nothing, good for no-one.” But there’s so many words and so much of it is so contemptible that it all seems to melt into itself, into one big indiscernible wall of lust-hazy malice.

Somewhere in there, though, he definitely says something like, “Ruin you, gonna ruin you,” and that’s when Malfoy’s eyes go glassy and finally close. He looks as though he’s been caught in total bliss; it makes him choke out a moan, and reach below to jerk at his cock fast and hard.

“Yes,” Malfoy grunts, and the word breaks into a long, whining breath, and, Merlin, he even sounds fuckable, and continues, “yeah, yes, Potter. Ruin me.”

Wait.

And it strikes Harry all of a sudden that this isn’t what he thinks it is. Or maybe it’s exactly what he thinks it is, it’s just that Malfoy’s also getting out of it exactly what Harry’s getting out of it, and Harry just didn’t see that earlier.

This is Malfoy, getting Harry to punish him. Really punish him.

Alongside Harry, using Malfoy as a punching bag.

Maybe it’s not that bad an arrangement.

“You just want me to hurt you,” he says.

Malfoy glances back at him, behind his shoulder this time, eyebrows knitted. His hips still where Harry stops thrusting, and the cold air over their bodies feels more present, all of a sudden. “Uh. Yes,” Malfoy says emphatically. “Clever, aren’t you,” he adds, for no good reason other than to agitate Harry. To get Harry to hurt him.

Harry obliges.

He slams into Malfoy with uneven, untempered thrusts, tries to throw him off so that he can take him even deeper, and offset each one with something too shallow, too barely-there. It works. It makes Harry’s thighs shake with the effort of not just taking him, easy as that, and his cock aches a little bit, frustrated, but it works. Malfoy sinks onto his forearms beneath him, exhaling hard breaths capped in noise, as though each breath was meant to be a word before Harry fucked it out of him.

Maybe it shouldn’t be this violent. It’s not Harry’s first time, but he’s not exactly experienced, and he knows sex with guys like this isn’t necessarily a comfortable experience even when it’s all slowed down and gentle.

But, Merlin’s beard, it’s so easy to do this to Malfoy. Like a guilty pleasure, like it doesn’t really count, because Malfoy’s up for it, getting off on it, and doesn’t that feel good? Being able to crush him, with no real consequence, being able to bruise him and insult him and let all of it out, and all it does it egg Malfoy on. He pulls Malfoy’s hair, and Malfoy moans. He grips his hips too hard, and Malfoy leans into it. He fucks into Malfoy endlessly, mercilessly, like it’s all he’s capable of doing, and Malfoy just begs him not to stop.

He whispers things to Malfoy—leans in with sweet nothings, but instead he bites out dirty things, bad things, cruel things—and Malfoy just closes his eyes and takes it.

There’s freedom, Harry’s realised, over the past week, in being able to hurt something. Someone. And, anyway, Malfoy’s offering himself up. So why not?

He falls quiet, looking down and watching the slick, pink blur of his cock moving over and over into Malfoy’s sun-starved, pretty arse. He’s not terribly close at all—he doesn’t really find fucking a great way to get off, but, when it feels this good, that’s not a problem whatsoever. It just feels good to keep going, to feel driven perpetually to the brink, hover there, fade out, and drive back there all over again. It’s intoxicating.

Malfoy’s arse opens around him so nicely, takes it so well that it’s kind of impressive. Harry hums a little in satisfaction, rubs his hand over Malfoy’s lovely arse cheeks, impressed with how well Malfoy’s taking it. He’s just letting Harry fuck him as sharply as he likes, even though every thrust seems to jolt Malfoy all the way down to his bones, judging by how much he shakes and trembles and gasps, head lowered and mouth letting out a long, low, stuttering groan. God, he does take it so well. Harry’s not sure, actually, if this is Malfoy’s first time or not.

He didn’t really ask.

He probably would’ve asked someone else though; Harry’s not… He’s not the kind of person who doesn’t check. Right? If it hurts. But then again, that’s not what this is, so, no, yes, it’s fine, it doesn’t count. It’s not really sex if all you want to do is let off some steam with each other. If pain is the whole point.

And then he hears Malfoy say, “Hurt me, Potter,” the words caught up in a low, grateful groan into the mattress.

So Harry opens his mouth and talks.

“In sixth year,” he says, shifting his grip on Malfoy’s hips and leaving behind whitish imprints of his fingers that don’t immediately fade like they’re meant to, mottled slightly green as they bruise, “I was so fucking sure that you were up to something. So I followed you round. All the time. Every day. More and more. And I was right. And I never got to feel good about being right because you were doing such a terrible thing.”

“You cut me,” Malfoy says. There’s no anger there: it’s a statement without judgment, just an observation.

“Yeah, I did,” Harry says, equally neutral.

With a sweet, hitched grunt, Malfoy sinks further onto his chest, which has the blissful side effect of opening up his arse even more for Harry. Harry keeps going, and Malfoy groans a little longer.

“And now,” Harry pants, “I’m at your massive house. Your awful house. In your bedroom. Taking you like the absolute, fucking…” He falters for a split second, and continues, “absolute slut you are.”

He doesn’t use words like that. No one he knows, or looks up to, or anyone like Sirius or Dumbledore used words like that.

He uses those words on Malfoy though. Because Malfoy lets him. Because Malfoy wants him to. Because it’s okay to talk to someone like Malfoy like that. It must be.

“You feel good now,” Malfoy says, or asks, or something, but his voice is caught halfway between a dry observation and an earnest whine, and he just sounds so right .

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, and adjusts his grip on Malfoy—slides his hands down onto Malfoy’s thighs, and pulls them in, closer to Harry’s thighs, so Malfoy’s whole frame is lowered further against the mattress, and trembling more and more as Harry pounds into him. “Yeah, this feels good.”

Malfoy adjusts his knees a little, head hanging low as he breathes, and pushes back, right up against the base of Harry’s cock, and says, “Good.”

It does feel good, crazy good, all comfortably tight and slick and hot, made better by being able to watch Malfoy in the mirror stare at himself, pink-faced and unforgiving.

Well, it’s not a good thing, in itself. Harry knows he could never tell Hermione, and, realistically, if he tried to tell Ron, Ron would never forgive him the mental imagery. Then again, doing this to Malfoy, doing this with Malfoy—this dark, and dirty, and selfish, and reckless thing—he can’t picture it ever stopping. Maybe he’ll just never go back. He doesn’t really want to. Maybe he’ll just stay here forever, flitting between Hogsmeade and Malfoy Manor, spending every day with Malfoy: getting totally absorbed in Malfoy and all of the terrible things he is.

He starts scratching Malfoy’s back hard, leaving muted red streaks over Malfoy’s skin that take a couple of seconds to fade back into his skin. Harry does it again, and again, entranced by it, entranced by how Malfoy just takes it without even saying anything. “Is that good?” Harry asks, breathless.

Malfoy starts whining longer, louder, in split, dulcet moans, and hell, isn’t that something Harry never thought he’d hear. It feels like a plea for more, but as Harry spirals closer to the edge, his head getting heavier and dizzier, he realises he can’t give anymore. He holds his breath and slows down, sighs heavily, stroking up and down Malfoy’s sides instead of scratching.

“What are you doing?” Malfoy asks in protest, staring at him in their reflection, and, Merlin, he knows Malfoy gets off on pain and all that, but it’s getting stupid at this point.

Taking hold of Malfoy’s belly, he finds enough purchase to drag Malfoy up, right off of his elbows and onto his knees, upright and back, his spine now a long divisive line running all the way down Harry’s chest. Harry feels a little thrill at being able to manhandle Malfoy so freely, and even more thrill when Malfoy bucks against him slightly, frowning.

“Just fuck me,” Malfoy says, as though Harry has completely stopped.

Harry ignores him and braces himself against him anew, until he finds enough leverage to fuck Malfoy just as hard here. In the mirror, Malfoy’s frowning slightly, probably at his newfound vulnerability—his whole front is exposed, and he’s leaning totally on Harry. His hair isn’t in his face anymore, but swung back over his ears, showing his blood-rich cheeks, the sweat on his forehead and chin and neck, and his grey, serious eyes. His chest is as flushed pink as his back, his nipples hard little pricks in his soft, wide areolas. His belly is flat, pencil-thin, making way for the sad bulge of his ribs and his gunlike hipbones. A little trail of soft, light hair runs down below his belly-button all the way to his cock, heavy and bobbing between his legs. It’s so vividly pink it looks ridiculous against the backdrop of his pale body, and the brown spread of Harry’s hands over his thighs.

“Just do it, Potter,” Malfoy repeats, sounding a little irate this time.

Harry looks at him in the mirror, and says, “I am.”

Malfoy glares at him, looking the perfect brat, and says, dripping with scorn, “I don’t need a cuddle .”

And that’s stupid, because this isn’t a cuddle, and Harry can prove it. He settles his mouth against Malfoy’s jaw, his glasses nudging against Malfoy’s head. He lets his voice go low and gravelly as he asks, “Do you want me to hurt you, Draco?” So there’s a good chance that he gets off on degrading Malfoy. But calling Malfoy by his first name, which is something they just don’t do—that’s for the sole purpose of riling him up even more.

In the mirror, Malfoy’s face softens in surprise, or arousal, or relief. Harry can’t tell, but, with his eyes a little wider, mouth open, Malfoy looks so good.

Finally, he manages to say, “Then bloody do it.”

Harry moves a hand up to Malfoy’s chest, marvelling at the way they look in the mirror. It reminds Harry of the statuesque posing of illustrated heroes and heroines on the covers of Aunt Petunia’s books—but better, because it’s Malfoy, and Harry gets to touch him however he wants, and that’s why his hands are splayed so broad and possessive over his thighs and his chest.

He wraps his arm around Malfoy’s front, and takes a couple of fingers and runs soothing, speedy circles around Malfoy’s nipple. He then brings his other hand up so he can do two at the same time. It slows his fucking to near zero, but that’s okay. Everything has slowed down, in the right way. Pressure is building. He can feel Malfoy’s heady breath speed up where it wafts down against Harry’s hand, and the way Malfoy’s back as curved slightly where he’s started to lean back properly against him. Even Malfoy’s legs are reacting—tensing up, and then shuddering involuntarily in short, desperate spasms. “Merlin,” Malfoy whispers, and then snaps his mouth shut.

Harry ignores this, and just keeps playing with him. He decides to follow through on Malfoy’s demand, and pinches hard at one of his nipples for a section. Malfoy lets out a noise outrageously bawdy, as though he’s right out of a porno, and his stomach visibly jumps inwards as he clenches every muscle in shock.

