#that last one just reduces me to squealing about their height difference

[cryopathiic-a]

Fingers part reluctantly with the child's face after offering one final, soothing caress. Children are very emotional creatures. Oni or otherwise; they all seek someone to look up to, to mimic. At first, Dōma had taken to coddling them excessively, to the point of spoiling the girl rotten. But there had been a reason for it, other than his endless generosity.

Those who seethe and boil in their hatred for others, those who have suffered worse; those people make the most ferocious demons. But, if one simply allows them to run free without control, they grow rampant and feral; they overeat, grow too fast and then reduce themselves to mere beasts. That makes for no Kizuki material. An Upper Moon is no mindless beast.

An Upper Moon is a sentient being, willingly placing their fate in the clawed hands of that man; and pledging their allegiance to his cause. They are Lords. They hold power. Gyutaro would come to know what that tastes like. He was stronger than the others. A droplet of ichor had done more than spare his life that fateful night; Dōma's blood was potent, strong. Between that, the child's disposition and all the precise care that had been placed into raising them thus far... Gyutaro was a recipe for success.

Adoring eyes fawned over his despicable visage a moment longer. Their Master would be so pleased. And Dōma...

Yes, Otousan.

His smile came off as a little less practiced.

❝ That's my little mochi~ ❞ Palm went to ruffle the other's hair, but was left hovering with the realization that this would probably just make the mess on his head even worse. He was certainly not 'presentable'. But he didn't have to be. He didn't have to be clean, or pretty, or any of those other things the humans valued so much. They would see this repulsive beast crawl out of the shadows to reap them one by one, pluck them like fruit from the earth. The second moon's own palm was still sizzling with the sheer force that pulsated in Gyutaro's veins.

Nodding along with the reverberated rules, slender fingers had risen to count them. One, two, three, four... five. An affirming nod. Some soft squeal escaped the elder oni as they towered to full height, form shadowed by the light that hit their back as it penetrated the painted shoji.

❝ Mochi... I have one last piece of advice to give you. ❞ His smile grew dull. ❝ Since I won't be there with you beyond those doors. ❞ It was not allowed. This was not his fight; and relationships were hardly encouraged between oni — if not downright forbidden. Dōma got away with some things thanks to his ranking and proven loyalty. ❝ In that room, you might see some other oni, like us. We are all very different, so they won't look the same as you or me. ❞ He had not been socialized much in the temple; other than occasional visits and the omnipresence of Upper Five's pots.

❝ Do you remember when I told you about the kanji in my eye? And what I did to change it? ❞ Perhaps it would come off as unfeeling, that he was telling him now, of all times. Perhaps it would have been better to tell him earlier, to give him some time to stomach what needed to be done. This wasn't the same as killing weaker humans. ❝ Mochi, if you are made to fight another demon, like I was... don't settle for the little ones. ❞ There was a shift, a motion in the furthest reaches of the room where Nakime sat, silently cradling her instrument. Almost as if she, too, was surprised to hear those words. But Upper Two sounded very confident as he continued.

❝ Let them fight among themselves, do not step up to the call early. Watch them fight. Notice their blood arts. You will find one will be stronger than the others. You will pick that one. And kill them. ❞ It sounded final; a certainty. Dōma's gaze was unwavering, even as a rattling sound heralded the shoji sliding open. ❝ Don't think about them as demons, my little lotus. We are not all made equal. They are not the same as you. Because you are made from me. ❞ A finger came to tap the skin under his own left eye. ❝ And I'm very powerful, right? So that makes you very powerful. ❞ Fear, hesitancy; the merest sign of it might be lethal. No, he needed Gyutaro to go into this with confidence and purpose. And that last bit just served as an added reminder; to shape his mentality. To follow after Upper Two's own steps. His progeny... would prevail tonight.

He had to.

[oetravia]

Morwenna Chynoweth smiling in 5x02

[pascalpanic]

Cooking in the Crest (Din Djarin x gn!Reader)

Summary: You become sick of the endless prepackaged food you eat while living on the Razor Crest. From a holovid, you and Din try to learn how to cook.

W/C: 3.2k

Warnings: FOOD is a big warning here; this is all about food, cooking, and eating; some language, and mentions of violence and blood because Din is a hunter.

A/N: this was a request by lovely @binarydanvvers !! I hope you guys like it too :))

The Razor Crest was not exactly built to be a home. The beat up old ship, a pre-Imperial piece of garbage, was mainly meant to be a freighter, to carry loads and supplies around. It had a bunk, yes, but that was mainly for the pilot to sleep. Some ships were elaborately built and crafted to house people, even families; this was not one of them.

You could tell that from the moment you walked aboard. This was not built to be a home, but the Mandalorian and his little green child had made it one. It was endearing, really. It was still cold and harsh, not exactly welcoming, but there were little touches. A sling for the baby to sleep in above the man’s bunk. A few scattered toys for the kid. Extra clothing tucked away, and what seemed to be a makeshift kitchen.

It can hardly be called a kitchen. It’s more of a food storage area. The Mandalorian man has stored packets of food, dried or wrapped, water, and other assorted food necessities in a small corner of the ship. There’s also a device for heating meals, like the just-add-water foods he carries so many of.

The baby doesn’t complain. Well, he really can’t, considering that he cannot speak yet, but he never pushes away the food. Of course, his favorites are frogs and occasional organic things he picks up on the surface of the latest planet, but he’s never refused a nutrient bar or an instant bread loaf. The kid is always hungry; he’ll take anything.

You’ve been traveling with Din for a while now. He entrusted you with his name not long after he entrusted you with the care of his foundling. He’s a kind man, surprising beneath the layer of impenetrable beskar, with a warm laugh even through the modulator.

In this time, you’ve become exhausted over the endless routine of microwavable carbohydrate packs with dried proteins. A nutrient bar is a nice switch, but it’s endless days and nights of bland food. “Do you even eat? Does your species photosynthesize or something?” You’d asked Din once, teasingly knocking on his beskar.

“I’m human,” he assured you, voice dry. He presents himself as tired of your endless teasing, but you both know he could never be. You’re the energy, the entertainment to him and his little green child.

“I doubt that,” you teased, nudging his hip with your own as you walked past, the baby on your other side, giggling at your words.

The kid is smart. He can’t yet speak, but he can recognize meaning in words and the emotions you convey with your tones. You’ve been steadily working on teaching him the right morphemes to form words, but he’s just not quite there yet. He made a little babbling noise at his father, then turned and looked up at you, grinning with tiny white teeth.

Din must eat, you’ve come to notice. He never takes the helmet off; you’ve never heard his voice without the modulator, you’ve never seen him eat. But the stock of food dwindles at a quicker pace than it would for one and a half people, so he must consume some of it. You’ve noticed that the dried proteins or instant spicy grains go quicker- those must be his favorite. You’ve made mental notes several times to pick up extra when shopping.

As the three of you take off from the last planet, a lively and populous city center, your stomach is happy with its contents: you and the baby had gone on a culinary tour, trying different local delicacies. You glance at the kitchenette in the corner and wince at the protein bars. Surely you’ll be reduced to eating the dry and chalky sustenance the next time you’re hungry.

The baby sits in your lap, bouncing excitedly as the ship lifts off. He coos and waves his hands excitedly as Din turns and navigates, though it’s nothing too bumpy for the little thing to handle. There’s a jolt when you leave the atmosphere, and the baby squeals as the stars rush past when Din maneuvers the Crest into hyperspace.

Once the course is set, Din turns to you. You wonder what he’s thinking; it’s a shame you can’t see his face. “We should be at our next location in about a day.”

Your curiosity gets the better of you, heightened over the prospect of eating more dried, flavorless food. “Do you know how to cook?”

“Do I know how to what?” Din asks, cocking his head.

“Cook. You know, make food in a way other than using the microwave.”

Din stares at you for a minute. “No, I really don’t. I’ve never had reason to.”

“You don’t consider eating this bland shit eternally a reason?” You ask, folding your arms. The little green baby on your lap mirrors your actions, looking at his father. “I don’t either, but I think we both need to learn. I’m sick of this endless dried food and nutrient bars and instant grains.”

His shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep breath. “Fine. How?”

“How what?” You ask, taunting him back from his earlier sarcastic question.

“How are we going to learn how to cook?”

You shrug. “We could take a cooking class on some populous planet. They have them for couples.”

Din looks at you, sharply even though you can’t see his face. “Okay, well, two people,” you chuckle, though you can’t help but notice the rigidity of his body. You’re skilled at reading his body language by now; something changed in him when you said couple. “Why the hell not?”

“Because, cyar’ika, I am a Mandalorian. I’m not exactly going to fit in with the happy honeymooners at a cooking class, searing bantha for my beloved.”

You frown at him. “You’re such a pain in the ass, Din. Work with me here.”

Din is frowning beneath the helmet. You can just tell. “I don’t exactly take orders from you.”

“It’s not an order,” you roll your eyes. “It’s a request. Please.”

Din sighs. He’s quiet for a minute. Then: “Fine.”

“Yay!” You grin and brace his beskar helmet in one hand, pressing a kiss to the visor. “It’ll be fun, come on.”

“I don’t know how fun that can be,” he grumbles.

-

The holonet turns out to be a surprisingly vast resource for cooking and recipes. You’d never expected this much to be uploaded to it. There are traditional dishes from Tatooine, Naboo, anywhere really. The first struggle is deciding what to cook.

You stop at another populous planet next. Thank the Maker, you mumble as you put the baby in the wrap carrier that straps him to your chest. “We’re gonna make something good, huh kiddo?” You ask and smooch the baby’s little green head. He just coos in return.

Wandering through the planet, you find various little specialty shops, and you mark off the list you’ve created. Spices from the shop specializing in them, fresh vegetables at a stall, meat from a grocer. When the foods are all collected, you return to the ship, where Din has purchased a portable heat source to be used for cooking.

The business Din has on the planet goes quickly and he’s back before you know it. You’ve barely had time to clean the vegetables under the small refresher sink before you hear the clink of beskar and the baby’s excited laughter at his return.

You carry the bowl of vegetables and grin as you spot Din on a crate in the corner, wiping down his armor of blood. “Welcome home, bounty hunter,” you tease as you arrange some crates to form a table and chairs and set the holoprojector in the center. “How’d we do today?”

“Wonderful,” he grumbles as he wipes a smear of mud off his chest plate. He finishes then looks at your arms, holding the ingredients. You set them down and the hot plate as well. “We’re cooking now?”

“I’m hungry,” you shrug.

Din nods. “I suppose. Do you want me to get piloting us out of here and then we can start?”

You shrug again. “We paid for a full day and night. Might as well use it.”

He nods and begins removing his beskar, leaving him in just his flight suit and helmet. You cock an eyebrow at him and tilt your head in confusion. “Don’t wanna get any food on the beskar.”

This makes you genuinely laugh, throwing your head back. “Oh, blood and dirt and mud are okay but no food? You have some odd standards, Din.”

No one has called him by his name since he was a child. You’ve never even said it aloud save for once or twice. The sound of your voice saying it is like the sweetest music; he could listen to it eternally. He’s a little nervous inside, tingly and fluttery from the feeling. Thank the Maker his helmet doesn’t let it show.

“Go wash your hands and let’s get going,” you order him, stacking two extra crates and setting the child on top so he’s the same height as the two of you. He’s delighted by the view, looking around.

You put the vessel on the hot plate then turn it on, unsure of how quickly it heats. Din returns not long later, sitting on his crate across from you. “First step?”

To answer his question, you turn on the holovid. A cheerful Zabrak narrates for you and shows you the steps, starting with the first: to chop the ingredients. Din reaches for his leg and you shoot him a glare, pausing the video. “You were not about to use that knife to prepare our dinner.”

Din just looks at you. “Why not?”

“God, you’re impossible,” you laugh, though it’s lighthearted teasing. “No, use this, a clean one.” You hand it over along with a few vegetables. Din starts cutting with neat precision, the yellow tuber vegetable falling in perfectly round slices to the surface you’d laid down before.

The baby whines in protest; he wants in. Looking around, you scramble for something before giving him the softest vegetable and a plastic utensil. “How’s that?” You ask him.

He’s delighted, slicing his vegetable and mirroring his parents and the video. When the step is finished, you press play again and it informs you to add some of the oil and cook the vegetables first.

Din pours them in, causing a sizzle from the hot cooking vessel. “Ooh, it must be ready,” you grin and drizzle some oil over the top.

“I don’t think that’s the order we were supposed to do it,” he points out, rewinding the video.

“Oh well,” you shrug and stir the vegetables. The aromatic plants waft from the steam, making you sigh in happiness at how wonderful the recipe smells, even now. “Can you smell under there?”

Din shakes his head.

You frown. “I’ll close my eyes. Lift your helmet and take a smell, it’s delicious.” You squeeze them shut as if to prove you’ll do it.

He would never trust anyone else like this. He’s surprised he even trusts you enough, but he unlatches his helmet and lifts it just enough to catch a whiff of the delicious smell. He sighs happily too and puts the helmet back on. “You can look again.”

You open your eyes and smile at him. “Well, we’re not doing terribly! What’s next?”

