#the thunk of the head and heavy breathing are really just delicious

[yourheartonfire]

By the time everything was done - the survivors found and the crowds dispersed and the press satiated and the authorities satisfied - the hero was so tired they almost smashed into their own window like a disoriented swallow. Still, somehow they got their fingernails into the gap they'd left open and half fell into their apartment.

Only to be slapped in the face with the smell of tomatoes and garlic cooking, and the sight of the villain leaning against their kitchen counter, glaring at them.

"There you are. Honestly, you're a terrible host."

The hero staggered up to their feet, fists raised. The villain smacked their hands down.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. You couldn't take on a bunny, honey, not in this state. And I'm not here to fight. You forget our bet?"

The hero stared. Dimly they remembered but the last burst of adrenaline was gone and their brain felt like mush.

The villain gestured with a flourish to a pot burbling away on the hero's stove. "Whoever takes down Supervillain, the other one buys dinner? You won, idiot. Here's your damn food. Now go shower. You aren't touching my food covered in blood."

The villain planted their hands on hips and waited. The hero looked from them to the pot, swaying gently on their feet, hands still half-extended.

After a long pause the villain sighed heavily. "At least I get paid in scintillating banter," they grumbled. But their arm around the hero's waist was firm and their footsteps patient as they guided the hero towards the bathroom.

Later the hero only had vague memories of the villain cranking on the shower, pushing them in fully clothed and ducking out as the water heated. The first really clear memory was the visceral pleasure of pulling their oldest hoodie over their aching limbs, the pilled cotton lining scratching pleasantly against their freshly clean skin, the feel of collapsing into their ancient sofa, the sagging springs cushioned in layers of cheap fleece blankets from the dollar store.

Another tantalizing waft of food smells, and the villain was dishing up bowls at the kitchen table.

"It's almost 4 in the morning," the hero said.

"Hey, there's that world class superpower: telling the time." The villain tucked a pair of colorful napkins under the spoons. "Glad to see that's still with you. After the ninth or twelfth blow to your head I was getting worried."

"[Supervillain] didn't hit me that many times."

"I was including the times your head hit the pavement, the walls, at least one car."

"It was a van," the hero muttered.

The villain pursed their lips, eyed the hero's loose limbed sprawl. "Love how you say that like that's supposed to be better."

The hero was too tired to feel more than a twinge of alarm as the villain came stalking up. They let themselves be loomed over, their head lolling back under the villain's hand cupping their face.

"You're burning up," said the villain, a new edge of worry in their voice. "Why are you burning up?"

"Superhealing in overdrive," the hero said. Suddenly they felt dreadfully hollow, even as they could feel their body churning away beneath the bruised skin. They closed their eyes.

"Nuh uh!" The hero hissed as something hot pressed into their hand. A bowl of chili. The villain dipped in the spoon and grinned viciously. "Open up."

"I can feed my - mmph!"

The spoon slid into hero's mouth and they bit down. It was barely spicy at all, closer to a stew than a chili. And it had kidney beans, the undisputed Worst Bean.

But it was delicious. Salt, fat, sweet, spice, starch. The hero chewed and swallowed and their body roared its approval, clamored for more. Just the one bite and they were recovered enough to grab the spoon away from the villain.

The villains grin only widened. "Good, huh?"

"Cheapskate," the hero muttered and shoveled another mouthful in. "Was gonna make you buy me dinner somewhere nice, not break into my house and get my dishes dirty."

"Shoulda specified that in the bet, honey." The villain sat down next to them, slung an arm around their shoulders. The hero was too caught up in the direct application of calories to do anything about that, not even as the villain's hand casually came around to brush across their forehead again. It was nice to have something to rest their heavy skull against as they gulped bite after bite.

As their spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl, the villain's hand moved across their cheekbone. "You're crying," they said, carefully neutral.

The hero wiped their eyes. They were. "That's embarrassing. This is barely even spicy."

"More than you can handle, apparently."

"I handled it," the hero snapped with more heat than they meant. "I handled it myself."

The villain breathed in and out slowly, pulled their arm away. "You almost died," they said to the still-half-open window. "I knew you were a glutton for punishment, but I didn't think you'd actually try to live out your martyr complex on live TV."

"What else was I supposed to do?" the hero said, throwing up their hands and almost knocking over the almost-empty bowl in their lap.

The villain rescued it at the last moment. "Yeah, good question," they snapped. "What could you ever possibly do except throw yourself all alone at every life threatening situation you find?"

The villain put the bowl on the floor with an angry thunk and clatter of silverware against ceramic and slumped back against the couch, arms crossed. The hero closed their eyes and tried not to miss the feel of the villain's arm around them. They were so tired. Their body craved sleep and they didn't have the words to tell the villain... Oh hell, they didn't even know what they wanted to tell the villain, let alone how to say it.

After another long silence the villain sighed. "Right," they said, moving to stand. "Our bet didn't say anything about doing dishes either, so I'm out of here."

The hero didn't think. They grabbed the villain's arm and pulled it back around their shoulders, burrowed their face into the villain's shirt, breathing in the cooking smells that still clung to them.

The villain went stiff in surprise. "Um," they said. "What is this?"

This is what my body wants, the hero meant to say. After a fight, my body gets what it wants - food, rest, comfort - and it wants you. 

What actually came out was something more like, "Mm buddy wazza... wanna... hmmm."

"[Hero]?" said villain but the hero was gone, sinking into the sound of the villain's safe, steady heartbeat under their ear.

When they woke hours later, the villain was gone and the dishes sat drying in the rack next to the sink.

[afictionalwhore]

104 Training Corps Masturbation HCs

(Eren, Reiner, Armin, Jean, Connie, Levi, and Erwin)

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□ AN: I wrote this in between second covid vaccine naps, so just bear with me. All characters are aged up.

□ NSFW, mDNI

□ TW: smidge of ddlg, mommy kink, mentions of BDSM, Eren has anger issues, dubcon if you squint, cum eating

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Eren Jaeger

He’s so focused on his goals that he doesn’t really have the time to think about his feelings. So he doesn’t masturbate very often and definitely doesn’t have sex (see above), so the act is usually a last resort stress relief.

The first time he did it, he accidentally said your name. The next day, he couldn’t stop staring at you, wondering when he developed such feelings. He would look way quickly with a bright red blush whenever you caught him staring. But you became an addiction and obsession for him, something very dangerous.

Angry. Everything this man does is fueled by rage and that includes some good ole self love. He’s grunting your name through gritted teeth while his hard cock is weeping precum over his tight fist. He’s fast, and he’s messy.

He always feels disgusted with himself afterwards. He thinks it’s a waste of time and energy. While he always has a clearer head in terms of what to do next, his thoughts and emotions are a big mess when it comes to you. He thinks he doesn’t deserve you, that you would only get hurt with him. But yet each time he paints his stomach white while crying for you, he falls a little bit more into you.

If you caught him, he’d be very aloof and ask if you planned on just standing there. Either leave or help him out.

Sweat dripped down Eren’s toned body as he jerked his hand up and down his angry cock. Precum was weeping from his slit, and he could only dream that it was your sweet juices making his cock so wet. He threw his head back, thumping against the headboard, as he chanted your name like his favorite prayer. Hot, sticky ropes of cum fell on his stomach, cooling rapidly against his overheated skin.

Eren gulped down oxygen, trying to regain his breath as he climbed down from his high. His fist unfurled from his softening cock and fell on the bed beside him. He lifted his head slightly before banging it back against the hard wood with a loud thunk.

“Goddammit.”

You stood behind his door, cracked just a little to give you the most delicious glimpse of Eren in his afterglow. A rough voice startled you out of your ogling as intense green eyes met your doey ones.

“You plan on standing there all day, princess? Close the door and leave,” Eren grunted. “Or better yet, come here and help me out a little.”

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Reiner Braun

A gentle giant who deserves so much love. He’s been through so much, so who can blame him for wanting a little bit of stress relief.

This man is so embarrassed the first time he cums to you. He thought you were just a friend, despite everyone else saying there was more between the two of you. So when he’s fisting himself to the thought of your soft voice calling his name, he can’t look at you the next day.