Harry groans, and tries to make him make that sound again. Maybe he can embarrass Malfoy for the house elves. Maybe Narcissa will hear. Hell, maybe Lucius just turned up, and he’ll hear the famous Harry Potter positively ravaging his stuffy bastard of a son. Brilliant.

In the mirror, Malfoy looks the very picture of debauchery. Malfoy’s gone redder still, but his mouth is opened in anticipation of what Harry will do next, his back settled comfortably against Harry’s chest. He’s relaxed, kneeling on spread legs, because he knows he’ll take whatever Harry does to him, no matter how obscene. Merlin, that’s hot.

Harry rubs at both of his nipples then, with a rapid but light movement, barely touching them, before he squeezes both of them. Hard.

Malfoy makes a sudden, choked-off, throaty noise that makes Harry’s cock jolt, a noise that makes Harry determine to continue to play with Malfoy like this. It’s definitely fun. Possibly, it’s more fun for Harry than it is for Malfoy, but that’s the whole point of this—getting a free card to piss each other off.

“You bastard,” Malfoy utters, between shaking breaths. As he speaks, he rolls his arse back on Harry’s cock, where it’s safely tucked away, hot and hard.

“What,” Harry laughs softly, skating his mouth over Malfoy’s neck, “afraid someone will hear?”

Malfoy glares down at the mattress with surprising obstinance, and Harry laughs, and nips at Malfoy’s earlobe. Malfoy jumps and then sighs, leaning back against Harry with his eyes closed. “No,” he says finally, breathily, “it’s just—it’s not the point. Of this.”

That sits in the air for a couple seconds before Harry knows what to do with it. He’s not entirely sure what that’s meant to mean, but it makes his stomach turn, just a bit, in doubt.

So he decides to experiment.

Harry skates his hands down Malfoy’s chest, settles on his waist, and pulls out of his arse. Malfoy makes a quiet grunt and falls forward. With a low hum, Harry shifts on his knees, and turns Malfoy onto his back. He looks pretty like that, too. The blush has settled more firmly in his cheeks, which makes him look hot and tired and antsy all at once.

Malfoy rolls where Harry pushes him, but frowns up at him, clearly dubious. His legs are spread wide, bent at the knees, and he glances up behind him at the mirror. Finally, he awkwardly settles his hands flat against Harry’s chest. As Harry moves in to kiss him, his expression shifts more definably into a scowl, eyes acerbic, and, yeah, that looks like the Malfoy Harry knows, all bratty and demanding. And Harry loves it when Malfoy looks all bratty and demanding. It makes it so much easier to do things like this.

“Ah, you utter f—” Malfoy swears, touching his freshly-bitten lip. Harry laughs dryly, and Malfoy grabs Harry’s shoulders comfortably now, with something like a smile playing at his mouth, and grinds his cock up against Harry’s stomach.

Harry squeezes a hand down between them to press Malfoy’s hips back down against the mattress. He murmurs, “No,” and Malfoy grunts in frustration, but doesn’t try again.

“Do it again,” Malfoy says instead, tilting his head to let Harry at his exposed neck.

A warm tide of feeling rushes into Harry’s chest. He’s not sure what it is, but it feels good, and he sits back on his haunches, rubbing his palms up and down Malfoy’s chest and belly, and just looks at him. And yeah, this is different than anything they’ve done, a total subversion, but it’s still essentially the same; it’s still dirty, it’s still fun . Harry’s not sure what ‘the point of this’ is for Malfoy, but this feels like it.

“Merlin, you really like taking your time, don’t you?” Malfoy goads.

“Yes,” Harry answers, matter-of-factly.

Malfoy’s chest rises in a sharp breath. They stay there for a second; Harry kneeling back, his hands settling in the soft inner creases of Malfoy’s spread thighs, just looking . There’s something wonderfully, gloriously right in having Malfoy like this, vulnerably open below him, and being able to take the time to simply look at him. It makes him feel so indomitable, and Malfoy feel so small, so conquerable. He could do anything to Malfoy right now, and Malfoy would get off on it, because Malfoy gets off on everything Harry does to him, every way Harry degrades him and hurts him. Harry’s allowed to even look at him, just like this. To claim him, with just a look.

This is the point. This feeling.

As the moment passes, Malfoy starts looking around, antsy and annoyed, before taking a hand to his own cock and starting to jerk it in a gentle, quick blur. He can’t sit still—at least, not still enough for Harry to get him to bask in this feeling the way he is.

Fine, Harry thinks. He’ll go for it, properly.

He takes his cock in his hand and guides it into Malfoy, where it slides in perfectly, snug and slick and hot, and changes position. He ends up bent over Malfoy, forearms framing his face, blocking them out close and intimate. Right up close, like this, he can watch Malfoy squirm. And he does—Malfoy looks so vulnerable, heart racing damn-near audibly, breathing fast—and is pulling at Harry restlessly, wanting something to happen.

So Harry starts fucking him gently, taking his time.

His hips rise up and down in saccharine-sweet, slow pulses, letting the pleasure strobe through him in lazy, shuddering waves. Malfoy breathes fast and open-mouthed in contrast with Harry’s low, heavy breaths. Noisy and wet, he jerks his cock fast between their stomachs, watching Harry unblinkingly. He chokes out occasional, guttural sounds with every thrust, clinging to Harry’s arm with one cinching hand, but he’s still frowning. Malfoy’s eyebrows are knitted together, lips turned downwards in a slight pout. He lets Harry go slow, though, so maybe Harry was wrong, and Malfoy does get it.

Feeling vindicated, Harry decides to kiss him. He does this differently, too.

He takes one of Malfoy’s nipples in his mouth and sucks it, lightly, letting it throb with his tongue. He moves up Malfoy’s chest with chaste, wet kisses, finds his way to Malfoy’s warm neck and lets his teeth and tongue play here, pulling at his skin in possessive but easy nips, his tongue sweeping across soothingly in regular motions. The rhythm of it is dizzying; Harry can’t figure out why he hasn’t done this before. Harry inhales sharply in heady pleasure, and moves from Malfoy’s neck, littering kisses along the underside of his defined jawline, the gaunt rise of his bruised cheekbone, and, finally, to his lips.

And Draco turns his head suddenly, and says, “Don’t be a girl, Potter, just do it.”

Right.

Of course.

Bloody hell.

Incensed, Harry pulls off him immediately, jammed up inside with disgust and annoyance. Of course this is what this is. Hermione was right, even if she didn’t actually know what was happening. Of course she was right.

Malfoy’s just using Harry to try and atone for his guilt.

This isn’t just masochism or whatever; this is Malfoy’s stupid fucking sincere attempt to get Harry to, who knows, fuck the guilt out of him probably. That’s why he’s so restless at any of Harry’s endeavours to slow things down and play. He doesn’t want to play, he wants to burn. Of course. Because Malfoy loves being the martyr, doesn’t he; he just loves to be beaten, he just loves to stew in his self-indulgent Death Eater shame. He probably doesn’t even want to be here; he probably doesn’t even like this the way Harry does. This isn’t sex: this is Malfoy assembling his own gallows. And, naturally, he nominated Harry as hangman.

“No,” Harry babbles, sitting up and bracing Malfoy’s legs against his chest with a firm grip, glaring down at him. Screw the sex. “No, no, fuck you, I’m not—you’re not gonna atone this way.” It sounds so sick coming out of his mouth. As though Harry is judge, jury and executioner, and Malfoy gets to use him for punishment. When the whole point of this was just…

Well, it was, you know, reckless, stupid, fun stuff. Fighting, but better. Or something.

Definitely something more healthy than Malfoy’s thing. Probably.

Malfoy sits up on his elbows, looking up at him furiously, and says, “Just do it.”

And that’s confirmation enough.

He pulls his clothes on haphazardly in the stark silence, working through the past week with his new bitter, outraged lens. Malfoy probably didn’t even have a legitimate invitation from Narcissa; he just wanted a way to incite abuse from Harry, any kind of abuse he could take. Harry wonders how many of those invitations out there were as selfish as this one. Because it’s so disgustingly selfish. Malfoy wanted to be punished by the Chosen One himself. And maybe that was fine, for a while, because yeah, sure, Harry probably hates Malfoy as much as Malfoy hates himself, but it’s not fine anymore. It’s all gone rotten.

He pulls his hoodie the right way out, all the while saying, “Screw this. I’m not gonna fuck your guilt out of you, Malfoy. You don’t get to bed the Boy Who Lived and make that fix everything.”

Malfoy looks furious and humiliated all at once, covering himself with the sheet like that goddamned matters, and he says, “Fine, you’re an awful shag anyway.”

And it’s just to hurt Harry, and Harry doesn’t rise to it—he doesn’t need to. Malfoy is pathetic, and cold, and stupid, and he’s never going to fix what he did if he doesn’t just start thinking about it. And then he catches a glimpse of Malfoy in the mirror in front of him, white-faced and frozen on the bed where he kneels, totally sodden in his guilt, and maybe Harry isn’t as mature as he thinks. Malfoy, and all of his bloody shame, can still get a rise out of him, even now that he’s proved himself as utterly awful as Harry thought he was.

“Right, fine, I don’t care. You know what, Malfoy? You did shitty things. I know you suffered, I know Voldemort slept in your house—” Malfoy visibly flinches, and Harry continues, as he reckons with socks that won’t go on right, “and screwed up your family and ruined your lives, but you still did shitty things. And no amount of anything with me or with anyone else you deem ‘a good person’ is going to give you forgiveness. That’s something you need to do all on your own.” It’s feels so sweet saying it, because every word of it is true, and they feel so satisfying as they punch right out of him.

In a blur of tangled sheets, Malfoy lurches up and is suddenly right in front of Harry. He has one of Harry’s wrists locked in his fist, and his other hand geared back, ready to punch. Shit yes, he seriously looks like he’s going to punch Harry.

His face is twisted in a dreadful, unreadable expression, embarrassed and sad and scared, but mostly he just looks like he really wants to see Harry’s nose bleed. The sheet is pooled at their ankles.

It’s a split second choice. And Harry seriously thinks he’s going to just let Malfoy punch him, and then he could punch him back, and then this could devolve once more into what it’s been all week before Harry had this stupid idea: simple, easy, sensical fighting.

He could probably have Malfoy on the floor in a couple of seconds. Could stamp on his face, call him a Death Eater, call him a coward, call him a waste of time. He could get to his wand and use that slashing spell again, and then he could Levicorpus the bastard and let him hang, humiliated, in the air. Even if Malfoy apparently gets off on it, the masochist. Then he could leave, and they would never talk again, and maybe Harry could find someone else who just wants to get lost in hurting each other and not thinking about anything. Maybe Ginny. She’s pretty angry, these days.