The video plays a little longer, telling you the next steps: add the spices to the cooking vegetables, stirring them in, then the broth you’ve purchased.

Picking up the bag, you rummage through for the intended spices. “You wanna do this part?” You ask Din.

“I’ll probably mess up.”

“Give it a shot,” you say with a warm smile and hand him several small pouches of spices and a measuring stick.

His fingers are thick and worn without the gloves, and the sight of them pinching the bright orange powder and sprinkling some in the pot is truly humanizing, indicative that this man is Din, not The Mandalorian like you knew him as before. He does that with the required spices, choosing to go by heart rather than the measured values.

You go next, adding the broth to the pot and closing your eyes to listen to the beautiful hiss of the liquid against the hot metal. “Do you think you could cook on beskar?” You tease Din. The man just shakes his head.

The recipe then indicates for you to cut up the meat and add it before covering and letting it boil. Din uses the sharp knife you’ve provided to once again, neatly slice the meat and add it to the pan. “You’re quite precise with that thing,” you inform him with an impressed nod.

He snorts. “I know the ten quickest ways to kill someone with it.”

“Still, precise to do that,” you laugh. You cover the pot and sigh, setting a timer on the holopad to the amount of time needed before the meal will be ready; thanks to the specialized tech in the hot plate, it won’t take long at all.

The baby shows you his knife work with the mushed vegetable. It’s considerably less impressive than Din’s, but you ooh and ahh over it all the same, making the baby beam with pride. “Your knife work rivals your father’s, little man,” you tease the baby and poke his side.

“Yeah right,” he snorts again and leans back against the metal wall of the Razor Crest’s hull.

While the food carries on its quick cooking, you prepare three bowls and spoons to eat with, setting each in front of where the three of you sit. The bowl is much smaller for the child, but he seems just as pleased.

The timer dings and you clap your hands together in excitement. “Let’s see!”

Lifting the lid, the smell that wafts out makes your stomach growl. “Oh, this is going to be good,” you sigh, setting the lid aside on the heatproof surface and scooping some into each bowl. “Careful, it’s hot,” you warn your boys as you a hand them their respectful bowls.

“It sounds wonderful but… you know I can’t eat it,” Din reminds you.

That makes you frown. “Of course you can. We made it together.”

“No,” he sighs. “I can’t eat it because I’d have to remove my helmet.”

The idea crosses your mind as quickly as his words. “Well then.” You stand and push your crate aside, then pull him up and do the same. With your bowl of stew in hand, you plop down on the floor and turn your back to him. “Now you sit with your back to me.”

“Cyare, I-“

“Just humor me, Din. Please.”

He sighs and gets on the floor, groaning at the creak of his joints and popping of his back. Din presses his back to yours, sitting with his legs splayed carelessly to either side. “There. This what you wanted?”

“Yes,” you nod. “Now eat. I won’t look, and the kid is your foundling, he can see you.”

Din is hesitant at first. He sits there for a moment while the baby slurps his dinner, pondering what to do. Then he remembers how much he trusts yoh. How you’d do anything for him and he’d do anything for you.

He removes his helmet, setting it to the floor with a heavy clunk. “There we go,” you smile and reach behind you to pat his chest. “Eat up. I bet you’re hungry from that hunt.”

“Hungrier from making this,” he grumbles as he scoops a spoonful, ungracefully shoving it in his mouth and moaning in content. “Oh, that’s damn good.”

“Isn’t it?” You laugh, eating some yourself and smiling at the flavor. “Seasoned just right,” you affirm him, resting your head back against his own. You can feel that he has hair- well, now you know he isn’t bald.

“Cooked properly thanks to you,” he reminds you.

“Ha! I don’t know shit about cooking. Thank that holovid,” you chuckle, nestling your back against his. You can feel every little notch of his spine, the lumps in a perfect line cascading down his body, as his back presses against yours. He’s warm, and you can feel him breathe in and out slowly- he’s relaxed. Good.

There’s a comfortable silence between the two of you as you eat your meals. The kid has long finished his tiny bowl and has passed out in his seat, which makes you laugh. He’s missing the sight of his helmetless father thanks to a post-meal nap.

No words need to be exchanged. There’s meaning in the silence, in the fact that you can hear his breathing and his real voice, the hard gulp of his throat as he swallows yet another bite. Maker, he’s so wonderfully human. You absolutely adore it.

When you’re done with your stew, you set your bowl to the side. Din does the same, and his back relaxes against yours. Neither of you are quite ready for him to put the helmet back on, so you breathe the unfiltered air with him, listen and feel him breathing, try to take in every detail of what his body feels like pressed to yours, even if it’s back to back.

“Din?” You ask softly after a few moments.

“Yes, cyare?”

“I promise my eyes are closed,” you tell him.

“What do you mean-“

Din is cut off when you close your eyes but turn, kissing his cheek. You can feel stubble beneath your lips, and above it smooth skin. God, he feels so damn warm. With your eyes still closed, you hug his neck. “Thank you for putting up with me.”

Din breathes slowly, forcing his heart rate not to accelerate into hyperspeed. “It’s not putting up with you,” he admits. “It’s enjoying you. I really do.”

The words make you flushed and flustered, honored that this strong and silent type has used such eloquent words to compliment you. “Thank you. For all of this, Din. Thank you for letting me know you.”

He’s grinning ear to ear, and he turns his face to kiss your cheek back. “You can know me all you want to, mesh’la.” Din puts his hands over your arms and takes one last moment in your arms. “Well, we need to put the child to bed, and I’m legally supposed to be wearing my helmet right now.”

You turn and sit with your back to him, smiling and nearly giddy from the moment. “Who’s gonna yell at you if you don’t? Mando police?”

Din groans and puts his helmet back on, ignoring you. When you both stand, you hug him for real this time, chests pressed together. “Thank you for a wonderful meal,” he mumbles through the modulator and presses his forehead to yours in a keldabe kiss. “Let’s do this more often.”

“I agree,” you nod and kiss his helmet one last time.

-

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[bumblebear30]

The heights you take me to.

Rita Calhoun x Casey Novak

Established Calvak

Warnings: Discussion of fears around heights, No smut but allusions to. Language. Casey Novak being so fucking adorable she’ll steal your girl and you’d still thank her.

The heights you take me to.

Not that anyone ever did ask, but if anyone had ever been brazen enough to raise the issue, Rita would categorically deny that she was scared of heights.

And she would win that argument. Even a polygraph test on the subject would be passed with flying colours. She was entirely content on those shallow balconies at the opera, mezzanine floors in apartments in Paris posed no hindrance and, thankfully, even the thought of flying in planes didn’t bother her. So truly heights weren’t the issue.

If you were going to get technical about it, maybe, possibly, perhaps, she had a mild concern – an often valid mild-concern – about falling from unstable platforms. Honestly it just seemed common sense to avoid such scenarios. An intrinsic urge of self-protection that had served her well through life so far. So much so, the issue very rarely came up at all.

And yet, somehow Casey, so typically enthusiastic, utterly wonderfully childlike in her glee and adoration of things somehow put Rita in a situation where she had to confront that maybe she should have voiced her concerns much earlier in their relationship.

It had all come about because Casey had won their most recent head-to-head case and they'd long since set up and agreement that after a case where they been up against each other whoever won got to choose whatever date it was that they went on as soon as they could.

Sometimes it was as mundane as choosing which wine and takeaway combo would go with whatever mindless TV or comfort film they'd watch as they settled back into their domestic selves, or something like Casey making Rita join her on a walk around the park when the seasons were changing so she could point out the beauty of the leaves changing colour or the blossom scattering the footpath. She was always such a romantic; as much in love with the natural world around her as with the woman stood next to her holding her hand. Despite her apparent grumbling Rita actually loved those walks, just getting to have a glimpse of how Casey saw things always made her fall for the redhead even more.

Other times, if she'd won, Rita would go all out spoiling Casey with a quick weekend away, or lavish meal out – not to gloat, never to gloat - but to simply spoil her girl as she deserved to be spoilt.

One time Casey had made Rita go camping... Despite the defence attorney trying her best to cope with it all after several tantrums Casey learnt quickly that camp life did not hold the same joyful relaxation for the brunette as she’d hoped, and had hastily found them a glamping resort nearby to save the long weekend.

But, given the nature of some of the cases, and just how passionately Rita would defend her client and Casey would fight for justice for the victim, sometimes there simply had to be a cooling off phase of a couple of days before either one was quite ready to think about indulging the whims of the winning party.

The longest they'd gone through such a détente had been ten days. It had just clocked over to the eleventh when Rita had woken to the sounds of Casey sniffling, trying to muffle her tears on the couch where she'd been sleeping, self-imposed it had to be said. Wordlessly Rita had left the warmth of their bed and padded across the apartment simply to cuddle up with the redhead: wrapping her arms around her and cradling her head into the crook of her neck. The unspoken love and comfort in the gentle touches, the light peppering of kisses against her hair, had initially just made Casey sob even harder. It was exactly what she'd needed ten days ago but her own smarting pride and anger at the world's injustices had meant she denied herself from seeking out from the one person who could truly console her. Rita had continued to just hold her though and rub her back, letting Casey get it all out without judgement.

Exhausted Casey had eventually fallen asleep, utterly spent after finally letting the emotional dam burst. With great care Rita had slowly manoeuvred them (an impressive feat she was quite proud of really) so that she could lie down on the couch properly with Casey draped comatose over her hip, her face pillowed on Rita's chest. She knew she'd inevitably end up with a drool mark on her satin sleep shirt but making sure Casey was comfortable was far more important - and for the first time in weeks, fell asleep holding her love.

Waking up being held so tenderly by Rita, who had spent the night on the couch with her simply because Casey had needed her, almost made Casey cry again. Although this time because her heart was so full. She'd laid there for a little while completely content to just listen to Rita's soft snores (she only ever did when she slept on her back, Casey always thought they were adorable), until she could resist no longer and started to trail her hand across the top of Rita's shoulder and down her arm a little.

So absorbed in the sensation of the satin under her fingertips, and the incomparable softness of Rita's skin where it had slipped more open on her chest, Casey hadn't realised the gentle snores had stopped till she felt an answering hand come up to run across the back of her head gently. Looking up she had been greeted with such a soft sleepy smile from her girlfriend that Casey just wanted to remember it forever.

The woman was just so perfect for her. Rita would of course argue with a smirk across her face that she was perfect, full stop, but Casey always simply pointed out that she loved Rita’s imperfections just as much anyway. It usually earned her a sweet kiss, or three. But that morning it was Casey who poured as much love and gratefulness into the kisses she pressed to Rita’s cheek before offering to cook one of Rita’s beloved egg-white omelettes.

At this precise moment in time though Rita wished with every fibre of her being that she was back in their apartment, safely sat on the couch which was so securely resting on the ground.

Casey had won their most recent professional battle – Rita was secretly relieved, the guy creeped her out too – and the redhead had promptly declared that she wanted to go to Coney Island. Initially Rita thought she was joking, and had laughed in her face. She thought it went without saying that fair ground rides, fried foods and screaming children were not her idea of a fun evening with her girlfriend. But upon seeing the puppy dog worthy pout that was now gracing said girlfriend’s face she had immediately relented, although only once securing a promise that she could wear Casey’s clothes. She’d be damned if her designer wardrobe was going to be sacrificed along with her professional court win-rate. Chanel and cotton candy did not mix.

So, a few days later she’d subsequently found herself dressed in Casey’s jeans and old softball team hoody. When she’d left the bedroom and when Casey had caught sight of how her ass filled out the jeans let alone seeing Rita with ‘NOVAK’ emblazoned across her shoulders? She was reduced to an absolute puddle of adoration and affection.

Rita had recognised the gleam in her redhead’s eyes and it had buoyed her confidence, loving to have the chance to flirt and spoil Casey to her heart’s content. Although really with the small fortune she’d spent on letting Casey try to win at the coconut shy she would’ve expected a higher quality prize than the little plush tiger the redhead eventually chose. But when Casey had then only slightly bashfully presented it to her, saying that it reminded her of her courtroom persona Rita surprised herself with how much she immediately treasured it, able to picture where it would rest 'on-guard' on top of her jewellery box on the dressing table.

She’d tried to counter how the moment got to her by quipping that she’d need to work harder if Casey saw her as soft and cuddly in court, but Casey had simply rolled her eyes and laughed, quickly tugging Rita towards her to press a quick kiss to the side of her head before leading her further down the boardwalk and onto the next distraction.

Rita had been all too happy to follow. With the quite fierce and regal looking little tiger securely tucked under one arm, and her free hand safely and lovingly entangled with Casey’s whenever possible – only releasing her when Casey wanted to play a stall, or to tsk as she had to untangle Casey’s hair as it got caught on whatever food stuff the redhead kept on encouraging her to indulge in, Rita actually found herself not just tolerating the date, but actively enjoying it.

Cotton candy tasted sweeter when stolen off of her girlfriend’s stick of it. The gleam of Casey’s eyes in all the bright lights made the neon flashing bearable. The screams of hyperactive and wayward children were relegated to the background as Casey laughed and joked with her, muttering sweet nothings into her ear as they watched the sunset, and decidedly naughtier comments when they indulged in ice creams and hotdogs. It had all been going just swimmingly. But then Casey had legitimately squealed and bounced like an excitable golden retriever as she bounded towards the one thing Rita had been determinedly ignoring:

That fucking Ferris wheel.