He can’t help himself after that. You invade every part of his mind and his dreams and fantasies are filled with you. His favorite fantasy is you riding him, while he peppers your body in sweet kisses and praises.

If you were to catch him, he would stop instantly and try to cover himself and hide from you. His face would flush red as a tomato as he stammered out apology after apology.

It’s only when you step into his room and take his massive hand in yours does he understand the feelings are mutual.

“Reiner?” you called, looking for your friend. You walked down the dark hallway of the shack you called home. Your oldest friend was having a difficult week watching the children train and fight, so you opened your heart and home to him.

You had heard crying earlier, and wanted to make your gentle giant a soothing cup of tea and ask if there was anything you could do to help. It broke your heart seeing Reiner this way.

As you neared the door, you heard panting coming from Reiner’s room.

“Reiner!” you yelled as you opened the door, fearing the worst for your friend.

Reiner looked at you before flushing a bright tomato red. His large hands wrapped around his generously endowed length. He stammered your name and quick apologies.

You walked towards him, closing the door behind you with a swift kick. You eased his large hands away from his hard cock. Confusion swam in his eyes before you cupped his cheeks in your hands and pulled him in for a soft kiss.

“I wish I had known sooner,” you said. “You know, I’ve loved you since we were kids.”

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Armin Arlet

Overall, Armin is really quiet when he’s pumping himself. It’s not until he gets closer to his end that he’s whining your name.

Armin stays in his room. He may tease himself in the shower, but he prefers to finish in the absolute privacy of his room.

The next day, he’ll be all blushes when he sees you, but you’re so used to Armin’s quiet demeanor that you don’t really think too much of it. Maybe he just had a stomachache and needed to go.

Armin is a master manipulator. He’s possessive and competitive even if not outwardly so. His fantasies can get dark, as he thinks of ways to rig you up, edge you, and fuck you until you know nothing but his name. He dreams of ways to mark you, sweet and innocent you, as his own.

Armin is a switch. While he dreams of taking you for his own, Armin also likes to fantasize about you torturing him. He wants to be wrapped completely in you as he begs you to “please please please” let him cum.

Whines could be heard from Armin’s room through the wall. You were the only one who seemed concerned for him. Eren and the others simply snickered when you mentioned strange noises coming from Armin’s room.

“Why don’t you check on him?” Jean suggested, prompting laughter from the rest of the men.

“Since I’m the only here who seems to care about him, maybe I will,” you said defensive, before stomping your way back to Armin’s room.

You knocked once, twice, and were met with Armin’s whines of your name.

“Armin!” you cried, throwing the door open.

“No! Don’t come in!” the blonde sobbed, but it was too late. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, in full view of you with his hard cock in hand.

“Oh, baby,” you cooed, eyes holding a dangerous glint as you stalked towards Armin. “Let mommy help, okay?”

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Jean Kirstein

A little aloof and obnoxious about it. So what if he masturbates, everyone does. It’s great stress relief. Man has a point.

Jean does try to muffle his sounds. As much as he doesn’t care that people know what he’s up to, he doesn’t intend on giving a show. He also doesn’t intend on everyone knowing it’s you he’s thinking of when his hand slides up and down his long cock.

Jean likes to bite. His pillowcase and sheets are full of tears from where he bites down, wishing it was your soft skin that he was sinking his teeth into. This does help to muffle his noises.

Jean is a talker. He loves dirty talk and will talk to himself while thinking of you. His favorite fantasy is him lavishing you in praises, saying you’re such a “good girl for daddy”.

While Jean is open that he does indeed masturbate, he is very defensive if he gets caught. He tries to cover himself and make up very poor excuses.

“Hey, Jean,” you called before bouncing into your lover’s bedroom. “Have you seen my—.” The sight before you cut you off.

On his bed lay Jean. The white sheets tangled into his legs as he pumped his cock with smooth rhythmic strokes. His head thrown back and eyes clenched shut, tell-tale signs that he was reaching his end. Your name fell from lips in light praises as he called you his good girl and imagined you wrapped tightly around him, milking him. With a heavy grunt, Jean came, spraying his chest with his hot cum.

The sound of light clapping from across the room jerked him out of his afterglow. Jean turned away from you, stammering at you to get out as he pulled up his sheets to cover himself.

“But daddy,” you cooed as you walked forward, swaying your hips just the way Jean liked. “Am I not good enough for you?”

You fake pout had Jean already hard again.

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Connie Springer

An addict and everyone knows it. He is also very defensive over this, stating it’s a healthy stress relief compared to drugs or alcohol. No one can really disagree with him, so he’s left alone.

He prefers the privacy of his room, but will absolutely rub one out in the showers that may or may not be shared by the other men.

The only one who could probably hold eye contact with you the next day after you catch him. You have the same sense of humor, so that helps.

You and Connie are close friends, who spill the dirty details over everything to each other, except of course how badly you want each other. Even Mikasa can see it.

Connie has a slight savior complex. His favorite fantasy is you calling him a hero and asking how you could repay him for saving you.

“Tell me! Tell me!” you begged Connie the next morning at breakfast.

The man in question groaned at your insistence.

“Connie, we tell each other everything, ever since we were cadets, we left no secrets between us. Please, please tell me!”

“No,” Connie whined, hiding his burning face in his hands.

“You had a wet dream, and I want to know who it was about. Maybe I can help, put in a good word with them for you?” You smirked at your best friend’s growing discomfort. “Please, Connie,” you whispered. “I’ll give you half my lunch.” You hoped to bribe the man out of silence.

Connie jumped up and pounded his tight fists on the table. “You!” He shouted. “It was you!” His face grew beet red as the cafeteria occupants turned towards the racket. “It wasn’t a wet dream either.” His voice softened in embarrassment as he turned away from you.

“Oh.” You sat in silence with Connie for a few brief moments before placing a hand on his shoulder. “Do you mind showing me then?”

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Levi Ackerman

Very quiet about it. It’s a surprise to most when it comes out that he masturbates, but as Jean said, who doesn’t? Still, what he does in private is his own business, and no one dares to mention if they’ve caught him.

For him, it’s a form of stress relief, so he’s prone to rub one out in the privacy of his shower or office. Occasionally he’ll lay in bed, but really the shower is just so much easier to clean.

Levi’s favorite fantasy unsurprisingly involves a maid outfit. He’d die if he ever saw you in one, bent over and giving him the briefest peek of your panties.

Overstimulation king. This man’s refractory period is next to zero. Also very kinky.

Canonically, Levi is an awkward sub. If you caught him, he would freeze before getting angry and yelling at you to leave him alone. He would completely avoid any and all interaction with you to the best of his abilities, prompting Erwin and Hange to ask if you’ve done something to provoke him.

That’s if you didn’t take matters into your own hands. Your handsome captain is overworked, and it’s your duty to help.

“Captain!” you called as you barged into Levi’s office, only to find the man hunched over his desk, head resting on the desk with sweat dripping onto the cool wooden surface. His back heaved as he struggled to regain his breath.

“Captain! Are you okay?!” You panicked and ran towards your captain.

Levi jumped up, face completely drained of color. He blushed furiously as he processed that it was you who walked in on him in such a vulnerable state.

“No!” Levi yelped. “Don’t come any closer! Get out!”

You ignored your captain’s direct orders and reached out for him, noticing the sticky white coating his hand.

“Oh,” you giggled. “I see. I thought I had cleaned everything, but it seems I missed a spot.” You raised Levi’s hand to your lips before licking him clean. You held his icy gray eyes in your darkening gaze as you drank everything he had to offer.

You smiled as you glanced down at his cock, already hardening once again.

“Do you want help with that,” you asked coyly. “Captain?”

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Erwin Smith

This man makes a goddamn show out of the act. He is sprawled on silk sheets, sporting nothing but an untied emerald green robe that lavishly falls on either side of him.

An exhibitionist who really doesn’t care if he’s caught. In fact, he hopes you walk by and hear him moaning your name. His favorite fantasy is you walking in on him like this. His bed is facing the doorway and he’s propped against luxurious pillows just in case.