But, no. It’s a split second choice.

And he chooses this.

Flipping the script.

Harry hauls Malfoy in by his hips, makes Malfoy stagger and fall against him, utterly thrown.

He starts kissing him, properly this time, on the mouth. It’s wet and forceful, but not like the other times, because Harry’s not biting him, and Malfoy’s not trying to bruise him. In fact, Malfoy’s not doing much of anything—he goes tense and stands there in defiance, lips slack, his hands dead at his sides.

Harry is persistent, though, licks into Malfoy’s mouth, bruises his lips with nips and sucks, and grinds their hips together until Malfoy lets out a low, broken moan.

He reaches up and slides his hands in Harry’s hair, and then just lets them stay there, going still, shocked. “You don’t mean this,” he murmurs, awed, and Harry has no idea what that means, but yes, sure, he does mean it, if it means showing Malfoy that Harry’s not gonna be any sort of almighty saviour or punisher or whatever, not when Malfoy has to learn to forgive himself. It’s just sex. It’s just playfighting, pissing one another off, letting off some steam. That’s all it’s meant to be. So he means it that way, definitely.

And Harry presses him down onto the bed, his own jeans still unzipped, and pins Malfoy’s arms above his head to kiss him. Malfoy responds immediately, bucks his hips and makes a mewling whine against Harry’s mouth.

Harry doesn’t know what, doesn’t know why, but somehow Malfoy’s going along with it now. In all the space of a second, he’s become this needy, keening thing beneath him, all open and uninhibited, and fuck, fuck, that’s hot.

Malfoy kisses Harry back with all this desperate ferocity, lapping at Harry’s mouth, his eyes closed, and wow, Harry doesn’t think he’s been turned on in this way before, at someone wholly and unreservedly giving themselves over to him, and then trying to give even more. Huh. Maybe he is some kind of control freak. It’s not the first time he’s been accused of that. By Malfoy himself, probably.

He tries to put it out of his mind that this Malfoy, this broken, angry, fucked up young man is the same arrogant little bully he’s known for eight years—it will just rile him up. Instead, he just lets himself get lost in ravaging Malfoy’s body as it is now, Malfoy as he is now, all lanky and yearning and pretty. And Malfoy’s right there with him, underneath him, his legs locked around Harry’s shoulders, wrists pinned under Harry’s hands, looking up at Harry with unadulterated want , like he’s the only thing in the world.

Like he wants to see him there.

Like Harry couldn’t be any guy, right now. Any guy, giving Malfoy the fuck of his life, distracting Malfoy from all the bullshit they’re both unable to deal with. And, okay, Malfoy seems so into it, more engrossed in it than Harry’s ever seen him, but that’s probably just because, this whole time, he’s been in need of a good fuck.

Or something. Whatever.

Ugly thoughts try at Harry’s mind, wanting to amble in and take up space, but he switches it off altogether. Underneath him, Malfoy is writhing, ardent, under Harry’s touch, completely worked up, and getting off in a way he hasn’t before with Harry. Totally and thoroughly into it . Hazy-eyed and red-cheeked. His mouth itself looks positively lewd: wide open in a perpetual show of pleasure, tongue wet and kissable, lips spit-slick and swollen from Harry’s bite. Oh, god, this is perfect. Harry wants to take his time here.

In the mirror, he can’t take his eyes off the sight of him on top of Malfoy, the whole thing sordid and gorgeous; he doesn’t want it to end. It’s intoxicating, the sight of Malfoy’s pale hands clinging to Harry’s dark arms, and Malfoy’s head arching back in pleasure, and Malfoy’s legs hanging ridiculously, stunningly, above them in the air, all because he’s so open for Harry, so unequivocally open.

He finds his thrusts speeding up and losing rhythm. Harry notices for the first time how much his arms are aching, killing him, how much his legs are shaking, and how totally sweaty he is. He’d find it gross, any other time, but, right now, he couldn’t care less. Strung out beneath him, Malfoy pleads for kisses wordlessly, with the arch of his neck and that dirty, urging stare. Harry indulges him, tastes the overwhelming, muggy press of Malfoy’s lips, tongue, shocked at how thoroughly Malfoy has wrapped himself around him, legs now locked around his waist, hands all over his shoulders and head, shocked at the endless stream of dirty, begging, cut-off noises falling from Malfoy’s mouth.

And finally, finally, Harry’s pushed over the edge.

The orgasm billows up inside him with all the suddenness of a Blasting Charm. It ripples in his chest and his fingertips, surges sharply in his belly, but the best part is how, as his cock practically sings inside Malfoy, Malfoy’s arse seems to pulse around him, his walls clenching and fluttering in response to every throb of come Harry splutters out. He cries out, a wordless grunt, and fucks into Malfoy as hard as he can, wanting to chase this gorgeous, aching feeling for as long as he can. He rides it out in stuttering thrusts, his thighs trembling, his hands eventually finding purchase on Malfoy’s waist.

“Merlin,” he gasps, and falls forward in exhaustion.

He falls farther than he expects, leaving them chest-to-chest, which is too hot and too sweaty, but he stays there, panting.

Malfoy can’t stop touching him, even now, stroking his chest, his arms, his face, while he jacks himself between their stomachs. Malfoy’s fingers trace endlessly from place to place, always touching. It doesn’t make sense, so Harry just kisses him, open-mouthed and languid, until he can breathe normally again.

It’s in this slow, sloppy kiss that Malfoy comes, between their bellies, in a weak twitching dribble that makes his torso flinch and fingers tremble. He pants the word, “Harry,” as if the word itself is rapture.

Harry relaxes into him, sighing in contentedness. Malfoy has gone all loose-boned and slack, spent, and, Merlin, that’s nice to feel.

He pulls out—which makes Malfoy gasp and grip Harry’s shoulders—and takes both of their cocks in one of his hands, holds them together, wet and sticky and sensitive. Playfully, he jerks them together, just a couple of times, slowly. As he does it, a bubble of pleasure rises up through his belly until it finally pops. Too sharp, too sensitive. Malfoy’s eyes are screwed shut, and he opens his mouth to pant. Okay, Harry realises, clearly too sensitive for him, and stops, and just collapses against Malfoy again.

Malfoy kisses his jaw which, okay, weird, but sweet, and Harry reciprocates, kisses his neck, and swirls his fingers in a dribble of come (one of theirs, he’s not sure who’s) that’s somehow found its way onto Malfoy’s arm.

And then Malfoy breathes, “Why’d you stop?”

And Harry thinks and says, “It was hurting you.”

And Malfoy says, without pause, without facetiousness, without any sense of play, “You should hurt me.”

Merlin. This again? Harry thinks to himself.

And suddenly, inexplicably, terribly, in a rush of white noise and conflicting, confusing thoughts, each of them crashing into one another and cresting in Harry’s head—

Everything shatters.

In his head, he sees Malfoy, a week ago, interrupting Harry’s bitter tirade about life after war with a hesitant, short kiss. He sees Harry leaning back in and pushing it further, making it dirty and painful and grossly cathartic, bruising himself on Malfoy’s mouth. “I used to snog Pansy all the time. I fingered her once,” Malfoy had later said, out of nowhere, and Harry had said, “Poor Pansy,” and Malfoy had glared at him and promptly stopped talking.

He sees Malfoy, six days ago, looking up at Harry from the black marble floor of Malfoy Manor, his hand fisted in Harry’s Muggle top, lips bloodied, and his cheekbone bright pink from a fresh punch. He sees himself, bent over Malfoy, saying, “Fuck, I like hurting you,” and Malfoy saying, “Then stop talking and do it.” He sees himself happily obliging, throwing Malfoy around and letting Malfoy shove him back. He sees the way Malfoy’s eyes glitter, the way he holds his breath, just as Harry tackles him, once more, to the floor. He sees the way he goes slack and lets Harry beat him, barely even flinching.

He sees Malfoy, three days ago, walking past Narcissa as he leads Harry to the drinks cabinet, and Narcissa talking in the background, saying something Harry didn’t really parse at the time, but sounded like, “Did you eat this morning? Your dinner from last night is still in the kitchen.” He sees Malfoy take drink after drink, each day they’ve spent together, but he hasn’t seen him eat once.

And he sees Malfoy, yesterday, in Harry’s room at the inn, grinding up against Harry in his robes, gasping and grunting and clinging to Harry’s shoulders so hard his nails leave marks. And, once they’d come, and Malfoy had cast Harry off roughly and moved to the other side of the room, standing horridly still, Harry had said, “You know, you don’t have to keep pretending you don’t like guys. I literally couldn’t care less.” And Malfoy had said, caustic and quiet, “It’s very clear to me, Potter, that you couldn’t care less.”

It’s too many things, too many twisted threads, each of them stemming from all these sick, destructive places, all of them knotting together into one ugly conclusion. Harry feels as though he’s been struck in the head by his own stupidity. Bloody stupid. So bloody stupid.

He gave Malfoy his atonement. He gave Malfoy a saviour; he gave Malfoy his forgiveness. Without even realising it. Without even trying to.

And—something else.

Something more serious, and emotional, on Malfoy’s side, that Harry can’t untangle right now, because he’s not Malfoy’s saviour and he’s not exactly gonna be the love of his life, and Malfoy has no business looking at him like that, like he’s… Like he’s… Like Malfoy actually wants him.

For fuck’s sake. This is not what he wanted, this is not—Harry’s not the arbiter of Malfoy’s worth, for god’s sake, he’s just a dumb kid who, who, who…

Who just made love to someone broken and self-loathing. Made love to someone who sought out Harry so that he could help him atone.

Oh god.

Harry frowns, itchy to untangle himself from Malfoy and escape the heavy weight of this situation. A wave of tiredness pulses sluggishly down his body, colliding with the icy nerves clenching in his gut. Storming out is going to look terrible, and it won’t help anything, but, but he has to leave. He just can’t be here right now.

Malfoy seems to notice that he’s gone all cold and still, and Harry doesn’t know what his own face looks like right now, but Malfoy looks at him and says, clearly, dryly, “Oh.”

And Harry just looks away and pulls out of him, moves away. He’s not ashamed. He just can’t look at Malfoy right now.

Harry’s all sticky and sweaty and horrible, but he gets dressed anyway, he can shower at home. It’s too quiet as he dresses, but he’s determined not to say anything to make this weirder. He starts looking for the pot of floo powder, and he’s still not looking at Malfoy, which feels even weirder than if he was.

And the house is so quiet. Was it this quiet the whole time? Everything feels so uncomfortable.