As she covered her unease – all those different treats suddenly bubbling inside her stomach suddenly felt like such a bad idea – with an attempt at an indulgent smile and joined Casey in the queue, Rita couldn’t help but consider how they’d managed to get so far into their relationship without the discussion about Rita’s concerns – definitely not fear, Rita Calhoun was not scared of anything or anyone thank you very much – but unease, about being up on something so rickety and unstable that just went unnecessarily high and when was it last inspected and god did the damn seats have to sway so and oh shit was it just a bar across their laps that was meant to protect them? She was Rita fucking Calhoun, surely there was something more robust and reliable than a single metal 2x4 to stop her from plunging to her imminent dea-

Oh.

Rita glanced down at where Casey had taken her white knuckled grip from the metal safety bar and now held her hand in both of her own in the warmth of her lap,

“Babe, you should’ve just said if you didn’t want to go on the ride.”

Rita was glad that Casey was so close and so beautiful, it meant she could safely focus on her rather than how the ground, nice safe terra firma, was getting smaller and smaller the higher up they went. She made herself focus on the brightness of her eyes – how they seemed to radiate such love and warmth at her, to take in how there were a few more smile lines at the corner of those eyes than there were when she’d first found herself getting lost in them.

She dropped her gaze (oh god, wrong choice of word she chided herself), to the top of Casey’s cupid bow lip, able to instantly conjure the countless memories of how that lip felt pressed against her own, tracing down her throat and across her body drawing out and bringing her such pleasure. Right now though, the corner of those lips were curling up in one of those soft, ever so slightly teasing smiles that still made Rita’s heart beat faster despite how long they’d been together– although she was glad to notice that actually this time it actually slowed her racing pulse, letting her breathe deeply once more,

“I’m not scared,” she finally huffed out, even though she tried to shuffle closer to Casey in the same moment and instantly froze wide-eyed as the seat seemed to swing at her movement. With a roll of her eyes Casey lifted her arm to come round the back of Rita’s shoulders, encouraging the brunette to cuddle into her side,

“Of course not darling. I never said you were.”

Rita’s sigh this time was in apparent exasperation but truly, she felt inexplicably safer with Casey’s arm wrapped comfortingly around her. She finally felt brave enough to look past Casey’s face, being pressed so closely against the crook of her shoulder she could smell the distinctive scent of Casey’s perfume from where she’d applied it to her pulse point. It made her smile. She’d bought the redhead the bespoke scent for their second Christmas together, and it had been her go-to ever since. With the familiar hints of bergamot, blood orange and nutmeg swirling through her senses and Casey’s low voice pointing out the different sights that surrounded them Rita actually felt herself relax and begin to enjoy the experience.

Until the blasted wheel groaned and ground to a stop just as they came round to the top once again,

“Fuck! What’s happening? Is it breaking? Casey!”

With a gentle chuckle Casey ran her thumb over Rita’s knuckles and the back of her hand to calm her,

“Sorry sweetheart, I didn’t know you were going to be not scared so I slipped the operator an extra $10 so we could stop at the top for a bit.”

Rita turned to face her aghast,

“And why would you do such a thing!?!”

“Maybe because I wanted to look at all the different sights with my girlfriend,” she reached out to tuck some of the fly-aways of Rita’s classic half-up do back behind her ear, “Or maybe I wanted to make out with the love of my life on the Ferris wheel like a horny teenager…”

The wickedly teasing smile and gleam to her eyes elicited the exact knowing and playful laugh from Rita that Casey knew it would,

“Well, when you put it like that darling,” Casey loved how Rita’s usual confidence seemed to exude from her once the redhead had focussed her attention, already leaning forward as Rita beckoned her with her fingers curling under her chin, “C’mere you.”

So maybe Ferris wheels weren’t so bad after all.

In fact, sharing such sweet kisses that tasted like candy as the fair lights flashed, oblivious in their own world as children screamed and parents yelled all around them, meant Rita thought she could just about say she was a fan of the mechanical monstrosity.

Just.

[n6or]

the colours of our youth | raihan nsfw

Rating: General

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: F/M

Fandom: Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions

Relationships: Kibana | Raihan/Reader

Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Breeding Kink, Rough Sex, Childhood Friends, Comfort, Mild Hurt/Comfort

Words: 4042

READ HERE ON AO3!

From an early age you had both been rather infatuated with one another, your parents cooing constantly over how sweet it was that you always held Raihan's hand or that he always chased away the birds you were so frightful of. From an early age, Raihan had always been keenly aware of his position in your life, knowing from the sweet age of five that he was destined to protect you from anything and everything;

One day, we'll get married! Is what he told you, grinning wide and exposing his little fang. You remember that day well, even know; many things you've forgotten with age, but that day wasn't one of them. We'll get married and we're gonna live happily ever after like those people in all those stories you read to me!

The days were so bright back then, coloured with warm saturations of yellow and orange, not a hint of anxiety or worry about—at least none that either of you were aware of. As childhood best friends, you were inseparable, but as the years began collapsing upon one another and age ripened the pair of you, things became complicated.

The promise of marriage seemed to blur into the stress of social cliques and the harsh realities and brutalities that was high school.

At first, every day was spent with one another: eating lunch, playing on the field, laying under an old oak tree up the back of campus… but slowly, as you both met new people, the gap between you both began growing wider and wider until the only time you ever saw each other was the mandatory gym classes on a Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

You hated gym more than anything. It was one class you wished you could never show up to, but of course that idea deflated on its own when the teachers realised your recurring "nausea" was just a feeble attempt of evading the judgemental gazes of hormonal teenage boys.

By the age of fifteen, most girls in your grade had presented; a vast array of secondary genders littered your classes nowadays: alphas, omegas, betas, but of course you were yet to present. You didn't mind, though. Watching the stress of your classmates over the years (as you entered senior classes) trying to juggle their studies with their heats and ruts made you more than grateful that you hadn't presented yet.

Raihan presented proudly at the ripe age of sixteen, texting you (for the first time in weeks) about the update. Of course he presented as an alpha. At sixteen with the height of six foot, you wouldn't expect anything else. You sent him back a congratulatory text followed by a little kaomoji that he then teased you for.

You fell asleep with a smile that night, and Raihan fell asleep laughing after realising you had fallen asleep mid-conversation, but hey… slowly, the bridge between you both began to shift; slowly, the distance between you both was reducing.

It was in the eleventh grade when you realised something wasn't right.

Four years later and you still hated the gym, but were more willing to participate. Four years later and you still shared the same gym class as Raihan.

Over the years you have made two close friends that have stuck by your side through the absence of Raihan; Nessa and Sonia. Nessa presented as an Alpha female, and Sonia - much like you - was yet to present. Nonetheless, the three of you got along like a house on fire, having a group chat and weekly sleepovers, too.

As the three of you mozey into the gym, you feel uncomfortable. You halt momentarily, glancing around the gym when you notice a familiar group of notorious alpha's in the back corner, undressing you with their eyes. Over the year you had failed to notice the change in your pubescent body, but the other boys in your class hadn't. Time and time again your name was whispered amongst certain alphas, and time and time again a certain someone had threatened to shut them up if they didn't stop.

"Heya short-cake," You hear a familiar voice call, strong arms tugging you back by your waist. Raihan curls into your back, blowing a raspberry on your cheek.

You squeal, earning a laugh from all three of your friends as you turn around and shove the alpha off. You pout up at your best friend who merely grins a lazy grin, shrugging.

"Oopsy~ oh, by the way," He's shrugging his jacket off as he speaks, carefully draping it over your shoulders. "Don't worry about those dickwads. They'd fuck a piece of salami if they got the chance."

"Did you just compare me to salami?"

Raihan smirks. "Nah. You're waaaay spicier~"  

The punch to his gut makes him laugh louder as he tries to zip up the jacket. You miss the way he looks at you when you look away; cheeks red and puffed, arms folded over your chest, his jacket falling mid-way down your thighs; it acts almost like a dress considering your height differences.  

The lesson rolls past slowly and by the end of your mock volleyball match you had tied Raihan's jacket around your waist. Volleyball is fun; you mainly act as the libero (considering your stature), but you enjoy it, nonetheless—especially when you were on the opposing team to Nessa. You're both so competitive it fires everybody else up.

As the students file out of the gym, you offer your hand in packing up the nets and cones that decorate the court. You were just bending over to retrieve the last cone when you felt a sharp smack against your rear.

With a sharp yelp, you spin around and stumble back slightly at alpha that stands before you. Your breath hitches when he takes a step forward towards you, two sniggering alphas on the other side of the gym catching your eye.

"You've gotten real hot lately, pet." The alpha hums, continuing to back you up until your back meets the chill of the bricked wall. "What's with that? Y'still haven't presented yet? I can't smell nothin' comin' from ya but that stinkin' jacket." With a sharp tug, he rips the jacket from your waist.

"Oi!" You shout, shoving at his chest. "Give that back!" You grab his wrist in one hand whilst the other takes a fistful of the jacket. You notice the other two alphas beginning to approach and it's at a time like this that you can't help but wonder where the fuck the teacher's are.

"Don't speak to me like that, bitch!" He laughs venomously, realing his free hand back. Your eyes widen momentarily when you realise that he's about to hit you. Your body stiffens, and like a deer in headlights, you braces for impact.

Crack!

"Ugh, what the fuck?!"

You tremble in place. It all happened so fast. One moment the alpha was plunging his fist forward, and then suddenly he was spiraling to the ground, blood seeping from his nose.

"What the fuck is right. What the fuck did you just call her?" Raihan grabs the boy by the collar and yanks him back to his feet, shoving him away.

"R-Rai…" You call, cursing the shake in your voice. You hold the torn jacket in your hands, feeling something inside you tearing as well.

"Why do you fucking care? It's not like she's your mut y'fuckin—"

Another disgusting crunch of skin colliding with cartilage echoes the gym.

"Are you dumb? Are you seriously that thick?!"

Again, Raihan grabs the boy's collar, but suddenly his body stiffens, stopping him dead in his tracks.

You stare at the now tattered jacket in your hands and bite back your lower lip. You don't know when you started crying, but suddenly you can't stop. It's all a haze to you, in all honesty. You remember Raihan cupping your cheeks, large hands smoothing back your hair as he talks to you. You don't know where your mind is, or why Raihan suddenly sounds like Isabella from Animal Crossing, but it's not long before your eyes are fluttering back open. When had they fallen shut? Had you collapsed? Where were you?

A small groan erupts from you when you slowly revive from your unconsciousness, head feeling swollen and stuffed with tissue paper. You feel a squeeze to your hand and suddenly a familiar brown beauty comes into your line of sight, breathing out a sigh of relief and then your name once he sees you.

"What happened?" You mumble quietly. "Where am I? Are you—Oh, Rai," you frown, shaky hands tracing the cut across his eyebrow.

"You're alright, I'm alright," is the first thing he whispers. He runs his free hand through your hair, smiling, but it wasn't as bright as usual. "The doctors said you got too stressed and triggered a, uh.. erm, a heat."

You blink a few times, frowning. "Heat? But that can't be possible? I haven't… I'm not a…"

"The doctors explained that, basically, the stress triggered the presentation and, uh, kinda… Y'know i'm not good at explaining," he whines. He notices the perplexed expression that colours your face and bites his lip. "I'm really sorry…"

"Huh?"

You catch his gaze, noticing the sadness that swims in the cyan circles.

"I acted like a real meathead and basically put you here because I stressed you out…" His gaze falls as he plays with your fingers. You notice the way he frowns and glares and then sighs. "I just… seeing the way he was with you… i seriously—i was seriously gonna kill him. I don't know what's wrong with me… I know you can look after yourself, but seeing those pricks… and the way they look at you like you're some sort of—like you're a piece of meat!" Raihan drops his head on your bed. "I'm so sorry…"

Your heart twists in your chest at the sight, not liking how sad Raihan looks. You reach up, ignoring the dizziness that plagues you, and run your fingers through his hair.

"You saved me," you whisper almost laboriously. Heat travels from your face down your neck, red splotching your skin like a fever, sweat lining your brow. "I'm glad you gave that shithead what he deserves, because I tried to and…" You notice how Raihan's shoulders stiffen again, just like how they did in the gym. "Rai? Are… you okay?"

The tips of his ears are red. You're sure of it. Is he coming down with a fever? What if you weren't actually an Omega and this was just some really bad flu?

"...good."

You frown. "Huh?"

Raihan clears his throat. "Said you smell good."

You continue to lazily play with his hair, frowning. Why wouldn't he look at you? Something inside you aches strangely; you don't know what it is, but it has made you want to cry. You need Raihan. You don't know how you need him, but you need him.

"Rai…" Your voice is tiny when it leaves your lips, soft and needy, you feel Raihan shiver beneath your fingertips. "Can… I have a hug? I dunno what's goin' on and I'm sorry to ask because I know it's probably inappropriate and-"

Your rambling is cut off once the alpha slides in under the covers beside you. Strong arms encircle your waist, holding your heated body flush against your own. A wave of relief washes over you once your nose naturally finds its way up into the crook of Raihan's neck, nestling against the scent gland.