He’s also loud. LOUD. He wants to be heard.

He pampers himself before and after like a true king. His skin is soft from a fresh shower, complete with moisturizing routine. Afterwards, he’ll take a few moments to regain his breath before collecting himself to clean up. He’s very careful to get all his cum on his own body and not his robe or sheets.

An arrogant bastard, but can back himself up. He has every reason to think so highly of himself and his sexuality.

You heard the deep moans from down the hall before you even neared your commander’s bedroom. Erwin’s deep, breathy pants of your name filled the empty hallway and echoed around you. You blushed furiously as you tried to pass, making your way to your own sleeping quarters.

As you passed, you noticed the door to Erwin’s bedroom was cracked open. You had always had a thing for your Greek god of a commander, and couldn’t help yourself as you peeked in through the open door.

You watched Erwin stroke himself, his perfect hand sculpted by Michelangelo himself moving up and down on his thick cock.

Erwin came with a deep grown of your name, as he painted his chiseled chest white. The sounds of Erwin’s ecstasy hitting you straight in your core as your own sex pulsed with need.

“Ah!” Erwin called, a dangerous glint in his ocean eyes. “Just the person I wanted to see!”

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but satisfaction would bring it back.

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Bonus: Dick HCS

Eren: Above average in girth and length. He’s full of lean muscle and his dick matches. He has a nice curve too.

Reiner: Very well endowed. He’s a giant and his dick suits him. He’ll stretch you nicely and hit your cervix every time.

Armin: Just above average, but he worries he’s small. You remind him that he fits you just right.

Jean: longer than average, but of average girth. He’s a little self conscious of himself until you call him “daddy” and praise his cock.

Connie: average but knows how to use it and please you

Levi: this short king is packing and you know it

Erwin: a monster and he knows it. This man is unpacking a slip-n-slide every time he takes his pants off.

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[jordanstrophe]

Be a Good guest, part 6

CW: Whump, parental/intimate whumper, whumpee being chipped, blood, captivity, belting referenced, angst, abusive treatment, panic attack

Masterlist

Walter was stressed out today and grumbling to himself, not even making eye contact with Gabriel, which was quite new. He wasn’t sure, but he felt like that was a pretty bad sign. Gabriel took a deep breath before approaching him as Walter mindlessly paced around the kitchen. The chain rattling behind him made his presence known as Walter went still, glancing in his direction. 

“W-... Walter... Are you okay?” He asked. This was the first time he approached him willingly, or spoke first. They both froze and stared at one another, trying to read each other's mood and motives. Walter finally let off a small sad smile, taking his hand and sat him down. 

“I’m alright little one... I’m just nervous, a little stressed.” He waved his hand as if it were nothing. 

Stressed hmm? Maybe keeping a man controlled and locked away in his house was finally getting to him. The “smash-a-window-and-run-for-the-trees” tactic clearly didn’t work, so maybe getting him relaxed and off guard would be better, even safer. 

“Why? I thought you were happy.” Gabriel tried to sound sad and innocent. 

“Oh sweetheart of course I’m happy. I’m worried about you.” 

What... He’s worried about me? How could he...

“You broke loose and got yourself hurt.” He mumbled sadly, staring down at his bandaged wrists he was holding. Gabriel's heart sank a little, that wasn't the only thing that hurt him last night, the red bruises crossed on his back said otherwise. 

“I’m just so worried about you all the time now. What if I take your eyes off you and something terrible happens!” He cried, squeezing his hand protectively. “I feel like there’s nothing I can do to guarantee your safety."

“Then.. W-why did you h-hurt me?” Gabriel rasped, tears instantly falling down his face before he had a chance to suppress them. 

“Oh no, no no sweetheart I didn’t hurt you. I corrected and disciplined you, there’s a difference, I need you to understand that. I would never hurt you.” He soothed. 

Gabriel's gut twisted with horror and confusion. He was promising only love and safety, yet his actions never reflected. Walter perked up, lifting himself to his feet. 

“I know what we can do, hang on.” He smiled, petting his hair as he walked behind him out of the kitchen. Gabriel’s eyes followed him out with confusion, holding his arms crossed nervously as he tried to guess what he was doing. His heart jolted when he heard the basement door open. 

No.

No!

No no no no no no...!

He hadn’t even realized he had jumped to his feet, his body quaking and cringing. The house shook and rattled as Walter drug something heavy up the stairs. Each time it thunked against a step, getting closer and closer, was one step further Gabriel would take to a panic attack. By the time Walter made it up the stairs he had thoroughly pressed himself into the corner trembling, the only thing not tucked away was his one leg being outstretched by the chain that wouldn’t allow him to go any further. 

Walter let out a sigh as he crossed his arms, stepping aside to show the small detailed wooden piano behind him. 

“You said you liked to play, so this should give you something to do.” He smiled. Gabriel's eyes darted from Walter to the piano, waiting for a second part like “oh, and I’m also going to tie you to a chair while you play, and every key you get wrong I’m going to belt you again” but it was only silence that followed. 

He nervously struggled to his feet using the chain to steady himself. Part of him was actually quite relieved and excited to have something to do. But the other part felt like any time not spent trying to get out of here was time wasted.

But...

He really missed playing. He had to sell his first piano and that broke his heart...

“Can I...?” He muttered with a hushed tone. Walter nodded with an approving smile, stepping aside to give him some space to approach. He took a wide path to get to it, grabbing a kitchen chair on his way over and setting it down. He slid just one leg onto the chair, still being cautious incase he had to jump back to his feet, but placing his hands on the smooth keys was instantly relaxing to him. 

The piano was beautiful, decorated with hand carved wooden detail. It wasn’t the most well kept, obviously being locked in that forbidden basement for so long, but it functioned as well as it could. He played by ear, so he was able to quickly pick up his old habits and memories of his favorite songs. He played something calming, a slow tune with a peaceful feeling flowing off every note. Not soon after he was fully relaxed in the chair playing fluently. 

Walter seemed to have gotten relaxed as well, as all the tension left. He quietly hummed along to the music as he turned on the stove for dinner. For the first time, he felt okay. He was still terrified, but he at least had something to do to keep him sane. 

"You're very talented, Gabriel." Walter beamed. 

After some time, dinner was on the table and Gabriel's fingers grew stiff. When he stopped playing the room grew silent as all the peaceful tone seemed to die with the music. Dinner looked like it fell from the heavens as usual, the smell was tempting and delicious. He sat at the table, Walter however, didn’t. He stayed standing, hovering near the counter with his hands resting. Gabriel looked up at him with a puzzled and expecting expression.

“Go ahead and eat, little one. I’ll be just a minute.” He smiled lovingly as always, but it was different this time... It was tilted, sad. Gabriel didn’t want to disobey or tense him further, so he did his best to shove food into his mouth as much as he could stomach. The stress still made it difficult to eat as every bite was forced down. 

Wait.

Something was wrong. 

Something in his view was different. He glanced over where Walter was, but was nowhere to be seen. He never heard him move, where did he-

*Clang*

Gabriel gasped, his entire body jolting as something loud snapped at his neck followed by blinding pain. He disappeared under the table, his hand covering his neck as he felt blood. 

“Wh-!.. What did you do!? Aaa!” He cried out, as the sharp pain in his neck spiked higher and higher. Walter was quick to duck under the table, a small device that was in his hands clattering to the floor. He pulled him out and cradled him in his lap while he held a napkin to his neck.

“Shh, it’s okay.” He whispered, putting pressure on the wound. 

“N-no it’s-s no-t okay!” Gabriel barked while he sobbed, his voice wobbling. 

Walter tilted his head to the side and pressed a large band aid on his neck. He let him go and backed away to give him some space as he trembled on the floor, gasping for air. 

“Wh-what did you do?” Gabriel asked, looking up at him with glossy miserable eyes.

“Imbedded a tracker into your neck.” He said, staring down at him.

“Y-you... You embedded a t-tracker... Into my neck?” He repeated back with a flat tone. 