Finally, with his clean clothes sticking clumsily to his hot skin, his head dizzy with rampant thoughts and denial and newly-swelling anger, he finds himself in the fireplace of Malfoy’s bedroom. Because, of course, stupid rich Malfoy has a fireplace in his bedroom. He partially turns to face Malfoy, but can’t quite bring himself to look at him.

“I, uh. Home,” Harry half-explains.

“I gathered,” Malfoy says, across the room, and Harry swallows. The idyll is over.

“The Burrow,” he announces, and drops the floo powder. In a blaze of green, Malfoy’s bedroom drops out from underneath him and disappears in a tumble of glossy blacks and whites—but not before Harry catches a glimpse of Malfoy where he’s sat on the bed: jarringly composed despite his coloured cheeks, his gaze cutting and dead-on, and his fist, clenched at his neck to hold the rumpled sheet, covering his nakedness.

And then it’s all gone, and Harry steps forward into the kitchen of the Burrow.

The smells rush up to hit him all at once: old smoke from burned cooking, flowers and food and wine, the warm and oaky smells of a well lived-in home. It’s completely empty though, which makes Harry’s stomach lurch in worry for a second. No, of course, they’re not back yet from holiday; he’ll have to owl Ron to check it’s alright for him to be here. First, though, he heads for the sink, and immediately splashes cold water over his face. There’s a bottle of firewhiskey still out on the side, so, impulsively, he pours a quick glass and downs it in a hot, nasty gulp. It doesn’t help; in fact, he feels even sicker. His heart is still racing in his chest, still bent over Malfoy on that massive bed in a moment of awful realisation and guilt.

Merlin. Jesus Christ. Everything, fuck. What has he done?

He feels as though he’s finally resurfaced now that he’s here, come above the water in a spluttering frenzy, breathing real air again—but Malfoy’s back was the springboard he pushed up from.

Harry turns and leans against the counter, scrubbing his hand over his mouth, and sighs. Out the window, the Weasley’s garden is an arcadia of greens and reds and pinks, thoroughly lit up in a giddy, untidy, excitable bloom of life. It’s palpable proof that there’s life here, still happening, always going on. Living is happening.

He could do that too.

Harry rubs his eyes with his palms, focusing hard to slow his breathing. There’s too much, too much happening, a snaking eddy of thoughts twisting in his head and his chest and his belly, and it takes him a moment to recentre himself.

Scored by his deep, shuddering breaths, Harry finds his way outside, into the garden. The grass bites through his socks, and the air is much fresher and cooler than he thought it’d be.

Still, he stands there, and breathes.

It’s been two weeks since he killed Voldemort. It’s been a week since he stopped bothering to reply to his friends’ letters. It’s been barely minutes since he ruined everything with Draco.

It doesn’t feel okay, at all. None of it.

But it can be.

It's only May.

~ Thanks for reading! Please reblog or comment if you enjoyed it <3  

[parkhabits]

Dating Lessons {Part 1/2}

GOT7 Jaebum x Reader Genre: Bartender!JB / Fluff/ Angst / Suggestive  Warning: No real warnings… just coarse language. The real warnings come in part 2 Word Count: 11k+ A/N: i’m drowning in Jaebum feels. someone help me. I broke down this “one shot” into two parts because I realized it was getting really long. Part 2 will be released as soon as I can!  (I should be studying for my final). ALSO mature content to follow…

Part 2:

Summary: 

You never imagined that you would request help on your dating game, especially from the random bartender you barely knew. Could he do it? Would he be able to transform you into a tempting seductress who would have men falling at your feet? Jaebum always liked a challenge when it came to women, he just never thought that this sort of challenge would arise. He closed himself off from love, but would he be able to help you find it? 

To say you were out of your comfort zone was an understatement. You never came to a place like this but there was a reason you sat waiting at the bar amongst the dimmed lighting and musky surroundings. The man you had been seeing for the last couple of weeks had asked to meet you. You were excited, the feeling that circulated your surroundings was intimate. You hoped things were finally going to progress between you and Hanbin. You had hoped that this was the moment where he might actually ask you to be his girlfriend. In truth, you had fallen for him so hard and fast and it surprised you that he had even spent time with a woman like you. You were the type that  preferred comfort over style,  always wondering how other women had the time and motivation to go beyond the basics of mascara and foundation. In short, you were completely opposite from the women you expected him to be interested in. He was already fifteen minutes late but you figured it may have been traffic. Then you started getting carried away with your imagination, maybe he was stopping by to get you flowers or a gift. The thought of him showing up with your favourite flowers in hand had you flushing, the giddiness spreading over you.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” The dark haired bartender asked you while setting a coaster down in front of you.

Jaebum wondered if he should have asked you for ID first. You looked a lot younger than most of the other women who frequented a place like this. aEven the way you acted was as if it was your first time ever in a bar. However, the sound of your honeyed voice and your taste in wine hinted to him otherwise.

“Do you have riesling?”

He grinned, “I’m sure I can crack open a bottle.” He placed the wine glass in front of you then proceeded to uncork the bottle of wine. You continued to glance around the bar, shifting in your seat to view the entrance and sitting straight up whenever someone walked in only to slouch back in your seat.

“Waiting for someone?” he asked as he started to pour the wine for you.

“My boyfriend,” you answered, preoccupied while watching the door. Then you caught yourself, “I mean, friend. A guy that I’ve been seeing, who’s not my boyfriend but that I hope to be my boyfriend. I think we’re taking the next step.” You rambled. “We’ve been seeing each other for a couple weeks.We’re probably getting serious.”

Jaebum smiled, “Congrats.” His attention diverted to the brunette that sat on the other side of the bar who he noticed was staring at him throughout the night. Now that was the type of woman he was used to seeing here. She differed from you in which she wore her tight fitting top and no doubt her push up bra that accentuated the swells of her breast through the dipping neckline. Jaebum had been part of this scene long enough that he started developing a sense of people. The man in the rugged grey suit who had requested a bottle of Jack’s was obviously drowning his misery. Job lay off? Divorce? Middle aged crisis? Either or Jaebum knew to avoid going there as much as as possible unless he wanted to get his ear talked off and lectured about when the man was as young as Jaebum once. The man who ordered two dirty martinis who kept facing away from the bar and looking out to the rest of lounge was obviously on the prowl. Looking for a woman who would most likely be out of his league to hit on. Jaebum would keep an eye on him to make sure he didn’t make any unwelcome advances on women. The sultry brunette who had been eyeing JB through the top of her glass. No doubt by the end of the night she would try and slip him her number or if she was bold enough she would even ask him what time he’s off. Some days, depending on his mood he would take them upstairs to his loft where he lived. Then there was you. In a place like this you stood out. You looked like you were meant to be at home snuggled on the couch, the cream sweater you wore doing little to accentuate your curves, if you had them.

Twenty minutes had passed and Jaebum still noticed that you sat there by yourself. Anxiously waiting for your soon- to- be boyfriend to arrive. He had seen this many times before, you were getting stood up. He felt sympathy towards you after seeing your excitement earlier. He was about to walk over to you and offer to pour you another drink to console you when a tall, well dressed man wearing a suit came and sat beside you. That was another type that hung around places like this. Well off no doubt, as he noticed the extravagant watch on his wrist. He noticed how excited you had become and Jaebum smiled to himself. In all his years working here something always managed to surprise him. Good for you two. It was a nice change for once to see such polar opposites be together. The man beside you held up his hand, snapping his fingers at Jaebum and signalling him to come and take his order. Typical, treating him like a dog yet Jaebum put on a face as he walked over.

“What can I get you?” He said laying out the coaster.

“Whiskey,” Hanbin ordered barely acknowledging Jaebum, his eyes scanning the rest of the lounge.

“Was traffic bad?” you asked Hanbin.

“Hmm? Oh no, it was smooth sailing.” Hanbin answered. Jaebum set the tumbler down in front of Hanbin and then proceeded to top up your glass with more wine. Then why was he late? Jaebum thought in his head.

Hanbin sipped at the whiskey then scrunched up his face, “You think they’d have better quality,” he muttered under his breath. Jaebum pretended not to hear it as he wiped down the counter near you two. “Anyways Y/N, I’m sure you probably know why I wanted to meet you here.” He grinned at you and you felt the flutter in your chest.

Jaebum didn’t mean to eavesdrop but he found it intriguing. He lingered by you two, acting as if he was preoccupied with wiping the glasses and stacking them.

“I think I do know why,” you bit your bottom lip in anticipation.

“Actually the reason I was late was because I was getting this,” Hanbin said as he started reaching into his pocket.

This was it. Your big moment and what was going to be the start of your new relationship with Hanbin. The last time you been in a relationship was the summer after your first year in college with your chemistry lab partner Jinyoung. You didn’t even know if you would consider it a relationship or just a summer fling considering two hadn’t even really dated or gone out in public. Most of your time together had been spent in bed. The physical chemistry was completely there but emotionally, you two were on different pages. Hanbin was smart, charming and a well known successful entrepreneur. You were even surprised that a man like him had even approached you in the first place. You had to admit that he wooed you just by saying ‘hello’. Now three weeks after your first meeting and after multiple dinner dates where you spent the evening being wined and dined with in depths conversations about his work things were about to progress. Eagerly you waited for his little surprise, the anticipation growing more and more.

“Here it is,” he grinned.

You tried to mask the confusion on your face when he pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket. Then you softened, did he write a letter confessing his feelings for you? You didn’t peg Hanbin as the soft romantic type.

You grinned up at him, “Hanbin you didn’t have to do this kind of gesture. All you had to do was just ask,” you started unfolding the piece of paper.

“I didn’t know if that would be too forward,” Hanbin sipped at his whiskey then tapped against his glass, signalling Jaebum for another refill.

Reluctantly Jaebum started to fill the tumbler. Glancing at you from the corner of his eyes to watch your reaction and to see what he had prepared for you. When the tumbler was full Hanbin waved his hand, dismissing Jaebum. The annoyance started to build up within him, who did this guy think he was and what were you doing with some pompous jerk. Still despite being “dismissed” Jaebum lingered near you two, now even more intrigued.

“Don’t be silly Hanbin. I wouldn’t find it-” you paused when you finally read the letter. This was not a note of endearment confessing his feelings for you. You looked at him to see him staring back at you eagerly.

“I was thinking you can pass it to your father. I heard he’s looking for new investment opportunities and so I drafted a business plan that he could look into.”

“A business plan,” you repeated, staring blankly at him.

He nodded, taking another big gulp of whiskey. “It’ll be the perfect opportunity for development and certainly worth his money.” you continued you stare at him. “And you know Y/N…” he flashed his grin at you, “I was thinking you can talk to him since we’re both acquaintances.”