He holds you so tight. You feel so safe, so secure, like you're being bathed in both his scent and security. He smells so warm and tender, like crackling wood during a winter fire, comforting and caressing your senses beautifully.  

He whispers your name, lips resting against the shell of your ear. "I'll stay with you, okay? I won't hurt you. I promise. You won't be alone through this…"

And alone you weren't. With the permission of your parents, Raihan was allowed to stay as a comfort for you during your very first and (very torturous) heat. The nights were spent clinging desperately to your best friend, whimpering softly into his ear, enjoying the way he squeezed your hips, the way he responded to your quiet calls with a low grumble of his own.

You didn't have sex that night, but you did share a tender part of your life together. Upon your quiet plead, Raihan's lips had found yours and satiated the desire that coursed through your veins. The kiss was slow and passionate and everything you could ever had imagined it to be. His lips were slow and supple and soft and even in your hazy state you knew they were addictive.

Raihan ended up shedding a few layers and coaxing you into his chest, surrounding you with his clothes in an attempt to appease your agony. It was a long and painful three days, but Raihan never left your side (unless it was to get you food or drink, of course).

During those three days, you became his girlfriend.

And four years later, he proposed.

Now it's winter. You're twenty one and currently dozing in the arms of your lover. Fingertips gingerly map his chocolate chest, tracing over every crease and every crevice of his muscles. He was sleeping now, lightly, of course, but the first two rounds had seemed to tire him out. There's a deep ache in your hips, but you don't mind. You'd take the pain any day if it meant caring for your alpha like this.

Your hands smooth back his tousled hair, sweat greasing the darker strands. You laugh to yourself quietly, leaning up to kiss along his hot cheek. Stirring, Raihan grumbles tiredly, rolling over so he pushes you flat onto your back and nuzzles his face into the swells of your breasts.

"Tch," you mutter as he lays atop your tinier frame. "So needy. What a hopeless alpha."

"Mmm…"

His lips drag against your right breast, the caress of his rougher lips have your back arching up off the mattress. You take a fistful of his hair, tugging it, enjoying the low growl that emits from your lover. One hand, large and tender, runs up your naked thigh, gripping the softness.

A sweet gush of slick wets your folds as his tongue rolls against your erected nipple. The way he sucks at you makes your eyes roll shut, a loud gasp being torn from you once the pad of his thumb presses against your twitching clit. Your hips press down against him when he begins drawing figure eights against your core, a familiar heat igniting in your belly.

"Rai…" You sigh, delighted.

The alpha slowly rolls you onto your stomach and props your hips up.

"Touch yourself," he all but grunts as he pulls away. You look over your shoulder at him, eyes slightly wider now.

"W-What?" The heat recedes to your now burning ears.

Raihan leans back on his knees, dick standing high and proud against his abdomen. A lazy smirk appears as he takes a fistful of your ass, digging his well-kept nails into the supple sphere.

"Touch yourself," he growls again. "And then i'll give you my cock."

A needy whine leaves you at the rougher treatment, the pleasure going straight to your core. Your head drops back onto the pillow, hot cheek pressed to the softness as you sheepishly reach between your thighs.

"Rai…" You find yourself whimpering as your fingers gingerly trace at the swelling of your clit. Your hips tremble, breath stuttering in your chest. You shyly watch over your shoulder, noticing just how hard those cyan orbs watch your fingers. It's always flattering just how enamoured Raihan is with you; even like this you're the centre of his attention.

You bite your lip, watching the tall man pant from behind you as your fingers explore the depths of your pleasure. You begin rocking your hips, fingers slowly inching back to sink into your sopping pussy. That's when you hear the low groan of your alpha. He really seems to be getting off on watching you play with yourself.

"Look, Alpha," you mumble, removing your fingers from your stretched hole; a line of slick joins your fingertips to your entrance. "So wet… All for you…"

You can tell he's barely holding onto his sanity; but truth be told, so are you. Over the years you've learned to quiet the voice of your biology, but sometimes you can't help to succumb to your inner omega and beg to be fucked until you're crying.

You reach behind with your free hand and pull one cheek apart, exposing your puckered rim. Your fingertips teasingly circle your upper hole, eyes focused on the way Raihan's widen. That seems to be the last straw for the alpha.

In a flurry of movements he has your wrists bound tightly above your head and tied to the headboard, his mouth absolutely ravishing your dripping sex. You're a writhing wreck once his tongue pries inside of you, relentlessly ravishing the sweet slick that pours from your throbbing entrance. You throw your head back, gasping loudly when his tongue licks at your ass, teasing the puckered rim with a smirk.

"G-Gah! N-No, Rai—Rai that's—oh fuck." You tighten your grip on the binds around your wrists, mewling loudly when his tongue pries your ass open. Your hips tremble. "S-So dirty… Y-You're so- ha~ so gross…"

A dark chuckle reverberates off each wall of the room. The wet appendage pushes deep inside you, curling and flicking as his teeth nibble at the sensitive muscles.

"You say it's gross, tell me to stop," he chuckles as he pulls back. He shuffles behind you, hands trapping your squirming hips that try to find some sort of friction. Slowly, with one hand on his cock, he drags the swollen head up along your folds. "But look how wet my precious little Omega is~ You really don't want it, baby? You really don't want me to fuck you again? Fill you with my pups and breed you like the beautiful little whore you are~?"

Your head has fallen back onto the pillow, tears now streaking your hot cheeks. "Please…" You choke out, pitifully.

Raihan lolls his head to the side, smirking down at you. "Look at me," His voice is so low when he speaks, the tinge of Alpha that colours his words awakening something inside of you. "Look at me when you beg for my dick."  

And you obey instantaneously. Looking over at him, your expression is wrecked; eyes teary, face wet, lips bleeding from how hard you had bit them.

"Please, Alpha. Please fuck me. Please fill me with all you have. I want to feel you inside of me-"

Your words die in your throat when the thick, girthy cock plunges deep inside you with one swift thrust. It's so sudden that all that leaves you is a strangled cry. Considering the past two rounds you have gone through today, your body accommodates the intrusion gladly, your self-lubricated walls hugging his cock snuggly.

"Fuck, baby…" he growls, head dropping onto your shoulder. "Even now, your body keeps suckin' me in. You really are my nasty little whore, huh?"

"Yes!" You choke, wriggling your hips. "Yes, yes, please don't stop."

And he doesn't. It's not long before a nice pace is set up, hips retracting before pushing deep inside you until your filled to the hilt with cock. Raihan's head falls back as he relishes in the warmth your pussy provides, sighing with nothing but absolute bliss.

"You feel so good on my dick like this. You're so small, but you take it so good," Raihan gives a harder thrust that makes you yelp before he's pushing you onto your side and opening your legs. He smirks when your eyes meet, one hand going back to caress the sensitive bundle of nerves beneath your folds once more. Your body jolts and, as Raihan picks up the pace, soon your voice becomes louder, moans toppling effortlessly from your lips. "I wanna watch you cum on my dick, baby. Be a good girl, yeah? Let alpha make you feel real fucking nice."

The first orgasm has you crying out his name loudly. Your body rocks through the violent convulsions that follow suit, body tingling and hips twitching to rock back and forth. Raihan is absolutely mesmerised by the way your body struggles; he always enjoys watching you struggle the most. He enjoys watching your face flush and your back arch and your muscles tighten as you ride out the pleasure that waltzes with you.

"Rai-- Rai, fuck!"

You try to pull away when his hand quickens against your front, rubbing you without mercy through your first orgasm. Truth be told, you love this treatment; deep down you love when Raihan uses you like this, you love when he fucks you like he's going to break you.

"No one can make you come undone like this," he sneers, lightly slapping your thigh before moving his hand. Reaching up, still entirely sheathed inside of you, he rips the binds from your wrists, carelessly discarding the now shredded rope to the bedroom floor. "Now, how badly do you want my knot, Princess~?"

"Please-" You squeak instantaneously, eliciting a loud bark of laughter from your fiance. You flush. "P-Please."

Leaning over your smaller frame, Raihan presses a chaste kiss to your lips before pushing you entirely onto your back. He helps you wrap your legs around his waist, reeling his hips back before plunging them forward. The rhythm he sets up is slow at first, his lips moving knowingly against yours. Again, you're already panting, head becoming gradually foggy.

The scene plays through, the echo of sloppy kisses and obscenity of skin slapping against skin. Your souls slowly become one as your bodies press flush against one another.

Raihan gradually loses himself, holding your hips tighter, digging his nails into your skin and decorating you with red crescent moons. His lips leave yours and eventually find your neck, growling as he sucks and bites a constellation of red down your expanse.

The pain makes it all the while better, and when Raihan angles your hips up so he can begin drilling his cock deeper, you find yourself coming undone yet again, totally unannounced. You cling desperately to your fiance, clawing at his back, leaving your own artwork behind. It's not long before Raihan follows suit, hips snapping harder along to a silent three-four rhythm. The expansion of his knot knocks the air from your lungs once he sheaths himself inside you. Your eyes roll back and your back arches back up off the mattress for the umpteenth time.

A loud, low growl leaves Raihan when you clench around his growing knot. Then, he's moaning shamelessly into your ear once his own coils of cum spill inside of you. He holds your hips tighter, biting into the scarred mark that adorns your neck.

The small yelp that leaves you results in Raihan lapping the skin with his tongue, collecting any spillage of blood that may so soil your neck.

"Such a good girl," he purrs into your ear, voice low and thick, dripping with an amalgamation of adoration and desire. "I love you so much. I seriously love you so much," His lips trail along your jaw and to yours, hands moving to hover either side of your face. He kisses you gently before awkwardly rolling you both over. The position shift makes you whimper, discontent with the movement of his knot. Considering you'll be locked together for a while, Raihan helps you lay on his chest, pulling the blankets up over your back. "I can't wait to marry you," he murmurs quietly, large hand caressing your lower back. He smiles when you look up, tired. "Seriously. I can't wait to marry you and start a family with you, (name)."

Your burning face hides away in Raihan's chest and you feel the rumble of laughter shake him.

It still blew your mind that one day you were going to marry this man.

Oh, how lovely fate had been to you during this lifetime.

[patchworkofstars]

How (Not) to Meet Your Soulmate

Read on AO3

Relationships: Prinxiety and Logicality

Words: 4,082

Synopsis: It's moving-in day at college, and soulmates Logan and Patton are looking forward to finally meeting in person after years of writing each other messages on their skin. Their friends Roman and Virgil, however, just can't seem to do things the easy way!

** Thanks to: **

@lovelylogans​ for the Secret Santa wishes that inspired this fic in the first place

@metaphoricalpluto​ for helping me brainstorm ideas, listening to me rant, and generally being an awesome and supportive bean

@painfullybisexual for going above and beyond in helping me understand how US colleges work

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

“How”, complains Roman, “Is anyone meant to fit all their outfits into a shoebox like that?” He waves a frustrated arm at the tiny closet the college has provided, then glares at the three cases worth of clothes on his bed. The pile steadfastly fails to reduce.

“I managed it okay!” the room’s other occupant points out cheerfully, smiling over from where he’s pinning photographs of family, friends, and various cute animals haphazardly onto a cork notice board.

“I meant anyone fashionable", Roman amends, flashing his childhood friend and now roommate a grin to show he means no malice.

Patton giggles, reaching to pin another photo, then drops it with a sudden squeal. Grabbing a bright blue pen from his desk, he flings himself joyfully onto his bed, all else temporarily forgotten in favour of the neat indigo text rapidly appearing on his arm.

Roman rolls his eyes. “What time is your date with Logan?” he asks, once Patton has finished replying to his soulmate and flopped back onto his bed with a contented sigh.

“Four o’clock, at the fountain in the main quad”, Patton says, a dreamy look in his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m finally going to meet him face to face!”

“Yes...” Roman busies himself cramming yet more outfits onto the already overstuffed rail in his closet, while studiously avoiding looking at his own, conspicuously bare arm.

“Have you arranged when you’re gonna meet Virgil yet?” The question was inevitable; it’s not Patton’s fault that Roman was hoping not to hear it.

Roman pauses in the act of hanging up a prince costume he's sure he'll find an essential use for at some point. "We're thinking of meeting tomorrow instead", he replies, keeping his tone light. "Virgil's stressed about moving in and navigating the new place, even with Logan around, and we figured after all these years we can survive another day apart."

“You don’t mind waiting?” Patton sits up, frowning, and Roman tries not to squirm under his gaze.

He grimaces. “Well, okay, I'm not thrilled about it, but I want to do what’s best for Virgil. And besides, now we’re on the same campus, there’s a chance fate might intervene.” He presses his hands to his chest, his expression morphing into the smile of an incurable daydreamer. “An encounter of destiny, unplanned, between two souls bound to each other! Doesn’t that sound so much more exciting than something planned?”