“Yep! now you can never be lost again.” He smiled, crouching back down next to him. Tears instantly poured back into his eyes as he sobbed, Walter tried to shush him and comfort him as best as he could. He eventually lifted him in his arms and carried him to the couch, covering him with a blanket while he fidget with the TV. He hadn’t turned it on in years, but he felt like Gabriel deserved something to take his mind off of things. 

Gabriel just laid on the couch, wide eyes and panting, his hand still clamped around the band aid on his neck. The TV flashed on as they both jumped with surprise, Walter mostly because he actually managed to fix it. He sat next to Gabriel on the couch as he turned it to something fun and distracting, combing a hand soothingly through his hair as he eventually calmed down and fell asleep. 

@alien-octopus @yesthisiswhump  @lave-whump @whumpasaurus101 @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @hamiltonwhumpdump @just-another-whumper @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @approach-me-and-ill-cry @whump-it

ʕっ• ᴥ • ʔっ  Thank you for reading!

[wwilloww]

cliff diving pt. 3 | kth (m)

genre: fluff. smut. nonidol!au. camping!au.

pairings: Taehyung | Reader

rating: 18+. NSFW. Explicit.

word count: 6.4k

warnings: cursing. talk of sex. skinny dipping. spooning. grinding. dirty talk. hair pulling. public nudity. public sex. oral sex (f giving and recieving). slight exhibitionism. unprotected sex (okay guys, you know the drill, wrap it before you tap it). creampie.

summary: Every year as soon as the weather warms up, your friends haul ass out of the city to the mountains where you camp and hike in the shadow of giant rocks and ancient evergreens—and now apparently jump off of cliffs for fun. This time, an innocent round of truth or dare inspires you and Tae to play a mischievous game without getting caught by your friends.

a/n:  THE FINAL CHAPTER. Who woulda thunk this piece would end up so long. Thank you so much to everyone who helped with this series, especially the always lovely @ot7always, who beta read the final chapter. This has been my baby for the past month, so if you’ve enjoyed it, it would absolutely make my day to hear from you!  

<- previous chapter || series masterlist ||

©️WWILLOWW DO NOT TRANSLATE, REPOST, OR COPY MY WORK

Chapter Three

“The fire is dying down faster than I thought,” Jungkook frowns as he pokes the dwindling flames with a stick.

You had long since dried off from your swim and now the five of you were huddled around the fire, laughing and exchanging stories. It almost seemed normal. Almost as if nothing had changed. Taehyung kept a respectable distance from you, knowing Jin was periodically glancing over at the two of you.

“I’ll grab some more firewood from the car,” you say, standing up from your chair and placing your steaming mug of tea on the ground.

As you walk away from the fire and the distraction of your friends, you finally have a moment to breathe and reflect. Within your chest, you feel as if you are being split in two. Your heartbeat echoes through your body, unrelenting in its pace. Now that you know he wants you, a floodgate has opened, pumping elation and excitement through your veins with each beat of your heart. Yet, something akin to shame sings beneath your skin, turning your cheeks red and pressing your nails into the skin of your palm. What if you had taken things too far?

In the heat of the moment, it hadn’t felt wrong. He had melted into your body like he belonged there. You’d never been kissed like that before, kissed like he knew you, like he understood every curve and desire of your body. You run your finger over your lips, the lower one still pink and swollen from Taehyung’s ministrations.

It was the most natural thing to allow him to wrap himself around you, and yet, you feel frozen at the thought of what could possibly lay beyond this.  

“Tae, why don’t you help her?” Jin suggests, his gaze flickering between the two of you as you near the edge of camp. “Bring enough back for hot water in the morning.”

Taehyung’s mouth opens and closes, before he mutters a hurried, “Sure,” and rises from his chair to follow after you, jogging to catch up. You smile up at him when he comes to your side.

The car is parked a short distance away from the campsite, short enough you’re not worried about lugging piles of wood back and far enough that you’re not concerned anyone will overhear you.

“Do you think Jin saw anything?” Taehyung snickers in your ear.

You giggle.

“No, I think he would have said something if he did.”

“And what would he say?”

“Ah...um,” you flounder, smiling up at Taehyung’s grinning face as you reach the car. “Don’t be stupid?”

Suddenly large hands are firm on your waist and Tae spins you around, your back hitting the metal of the car.

He’s close. Awfully close. He presses you up against the car, his chest pushed to yours.

“Is it stupid?”

“I, uh—” Your eyes widen as he stares down at you, unmoving, a look of curiosity flashing across your face.

“Is it?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, eyes tracing the slight pout to his lips, a delicious pink. “Yeah, it’s pretty stupid.”

He reaches up to tug on a strand of hair that’s fallen loose from your messy bun. It’s a familiar gesture—one that he’s done for years—but now it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Why’s that?”

“You, mister, are pushing your luck,” you say, avoiding the question. “The others are right over there.” As much as you want to reach up and pull him against you, there is a lingering tension that what you’re doing is dangerous, risky. So instead of wrapping your arms around his neck, you push gently against his chest and grin up at him as he leans closer to you. The all-too-familiar habit of teasing one another, mixed with the novelty of the warmth of his hands against your skin—the combination sucks the air right out of your lungs.

“Would this be pushing my luck?” He leans down towards you, stopping only when his lips are an inch away and his gaze is locked on yours.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Because I kind of want to push it.”

Your heart all but stops. Your body is screaming for this. All you can think of is the way he felt against you earlier, the way you didn’t need to think of anything else with him wrapped around you, the way nothing mattered except for keeping him close.

Fuck it, you think.

“Then push it,” you breathe, closing the distance between you two.

There is a moment when all you can feel is the pillowy plush of his lips. However, the spell is quickly broken as he nips your bottom lip gently between his teeth and you gasp. His lips are feverish as he presses against you, pulling you as tightly to him as he can. Palms spread wide against your back, dark curls tickling your forehead, his breath heavy against your mouth.

“Taehyung,” you breathe against his lips, tightening the grip you have around his waist. But instead of leaning into you like you had wanted him to, he’s pulling back, his irises blown wide, lips slightly swollen.

“Do you really think this is stupid?”

You pause for a moment, searching his gaze.

“I don’t want to—”

Your sentence is cut short as you hear footsteps quickly approaching. Taehyung steps back from you just as Jimin jogs into view.

“Do you guys need any help?”

“Yeah, that would be great,” Taehyung beams as he opens up the trunk to hand Jimin a pile of firewood. Taehyung hands you an almost too-large stack and smiles softly at you before turning and heading back to camp.

I don’t want to get hurt, you finish internally as you watch his tall frame silhouetted against the campfire. I don’t want to lose you.

That night, you lie awake without Tahyunge’s hands on you. Jin and Jimin had stayed up, whispering who knows what to each other around the campfire. Taehyung, seemingly wary of their lingering gaze, had become unusually shy, averting his gaze from you and instead focusing on your other friends.

After you climb into the tent, Taehyung quickly falls fast asleep, clear by the even pace of his breath and the slackness in his jaw. But even after Jin and Jimin crawl into their sleeping bags and settle down for the night, you lie wide awake.

You wonder if you should reach over, if you should roll just a little closer to him. You’ve never craved someone’s touch like this. You’ve never let the thought of someone wrap so devastatingly around your mind. If only he would fucking wrap himself around me.

You hold back a groan, split in half between sexual and emotional frustration.

Through the mesh in the tent, you can see the stars blinking down at you. This far out in the mountains, the stars sing with a strength and clarity you don’t get to see anywhere else. Looking up at them, you feel so very small.

Could there be beauty in this kind of smallness? The quickness of your life, like dew on a rose—magnifying and drawing attention to the color it exists upon, only resting for a moment before the day begins—doesn’t that smallness, in the same moment it may make your life feel insignificant, make it all the more precious?

You close your eyes and feel your breath wash through you.

This smallness—this insignificance—this all-consuming feeling—is precious to you.

This thing with Taehyung—you aren’t quite sure how else to describe it—scares you. As you look in on the feelings that rise in you, as you look forward to that which is still to come, all you know is that you don’t know. And then it strikes you.