“Acquaintances?” you repeated him once again. You knew it was too good to be true. Hanbin hadn’t approached you for you. He had approached you because of your father and your father’s money. You felt hurt, almost betrayed. All that time spent together was not for Hanbin and you to develop a relationship but for him to grease his way into a meeting with your father.

Hanbin noticed the expression on your face change, “Y/N, you weren’t expecting something else were you? I mean, this is just business between the two of us,” He gulped the remaining contents of his drink. “I mean, you aren’t the usual type I would go for but I wouldn’t mind a quick f-”

“More whiskey?” Jaebum interrupted. He had heard everything and guessed that Hanbin’s next proposition wasn’t about to be a business one.

Hanbin shifted his glass towards Jaebum, “Watch it!” Hanbin said yanking his hand away when Jaebum had “accidently” spilt on his hand.

Jaebum looked at you, “More wine?”  You shook your head, focusing your attention back to Hanbin and what he was about to say to you, feeling the anger build up. “What was it you were about to say?”

That caught Jaebum off guard, were you naive?

Hanbin reached for your hand, “I was going to propose a deal. You be a good girl and give your father my business proposal and set up a meeting with him and I. Then to commemorate I’ll reward you with a good fuck. You would like that wouldn’t you?” His words had begun to slur and you could smell the whiskey from his breath. What had made you so attracted to this guy in the first place?

Jaebum cursed under his breath, about to interject and say something but you spoke first. “You know what, Hanbin,” you smiled at him and watched as the glimmer of hope crossed his face, “Go fuck yourself.” You said as you pulled your hand away from his, reaching for his whiskey glass and splashing the contents directly to his face.

You could see the bartender smirk from the corner of your eyes. The rest of the lounge focused their attention towards your little show.  “And no. I will not be giving this business proposal to my father because he has better things to invest his money into,” You said ripping up the plan.

“You bitch,” Hanbin sputtered, “Hey you, give me a napkin will ya?”

“Sorry, I don’t think it’s quality enough for you,” Jaebum said sarcastically.

“Screw this,” Hanbin stormed out of the lounge.

When Hanbin was gone and out of sight you sunk in your seat, breathing out a sigh of relief. Even if you looked like you were composed at that moment you weren’t and you were even surprised you managed not to miss. Your hands were shaking so much from anger and nerves.

“You idiot. Stupid stupid stupid,” you mumbled to yourself, running your hands over your face and then fisting them into your hair.  Then you groaned resting your head against the counter. “What is my luck with men?”

Jaebum smiled, he was impressed with the you, watching you throw the whiskey in his face had been extremely satisfying to watch. Then when you ripped up the business plan and told that dirtbag to go fuck himself Jaebum felt a sense of pride and it was strange. Just who were you?

You looked up at the bartender across from you, the color rising to your cheeks. “Do you have anything stronger than this?”

Jaebum chuckled, “You bet,” he said as he set out another glass for you. Instead of giving you just plain hard liquor he started mixing his own concoction. Thinking of the flavours he thought you might like, basing it off your taste in wine.

You watched the way he poured a mixing of contents into the cocktail shaker. Then as he mixed the drink, you noted the way the white dress shirt strained against his body as he moved. The buttons of his sleeves rolled up, the muscles in his forearm flexing with each movement. Your eyes lingered to his face, a sharp defined jawline but soft eyes. You would have noticed him earlier if you hadn’t wasted your thoughts on Hanbin. He was handsome no doubt, and the way the busty brunette eyed him you knew you had no chance.  

He poured the drink into the glass in front of you and you smiled at him, “Thanks. Sorry about the scene earlier.”

“It’s okay. Sorry he was such a jerk.” He watched as you took a sip from the high ball he created, and was satisfied when your face lit up in response.

“Excuse me,” the brunette signalled for Jaebum, impatient and annoyed that he wasn’t giving her the attention she wanted.

“One second,” he said as he made his way over to the busty brunette.

He leaned over the counter. You watched the two of them interact as you sipped at your drink, she would giggle and then place her hand on his forearm. Brushing her hair behind her shoulders no doubt to give him a full view of her cleavage. She would bite her bottom lip whenever he spoke and whisper into his ear in response. That was one thing you didn’t have. Game. How did one flirt so casually like that and pick up guys from the bar? You started feeling the buzz build, although the highball he had fixed you tasted like juice it packed a punch as you felt your insides warm. The tingling feeling making its way throughout your body and numbing the unpleasant experience with Hanbin. You watched as she paid for her bill and as she got up from her seat you saw her slide the white napkin towards him and you already knew she was giving him her number. He winked at her, casually taking the napkin and sliding it into his pocket. When he turned he made eye contact with you and you felt the heat rise to your cheeks, shifting your attention back to your empty glass.

“Sorry, that took longer than expected,” the bartender who’s name you had yet to learn said. “Can I get you another?”

You nodded, feeling the alcohol run through your system sending you into a type of euphoria. “I bet that happens often,” you mused resting your elbows on the bar as you watched him fix you another drink.

“A few times.”

You sighed, “I wish I had moves like that.”

“She didn’t have moves,” he chuckled.

You cocked your eyebrow, “She didn’t? But she slipped you her number and you were totally flirting with her too.”

“I figured she’d tip good,” he shrugged, setting the glass down in front of you. He rested against the counter, “She knew how to work her body language that’s for sure.”

“So what should she have done differently?” You leaned in, intrigued.

“Giggled less,” he joked.

You laughed, “No seriously,”

Jaebum paused to think about it. Trying to think of a serious answer to give you. “Let me put this metaphorically,” he smiled and leaned in, “Let’s say someone had a basket of the best apples and someone was interested in those apples.” You waited to see where he was going with this “And the person gave all of those apples to the one interested. What would keep them coming back?”

You caught onto what he was trying to say. Then you smiled, “Let me guess. Her breasts are the apples,” Thinking of how her shirt dipped extremely low leaving little for the imagination.

He grinned and held up his hands in defense, “I didn’t say it. You did.”

You sighed, “Well maybe if I start wearing low cut shirts my luck with men will turn around,”

“Are all guys you date like that asshole?” Jaebum asked.

You took another full sip from your drink and shook your head, “That asshole was the first guy I dated in six years,” using your fingers to put air quotes around the word.

Jaebum whistled, “You’ve been out of the dating game a long time. What happened? Rough breakup? Wanted to focus on your career first?”

“I wish that was my excuse. I suck at dating,” you shrugged, “It’s so complicated. How do people even meet someone and start dating?” The alcohol was starting to buzz through your system.

“A lot of ways. You could even meet someone at the bar and have them randomly approach you and offer you a drink.”

“Is that what you would do?”

“It’s part of my job,” Jaebum grinned, “I’m sure your luck will start turning around.”

“Would you date me?” The alcohol in your system starting to take over your actions before you could even process things. As soon as you realized what you said you ran your hands over your face, “Sorry, that was lame. See, I have no game.” You hiccuped.

Jaebum chuckled, “Maybe you need lessons. And to answer your question, I don’t date women whose name I don’t know.”

You smiled, “I’m Y/N.”

He held out his hand, “I’m Jaebum.”

You shook his hand, “Now will you date me?” You teased.

“I’m pretty sure I’m not your type.”

“Oh really? And what is my type?” You cocked your eyebrow. .

“Reliable, committed, wants to settle down and have a family and a dog,” Jaebum grinned.

“And you don’t want a dog?” You pretended to gasp in shock.

He smiled back at you, “I prefer the lone lifestyle,”

“So you don’t date?”

“I date, I just don’t commit.” Jaebum admitted, picking up the empty glass in front of you. After one experience, he learned it’s better to not invest all your feelings into someone because in the end you just get hurt.

“Fear of commitment?” You asked.

“Just don’t see the benefit in relying on anyone else but myself,” he shrugged, not wanting to open up old wounds. “Do you want another?” He asked

You shook your head, “I think I’ve reached my limit for the night,” you stood up, losing your balance as you did so. Jaebum reached across the bar, grabbing onto your hand.

“Are you okay to go home?”

You nodded, “I’ll call a cab and be fine,” you reached for your purse, “How much is my tab?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house,” he smiled.

“Are you serious? Won’t you get in trouble?” You looked at him in disbelief.

Jaebum smiled, “Don’t worry about it. My boss and I are pretty close. I’m sure he’ll understand”

You frowned, “Are you pitying me because of my sad dating life?”

Once again he held his hands up in defense, “You said it not me,” he laughed.

“Well thank you. I’ll take your advice too, I won’t give all my apples away,” you winked, “If I have any apples to offer,” you muttered under your breath.

“Yeah it’s hard to see under that sweater,”Jaebum teased hearing what you said.

You shook your head at him and laughed, “Thanks again.”

“Nice meeting you Y/N,” Jaebum waved, already noticing through the corner of his eye the greasy guy from earlier not getting the hint from the two girls sitting on the couch. He sighed, “Please, no fists today.” he said as he walked over to intervene.

He preferred evening shifts over day shifts. Who even came to bars during the day? Despite that, he felt guilty for leaving Felix to man the bar by himself so he opted to work although the day was slow. Normally, there was an afternoon lunch time rush but only a few people had trickled in. He used the afternoon lull to go over the stock and start making count for the next order.

“Jaebum, you have a phone call,” Felix called over.

Jaebum looked up from the order sheet, “For me? Who is it?”

Felix shrugged, “It’s a woman and that’s as far as I know.”

“Take over count for me,” Jaebum said as he passed along the order sheet to Felix and swapped with him for the phone. “Hello?”

“Jaebum? Hey. It’s Y/N from the other night,” there was a pause, “the one who splashed whiskey in that asshole’s face.” You clarified.

“Yes, I remember. What’s up?” he chuckled.

“I was.. Just wondering if you’re working today?” you stuttered, “Ah, I guess since I’m talking to you and I called the bar, I answered my own question.” You rambled.

“You called me to see if I was working? Why?”

You sighed, “I need your help.”

Jaebum could picture you in his head, pacing back and forth and smiled at the thought. “With?”

“Will you still be around by five?”

Jaebum glanced at his watch, five was the beginning of happy hour and he wasn’t planning to work the shift considering Felix was working a double and two other bartenders were coming in but he found himself intrigued,  “Sure, I’ll be around.”

“Perfect, I’ll see you later!”  You hung up.

Felix walked over, “So who’s the lady caller?”

Jaebum took the order sheet back from him, “Just a woman who came into the bar a few nights ago.”

“Ah, another one of your conquests?” Felix teased.