“Well, as long as it’s what you guys both want!” Patton smiles, uncapping his pen once more and drawing a heart on his arm. As soon as Roman turns away to continue unpacking, he bites his lip. Beginning a new message to Logan, he thanks the universe, not for the first time, that his soulmate and Roman’s are best friends too.

~~*~~*~~*~~

Logan finished unpacking over an hour ago, taking pleasure in carefully organising his small selection of semi-formal clothes and his more extensive collection of books. Now, he sits relaxing at his desk, reading information about the college in between messages too and from Patton.

Reaching the end of a paragraph, he glances once more at his left arm and notices a new stretch of blue ink dancing its way into being across the skin. He frowns thoughtfully as he reads the words. Hmm…

He looks over to where Virgil is lying back on his bed, surrounded by messy heaps of his unpacked belongings. His eyes are closed and he's listening to music on his headphones, shutting out the chaos and unfamiliarity of his surroundings. Still, Logan knows that exclusion doesn't extend to himself. They've been friends since middle school, and the neurodiversity that brought them together has given them a shared need for space and stability. Virgil finds organising his room a trial, so, on Logan's advice, he's pacing himself. First, he unpacked by dumping everything out of his bags, and now he's taking a break before tackling the more substantial chore of organising it all for the year ahead.

Watching Virgil twitch slightly to the beat of the music, Logan considers. Patton's concern is a reasonable one. Logan was surprised himself by Virgil's reluctance to meet Roman, and while he didn't press the issue at the time, his soulmate has offered a different perspective. Perhaps some subtle investigating is in order after all.

“Virgil”, he begins, to get his roommate’s attention, “Why are you delaying meeting Roman? I realise you find the prospect of meeting new people a stressful one, but surely you cannot consider Roman a stranger after so many years of communication with him?”

Virgil grimaces, opening his eyes and rolling over to face Logan. “Take a wild guess”, he grunts. “I’m putting it off because I know he’s gonna be disappointed. I’ve been able to make him think I’m cool and edgy in writing, but that won’t last two minutes in person when I don’t have all that extra time to think about what to say.”

Logan frowns. “I have never read any reputable reports of people being disappointed when meeting their soulmates. On the contrary, most studies have found a remarkable degree of compatibility between even those with markedly different personalities.”

“Tell that to my anxiety, L.” Virgil sighs, propping himself up onto an elbow. “It’s just a massive step, you know? Feels like too much to handle on the same day as moving in here.”

“Entirely reasonable.” Logan gives what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “It was not my intention to pressure you into meeting sooner. Still, I want you to know I am confident that when you do meet Roman, you will find him happy to accept every side of you, even the ones you struggle to accept yourself.”

“Maybe.” Virgil clearly isn’t convinced, but Logan decides to drop the topic for now. If he’s still refusing to meet Roman tomorrow, they can discuss the issue further then.

He glances at his watch. "I need to leave soon for my planned meeting with Patton. Will you be okay without me?"

“Already?” Virgil groans, flopping onto his back once more.

“We arranged to meet an hour before the new students' assembly to give us ample time for conversation." He hesitates, trying not to sound reluctant as he adds, "If you need to come with me, I am sure Patton will understand."

Virgil shudders. “Hell no, I don’t wanna watch you being sappy and weird. I’ll be okay. Probably turn my music up and kill time by organising some of my stuff.”

Logan nods. “A sensible idea.” Picking up his bag, he checks he has everything he wants to take with him, then takes a deep breath. “I will see you later. Please send me a text if you need me. I may not see it immediately, but I will be sure to check periodically in case.”

Hand on the door handle, he freezes abruptly as an unexpected wave of nervous adrenaline hits him. Distantly, he’s aware of Virgil asking if he’s okay, and he nods despite the way his heart is hammering in his chest. “Text me if you need me”, he repeats, the words a mantra of friendship. Then the handle turns, and he is on his way.

~~*~~*~~*~~ 

It’s 3:55 when Logan arrives at the fountain, his usual precise punctuality waved in the hope of seeing Patton's. He sits down on the curved stone seat, hands gripping the concrete to still their shaking as he scans the crowds moving around him. The walk across campus has helped to clear the nervous fog from his mind, but the way his heart is pounding, a less scientific thinker would say it was trying to escape his chest.

Wrapped up in these thoughts, he doesn’t notice Patton until the man is six yards away, his long stride rapidly closing that distance. Logan freezes, his heart continuing its thudding beat but somehow doubling the rate, and he has to force himself to breathe. He stands on shaking legs, his eyes fixed irresistibly on the figure now standing before him.

Patton beams down, all tan skin and cotton candy sweater. “Logan?” he asks breathlessly, and Logan’s head nods mechanically as he stares.

Patton's smile somehow widens even further, and he shakes his hands at his sides as if needing to expend some of his boundless excited energy. "I'm so happy to finally meet you! Face to face, I mean! Is it okay if I shake your hand? It sounds silly, but I kinda need to touch you so that I'll know you're really real!"

Something in Logan’s chest relaxes, letting him breathe more easily at last. “I assure you I am no illusion”, he says, smiling as he holds out his left hand.

Patton stares at it, then giggles, and Logan suddenly understands the metaphor of being hit by Cupid’s arrow.

“I forgot we’re opposite-handed!" Patton explains, holding out his own left hand to shake Logan’s eagerly. “I mean, I knew, obviously, but it’s somehow different seeing it in person. Like, now I really know, you know?”

"Indeed, observing for oneself is generally more impactful than hearing information secondhand.” Logan smiles up at him. “You are taller than I expected. For some reason, I assumed you would be approximately my height or shorter, although I now realise that was irrational of me."

Does he sound silly? Perhaps, but he’s unexpectedly overwhelmed by the feelings Patton is eliciting in him. They’ve been having written conversations ever since their soul connection formed, and over time a friendly intimacy has developed between them. Several years have passed since he became aware of the warm sensation thoughts of Patton bring to his chest.

But now, having the man standing before him, seeing his brown eyes sparkling with joy and excitement and the affection in his smile... Hearing his voice and the soft lilt of his accent... Logan has never felt so much all at once before, and it's sending his usually tidy thoughts swirling and scattering like papers in a sudden breeze.

Patton laughs, and the sound shoots another arrow of giddy heat into Logan's chest. "Guess we never thought to tell each other our heights, huh? I'm kinda glad I'm taller than you, though, wanna know why?"

“Why is that?” Logan asks, dazed.

Patton beams at him. "'Cause it means I can wrap you up in a great big hug like I've always wanted to! If you're okay with it, that is?"

Logan nods emphatically, finding his expansive vocabulary buried beneath the sudden lump in his throat. As Patton wraps strong arms around him and rests a warm cheek on his hair, his eyes prickle with what he’s confused to realise are tears. The sensation is so rare, it takes a moment for him to connect them to the glow of happiness spreading through him. With a contented sigh, he raises his own arms to hug Patton back, settling comfortably into his embrace.

~~*~~*~~*~~ 

Virgil sits on the edge of his bed, frantically bouncing one knee as he wonders if he should set out alone to the assembly. Deep in his spiralling thoughts, he startles hard when his phone buzzes with a text from Logan.

“Salutations,

Would it be possible for you to make your way to the event without me? I realise it may be selfish, but I am keen to spend as much time as possible getting to know Patton better. You are welcome to sit with us if we encounter you when we get there.

- Logan”.

Dammit. It’s what Virgil was expecting, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy about it. He hates both crowds and formal events, and the thought of walking into this combination alone causes bitter dread to pool in the pit of his stomach. Plus, going without Logan means he’s almost guaranteed to end up sitting next to total strangers. He shudders.

Still, he refuses to make Logan worry. Firing back a quick “I’ll be okay”, he puts his earphones in and tries to lose himself in the music as he makes his way across campus to the venue.

Head down, eyes fixed on the ground a foot ahead of him, he tries to forget just how many people are heading the same way he is. As he approaches the hall, he becomes vaguely aware of a loud voice talking nearby. The small part of his mind paying attention concludes it's a telephone conversation, since only one side can be heard.

“But you can’t just abandon me to sit on my own!” the voice wails. “What will people think?! Yes, I’m sure he is handsome and smart and wonderful, but bros before souls, that’s what I always say. Well, okay, maybe I’ve never said it before, but I’m saying it now! Yes, I know, I can hear him. You're right, his accent is cute. I can’t wait to hear my soulmate's- OUCH!!"

A flailing arm thuds into Virgil, who is nearly thrown off balance by the shock of the impact. He looks up, glaring daggers, to find the loudmouth scowling back with equal fury.

“Watch where you’re going, clod!” the overdressed stranger rants.

“Same to you, watch where you’re flinging your arms!”

"I'm having an important conversation-"

“What’s the point in waving your arms around when the person on the phone can’t even-”

They're interrupted by an official-sounding voice ringing out over a tannoy, reminding everyone that the assembly will begin soon and they should hurry inside and find seats.

The disparate parts of the crowd begin to converge, pushing into the hall, and Virgil and the loud stranger are carried along side by side in the flow. They find themselves pushed together to sit on the end of a row of chairs, and although Virgil is still annoyed, he takes some relief at having the aisle seat.

“How did I get stuck next to the emo nightmare?" he hears his neighbour grumble under his breath.

“Karma for being a nightmare yourself”, Virgil mutters, and the stranger at least has the decency to blush.

Their bickering might have continued indefinitely, but at that moment the MC steps up to the microphone to begin their welcome, and an unspoken truce descends.

*****

When at last it's over, Virgil sits back in his chair and sighs wearily. "That was even more boring than I thought it would be", he remarks to no one in particular.

Of course, the stranger beside him responds as though it were directed at him. “I’m surprised you heard any of it with your earphones in the whole time. I could hear your music all the way through!”

Virgil turns and raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? Well, maybe you wouldn't have if you hadn't been leaning over so close to me. You were practically on my lap!"

The stranger huffs, glaring back at him. “It’s not like I had a choice! It was the only way I could see past that mountain of a guy in front of me!”

“Well, sorry I didn’t realise you were so keen for a good view of some guy standing talking.” Virgil scowls. “So you could hear my music, huh? Is that why you kept tapping your fingers on your knee? Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“I didn’t realise you were paying so much attention to my legs! And besides, I defy anyone not to tap their fingers along to Panic! At The Disco!”

“Wait, you recognised it?” Virgil frowns at the thoroughly preppy-looking guy next to him. “I wasn’t exactly the mainstream stuff. I didn’t take you for an emo.”

“If you must know, my soulmate's an emo, and he introduced me to them. I might not share all his tastes, but as a theatre kid, I always appreciate theatrical flair."

Oh right, soulmates are a thing. Virgil gives a grunt that could mean anything, turning his attention away from the stranger's continued rambling. He watches as more and more individuals and groups make their way to the exits. All the freshmen are meant to be here, which means Roman must be somewhere amongst them. For the first time, he almost regrets never asking for a photograph or more detailed physical description. But he always feared Roman would expect the same from him in return, and then be disappointed or put off by his ever-present hoodie and black eye shadow.

It doesn’t help that the vague description he’s been given of “Tall, with brown hair and blue eyes”, could fit far too many of the students here, including the one tapping a foot and making impatient noises beside him.

With a sigh, Virgil stands up, switching his music back on and turning up the volume as he waits for a gap in the flow of bodies. As soon as one appears, he steps into it, letting himself be absorbed and carried away towards the door. As he moves away, he’s distantly aware of his former seat-mate speaking, but he’s too stressed, too busy trying to blot out the strangers surrounding him to think of looking back.

~~*~~*~~*~~

Roman sighs, flopping dramatically backwards onto his bed. It's been a long day, and he wants to relax, but his mind buzzes restlessly with frustration.

Patton sent a text to say he’ll be getting dinner at the dining hall with Logan, and while he did say Roman was welcome to join them, Roman has no desire to play third wheel, thank you very much. Besides which, he can't shake the petty resentment that his hopes of a destiny-driven encounter with Virgil have apparently been dashed. Instead, he got stuck with some other emo, who, while admittedly very cute, had the cheek, the absolute bare-faced audacity to zone out while Roman was speaking to him and then walk away without even a goodbye!

With a huff, Roman rolls over and glares at the time. It’s 7:15 pm, earlier than his and Virgil’s usual chat time, but he needs to feel connected to his soulmate right now. With a surge of misery, he realises he’s lonely, as well as more envious of Patton and Logan than he’d like to admit.

Fumbling in a pocket, he pulls out the red glitter gel pen he reserves for soul-to-soul talks, and writes “Hey, stormcloud, are you free?” on his left arm.

After a few moments, a spidery dark purple reply writes itself onto his right arm. “Yeah, wanna talk now?”

"Patton's off with Logan, and I need to vent!" He underlines "vent" three times, as emphatic in writing as he would be out loud.

“Is that all I am to you? A listening arm?” It’s followed by their own version of a “:P”, to show that Virgil is joking.

“Of course not, my shadowling! But I’ve had the most boring day, and I'm lonely~".

“Yeah yeah, Logan’s ditched me too, remember? Did you make it to the assembly? I looked for you”.

Roman groans, then does his best to reproduce the sound in writing. “Uggghhh, I did, and I got stuck next to the most annoying guy ever!”