In looking over the sharp edge at a dark unknown, there is an indescribable—but undeniable—beauty. To take that step? To take that risk? In that moment you realize that it is not what waits on the other side, but the act of stepping into empty air, the act of jumping, that is what holds the mystifying beauty of life. This is the thing that takes the smallness of a single moment and stretches it as large as a lifetime.

Knowing this makes the decision for you. You roll over on your side and nuzzle into Taehyung’s chest. The mix of his familiar musk—the perfect combination of juniper and his signature cologne, a little faded from the mix of campfire and coffee grounds, eases the tight feeling in your chest. Just enough.

Sleep comes quickly. As that dark shore approaches, you feel a large and gentle hand wrap tightly around your waist.

You wake with a start to Tae shaking you gently.

Your eyes widen and you open your mouth to say something but he covers it with a large hand and places a finger over his lips.

“I want to show you something,” he whispers. “Will you come with me?” You nod, a sleepy smile spreading across your features as you rub the night out of your eyes. With one hand he holds out your bathing suit, which you quickly, but confusedly, slip on. Despite all the times that you two had changed in front of one another, he averts his gaze like he had yesterday.

It’s still dark outside as you crawl as quietly as possible over the piles of clothes and sleeping bags in your shared tent, doing your very best to not wake the others.

As Tae unzips the tent, you hear a groan and the ruffling of nylon behind you.

“Tae—?” Jimin’s sleep-fogged voice cuts through the darkness. He’s barely lifted his head but he’s staring directly at the two of you, eyes narrowed and heavy with sleep.

“Shh, Jiminie,” Tae sings, his voice like a lullaby. “Go back to sleep.”

“Okay.” Jimin lets his head fall back. You breathe a sigh of relief. As you climb out of the tent and slip your shoes on, you find something warm and tingly spreading through your chest: excitement.

As you take in the dark shadow of the mountains against the lightening backdrop of the sky, Tae wraps himself around your back, arms coming around to settle securely by your collarbone.

“I love how you’re keeping quiet for me,” he whispers, and the words shoot straight through your body. “I wonder what else you’ll do if I ask.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice and you fight the habit to shy away from his attention. He bends down, his hair brushing your cheek so that his mouth ghosts over the junction between your throat and your shoulders. It’s just enough sensation to raise goosebumps all over your body.

But it’s not enough.

You shiver, and he takes that opportunity to nip at the sensitive skin of your neck. You let out the quietest of moans and can feel his lips turn to a grin against your skin. Just as you’re about to turn into him, to press your lips against his, he’s pulling away and the serious, gentle Taehyung is replaced by the smirking, devilish version.

He gives you a boxy grin and takes off towards the water, ripping off his shirt as he goes.

You don’t hesitate before following him.

The two of you paddle out to the middle of the lake at an easy pace. Taehyung undoubtedly has a competitive streak, and while that shines through in many of his interactions, his desire for companionship is what takes over in the quiet moments. The people he cherishes most in his life are those who he can sit with in comfortable silence.  

You swim in silence as rose-colored streaks and white fluffy clouds slowly paint the dark sky. The only sound is that of the water parting for you and the first measures of bird song.

You’re used to early morning swims with Taehyung and your friends, it being one of your favorite forms of exercise. But this feels different. As the mountains loom above you and gold ripples of dawn shimmer on the surface of the water, there is a sacred weight—anticipation—that hangs within this moment.

You fall into this beauty, focusing on the way your breath creates a pattern in the sounds of the world. It’s so easy to fall into this charm that you slow your pace down to a crawl, lifting your head out of the water to take in the view.

Suddenly, you’re tugged back as strong arms grab you from behind and you squeal in surprise.

“Thought I lost you for a minute there,” he sings as your surprise turns into laughter. “It’s this way.”

And just like that, his touch is lost and he’s paddling away again. You follow behind him, watching the way the muscles of his back ripple as he glides through the water. You realize he’s leading you towards a spot in the lake where the shores press together, creating a narrow inlet. The water is still deep as you swim into it, tall evergreens rising above, casting deep shadows onto the small swells of the lake.

You see a shore quickly approaching and quicken your stroke to catch up to him. When you do, you smirk to yourself and launch yourself onto his back, shoving his head underwater in the process. He sputters but quickly straightens up, a deep laugh echoing through his chest. You are still clinging like a koala to him, and he sucks in a large breath before throwing the both of you back into the water.

Everything goes quiet.

A low thrum echoes through your skull, the sound of water—lots of water, humming low and deep. You let go of Taehyung just as he spins towards you, your eyes opening in the clear lakewater. Your hands grip the strength of his shoulders as he faces you and time seems to slow down—the dark locks of his hair flow freely in the current, forming a halo that dances around his sharp features. And despite the shadows cast by the looming evergreens above the surface, his skin seems to glow in the tide of snowmelt and sunrise.

All too soon, your lungs begin to ache for air and you kick up towards the surface, letting Taehyung pull you along with him towards the shore.

Here, the lake is shallow enough to stand. His hands are firm on your hips as he turns you towards him, pressing you to his torso.

There’s a hungry look in his eyes and he licks his lips as his gaze locks on yours.

“Why do you do that?” you blurt, your words sounding harsh, like they could break the stillness of the morning. That same fear is rushing over you, the dread of looming disaster.

“I—” his eyes catch yours as his eyelashes flutter. “I want to.” He blushes, suddenly shy. “I want to kiss you. Can I—?”

“Please,” is all you can force out.

His lips come to meet yours. Unlike your last kisses, this one is gentle. You press against his lips, letting your hands glide up his torso to rest on his chest. The kiss is soft, slow, and you can feel him breathing steadily beneath your hands, even as his grip around your waist grows tighter.

His hands trace their way up your sides to cradle your head between his large hands. The gentleness with which he holds you—the tenderness with which he kisses you—

“I don’t understand,” you manage to whisper against his lips.

He pulls back, a puzzled look on his face.

“What don’t you understand?”

“You. This.” Your instinct is to look away, but instead you hold his gaze, making the decision to turn away from your shyness, from the fear that bubbles up in your throat. He’s holding you close to his body and his chest rises and falls evenly, his eyes focused intently on you as you speak. “Like, is this a one-time thing? Is this just us messing around? Is this a friends thing?”

He laughs. “I don’t usually treat my friends like this.”

“Jimin will be disappointed to hear that,” you giggle.

“No, I’m serious.” His brow furrows and he bites his lip. “I like you. Maybe that’s stupid, like you said. Maybe this is stupid.” He gestures between the two of you. “But I’m willing to take that risk if you are. And I don’t know… it probably requires a longer conversation but I’d like this to be a more than friends thing.” He smiles softly at you. “If… if that’s what you want too.”

“I don’t want to be friends with you,” you state.

“Good. I have absolutely no interest in being friends with you either,” he grins.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” you smile back softly. He nods his consent and you lean in.

It starts slow, tender.

His hands come up to draw against your sides and you shudder at the delicacy of his touch.

However, any sense of delicacy quickly disappears as you tangle your hands in his hair, loving the way the silky strands tangle around your fingers as if even the smallest details about him are begging you to come closer. Noticing the way his grip on you tightens as you run your fingers against his scalp, you take a guess and tug just enough to elicit a rough, graveled moan from him.

“You like that?” you ask.

“God, yes.”

Your grip tightens around his dark strands and you ever so gently build up the pressure in your wrist until his face is flushing and he’s tilting into your touch, leaving his neck exposed.

You pepper kisses softly down from his lips to his neck, where you nip and bite at the delicate skin. Between your ministrations on his neck and the firm hand you have in his hair, he’s putty in your hands.

However, his compliance doesn’t last long. He seemingly regains his senses and he slips his knee between yours, your center meeting his thigh. He presses up, applying a warm and heavy pressure just where the tension is building. Just as you’re starting to move your hips against his leg, he stops. You whine, chasing his touch. Although he smirks down at your pout, his next words are soft.

“You’re freezing,” he murmurs.

“I’m fine,” you say, reaching for his lips.

“No, you’re shaking.” He takes a step back. “Let’s get you out of the water. I know exactly how to warm you up.” He sends you a wink.