Jaebum laughed, “Get back to work, kid. ” He started checking over Felix’s inventory count to verify for himself. “By the way, I’m sticking around for happy hour.”

Felix looked at him, “Is happy hour going to be a lot happier because your lady caller is coming in? Is she hot? ”

Jaebum hesitated, “She’s not your type.”

Felix grinned, “I thought you knew me by now. Female is my type. If you aren’t interested you can always push her into my direction.”

Jaebum thought about the way you told that sleazeball from the other night off and grinned, “Trust me. You won’t be able to handle her.”

Once again you found yourself walking into the intimate surroundings of the bar. A live band playing and the lounge filled with more people than last time. Most of them still dressed in their business casual attire stopping by for a quick drink before heading home and enjoying the socialization of happy hour. You wormed your way through crowd, keeping an eye on the empty chair at the bar. When you sat down you searched for Jaebum. You couldn’t believe you were here and about to ask for his help. You didn’t know the guy. All you knew was that his name was Jaebum, he was a bartender and that he has a way with women. You didn’t even know if he would agree to what you were about to request.

It didn’t surprise you when you saw him there, leaning against the bar counter talking to not just one but two women. Did those two women have game? Or were they giving away all their apples as Jaebum had put it before.

“What can I get you?” The young copper haired bartender asked.

“Riseling please,” you ordered.

You debated if you should tell him to let JB know you were here but you decided against it. Not wanting to interrupt his moment with the two ladies, in fact you wanted to observe the two women, study their body language and see if you could imitate any of their actions.

Jaebum could barely focus on the conversation with the two ladies in front of him.  He wondered if it was because he had been working and standing for more than eight hours or if it was because he was curious about what you needed help with.

“As we were saying,” the blonde in front of him leaned in, “Both my friend and I are from out of town and we’re looking for someone to show us a good time,” she hinted, biting her lower lip as her gaze trailed down his torso. Her red-haired friend giggled, stroking her fingers up and down the stem of her wine glass.

Jaebum was about to respond when Felix brushed passed him, “Sorry, to interrupt I just need to get the bottle of riesling,”

As soon as Jaebum heard he glanced down the bar and saw you sitting there. “I’ll take care of it Felix. Excuse me ladies,” he said grabbing the bottle under the bar and walking towards you, leaving the two women gaping after him in shock. This time instead of a baggy cream sweater, you wore a chic black turtleneck, your hair in a loose low bun.

“You should have told me you arrived,” Jaebum greeted as he started to pour your wine.

You smiled, “I didn’t want to interrupt you,” You said motioning to the two women who had started to glare at you.

“Ah, they’re from out of town or something,” he glanced back towards them, fully aware that he had just passed on an opportunity to spend the night with not one, but two women with no strings attached. However, the curiosity of what you needed help with had been eating at him since you hung up.

You sipped at your wine, “Okay, I’ll just cut to the chase.”

“Okay,” he said leaning in, relaxing his posture.

“Remember when I was talking about my pitiful dating life and you said something like ‘maybe you need lessons’. Well, I want you to help me date.” You put forth.

“What?”

“I just…” You stuttered, already embarrassed that you had made this sort of request in the first place. “Look, you’re a man.”

“Yeah,”

“And from what I’ve seen you seem to know women, and how women should act and I’m just going to say it but I have no game at all. As you could probably tell and from what you have witnessed.  I know you don’t know me but I promise I’m a good person just looking for love. So please will you mentor me and teach me how to date.” By the end of your little spiel you were out of breath.

Jaebum remained silent for a second, trying to process everything you were saying. “So let me get this straight. You want me,” he said pointing to himself, “To help you date?” he said pointing back towards you.

You finished the remaining contents of your wine, “Yes.”

“Surely you can’t be that bad,” Jaebum tried to reassure.

You shook your head and laughed, “I’m horrible,”

“What about online dating? Speed dating?”

You continued to shake your head, “I’ve tried all that. Nothing is working.”

It sounded like a ridiculous request but as you sat in front him laughing at yourself Jaebum found himself considering it. Although what did he really know? He couldn’t recall the last time he had ever taken a woman out on a date or got to know more about her other than her drink preferences and what was underneath her clothes. It surprised him that you had even thought about asking him, a random stranger who you had met. He had to admit though that it took a lot of guts for you to make such a request and maybe that even stemmed from desperation. He personally couldn’t figure out what the big deal about dating and relationships were but to each their own. He pondered it over, analyzing you as you sat in front of him. Could he do it? Would he be able to transform you into a tempting seductress who would have men falling at your feet?  Jaebum always liked a challenge when it came to women, he just never anticipated that this sort of challenge would arise. It was tempting to say the least.

“Alright, I’ll help you.” He caved in, the intrigue pulling him into make the final decision.

“Really?” you grinned with excitement. “Thank you! What can I do to repay you?”

“You can repay me by buying me dinner tonight,” Jaebum said loosening the collar of his shirt. “I’ve been working for more than eight hours and I’m starved.”

“That’s it? Sure, when are you off?”

“Now.” Jaebum said tossing the cloth that was thrown over his shoulder off to the side.

“You can’t just leave you’re in the middle of a shift” You gaped at him, “First you give me free drinks and now you just up and leave during your shift. You’re sure to get fired,”

“It’s pretty hard to fire myself,” Jaebum chuckled, “Felix! I’m heading out for the night. You’re in charge of closing up.” Jaebum called.

“Sure thing, boss” Felix waved.

You stared at him in shock as you watched him make his way around the bar. “Shall we?” he said pointing towards the exit.

“You own this place?”

Jaebum nodded, “I guess if I’m helping you, we’ll get to know each other more.” He grinned.

There were so many driving factors that had pushed you to ask Jaebum for help with dating. Your incident with Hanbin had been one of them. Another was during family dinner when they discussed your little cousin Lily’s upcoming wedding and how you should “bring a date”. Short after that your little sister had made side comments about how her older sister would turn into a cat lady. Your father had tried to defend you by saying that if you had no significant other at least someone would be able to hold the family name, which did little to boost your ego. The tip of the iceberg had been when you had run into an old friend who kept raving on and on about her new happily married life. She tried to stick her nose into your dating life, and even gave you a pity pat on your shoulder saying how “not everyone is meant to find someone. At least you’re a strong independent woman.” That had been the tipping point for you. Her words had meant to be comforting but all you felt was bitterness.

Why Jaebum of all people?  One, was that he seemed to know a lot about women and women seemed to flock towards him. If he was able to tell you the dos and don'ts of what women can do to get a man’s attention that could aid you in your quest for love. As cheesy as it sounded. Second, Jaebum was a complete stranger. If he had said no then that was that. You would never have to see him again and face the humiliation that you had made such a request. You still couldn’t believe he had agreed. That night when you two had gone out for dinner you were expecting instant advice and him to just dive right into it, thinking it’d be a one night lesson however that wasn’t the case. During dinner he had gotten to know you a little more or rather interviewed you. What you did for living, family dynamics, past relationships and the type of men you were into. After that Jaebum had asked you what your end goal was out of this. Did you want to just date as many men as possible? Was there a timeline? To which you responded that you were just in search for a good guy, that could possibly lead to a long term relationship. You didn’t know about marriage and all those future details. All you knew was that you wanted someone you could go to talk about your day, to go out and have dinner with and sweet walks with in the evening. Who checked up on you just to hear your voice and send you flowers at the most random times. Romance, that’s what you needed and you threw in intimacy. You clarified with him that you didn’t mean intimacy in the ‘you wanted to get laid’ kind of way but just intimacy related to companionship. There was no deadline for this to happen and you weren’t expecting to instantly get a guy. However, if you did happen to get one before your cousin’s wedding that’d be a bit of a bonus. You had expected Jaebum to laugh at all your answers and tease you. Maybe even say it’s unrealistic but he had listened intently. Taking you seriously when you might not have if someone had said those answers to you. You didn’t know what was driving him to help you. He clarified that he didn’t want anything in return.

Weeks had passed and you had found yourself visiting the bar at least once or twice a week. You had frequented the bar so often that even the rest of the staff started to know who you were, already setting out a glass of riesling before you would even order. While Jaebum worked you would sit there, scribbling down notes on a notepad so you would remember little things he would tell you. Jaebum always teased you saying it wasn’t necessary and that you were being too keen but you wanted to gain as much from this experience as possible. His advice or “lessons” were simple. If the guy doesn’t make the effort to see you or speak to you he isn’t worth it. He will make it happen. You loved when he reminisced on a story of when he was in high school, long before social media and texting how he would sit inside a convenience store, drinking strawberry milk just to see his crush walk past every day after school. You couldn’t picture it now, Jaebum waiting for a woman to notice him. Every time you had come into the bar he managed to grab the attention of at least one woman. Other time’s Jaebum’s advice had been put metaphorically. He had once said that dating is like shopping. You think you find the right pair of jeans but when you put them on they don’t fit right no matter how much you like the idea of the pants. You keep trying to find a way to make it work, squeezing into them, trying to change yourself to fit the look of the jeans. When really you should just move on, let go of the idea  and try on others. The main point that he said was to not try and change yourself just for that one pair of jeans when there are others or in this case, don’t change yourself for that one man.

When you had initially asked Jaebum to teach you how to get into the dating game you would have assumed it would have been like the movies you see on tv. The ones where the guy or girl go through drastic changes, makeovers looking like a completely new person but that wasn’t the case with Jaebum. In fact, nothing about your physical appearance changed. There was a time when you walked into the bar, a shopping bag full of cosmetics.

“You don’t need all that,” Jaebum said placing a crate full of freshly washed glasses on the counter.

“The lady at the store said if I use this thing called ‘highlight’ it would make me glow, or something like that.” You shrugged.

“ I don’t see how adding more makeup would fix your dating game. You’re already beautiful.” Jaebum shrugged as he started wiping down the glasses.

Your jaw dropped when he said that, “You just called me beautiful,”

“What, you never had a guy say that to you before?”  Jaebum grinned as he started wiping down the glasses.

“Not any guy who wasn’t my relative. Do you really think so? You aren’t just being nice about it?” You pushed.

Jaebum paused what he was doing to look at you. You shifted in your seat as you watched his eyes trail over you and felt a clutch in your stomach when his gaze stopped at your lips for a split second, then it continued down. You tugged at the plain white t-shirt you wore, feeling yourself magnified under his gaze. You hoped that he had really meant it, but you didn’t know why him saying that affected you so much.

Jaebum broke his gaze reaching for another glass and started to continue what he was doing before, “Yeah, you’re beautiful.”  He commented.