“Hah! Can’t have, because the most annoying guy was sitting next to me. He kept fidgeting and getting in my space through the whole thing”.

Roman grins, standing up and moving to the sink, where he rinses the red ink from his arm to make space for more, Virgil must have the same idea, because a moment later the purple text begins erasing itself too.

“I wish I could’ve sat with you”, he writes, as soon as his arm is dry.

“Same”. There’s a pause, and then, “Kinda regret not meeting you today”.

Roman stares at the words, running his left hand unconsciously through his hair. Destiny might have denied him a chance first meeting, but if Virgil has changed his mind, there’s no reason for them to hold back any longer. Decision made, he uncaps his pen and writes “Want to meet now?” before he can lose his nerve.

The seconds tick by with no response, not a drop of purple ink appearing, and he begins to worry he’s misjudged Virgil’s feelings. Then, at last, three letters appear, small but undeniable:

“Yes”.

“Yes!!” Roman echoes in a yell to the empty room, leaping up and grabbing his jacket from the back of his desk chair. Then he hesitates, sitting back down on the edge of the bed as he realises he doesn’t know where Virgil’s room is. Or even if he’s there, for that matter.

Besides which, while Virgil did accept the offer, his reply wasn’t exactly enthusiastic. Best to make certain he really wants to do this first.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind waiting”, Roman writes, adding a smiley face for good measure.

This time there is only a short pause before the words appear. “Yeah, the whole assembly thing made me wanna see you properly”.

Roman takes a deep breath, trying to still the tremor of excitement rushing through him. “Okay!” he writes back. “Want me to bring anything? I have a popcorn maker and every single Disney movie!”

“Seriously? You brought a freaking popcorn maker to college?”

“We always said we’d have movie nights when we finally met up, eating popcorn and talking all through the films!”

“You are so unbelievably extra”.

“You love it!”

“Yeah, I’m weird like that.”

“So, no popcorn?” Roman asks.

“Are you kidding? Of course bring popcorn!”

Roman grins.

*****

He takes his time making the popcorn, giving Virgil space to adjust to the change in plans. As he does, his thoughts drift to his grumpy seat-mate from earlier, and he remembers wincing as the guy picked at his chipped black nail polish during the endless speeches.

That gives him an idea…

“How about we paint our nails while we talk?” he suggests. “It’s relaxing and we’ll look good!”

“Sure”, appears on his arm. “I’ve only got black and purple though.”

“Fear not, my dark and stormy knight, I have every colour of the rainbow!” Roman grabs his makeup pouch and empties it onto his desk, separating out a selection of his favourites. These he puts back in the pouch, then it goes into his bag with the tub of popcorn.

“I’m ready to head out!” he writes on his arm. “Where’s your room?”

There’s a pause, then the address appears. But before Roman can lower his arm, Virgil adds, “Brace yourself for disappointment”.

“Why?” he writes back, frowning.

“I’m just… probably not gonna be as cool as you expect”.

“Don’t worry, I know you’re not as cool as me!” He replies immediately, then hesitates. Virgil has been vulnerable with him, and he should repay the honesty.

“I’m nervous too”, he admits, “But this is us, remember? We’ve spoken every day since we turned ten and our soul bond formed. We’ve listened to each others’ favourite music, watched each others’ favourite movies, and stayed up all night talking. We’ve shared our hopes, our fears, and our dreams. Even if we weren’t soulmates, you're my best friend, and I love you. Nothing's going to change that.

*****

It's a short walk across campus to Virgil's dorm, and nervous energy quickens Roman's strides. At last, he finds the right number door and gives a firm knock. Slowly, cautiously, it opens to reveal...

“You?!” Roman practically screeches.

“Seriously?!”

“I cannot believe this! Are you actually telling me you’re Virgil?”

“How many ginger-haired emos from Milwaukee do you think there are on campus?!”

“You’re Virgil...” There’s a pause as Roman’s expression visibly cycles from indignant, through dawning realisation, to settle on contrite. “Sorry about, you know...” He waves his arm, and Virgil raises an eyebrow.

“Sorry you clobbered me with your arm?”

“Well, yes… I was talking to Patton and didn’t notice you.”

“Yeah, I got that. Sorry I wasn’t, you know, watching where I was going.” Virgil looks down, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Look, I know I’m annoying. If you’re gonna leave, just go.”

Roman frowns. “Don’t be ridiculous. You might be annoying, but you’re my best friend! I came here to eat popcorn, riff on Disney movies, and hug you, and I’m not leaving until I’ve done all three!”

Virgil looks up, finally managing a lopsided smile. “You sure?”

“Of course! And besides, I bet I can be twice as annoying as you.”

With a snort, Virgil steps back, opening the door further to let Roman in. “Good to know fate made the two most annoying guys in the world soulmates.”

Roman grins. “Soulmates about to have the best evening ever!” he replies.

~~*~~*~~*~~ *~~

@creativity-killed-thekitten​ @the-prince-and-the-emo​ @shesavampirequeen​ @patton-in-name​ @pearls-of-patton​ @xxladystarlightxx​ @suyun-doo​ @softestlittlepuffball​ @evilmuffin​ @milomeepit​ @musikasworld​ @holy-anxiety-batman​ @quoth-the-sparrow​ @daring-elm​ @sandersfanders​

[12miraenie]

Trial---pt 5

Genre: Mafia AU, Angst, slight fluff…maybe?

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader, Sehun x Reader

Warning: Guns, weapons, drugs, explicit language

Word Count: 1875

Chapter Summary: Pretending to be someone you are not is not easy, when  reality sinks in and you are stuck in a dilemma, what are you going to do? 

✾ Link to Masterlist

pt 1 | pt 2.1 | pt 2.5 | pt 3 | pt 4 | pt 5 | pt 6 | pt 7 | 

You are living in a dream. You have to be.

The things you do with Sehun together made you wonder what your life could be. Does everybody else lives this way? Do they only have to worry about what to eat for dinner, or going to work in the morning, what to do on the weekends? Life seems so slow here.

You didn't have to deal with gruesome mafia business every day. It wasn’t that much of a deal to see dead bodies or blood before, because you were already trained to be numb about it, either in the prison or in the mafia. But now you can’t bear to think about some of the things you’ve seen or done. Plus, you don’t have to look at Baekhyun’s face and be reminded of your painful history anymore. Every second in front of him was excruciating. You recalled that there had never been a day you went to sleep peacefully, without the problem of insomnia or nightmares.

“Y/N? I’m back.” Turning around, you saw Sehun shutting the door behind him. His hands were busy with three bags of food and a tray of coffee when Sehun fumbled to hang up the jingling keys. When people first meet him, clumsiness is the last thing they would associate him with. Sehun’s defined features and tall height makes him stand out in the crowd too easily, and from the conversations you had in the gala, he left matching impressions to people. Confident, decisive, and a little arrogant.

You couldn't hold it in anymore and giggle. Sehun had finally managed to put everything back in place and shot you an annoyed look.

“Yah, if you are just gonna stay there and laugh, come help me with the food.”

You took the takeout bags from his hand and walked into the kitchen. Once again, its contents were way too heavy for two people to finish.

“Oh Sehun, you are going to make me fat one day! How can we even finish this one thing?” You pointed to the whole chicken when Sehun tapped your shoulder. Turning around, you almost squealed when Sehun pressed a cup of coffee to your lips.

“Three shots, vanilla milk, no sugar.” He repeated your coffee preference, and tapped your lips with the cup again, urging you to try. Closing your eyes, you took a sip and sighed in content.

“Is it good?”

Sehun’s voice sounded too close. You opened your eyes and realized he was less than a foot away from you. You could see each strand of his hair clearly, and distinguish each eyelash. The moment you locked eyes, you froze. The way he looked at you, like he often does,  gave confusing signals. Sometimes you wondered how much of your banters, conversations, and laughs were real. Were you still acting to be someone you are not? Or is this the real you? This just makes contacting Jongin harder for you every time. Thinking about the look of betrayal in Sehun’s eyes hurt you too much.  But despite how much of a dilemma you were in every day, you still text him about updates every week.

“I’m going to take a shower, ok?”

You waited until Sehun closed the bathroom door and took out your other phone. You sat on the bed and contemplated. This is a mission. You shook your head and convinced yourself. You can’t think otherwise.

“Jongin, I can’t-”

“Can’t what, Y/N?” You almost dropped your phone in shock, because instead of Jongin, it was Baekhyun's monotonic voice that reached your ears. You realized just then that it’s the first time you were having a conversation with him on the phone.

“What, Y/N? Cat got your tongue?”  

Despite the statics on the phone, you could still hear the mocking tone in his voice clearly. You had imagined what Baekhyun would look like right now, probably the same as the day he came to see you in the hospital.

“You are supposed to meet Jongin in person to debrief every week.”

You tried to calm down your breathing. Because you knew exactly why you changed the plan. You told Jongin it would look suspicious to Sehun if you go out every week because you didn’t want your cover blown. Then it reduced to calls and later texts.

You were afraid.

“It’s been a month, Y/N. Where is the fucking USB?” You could sense how furious Baekhyun was even from the other end of the phone. You gripped on the bedsheet for support.

“I-it must be in his office because I can’t find it anywhere!”

“Don’t give me excuses, you know that’s not true.” Baekhyun paused for a second and chuckled darkly, “Are you living together now? I mean if you are getting comfortable with him, probably too comfortable,” he dragged the last two words longer than necessary, making you aware of what he’s thinking, “Why can’t you get the job done?”

You gripped the phone tightly, “Are you watching me?”

Baekhyun didn't answer.

“You still owe me for saving your life. Don’t forget who you are.”  

-Flashback-

“You should go.”  The man before you coughed and tried to sit up, groaning at every move. You jolted awake from his sudden movement and winced at how uncomfortable the chair was. Glancing at the clock on the wall, you realized it has been 3 hours since you helped him home. You quickly grabbed two cushions on his couch and put it under his waist to support him. You didn’t budge and cut the old bandages that were already stained with blood.

“You are not nearly close to being recovered.” He raised a trembling hand trying to stop you, but you pushed it down gently.

“You don’t have any strength now, so just stay still.”

Sehun’s eyes were barely open a centimeter, but you could see the inquisition and silent judgment behind them. You scoffed inside, is he trying to read you when he’s one badly hurt?

Eventually, he chose to lie down and let you do your job. Securing the last bit of new bandages, you sighed in relief. At least this time red didn’t come through the gauze as fast as last time. You inspected his stomach area one more time and made sure everything was treated before moving on to the minor cuts and bruises on his face.

“Go to sleep, it’s only 5am, and you need to rest.” You pressed down an alcohol pad on a cut, Sehun hissed.

“Can’t...hurts too much.” He shook his head weakly. You popped two more painkillers out, but Sehun refused them.

“No, that one.” He pointed to a bottle with clear liquid in them. You picked it up and turned to check the label. Morphine Sulfate. Your eyes widened. How does he have Morphine stored in his house? You knew it’s strictly a prescription medicine. You turned to look at him, “How-”

“Just do it.”

You guessed a minor dose was probably fine. You never took notice until now how organized and professional his first-aid kit is. You tried not to care about little containers of different pills and solutions and fished for a new syringe in the kit.

“You seem to know what you are doing,” Sehun commented, seemingly casual.

You lifted one of your eyebrows when your hand nearly dropped the syringe. He is too smart and too observant for his own good. You realized that Sehun may have more to what he showed on the surface. Should you come up with a cover right now?

“I...am a med student.” You lowered your eyes and pretended to focus on the injection. He wouldn’t want to know why you were so fluent at this.

“First-hand experience, huh?”  You felt the increasing pace of your heart and panicked a little. Is he suspecting something now?

You pulled the syringe out and put a band-aid on.

“Yeah, you have no idea how much.” Unpleasant memories flashed back to your mind, you thought about your times stuck in the hospital under Baekhyun's orders. You’ve been injected with medicine so many times every day that you know exactly what to do even with your eyes closed.

“Do you want to stay here?” Sehun turned his head sideways and stared at you.

To be honest, Oh Sehun had surprised you more than you would think tonight. You froze and widened your eyes. Why would anyone ask a stranger to stay in their house? You opened your mouth, but no syllable came out. He chuckled weakly.

“You saved my life today, besides no normal med school student would go to a party like that,” he glanced you up and down, hands bloodied, dress ripped and stained with his blood. “And not be scared to death already by now.”

-End Flashback-

“Sorry, which one did you tell me you want?”

You and Sehun had gone furnish shopping because he suddenly thought his apartment was too bare and in need of some changes. He's been acting a lot more playful around you than usual, but you don't know if it means good or bad. You glanced at the different couches and was about to tell him that dark grey one looks nice when he spoke up.

“Umm, I think either that one or...this?” You lifted your eyebrows at the ones he was suggesting. One was an ugly mustard color, and the other was a weird emerald green. You were about to protest when his phone suddenly started ringing. Sehun’s face hardened at the caller ID. You were intrigued in an instant.  This must be important. Sehun sent you an apologetic smile and mouthed a word "work".  

You nodded, and he took a few steps away from you. From your peripheral vision, Sehun stayed rather silent, humming in response to whatever the person on the other end was saying until he mentioned a specific name.