Despite how heated Taehyung has made you feel, he’s right. Your fingers are white and a chill has sunk deep into your bones, leaving you shivering.  

He wraps an arm around your shoulders and leads you to the shore, guiding you over the slick rocks of the shallows.  

“This way,” he says, taking your hand and leading you alongside one of the rivers that feeds the lake. It’s shallow but wide, and he helps you balance as you step over the river rocks. It’s only a minute or so of walking before you hear the sound of rushing water. As you turn the corner, you find the source of it.

Water tumbles down from a height of twenty or thirty feet, falling into a crystal blue pool. Steam rises off the pool and as you move closer, you realize it’s… warm?

You jog towards the hot spring, slipping a little as you do so.

“Hey! Be careful!” Taehyung calls from behind you, but you don’t slow down. You only slow once you reach the edge of the water, dipping your toe in to test the temperature. Reassured, you wade into the water, sighing at the comforting warmth.

Once you’re in deep enough, you submerge your entire body, allowing the heat of the water to ease some of the coldness out of your limbs. You hold your breath for as long as you can before emerging, pushing your hair back. You sigh, deep and long, as your body warms and replaces the chilled tint of your skin with a gentle flush. After a minute, you open your eyes to see Taehyung standing, waist deep, just watching you. The corner of his lip is twitched up in the smallest ghost of a smile.

“You’re beautiful when you’re relaxed,” he says.

“Thanks.” You flush at the compliment.

“Aren’t you going to tell me I’m pretty too?”

You break into laughter and he dives beneath the water, swimming away from you and towards the shore. You follow after him.

“Was this the only thing you had in mind to warm me up?” you tease, coming to press up against his back, wrapping your arms around his torso.

“What? Is my secret hidden hot spring not good enough for you?”

“No, it’s perfect. I just… thought there might be a quicker way to warm up.”

He grins at you as you plop down onto the shore, wringing the water out of your hair. He comes to sit in front of you, kneeling between your legs.

“Did you now?” Tae grabs one of your legs, pulling it into his lap. He begins to massage your calf, hoping to bring some blood flow back to your limbs. “Something like this?”

“Something like this,” you repeat back to him, a slow smile spreading across your features. His fingers are lithe and nimble and somehow move in beautiful circles while still digging deep into the muscle. He had always done this for you after a long day of climbing, but with your legs spread and lips still swollen from his teeth, his touch takes on a different, blossoming meaning.

“God, that feels good,” you groan, your body relaxing under his touch.

“How good?” He bites his lip.

“Good enough that I want you to keep going.”

He begins to move up your leg, reaching your thigh before stopping to massage the fleshy bits of your body. His touch unravels the coldness from your blood and releases the tension from your early morning swim. It’s now your turn to melt into his hands and he takes note of this, leaning forward to meet your lips.

The kiss is light, but his hands dig deeper, moving upwards and closer to the edge of your swim bottoms.

He releases you with one hand to push the still-dripping hair out of his eyes. He catches you watching him and reaches out to cup your chin.

“You know, when you want something your eyes widen, adorably.” He runs his thumb over your lower lip. “And your lips part…” your blush deepens as his gaze becomes more intense. “...when you look at me. I’ve always noticed that. Noticed it the first time I met you.”

“You—you knew this whole time?”

“No, I thought that was just you—you being you. But now, knowing it’s just me,” he grins.

“It isn’t just you,” you say defensively.

“Isn’t it?”

You meet his gaze.

“Maybe.”

“I’ll take it.”

He leans forward to kiss you, his hand meeting your inner thigh again. His large fingers skate around the edge of your swimsuit. You’re so on edge after days of teasing that the simple gesture has you gasping against his mouth.

“Fuck, Tae, if you don’t touch me now I… well I don’t know what I’ll do.”

He shoots you one of his classic boxy grins. “Don’t be so dramatic,” he says as he sits back on his heels and walks his fingers towards the edge of your swimsuit, brushing the pad of his thumb over the fabric. You arch into his touch. After so much build up you’re overly sensitive. With one finger, he toys with the edge of the fabric and the swell of your lower lips, tracing around them. “You know I’ll always give you whatever you want. Especially when you look like this.”

He shoves your swimsuit to the side.

“So pretty and pink for me,” he murmurs. He draws his index finger up and down your folds. The touch is simple but it draws a whine from you.

His eyes shoot upwards to meet yours.

“Do that again.”

“Make me.”

He grins and slides your swimsuit down your legs and tosses it off to the side. Without breaking eye contact, he lowers his head to your glistening lips, using his hands to spread you wider for him.

“Take your top off,” he commands. “I want to see all of you.”

As you make quick work of slipping your swim top off, he kisses gently down your thigh, watching your tits come free and harden against the crisp morning air. And then his lips are pressed against you, warm and plush. He sends a stiff flick to your clit, sending sparks straight up your spine. Your head falls back, mouth hanging open.

“Tae, you feel so good.”

You can feel his lips curl into a smile against you.

His tongue laves over your cunt rhythmically, drawing some kind of beautiful pattern. You can’t help but grind against his mouth, pushing your hips up towards him. When his tongue dips into your entrance you cry out. He groans against your lips, sending vibrations through you. As he builds a steady pace you find your orgasm hurtling towards you, crashing into your body before you can warn him. You gasp, hands shooting out to grab onto whatever you can.

“Good girl,” he whispers against you, unrelenting in his pace.

As you reach down to push the hair away from his eyes, you notice his hips moving. He’s thrusting into his own hand with the same rhythm as his tongue.

Something about the unrestrained desire in his movements, the sight of him chasing  his own pleasure, has you clenching again and he smirks against you. You can feel his lips curl.

“C’mere, baby,” you murmur, trying to pull him up. “Let me take care of you.”

The two of you switch positions, him leaning back against his elbows and you on your belly in the grass between his thighs. The position is almost casual, as you kick your feet up behind you. But any portrait of innocence is broken when you pull his swim shorts down. His length springs free, already hard and slapping against the taut skin of his belly.

“God, you have a beautiful cock,” you gape, reaching out to wrap your hand around it gently.

He chokes at that.

“Well I’ve never heard that one before.”

“It’s true. So pretty and flushed.” You trace your finger over the prominent vein and grin when his cock twitches in your hand. “Ooh, sensitive.”

“I appreciate your curiosity, babe, but god, please, touch me.”

“I am.”

“More,” he begs.

You smirk up at him as you take your time leaning down and wrapping your lips around the head of his cock. He tastes salty and a little bitter. You run your tongue along the underside, using a hand to cover whatever isn’t in your mouth before pulling him fully inside. You begin a slow but punishing pace, bobbing up and down on his length.

It’s not long before his hips are twitching up into your mouth.

You look up at him to find him slack jawed, reeling in pleasure and delight that it’s your lips wrapped around him.

“God, you look so good with your lips wrapped around me.” It slips out before he knows what he’s saying. But the look of desire and admiration in your eyes is enough to placate his nerves. “Better than I imagined.”

You pull your mouth off of his cock with a slight pop. “You thought about this?”

“Mhmm.” He swallows hard as your mouth descends on him again. “The other day—that fucking popsicle.”

Your eyes widen with a hint of a smile but your pace doesn’t slow.

“And before that too—god I couldn’t stop thinking about it—”

“What were you thinking about?”

“I’m sorry—, I tried, I didn’t mean—”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I thought about it too.” Your reassurance sparks a light in his eye. “Tell me what you thought about.”

Your lips wrap around him again as you tongue at the head of his cock.

“Back in college, you would do this thing— fuck— where you would suck on your pencil in the library. Or your water bottle. Really, anything. Anything with your lips.” Your eyebrows shoot up as you remember those long nights spent studying in the stacks, and all the times Taehyung had urgently excused himself to the bathroom, returning a while later with a thin sheen of sweat across his forehead and a dopy, almost guilty smile painting his features.  

“Mhmm, what else?” you mumble as you lathe your tongue up and down the underside of his cock.