There were many moments throughout the time you had spent with Jaebum that left you feeling shook. The first time he said you were beautiful was the top of your list. It hadn’t just been about receiving dating tips from him. In the short amount of time that you had spent with Jaebum, you truly enjoyed his company. You frequented the bar often but it wasn’t the only place where you and Jaebum spent time together. Some nights you would go out for dinner if he had enough staff to man the bar, sometimes a quick bite for lunch when he’d show up unexpectedly at your work. If you two both had a long day, a night in either at his loft or your place had become a thing. He had become more than acquaintance, he had become a friend.

Jaebum didn’t understand why you felt like you needed to come to him for advice on dating. If anything he thought what you needed to work on was your confidence. That had been his number one tip that he frequently told you. You were intelligent, funny, cute and beautiful though you found it hard to believe even after he had openly admitted it.  

“So why the fear of commitment?” You said reaching over to the box and grabbing another slice of pizza.

“What?” Jaebum’s attention moved from the tv to you.

You were the first woman to ever have come to his loft more than once. On the nights where he wasn’t manning the bar you two would spend your “lessons” upstairs at his place. He didn’t complain, you were the one bringing over takeout or on the rare occasion even cooking dinner for the both of you. He glanced at you, already you had made yourself more than comfortable in his place already familiar with your surroundings from being over so often. You sat there cross-legged on his sofa, you even helped yourself to wearing one of his sweatshirts and he watched as you ate your third slice of pizza. Once again he noted how different you were from the women that frequented the bar or the ones that he usually had come over. That was another thing, ever since you two had started spending time together he hadn’t been with any other woman. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why he kept turning down the opportunities but oddly enough he was okay with it.

You bit into the pizza, wiping at the corner of your mouth with your thumb. “Way back when I met you said you don’t rely on anyone else other than yourself. Why is that?”

“I just have my reasons,” Jaebum shrugged thinking about old wounds.

“Come on, I talk to you about my lame dating life. Spill,” you prodded.

Jaebum sighed and you knew that you had cracked him though you weren’t expecting he’d give in so easily. You set aside the slice of pizza and folded your knees against your chest getting into a more comfortable position.

“It’s your typical story. I fell in love, gave her almost everything I had only to have everything fall to pieces and left with nothing but that empty void for a while.” you watched as a far off look came into his eyes. “After that I see no reason nor do I wish to invest my feelings into anyone else.”  There was a silence between you two, the tv playing in the background but neither of you paid attention. It was a long time ago yet the wounds felt fresh. Since then Jaebum kept himself guarded and at a distance from any other feeling besides lust. Only accepting the basic desire that everyone craved but not letting it delve beyond that.

It was sudden and out of the blue but the next thing Jaebum realized was that you had moved and wrapped your arms around him. Your body was soft against his, there was a faint smell of lavender from your perfume, something he never noticed you wore before.  

“I know this is weird,” You murmured resting your head into the crook of his neck. Taking in the subtle scent of fresh linen. “I just felt the need to comfort you. Thank you for sharing with me.”  You wouldn’t have thought to associate this scent with him, you were expecting him to smell of sandalwood but that wasn’t the case. Fresh linen, reminding you of comfort except masculine and something about it had you wondering what he would taste like it. His lips. There were so many times where you had found your gaze focused on his mouth as he talked to you. As your arms wrapped around his broad shoulders a feeling of yearning delved deep into your body.  It had been so long since you even had any form of physical contact with a man.

Comfort. Jaebum ruminated over that word. Something he never sought or had other than in the forms of physical needs. When he thought back on the empty feeling he had felt before, the distrust he experienced and betrayal he had never thought that anything or anyone could ease that feeling and negativity he had. Yet, with you in his arms he felt it. Comfort. That new and sudden realization now brought forth something else in him and he couldn’t have that. He wouldn’t allow it.

He cleared his throat, bringing his hands to your arms and pulling you away from him. You looked up at him, your soft eyes and smile, wearing his sweatshirt. What was this? Jaebum thought to himself and as soon as he asked himself that he knew that was the number one red flag. He put more distance between himself and you on the couch.

“Sorry,” you apologized. “I didn’t mean to invade your space like that,” You were glad that the room was dimly lit,  hiding the color that rose to your cheeks. You tried to ignore the upset feeling you felt at the slight rejection and the way he had tensed up from your actions. What were you thinking? He would never consider you like that. You weren’t his type and you were fully aware of that, remembering your end goal. Jaebum was just there to help you date other men.

Jaebum brushed that confusing feeling he felt to the back of his mind. Trying to refocus on what you needed, what you wanted and he knew that he wasn’t that. “You know, I don’t think there’s much else I need to help you with. I think I gave you most of my advice.” he stated.

“Oh, is that so?” You asked, but felt the disappointment develop. Was all of this going to come an end? What other reason could you have to spend more time with Jaebum?

“Why don’t we put things to the test? This weekend there’s a private event being held downstairs at the bar. It’ll be a great way to start socializing,” Jaebum offered, yet when he did a part of him had started to regret it but once again he pushed that feeling away.

“Do you think I’m ready?”

He smiled softly, “I’m telling you Y/N, all you need is confidence.”

Confidence. That was something he had reiterated so many times but something he was worried about. Did he instill confidence in you? Would the weeks leading up to this be successful? And the thing that had occupied his thoughts and the main reason behind this anxious feeling he felt, was he confident that he could fight past whatever effect you had on him? If you met someone tonight, he’d be happy. As he thought about it there was a heavy feeling in his chest that had himself doubting and once again he questioned himself. He’d be happy for you, right?

The lounge had started to fill with people. No one had particularly stood out to him, so far Jaebum deemed them all as not good enough for you. He thought he had a system going, he would do it based on their order of drink and style. Yet that method wasn’t doing any good. The guy who ordered a beer and wore a light denim dress shirt was not classy enough for you. Then the man who came in wearing a well tailored suit who ordered a brandy was too classy and he assumed high maintenance. The private event seemed to host a variety of different people, both women and men. He had been in the midst of a conversation with a brunette woman when you had walked in.

“Um?” the woman had said when Jaebum stopped mid sentence, looking at the entrance when he saw you.

“Sorry?” Jaebum said reverting his attention back to the woman in front him. He still watched you from his peripheral, making your way towards the bar.

He had been completely wrong. You had curves, they were just hidden underneath all those loose fitting sweaters and modest clothing. The black satin material clung to your body, moving with every step you took towards the bar. He had once said that you didn’t need makeup and that still held true, your face was almost bare aside from your glossed lips and the faint color of blush that added warmth to your features. Your hair had been tousled off to the side, accentuating  the daintiness of your neckline. He wasn’t the only one who noticed. As you walked through the lounge several other gazes lingered on you and he saw the approval in the mens eyes. It was strange that as he noticed them staring he felt an annoyance build up in his gut, and he actively had to unclench his fist that rested against the counter of the bar. In this moment as you walked towards the bar, everything around him seemed to quiet. The voice of the woman who sat across from him muffled, all he could focus on was you. Then when you finally sat down, you smirked at him and he swore for a minute his breath was taken away. What was going on and who the hell was this woman sitting just inches away from him?

It took every amount of effort not to tug on the hem of your dress as you sat down. It had been awhile since you wore anything like this. This dress wasn’t even new, it was tucked in the back of your closet amongst the other clothes you had worn back in your college years. You had tried to put more effort into your face however your hand eye coordination failed you when you tried to put on eyeliner leaving you to wash off all your makeup and stick to just the basics. Even your hair hadn’t worked for you, you wanted loose curls yet it ended up falling flat, therefore pushing it off to the side had been your only option. Despite all that you had tried to remain confident, even noticing a few glances and heads turning as you walked through the familiar surroundings of the bar. When you saw Jaebum at the bar, a breath of relief washed over you, feeling that sense of comfort. Except, something was strange. The way he looked at you was different than other times. It had you shifting in your seat uncomfortably.  Did he not like what he saw?

For once Jaebum felt nervous approaching you. His heart was racing fast and he felt the adrenaline rush through his body. Why was he so nervous to approach you? You were the same woman who he had spent countless relaxed nights with over pizza and alcohol. Then again, during those times you weren’t wearing a dress that could make any men grovel on his knees.

“You made it,” Jaebum smiled, trying to make his tone sound as even as possible.

You grinned, “It took longer than expected to get ready,”

Already Jaebum started to pull out a wine glass when a man came and approached you.

“Can I order you a martini?” He rested his arm against the counter, already moving into your personal space.

You glanced at Jaebum and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him shake his head. Taking his nonverbal sign of disapproval you looked at the man, although he seemed nice enough, you trusted Jaebum’s instincts. “I’ve already ordered a drink. Thank you though,” you said politely as Jaebum smirked and set out the wine glass in front of you.

Encounters like that happened throughout the night as you sat there sipping your wine. Men had approached you, offering to buy you a drink.  Some even had the other bartenders serve you a drink that they had ordered. Even if Jaebum wasn’t near you or manning the bar at a distance. You would always catch his eye in which he would once again shake his head subtly, taking it as your cue to politely reject the man. This was the most you had ever rejected anyone and as the encounters continued to occur the more your confidence grew.

You sighed when Jaebum came back to you and to check on how things were going. “If you keep having me reject every man that offers to buy me a drink there’s going to be no one left,” you pouted.

“I’m just waiting for the right guy to come a long,” Jaebum explained, so far every guy that approached Jaebum already felt like they weren’t the right fit, yet he didn’t know what exactly it was he looking. He just knew that no guy seemed right for you.  “Did I mention that you look beautiful tonight?”

That had been the second time  Jaebum had called you beautiful and this time more than the last your heart leaped in your chest, butterflies and giddiness rushing through your stomach at his simple compliment.

“Thank you,” you smiled.

It was a mild accomplishment. This time when he had complimented you, you didn’t question him or act in disbelief. Instead you had accepted it and Jaebum knew that in the time you had spent with him there had been some progress.

“I’m just heading to the back to get more glasses. Will you be okay by yourself?” He needed to grab the glasses a while ago yet he had been so hesitant to leave you by yourself. It was ridiculous he knew, but for some reason he just couldn’t take his eyes off you.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to reject every guy who tries to approach me,” you teased, “Unless it’s Zac Efron,” you laughed.

Jaebum smiled, “Be right back,”

A few minutes had passed and you thought this had been the end to guys approaching you. Thinking you had been in the clear you finally relaxed your posture, resting your elbows against the bar.

“Hello, beautiful lady. I took it upon myself to bring you a white wine spritzer,”

You turned to see a man with slicked backed hair.

“That’s very nice of you but no thanks,” you politely rejected.