“Chanyeol-,” your ears perked at the familiar name. It’s been a long time since you’ve heard that name. You still shuddered at the interaction with the CEO of PK Enterprise, he is definitely not some ordinary businessman. Besides, you were sure Oh Sehun is tied to him in some ways. Just then you realized that you don't actually know a lot of things about the man you were living with.

“No, I don’t need you to remind me anymore.” Sehun’s lips were pursed, his tone was terse and cold, unlike the usual him. 

This was a different man.

“I need some time off work, tell Xiumin to do it.”

Your ears perked. Why can Sehun talk like that to Chanyeol, like they know each other so well? And who’s Xiumin?

This one phone conversation raised so many questions in your brain, and there you thought Sehun was just a secretary or a close associative under Chanyeol. You sighed, knowing that there won’t be any breakthrough on the USB soon. You suddenly lost the appetite to shop and didn’t even protest when Sehun paid for the mustard couch. You pushed the cart forward mindlessly and didn’t notice Sehun’s frequent glances your way.

“What’s wrong?”

You broke out of your trance and shook your head slightly.

“No-”

“If you don’t like the couch, we can change-”

You plastered a smile on your face and pretended like nothing’s wrong.

“It’s fine, really. I guess I’m just a little hungry.”

You were worried that he would see through your mask, but he nodded like he bought your story. Sehun cocked his head and thought for a while,

“Ah! Let’s eat pasta today! There’s a great place in Itaewon. And we can get bingsu later!”

Sehun brought his car around and helped you in. You closed your eyes and pretended to be asleep. When did you start losing yourself little by little? You were getting more and more used to waking up to a table of food prepared by Sehun, drinking coffee in the morning, and buying groceries with him. Your everyday routine now was so simple, so domestic, but for some reason, you had fallen in love with it. You don’t think it would be easy for you just to leave it to return to the mafia. Somehow you had stopped considering your previous life as normality. Why do you crave being together with Sehun so much now?

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

“Boss. I just sent the pictures.”

Baekhyun found himself clenching his fists, uncontrollable anger rising in him. You looked so happy with Oh Sehun together, like you belong there, next to him.

Baekhyun gently tugged his silver necklace. It’s still there. The diamond shined brightly as ever, and the metal was still cold enough to sting his hand. So why does he feel like losing you little by little? Baekhyun tightened his jaw, he won't let that happen.

“Give me Yixing. It’s time for him to come back.”

[desktopgargoyle]

The Road Trip Series - Chapter 3

AN: so this chapter is super duper late....but better late than never?

ff.net link

Chapter 3

“Nino really needed some rest, huh?” Marinette looks over her shoulder at Nino and Adrien, who are both curled up against each other and snoring in the back seat of the car.

“Yeah, he’s had some pretty crazy shifts lately. I barely get to see him awake anymore.” Alya laughs somewhat sadly. “He works late and sleeps late, I leave early and end up asleep before he gets in. You know how it is.”

Alya’s tried not to make a big fuss over Nino’s working hours because she knows that he’s doing a job he loves and excels at. But she will admit that it’s difficult for her to not see him as much as she used to. She misses Wednesday Spaghetti Nights on the sofa watching old horror movies with awful special effects and she misses making pancakes at midnight on Breakfast for Dinner Fridays. She misses going on dates and she misses lazy Sundays just hanging out in pyjamas with hot chocolate.

They’ve have talked about it a couple times and Nino hates their reduced time together as much as Alya does. The difference is that he also loves his job, and Alya is not about to try to tear him away from it just because she misses him. Besides, it’s not like she never sees him, it’s just that she sees him less than she’s used to and –

“Alya, you know it’s okay to miss him, right?” Marinette has been watching Alya chew on her lip and furrow her eyebrows for the last couple minutes. She knows exactly what Alya is thinking. “You don’t need to feel bad about it. Your feelings are what they are, you can’t help it.”

At the back of the car Nino stirs slightly, moving so that his head lolls just above Adrien’s shoulder as his hat falls off his head. Alya looks at him fondly in the rear-view mirror and a small smile creeps onto her face.

“Okay then, Miss Relationship Guru,” Alya smirks at Marinette. “How about we talk about your love life instead of my petty issues? A certain someone has totally got it bad for you!” Alya cackles as she watches Marinette’s face turn beet red in embarrassment.

“Nobody has anything bad for me, Al! Don’t make that kind of stuff up.” Marinette squeaks, sinking into her seat. She’s just glad that Adrien is a heavy sleeper and will (thankfully) hear none of this.

“Come on, Mari. I thought he was meant to be the oblivious one here, not you! The boy has been dropping so many hints and you have thus far failed to see every single one!”

Marinette shakes her head vehemently. Alya’s been saying this for years and trying to convince her that Adrien likes her back. Marinette knows he doesn’t. If he did in fact like her, wouldn’t he attempt to ask her out or at least drop some more obvious hints? God knows she’s been so obvious at times that she might as well wave a massive flag saying ‘hey there, just so you know I am a little bit in love with you so would you please love me back?’ in his face. With sparkles. And all-caps writing. In neon colours. Actually, scratch that. Flashing neon colours.

“I’m not oblivious!”

Alya cocks an eyebrow at her. It’s her ‘are-you-freaking-kidding-me-right-now’ look and Marinette has found herself on the receiving end of said look more and more in the last few years.

“Remember the school trip to London?”

“The one where we lost Juleka and Rose for about three hours and later found them in M&M World?”

“Yeah, that one.” Alya laughs.

It had been an eventful trip, they could say that much at least. Aside from the Juleka and Rose thing, there had also been an incident in Harrods where Chloé got into a fistfight with some rich brat over a pair of Valentino pumps that resulted in her eventually being escorted out of the building, screaming that her father would hear about it. On their third day in London, Adrien was stampeded by crazed fans as the class left the Natural History Museum and then on the fourth day, Max and Kim somehow ended up stranded in Piccadilly Circus while the rest of the class was at the National Portrait Gallery. Needless to say, there had been no abroad trips for the class after that.

“It was such a great trip, right? I love London so much, even if we were stuck with all the tourist trap locations.” Marinette smiles.

“Yeah, and the four-hour Eurostar journey wasn’t too bad either.” Alya shoots Marinette a sly glance.

“I mean, you and Nino sure had a blast. You guys were being so mushy I wanted to gag!” Marinette snorts.

“Oh, and you and Adrien weren’t being equally as mushy?” Alya retorts. Marinette flushes.

“We weren’t being mushy, we were never a couple! And the only reason we were sat together is because a certain couple couldn’t bear to be apart for four measly hours and it was a toss-up between me and Chloé!” Marinette pulls a face at Alya and slumps down in her seat.

Alya rolls her eyes. If she remembers correctly, she and Nino had video footage of Marinette and Adrien tangled up together and snoring. Of course, neither of them has ever seen this footage because she’s keeping it a secret until their wedding.

“Believe what you will, Mari, but my boyfriend knows his husband very, very well and, from what we saw, Model Boy’s intentions were a little more than just platonic, if you catch my drift.”

Marinette groans and leans her head against the cool glass of the window. Over the years there were a couple moments in which she’d let herself indulge in the idea that the attraction was mutual. The Eurostar trip was one of them. Adrien had all but dragged Marinette into the seat beside him and immediately began chatting away as if it were no big deal.

One hour into the journey he decides that he has to take as many pictures together as possible with as many stupid faces as possible, claiming that he rarely gets to do things like this and he needs to document it. He almost sounds like Alya. He saves every single one, even, much to Marinette’s horror, the photos in which she looks like a complete and utter idiot. Of course, he looks great in Every. Single. Damn. Photo. (Marinette’s theory to this day is that a life of modelling has made him permanently photogenic and there will never ever be a bad photo taken of him.)

Two hours into the trip, he gets up to go stretch his legs.

“I don’t think you get it, Mari, I’m too tall for these seats. My legs need freedom. We didn’t have, like, a million revolutions and behead the king just for me to endure this kind of oppression!”

“Are you calling me short?” That’s all she could think to say because holy-nickname-Batman he has just called her Mari. This is the first time he has ever in the history of their friendship called her that and Marinette is having a minor breakdown.

“Seriously? That’s your concern?”

“I’ll have you know that I am 5’6” and I am not short.”

“Mari, you’re 5’5”.” Crap, he did it again.

“Shut up, I’m still above average.”

“Only by an inch though.”

“I thought you were going to stretch your legs, you freakishly tall person?”

“Mari, I am a very average height. If you think I’m freakishly tall then you kinda just proved me right.” This marks three times in one conversation. Perhaps you could call it overkill, but Marinette doesn’t care.

With that, he flashes her a grin and saunters (he’s such a model) down the aisle toward the onboard café.

From: Mariiiiibuggg To: Al dente pasta Update 1: I’ve changed ur contact name from Alyyyybuggg to Al dente pasta Update 2: there’s a toddler behind me who keeps kicking my seat

From: Al dente pasta To: Mariiiiibuggg Al dente pasta? Really? Is this because of the journalism competition? Because I swear if that is a fucking pun about my year’s supply of pasta prize I will kill you. Was this Adrien’s idea? It was totally his idea. Never mind. You are in the clear. I know you love him but I swear to God I will bake his head into a lasagne.

From: Mariiiiibuggg To: Al dente pasta u didn’t let me get to update 3 also leave Adrien alone and don’t bake the love of my life into a lasagne

From: Al dente pasta To: Mariiiiibuggg Ooooh what’s update three?

From: Mariiiiibuggg To: Al dente pasta Alya. he cALLED ME MARI

From: Al dente pasta To: Mariiiiibuggg WHAAAAATTTTTT GIIIIIRRRRLLLLLLL

From: Mariiiiibuggg To: Al dente pasta wait for it THREE TIMES IN ONE cONverSATION

From: Al dente pasta To: Mariiiiibuggg HOLY SHITTTTTT (babe I love you but your grammar is killing me)

From: Mariiiiibuggg To: Al dente pasta I DONT CARE ABOUT GRAMMAR ADRIEN CALLED ME MARI THREE TIMES

From: Ninbro To: Maribro dude I’m trying to nap and all I can hear is alya squealing wtf happened

From: Maribro To: Ninbro adrien called me mari three times in one conversation

From: Ninbro To: Maribro shit dude thrice mari-d congratz anyway tell alya to shut up bc she won’t listen to me goodnight

From: Al dente pasta To: Mariiiiibuggg Did Nino just tell you to tell me to shut up?! I’m gonna kill him.

From: Mariiiiibuggg To: Al dente pasta let the boy sleeeep

From: Adrien To: Mari Hey, I’m in the queue at the snack bar. You want anything? It’s kind of a long queue so you have time to decide :)

From: Mari To: Adrien oh, um. Idk, depends on how expensive because I’m kind of broke at the moment.

From: Adrien To: Mari Nah, don’t worry about that. I’m paying :)

From: Mari To: Adrien WHAT? NO!

Marinette stares at her phone. He isn’t responding. She stretches up slightly to scan the carriage and spots Alya and Nino a couple seats ahead. She hazards another glance at her phone but still nothing. Hopefully he’s taken her somewhat panicked caps lock texts as a ‘No thanks, I don’t want anything’. Hopefully.

“Right so you didn’t specify so I grabbed you a hot chocolate and this sweet and salty popcorn. Best of both worlds, right?” Adrien throws the bag of popcorn at Marinette and slides into his seat next to her. He places the hot chocolate down on the folding table in front of her and opens the lid of his coffee, adding two sugars. Marinette stares at him.

“What? I know you’re trying to cut down on the caffeine so I figured hot chocolate was a step in the right direction. Unfortunately, I am nowhere as motivated as you and I have no intention of kicking my caffeine intake.” Adrien takes a sip of his coffee before suddenly wincing. “And there go all of my tastebuds…ouch.”

Marinette opens the lid of her cup and blows some of the steam away. “Thanks,” she smiles. “But seriously, how much did this total? Let me pay you back, seriously.” She leans down and begins rummaging around in her bag. Adrien grabs her hands and pulls them away from her bag, completely stunning her into stillness.

“I said I’d pay, and I paid. It’s no big deal, what are friends for, am I right?” He grins. She watches him intently as he eyes his drink cautiously, attempting another sip while simultaneously looking terrified.

From: Mariiiiibuggg To: Al dente pasta you know that stupid cliché about how you fall in love with someone more and more each day? I don’t think it’s stupid anymore. Alya I’m so totally screwed.

Alya still has the screenshot of that last message. She’s saving that for the wedding too. She elbows Marinette in the ribs lightly, telling her to stop looking like a lovesick chihuahua.

Once again, they’ve hit traffic. Alya takes the opportunity to stretch her arms and roll her neck; driving for extended periods of time is not necessarily her favourite thing to do but she’ll sacrifice comfort to let Nino sleep. She would let Marinette drive except Nino has henceforth banned Marinette from the driver’s seat following the Crash of July 19th (which, in Marinette’s opinion was actually not a crash because I only scratched the car slightly, Nino).

“Kinda busy today, isn’t it?” Marinette yawns. She checks her phone. No new messages. No updates. No alerts. “Weren’t we supposed to be halfway there already?”