“The other day, on the cliff. All I could think about was you fucking someone else.” His eyes narrow. “That night in the tent, with you rubbing yourself all over my dick—” Your eyes widen at his directness, a spark of desire shooting through your core. “All I wanted to do pull those tiny shorts down and fuck you until that thought stopped spiraling through my head, until everyone knows who you belong to.”

His words egg you on and you attempt to take as much of him into your mouth as possible. The head of his cock brushes up against the back of your throat and you suppress the urge to gag. Instead, you take a deep breath, relax, and ease him slowly into the tight walls of your throat.  

“Ah!” he gasps as you attempt to swallow around his length “Okay, okay, come here baby,” he chants, more to himself than to you. “I’m gonna come if you keep it up like that.” He loosens his hands from where they’ve been tangled in your hair to pull you up so that you’re straddling him.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss him. He can taste the bitter tang of his own precome on your tongue and he loves it. He loves tasting himself on you.

As you settle your weight into his embrace all of your attention is drawn to the hard length pressing along your folds. You’re soaking and he slides easily against you as his hips move in rhythm with his mouth. You moan directly into his open mouth when the head of his cock pushes directly against your sensitive clit.

“You want to do this?” you ask against his lips.

“Yes. God, yes. More than anything.”

You smile and lean back,  reaching down to grip his cock as you align it with your entrance.

“Wait—”

You freeze.

“I should have said this earlier. I don’t want you to do this because you think you need to or because you think this is the only thing I want you for.”

Your eyes widen, taking his flustered look in. Despite the sensation of his hard cock throbbing in your hands, all you can feel is the way your heart swells at hearing his words.

“I like you—I know I said that already—I like you a lot.” You press a shaky kiss to his lips, taking a deep breath. “I want you, not just this,” you say. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.”

“Good. Are you gonna make me wait even more?”

With a smirk, you grip him tightly and slowly push just the head in, allowing time for you to adjust to his girth.

And then you pull up, releasing him from your warmth.

You do it again, only taking the tip of his cock. And again.

His hands are on you, and there’s a fire burning in his eyes.

“Please.”

You smile.

His adam’s apple bobs as you slide slowly down on his length, his fingers digging into your hips so hard it almost hurts. Almost.

“C’mere,” he pushes against your back so that you’re leaning forward, foreheads pressed together. You both stay in that position for a moment, unmoving. It’s enough to just savor the way your body relaxes around him, savoring the warmth, the feeling of melting into one another.

All you can hear are the sounds of your breath and the water lapping at your feet, mimicking the sounds of a heartbeat.

Finally, you shift your hips against him, lifting up just enough to feel him drag delightfully against your tight walls. You love the way his next intake of breath is sharp, as if he is doing his best to hold himself back.

With a grin, you push him back so he’s now resting his full back on the ground and you’re riding him. You begin your pace torturously slow, gently picking up speed.

Taehyung has always been a man aware of the way he looks. When you were younger, you all swore he could become an actor. He had a knack for twisting his face into exactly what people wanted to see from him, but here, now, he’s completely unraveled beneath you.

You watch in fascination as shifting emotion and sensation flickers freely across his face. Pleasure. Delight. Desire. Need.

His eyes flash open. “Moan for me. I want to hear you.”

You bite down on your lip, still doing your very best to keep your whimpers and groans stilled within your chest.

“I said I want to hear you moan for me,” Tae growls, shifting beneath you. The new angle is just enough to allow him to thrust up into you at his own pace. It’s just enough to split you open in pleasure and an involuntary moan slips out of you. You clap your hand over your mouth but he pries it away from you. “I love your voice,” he reminds you gently. “There’s nothing wrong with using it.”

“I don’t want them to hear,” you laugh, struggling to get the words out as he continues to hit a sensitive spot inside you.

“Let them hear. I want them to hear.” You look down just in time to see something mischievous glint in his eyes. His hands are tightening around your waist, and in a flash he flips you onto your back so he’s now in control of the angle and his thrusts. “Let them know it’s me drawing those pretty little sounds out of you.”

The combination of his words and the new angle stirs a deep fire in your belly and a sharp cry leaves your lips.

“That’s my angel,” Taehyung praises as his pace picks up. “So willing to do exactly what I tell her to do.”

He hooks his hand underneath your knee to get a better angle. You moan again, half for the sake of witnessing the bliss that spreads across his face at the sound of it.

“That’s it, baby. Let them know whose cock has you making those sounds. Let them know you’re all mine.”

You reach out for something to grab onto, twisting your fingers into the coarse ground as you arch your back.

“Baby, baby, grab onto me instead,” Tae coos from above you, unrelenting in his pace as your orgasm builds. “Hold onto me.”

You bring your hands underneath Tae’s arms to wrap around his back. When he hits a particularly soft spot inside you you groan, your fingers coming up to dig into his shoulders. It’s not just you. Your body wants him closer. Needs him closer. On his next thrust, you rake your nails down his back, trying to press him closer.

“Fuck,” Tae hisses.

“Closer…” you gasp. “I need you closer.”

“I’m already inside you and somehow you need me closer?” Tae grunts. “Greedy girl.”

“Yes, yes,” you beg. “Greedy for you.”

He comes down to rest on his forearms, boxing you in beneath his body. Still, his pace never falters.

“Do you think you can give me one more?” he asks. You grit your teeth and nod obediently. “That’s my girl. Let me feel you. Cum on my cock. Cum for me.”

You want to pull him into a kiss, but instead find your back arching and neck stretching out deliciously for him. He latches onto the already blooming flesh there, moaning your name against your skin. Your arms wrap as tightly as they can around him pulling him as deep as you can, calling his name and coming undone for him.

His pace only falters when he feels you gush around him. His movements become sloppy and desperate with need. A new sensitivity overtakes you as you come down from your orgasm and a whine slips from you. His continued thrusts only add to the sensitivity.

Your pleading voice in his ear is enough to send him over the edge. He presses into you hard one last time before collapsing and spilling into you, the most beautiful groan spilling from his lips.

Warmth and a gentle fullness replaces sensitivity as you both pant against each other, his weight resting heavy and reassuringly against you. He kisses slowly up your neck, lingering an extra moment on the marks he’s left, until he reaches your lips. He kisses you slowly and deeply.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs against your lips.

“Just like this?” you tease.

“Especially like this.”

“You too,” you remind him, not much energy left in you for a lengthy confession. Instead, you take the moment to brush his hair out of his eyes. He closes his eyes and sighs against your touch.

It’s only now that you become aware of your state. Your knees are cut and bruised from the rocks of the shore and your tangled hair is dripping in a mixture of lake water and sweat. Tae looks just as beat up as you do. And you love it.

As you run your thumb slowly over his damp cheek you hear footsteps—running footsteps quickly approaching. You have just enough time for Tae to sprawl out in an attempt to crudely cover you before a sweaty and very wide-eyed Jungkook trots into view. He seems as surprised to see you as you are.

“Oh hey, wha—Oh my god.” His eyes widen as he takes in your disheveled forms and tangled limbs. “HOLY SHIT.”

He immediately turns on his heel and starts sprinting back to the camp.

“TAE AND YN ARE FUCKING.”

The sound echoes all around the lake.

Jin smirks to himself as he climbs out of the tent and into the crisp mountain morning.

“Took long enough.”

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[the-young-and-forgotten]

A Glimpse Through The Years - First Year

| Masterlist |

1st of September 1991 - 1st Year:

You fall through the magic barrier, your heavy trunk thunking onto the floor. You lay beside it, physically exhausted from dragging it 200 metres. “I’m only eleven, god knows why they have to make it so goddamn heavy.” You grumble under your breath. 

A figure pops into your view, extending a hand to help you up. “It’s called Slave Labour love, my parents use it all the time.” You slowly realise who it is and laugh. The sun behind him lights up his platinum blond hair, making you squint to see. “Put your hair away Malfoy, before you permanently blind me.” 

He scowls at you but helps you up off the ground. “It only took me an hour to get it like this!” 

As you walk by with your trunk, you lift a hand and mess up his hair as best you could. “An hour wasted, i’d say.” 

He shakes his head before running after you, a stupid grin on his face. 