Still the man took it upon himself to sit down beside you. Shifting his seat closer, “What’s a beautiful woman like you doing sitting at the bar by yourself? Would you like some company?”

The vibe you were receiving from the guy sent a chilling and creepy feeling down your spine. “I’m currently waiting for someone right now,” you said, anxiously keeping an eye out for Jaebum to return.

“Well if you don’t want some company now,” his fingers brushed along the hem of your dress, touching the bare skin of your thigh, “How about later? Come on, let’s not play hard to get darling.”

You frowned, feeling repulsed. Before you could say anything you heard a deep voice behind you.

“I believe the lady said she is waiting for someone.” The tone sharp and deep.

You turned around to see a man, with dark hair and broad shoulders. He looked down at you and smiled, placing his hand on your shoulder, “Sorry I’m late honey. Is this man bothering you?”

Honey? You looked up at the man in confusion and saw the subtle wink and it clicked for you. You smiled, reaching to touch  his hand on your shoulder, “Not at all, I believe he was just leaving.” You smirked at the creepy guy beside you.

He looked between you and the man who stood behind you. Knowing very well that he would lose if this came down to a fight he stood up, muttering as he walked away and distancing himself away from the two of you.

When you were sure he was far away enough from you, you let out a sigh of relief. Turning to face your white knight. This time seeing him fully, he was handsome. Strong cheekbones and dark brown eyes, his hair styled up and wearing a casual sports coat.

“Thank you, ”

He smiled, “No problem, he was a creep. I figured you could have handled it on your own considering you’ve been rejecting guys from left and right but I thought I’d help you move things along more quickly,”

You laughed, “Ah, so you’ve been watching me?”

“I was going to take my chances too but I didn’t have the guts to get rejected,” he chuckled.

“Guess we’ll never know if I would have rejected you or not,” you teased catching yourself off guard. Were you flirting?

“I guess not,” he shrugged

He started to turn around and you quickly panicked, was that it? “Wait!” You called out, “Why don’t you try asking me now?” You don’t know what came over you, maybe it was your newly found confidence.

He grinned, “Can I buy you a drink?”

“I like Riesling,”  you answered.

You thought about it. There was nothing wrong with accepting a drink from someone who had just saved you from a gross encounter. Though you didn’t know if Jaebum would have approved of him or not. You figured it was time to try and take things into your own hands.

His name was Brian. He was a lawyer for Kang enterprises, a company your father had many dealings with. The two of you started to get to talking, wondering how you two had never crossed paths considering he had frequented your father’s office, where you worked too. Not only that but strangely enough you two were part of the same fitness club. As you were talking with him, in the back of your mind you kept repeating to yourself “don’t give all your apples away,” thinking of Jaebum’s first advice he had given you. To your surprise  the conversation seemed to flow nicely and you were impressed with yourself with how well you were doing.

When Jaebum came back from the back room he paused. The man beside you was certainly not Zac Efron, so why hadn’t you rejected him? Jaebum felt the urge to walk over and interrupt. He denied it to himself that it was jealous. As a friend, he  just wanted to make sure you were okay and that the guy you were talking with wasn’t some weirdo. It certainly was not jealousy.

“Jaebum.” He heard the all too familiar voice call out to him when he was about to walk towards you.  

He froze, feeling his stomach drop. How long had it been since he had last heard her voice? It was probably since that awful and traumatizing day. He turned around and saw her, doing a quick survey of her appearance. She still looked the same, still beautiful and he cursed her for that. The only notable difference was the ring around her left finger.

She shifted awkwardly under his gaze, flushing as he stared at her. “It’s been a while. When I found out the event was happening here I wondered if I would get the chance to see you,” she pulled a smile on her face but Jaebum remained silent. Only staring back at her.

This was the woman who had ruined it all for him. The one he had fell in love with, who he had hoped he was going to spend the rest of his life with. Before the bar and lounge became popular he had struggled to make ends meet. Yet with all his sacrifices he had saved up enough money to buy her the ring of her dreams. Keeping it in his pocket every day until he could find the right time to propose. Only to have one day come to visit her apartment to find her in bed with her more “successful” coworker. He had found out that those late night meetings in the office with that coworker, was more than just going over blueprints and project proposals. While he had worked his ass off for her to give her the life she deserved and wanted to have for her. She was off making love to another guy. The past three years he spent with her down the drain and a waste of his efforts. It was because of her, the woman who stood in front of him smiling as if none of that happened, was the reason he stopped believing in relationships and closing himself off from anyone. She was the reason he became so reliant only on himself.

Silence passed between both her and Jaebum. “I came here with John.” She said pointing to the crowd, “I’m not sure if you remember him. He’s my husband now,”

How could he not remember him. He was the bastard who he found her in bed with. Still he remained silent.

“The bar has really hit it off. Congrats, I know how hard you worked for this place,” she continued to ramble. Then she sighed, “Jaebum, I’m really sorry. How we ended wasn’t right and you didn’t deserve that. I’m really regretful. You were an amazing guy and probably still are. Better than my actual husband,” she muttered under her breath. “I was just thinking, maybe you’d like to go out for dinner or get reacquainted,”

Jaebum didn’t have to question what she meant by that. He could already see the unhappiness in her face as she spoke to him. Years of working at the bar with people and he had seen it happen before. She wasn’t happy and she came to Jaebum to seek comfort where her husband lacked.

He was about to say his first words to her in five years and along those words was him about to tell her to fuck off but before he could say anything he heard his name.

“Jaebum,” you said as you came to stand beside him, “There you are,”

Brian had left, after you two exchanged numbers and as he was leaving you noticed the little encounter that Jaebum was having. You had seen him with so many women before, talking and smiling. You weren’t used to seeing him standstill, staring blatantly at the woman in front of  him whom you would have presumed to be some sort of model. She was gorgeous. Yet his body language hinted to you otherwise. Curiosity had gotten the best of you as you made your way through the crowd to get a better view and be within ear shot. Was this the woman that Jaebum has briefly mentioned a few nights ago? The woman who had shaped Jaebum into the womanizing, un-open to love man? You had just moved close enough to hear the tail end of her conversation and something inside you had you taking Brian’s action from earlier and using it against her.

You linked your arms with Jaebum. Noting the surprised expression from both Jaebum and the woman across from him. Still, holding onto the boost of confidence you received from the night you looked at the woman.

“Who’s this babe?” You said throwing in a pet name to build on the facade. You didn’t have to hint to Jaebum or anything what you were doing, he caught on real fast.

He smiled at you, removing the link from your arms and instead wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer into him. Even though it was all an act, you felt your heart start to beat rapidly against your chest. Feeling the firmness of his body, press against yours.

“Just an old friend,” Jaebum answered. “Sorry it’s taking me so long to get back. I think she was just asking me something?” he raised his eyebrow at her and noticed the deep color rise to her cheeks.

“Nice to meet you,” You said reaching out to shake her hand, Jaebum’s arm still around you. “I’m Y/N. Jaebum’s girlfriend.” You proudly stated. You saw her jaw drop slightly. “I hope you’re enjoying the event. Are you here with anyone?” You asked.

She tilted her chin up, “I’m with my husband,”

“Oh how lovely. If you’ll excuse us, Jaebum and I have to go attend to other business,”You smiled, pulling Jaebum with you as you walked away. The two of you didn’t need to stand there and entertain her and you wanted Jaebum away from her as possible. In the the time you had spent with him you had never seen him so quiet and taken aback. It was a whole new side that you had never seen. You pulled him back towards the bar, breathing a sigh of relief when you had gotten farther.

“Thanks,” he murmured.

“It’s not over yet,” you said as you felt her watchful glare. “I’m apologizing in advance.”

Maybe what you were about to do was pushing it, but you felt her gaze pierce your back. Jaebum deserved better than her and you were going to make sure she knew it. There was a look of confusion on Jaebum’s face when your hands fisted at the material of his dress shirt, pushing him against the counter of the bar.

You didn’t pause or hesitate, the drive from the confidence of your night and her lingering gaze fueled your motivation as you got onto your tiptoes and pressed your lips against Jaebum’s. You felt him stiffen at first, shocked and taken aback. However, you felt his lips start to move along with yours. Melding and syncing in perfect rhythm as the two of you kissed amongst the crowded bar. Warmth rushed over your body as the two of you remained lip locked. Your head was spinning, blaming it on the alcohol and not the taste of his lips. When you felt the display of affection had been enough to rile up Jaebum’s ex you started to pull away. This time it was him who had caught you off guard. He placed his hand on the small of your back, pulling you into him, the other hand cupping at the base of your neck as he deepened the kiss.

Jaebum didn’t know what came over him in that moment. When you had tried to pull away he realized he didn’t want it to end. He tried to convince himself it was all for show. He wanted to make his ex who had broke his heart jealous and regretful. He wanted to show her that he was unphased by her. Yet something else occupied his mind, all he wanted was you. He didn’t care that his staff was here, he didn’t care that there was an event happening in his bar right now and the two of you surrounded by dozens of people, and he sure as hell didn’t care anymore that his ex was in the same room as him. All he cared about was you, right here in this moment.

His tongue ran along your bottom lip and you felt yourself cave. Sinking into the kiss as you granted him more access, a light moan escaping you as you fisted your hands into his shirt and pressed yourself into him more. Had you ever been kissed by a man like this before? The answer was no. He was leaving you breathless, needy and yearning. You could feel his hand burn against the small of you back wanting him to do so much more. You wanted to know what it would feel like to have his hands run along the curves of your body, for his lips to trail and explore your skin. You wanted Jaebum. You couldn’t help but murmur his name softly in the brief moment when the two of you broke for air.

The moment you had said his name Jaebum was brought back to his senses. His mind clear yet his body riled up. It took him every ounce of willpower to pull away from you, taking a step away. You stared at him dazed, cheeks flushed and lips slightly swollen and internally he cursed. If you had been any other woman he would have already pulled you through the crowd and upstairs to the loft. But you weren’t just any other woman. You were different and he didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t want to go through that again, the encounter with his ex tonight was just a painful reminder of that. Lastly, he was the last thing you were looking for.

He cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact with you.  “Thanks, I think she got the hint.”

When he said that you felt your chest constrict. This was all just part of the act and you felt the disappointment. You couldn’t even say anything before Jaebum muttered an excuse to leave and walked off, once again leaving you feeling rejected. You stared at him as he walked back towards the bar, a smile on his face as he talked with Felix. The high from tonight’s events and attention shattered. Your chest tightened and the empty feeling of wanting something you could never have flooded your body. All you wanted was Jaebum, but he didn’t want you.

Lea ♡ 

If anyone is studying for finals, GOOD LUCK!

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