“That was the original plan. From what I can tell, we are currently an hour and a half behind schedule.” Alya groans. “You know, I had this entire trip planned down to the minute! And now look at us!”

Marinette nods sympathetically. “I know, Al. On the plus side, at least it’s not – ” Thunder cracks in the darkening skies above before Marinette can finish her sentence. “ – raining.” Alya shoots her an ‘are you serious’ look and lets her head drop against the steering wheel with a loud thud, hitting the car horn in the process.

“Shit!” Alya starts up in surprise as Marinette giggles uncontrollably.

The rain starts out as a light drizzle, the droplets scattering across the glass like constellations as it beats softly against the cool windows of the car. The sky turns from a crystal blue to a pale grey as the rainclouds stretch across, moving slowly and heavily. It remains this way for about fifteen minutes before the rain begins to fall harder. It pelts down aggressively, hitting the window panes and rolling down in streams. The gentle patterns formed earlier on the glass blur together until it becomes difficult to see properly.

Alya runs a hand through her hair and turns the window wipers up to a faster setting. As much as she loves the rain, she’d really rather not drive in it; slippery roads tend to make her nervous.

The traffic gradually begins to move again, although at an agonising pace, which both frustrates and relieves Alya. On one hand, she really wishes they could get the hell out of this nightmarish rut in their journey and just make it to Marseille already but, on the other hand, the sluggish speed means that there won’t be any asshole drivers trying to force her to speed up in the freakish downpour. She supposes that, in some ways, the positive cancels out the negative so she’ll just have to make do and be happy for now.

Adrien stirs slightly in the back seat. He groans slightly as he stretches his arms out (he whacks Nino in the face in the process); he’s starting to believe that he is, in fact, too tall to nap comfortably in such a cramped space.

“Are we there yet?” he mumbles groggily as he rubs his eyes.

“Sorry, cupcake, we’ve hit some more traffic.” Alya’s really not sure why she feels the need to christen Adrien with these ridiculous pet names. It’s just become a Thing she does, despite his being over a foot taller than her. The list has only increased over the years and now includes sunshine, buttercup, sweetie, My Son, kitty-cat, jellybean and, Alya’s personal favourite, Mon Petit Cantaloup. Nino has started to use My Son and buttercup, which makes Alya prouder than it should.

“If it makes you feel better, you managed to nap for almost two hours.” Marinette chirps.

“Yeah, you and your husband, who is supposed to be my boyfriend, looked pretty cosy back there.” Alya snorts. “I’ve got to ask, what is your secret? He doesn’t snuggle with me like that anymore.”

“Nino likes to be the little spoon,” Adrien says sagely. “It makes him feel secure.”

“Too bad you’re like three feet tall, Al.”

“Shut up, Mari! You’re only three inches taller than me!”

“Actually, I’m five inches taller than you.”

“Well, I have a foot on both of you so I win.”

The two girls turn to face him and Adrien is certain that if looks could kill, he would be dead twice over. He grins sheepishly in response and rubs the back of his neck. Thankfully, the traffic starts moving and Alya is forced to turn her attention back to the road. Marinette narrows her eyes at him once more before she too turns to face the road.

Adrien can’t be certain but he swears that there is something in the way she looks at him, even when annoyed at him, that surpasses everything. He’s only really started to notice it recently, but for a fleeting moment he is sure of it. Upon reflection, he decides that he is deluding himself. There’s no way. Marinette is just a really good friend. That’s all.

As she turns back to the front of the car, Marinette gulps slightly. There was something strange about the way Adrien has been looking at her recently. Not strange in a bad way, but strange in a new way. His expression seems softer and there’s something different reflected in his eyes. For a second she thinks – no. In her head, she laughs at herself. She’s just projecting her own feelings onto him, she rationalises. He just sees her as a friend. That’s it.

[marbleaide]

Something to Talk About [Clark/Tim]

Quick little thing of Clark fucking Tim and that’s really all you need to know! Enjoy!

---

“You know, people are going to start talking.”

It wasn’t late. Just past three in the afternoon when Clark showed up to his hotel room all the way out in San Francisco where he was staying for a conference that weekend. Tim had been surprised Clark took long enough to say hello before he was pressing him up against the nearest wall, kissing him like mad and lifting him up with a tight grip to his thighs.

“About us. About you.” Tim was smiling, gaze locked onto the tacky framed photo on the opposite wall the hotel used as decoration. Clark was currently attacking his throat; sucking bright marks into his skin and making Tim gasp every time he clamped his jaws closed to bite him. “They’ll start to gossip.”

“I hate gossip columns,” Clark response, finally, pulling his mouth away long enough to say those four words before moving to the other side of Tim’s throat, making him tilt his head in the other direction and purr at the attention his ear was now receiving. It was dangerous what Clark could reduce Tim to by only nipping at his ears.

Tim licks his lips, lost in the sensation for a moment. “Not just columns. Front page news. Fully magazine spreads.” He has to pause to let out a groan, grind his hips down against Clark’s stomach. At this angle and height, he can barely feel the heavy erection in Clark’s pants and that’s so disappointing to him. “Start really talking about the boy toy I keep flying out to my hotel rooms on weekends.”

This grabs Clark’s attention long enough that he pulls away with a snort, giving Tim a cocked brow and a ‘really?’ expression that makes Tim grin. It’s adorable and hilarious whenever Tim talks to the other about the vast gossip rags that flood the market, many of them starting to pick up more pieces regarding Timothy Wayne’s love life. Particularly that of a bespectacled reporter coming in and out of his office building at every hour of the day.

“Boy toy?”

Tim shrugs, running his fingers through Clark’s hair and then pulling on the strands, leaning forward to speak directly into Clark’s ear. “You’re my man off the month. I should slather you in baby oil and parade you around the pool downstairs.”

The comment gets Clark to move. He carries Tim easily over to the couch, not even caring enough to go to the small bedroom right through the threshold a couple feet away. He crowds around Tim, covering him near entirely as he starts pulling at both of their clothes as fast as he can without ripping anything.

Tim lays back to let him. He loves watching Clark above him pulling at his own tie and unbuttoning his shirt just slow enough that he doesn’t pluck the buttons off. He makes an approved hum when the shirt gets throws down and Clark pulls at his belt. Tim whistles at the visual, not being able to help himself, which makes Clark pause as the leather falls from the last loop at his waist.

“Oh, please. Don’t stop the show, baby. I like what I’m seeing.”

Clark rolls his eyes, but than gets an idea and suddenly Tim’s wrists are being pulled up above his head. The belt is wrapped around them, pulled tight enough to feel like a threat even if both of them know Tim could be free in a matter of seconds. Still, Tim leaves his hands tied above his head, looking up at Clark through lidded eyes and smiles.

“Kinky for a fling.”

“Just a fling, hu?”

Tim lets out a soft laugh as Clark gets his shirt off and goes immediately for his pants after, pulling slacks and underwear down all in one go leaving Tim naked on the hotel couch. He’s hard and he makes sure Clark knows it, spreading his legs wide and arching his back so his cock falls against his stomach, inviting.

“You’re just a sugar baby after my Wayne fortune.” He teases, wiggling his hips which makes Clark shake his head fondly.

“That make you a sugar daddy?”

His fingers curl around Tim’s hips, lifting them up until Tim’s shoulders are only pressed into the couch now, the strain made easier with Clark holding all his weight.

“Only if you start calling me da-- AH!” Tim’s cut off with a gasp, throwing his head back as Clark swallows his cock whole. It makes him groan, pressing hard against the throw pillow below his head, frustrated that he has no leverage right now to thrust deeper into the heat that is Clark’s mouth. “Fuck, Clark, your tongue--”

It’s a request that is answered, the muscle flicking along the underside of his shaft as Clark sucks him down, humming with the taste of him as he drips pre-cum onto his palette. Later, Tim might call it a cheap trick to get him to stop talking as much, but right now Tim’s not complaining at all as he’s sucked off slow and deep, so much heat and suction it makes his head spin.

The sensation is only made worse when one hand leaves his hip to slide in along his crack, slick with lube that Tim wasn’t aware of until now. Perks of dating a super alien: things move really, really, fast when they need to and certain things you don’t have to worry about so much. There’s a finger inside of him before he knows it, probing at his walls smooth and spreading slick everywhere it can reach. The second plays around at the edge of his rim before delving in alongside its brother, spearing Tim on thick digits in a mockery of what Clark’s really packing.

“I should be more concerned about not getting torn apart, but if you don’t get your dick in me soon--”

Clark pops off Tim’s cock with a smirk which, in Tim’s opinion, should be illegal. Clark looks too good between his eyes, blue eyes bright, with spit and pre-cum at the corner of his mouth. Tim has to bite his lip as Clark flicks out his tongue to give him another full lick before pulling back.

“What would those tabloids say if they heard you right now, hu?” Clark’s voice is too even even now with two fingers thrusting into Tim’s asshole, scissoring him open to get him prepared. “Begging for the boy toy’s cock.”

Tim bites down on a moan, trying to thrust his hips back to get Clark to finger him deeper, curl just right to stab at his prostate, but the alien is being stubborn, refusing to give him exactly what he wants.

“They’d think I like to be dominated.”

Clark snorts. “You do like to be dominated.”

“So they’d write the truth for once. I’d give a full interview about how much I love getting bent over for your fat--”

Clark takes that moment to thrust a third finger into him, driving in deep which makes Tim arch and keen under Clark, his cock bouncing against his abdomen and twitching with the penetration.

“Clark, please,”

“Whatever you want, daddy.”

Tim laughs again at the word, but the noise doesn’t last long as Clark’s pulling his fingers out and grabbing Tim by the thighs, bending his body in half until his knees are right by his head. It’s an easy stretch for Tim once that makes him moan. His cock dangles near his face and Clark has the split-second thought to keep pushing him until he’s able to feed Tim his own cock, watch him blow himself and spill cum all over his lips, but holds back. Maybe next time.

His first thrust in is probably more gentle than Tim might appreciate, because Clark is still careful no matter how many times they do this, but the pace picks up quickly.

Tim’s body is tightly stretched around Clark’s length, squeezing so hard it might hurt anyone else, and it gives Clark a thrill to know Tim can never be fully prepared for how big he is. Every thrust in forces Tim’s hole back open; to stretch and accommodate, gaping open for him to plunge in and take over and over again. He’s wet with lube, making disgusting slick noises every time Clark pulls back. His balls slap loud against Tim’s ass on every hard thrust, the sound always accompanied by a sharp ‘ah!’ from Tim’s open lips.

Clark’s eyes move down from Tim’s face to the curve of his stomach, the tight stretch making it so every time Clark pushes into him, the force makes the ouline of his cock press up against his walls, press up against the skin, and Clark can see exactly how deep he’s getting into the other; how big he is in Tim’s body.

It’s an intoxicating sight, knowing he’s claiming Tim so wholly, to the point that Clark is sure it should be a problem with how much he loves it, but so far Tim has said nothing whenever he cracks his eyes open to look at just how far into his guts Clark’s dick is.

“I feel like it’s in my throat,” Tim manages to get out, his fingers twitching against their restraints as if he wants to touch the bulge at his stomach. The press against it and feel how hard Clark is plowing into him from both the inside and outside. “Come that deep inside me.”

“Tim,” Clark groans this time, Tim’s talking always getting to him. He says nothing else, however, and only picks up the pace. Tim’s hips with probably be bruised in the morning. His thighs and ass with how hard he’s pressing into them. And if it is causing Tim pain, he doesn’t show it. He only moans loud, throwing his head back against and just takes it, rolling his hips whenever he is able to get Clark to angle differently inside of him.

He’s a mess by the time that Clark stills his hips as deep as he is able and with a near-quiet groan is coming inside of him. His cum is hotter and thicker than any human’s Tim has encountered; unloading into him hot and heavy so deep Tim swears it will leak out of him for days to come. He moans all the way through it, body as tight as a bow string as every hot feeling like it’s filling him up more and more; stretching him to his very limits.

When Clark pulls out, it’s only disappointing long enough for him to shove four fingers inside of him, making Tim squeal. He thrusts hard, curling his fingers now so every movement as his prostate being hit over and over. His hole is open and sloppy-red, but still tight as his muscles coil up with his coming orgasm, hitting him like a tidal wave crashing over his body, cock shooting out over his own neck and chest, twitching over and over until he’s let out all his body is able and suddenly goes limp in Clark’s grasp.

He’s let down easily; legs unfolded and carefully put down onto the couch. His hands are untied and taken down from above his head, checked for any sort of damage, before gently messaged to get the blood flowing again.

Tim purrs with the treatment, riding out his post-high with Clark dotting all over him. After a few minutes, he’s carried like a doll off the hotel couch and into the bathroom where Clark starts the shower to clean them both up. He’s gentle and soft the entire way, which right now Tim appreciates with how sore and heavy he feels. His eyes are barely able to stay open as he clings to Clark, nuzzling into his chest.

“Best boy toy ever,” he sighs as Clark brings them both into the shower’s spray, hot water cleaning them up sweat and cum.

Clark chuckles. “We’ve gotta keep the gossip magazines afloat, after all.”