On the train, You scope it out for the best compartment you can find. After a few minutes, you pick one. Inside, there are two brutish boys already sitting in there. They give you the side-eye as you and Draco shuffle around on the seat opposite them. 

Once settled, Draco is quick to introduce himself. “My names Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.” He uses that ponce, arrogant voice that always makes you roll your eyes. You mutter your name when they inquire and give theirs in return. Not that you cared. You are not hanging around with two idiots who activate Dracos arrogant demeanour. 

All of a sudden, Dracos droning voice falls silent. You follow his gaze towards a boy with unruly hair walking by with a couple of red-heads. 

Draco's eyes narrow and he speaks with such contempt that even you are shocked.

“Potter.” He spits out the word, like it was something disgusting. 

“Potter who? Isn’t that the guy who you saw in Madam Malkin’s?”

“Yeah.” 

Suddenly he stands and gestures to the boys sitting across from you. “Let’s go introduce ourselves to them eh? Y/n you coming?” 

You sigh. “I’m fine here thanks. I’d rather be reading my book.”

He shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

After a little bit, he comes back, extremely agitated. He plops down beside you, facing the window. His arms are crossed and his legs are drawn in.

“I guess it went horribly?” He nods.

You sigh. “Maybe if you hid your hideous face, you guys would be friends.” You think you detect a flicker of a smile before you turn back to your book.

You stumble off the train, your whole body aching from sitting for so long. Draco actually falls but picks himself up quickly, looking around to check if anyone had seen.

You make your way towards the boats, trying to grab one with Draco. But the crowd pulls you two apart and you get stuck with two jabbering bimbos.

You learn that these two bimbos are called Blaise and Theo and they aren't actually jabbering bimbos. The two boys make you laugh numerous times, especially when Theo falls into the lake (you may or may not have pushed him). 

When you step off the boat you are all acting a bit crazy. You say goodbye to Blaise and Theo as you look for Draco. You finally find him, picking a fight with the Potter boy. You go to break it up, but you’re beaten to it by Professor McGonagall. 

McGonagall pulls them apart then proceeds to announce all the rules (which you zone out of) and before you know it, the rest of the first years are surging forward. You pull Draco back, meaning to talk. Crabbe and Goyle fall back too, loyally sticking to his side. “Can you tell those two to buzz off?” You mutter to Draco. He rolled his eyes but complied. 

“Whatcha want?” He asks. “You can’t start fights with Potter!” You say “I just asked him to be my friend!” “Oh yeah sure. That’s why you literally said that he shouldn’t hang out with that Weasley boy.” 

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, maybe that was a bit mean.” 

This time, you roll your eyes. “Let’s just get to the Sorting Ceremony.” 

Both you and Draco get sorted into Slytherin. You grin at each other and sit down at your house table. Dumbledore gets up to give his speech you internally groan, your parents always complained about these. Halfway through the speech, Draco turns back to you and makes his hand do the talking movement as he mouths ‘blah blah blah’ over and over again. You snort into your hand, shaking with suppressed laughter. 

When Dumbledore finally shuts up, you dig into your food. The food was delicious, tasting 10 times better than it ever did in the muggle world. You can’t help but stuff your face. Draco notices this and mocks you. It’s his own fault that chick mysteriously ended up in his hair. 

When the feast is finally over, your Prefect brings you down to the dungeons. Along the way, you marvel at the whole interior of the castle. Draco nudges you and shows you the painting of a knight struggling to get on his donkey. You grin at each other and make fun of each and every portrait you come across. 

Down in the Slytherin dorms, the Prefect keeps droning on about house pride. “He sounds a little like you when you’re being arrogant.” you whisper to Draco. He turns to you, his expression practically screaming hurt and mock rage. “I do NOT sound like that!!!” His face morphs into a slightly nervous one “Do I?” You just shake your head and head up to your dorm, eager for sleep. 

You are woken up by the chattering of your roommates. You slam a spare pillow over your head, groaning about how early it was. 

“Get up L/n.” said one of the girls. “Malfoy wants to see you.” 

You roll your eyes at Dracos dramatics but hurry to get dressed and meet him.

When you get into the Common Room, Dracos is there waiting impatiently. “Finally!” He groans “It only took you forever!” You roll your eyes and muss up his slicked-back hair. “The hair Draco! That's it! That’s why Potter won’t be friends with you!”

He looks at you incredulously. “Seriously? The hair now?” You nod solemnly, before breaking into laughter. “You are never gonna let this go are you?” you shake your head, still giggling. 

“Ugh let’s just get to class.” He sighs. That immediately dampens your mood. You physically deflate, complaining. “We just had such a long ride yesterday and now school? Uggghhh.” 

He grabs your hand and pulls you towards the Great Hall. “Complain when the day is actually done.”

The first half of the year passed in a blur. Crabbe and Goyle were really starting to annoy you. Acting like Dracos bodyguards. Not that he hated it, quite the opposite really. They stuck around so much that it was near impossible to spend time with Draco. 

It was one of those few times you managed to steal him away for a few hours. You were silently fuming. You had been his best friend for years and now just to talk to him was like booking a doctors appointment! 

Draco picks up on your mood but doesn’t say anything. A few minutes pass and he can’t help himself. “Are you okay Y/n?” “Peachy.” you answer in the most monotone voice you can muster. 

“You don’t sound peachy.” “Only took you 2 hours to finally figure that out.” “Well, I’m sorry for inquiring on how you are!” He stops in his tracks and turns to face you, speaking softly now. “What’s wrong?” 

You stop too, extremely mad. “Have you ever thought that maybe I am feeling a bit left out whenever you go off with those trolls you call friends?” “they’re not trolls!” you cross your arms, your stance spitting sass. “Their grades beg to differ.” 

He throws his hands up in the air in exasperation. “SERIOUSLY! What is wrong?” “I practically just told you! Now, work the rest out for yourself!” you push past him, storming down the corridor. A couple seconds later, you sneak a look behind you. Draco is clenching at his hair and staring up at the ceiling like it would give him the answer. 

You turn back around shaking your head. ‘Maybe if I- no, don’t think about it.’ you force yourself to keep walking no matter how much you wanted to go back. 

The christmas break was quite boring. Draco went home whilst you and Theo were stuck at Hogwarts. You might��ve fought with Draco before he left, but you did miss him. A lot. More than you wanted to admit. 

It was only a few days after everyone left and you were already bored out of your mind. You and Theo were sitting next to each other in awkward silence. The months you had spent not talking and hanging around in different friendship groups had made things extremely awkward between the two of you. 

“So, why are you stuck at Hogwarts.” he asks, trying to start a conversation. “My parents kept me here because they want me to refine my chess skills.” you wink at him and he grins. “Well I miss L/n, happen to be a master chess player so you’ve come to the right place.” the two of you scooch over to the chessboard and play game after game, after game after game. 

By the end of the holidays, you were quite sick of Chess. You sat there, dying of boredom, playing yet another game. “Theo, when this game is over I will NEVER look at chess right again!” He laughs and looks at something behind you. “Well, I think I found something that’ll cheer you up.” Extremely curious, you turn around. “DRACO!” you scream running to give him a hug (you had apparently completely forgotten about your fight). “Please save me, Theo’s chess games are extremely boring!” “HEY!” Theo shouts indignantly as you and Draco start laughing. 

It had been a few weeks after Draco had come back. He was hanging out with you considerably more, just not as often as he used to. But you’d settle for this. You two were enjoying each other’s company and laughing like the old times. 

Suddenly, he pulls you behind a corner and peeks out. You peek too and notice Harry, Ron and Hermione walking towards Hagrid's Hut. You roll your eyes. Not this. “Draco they’re just-” “Ssshhh! Somethings… up.” he narrows his eyes suspiciously. 

You knew right before he did what he was just about to do. You put a hand on his shoulder to stop him “Draco, please!” He shoves your hand off his shoulder “Wait here, I’ll be back soon.” 

But you don’t wait. As soon as he walks away, so do you. Back to the dorms. You’re not waiting around for him to get in trouble for snooping. 

Hours pass and you grow extremely worried. Where is he? What happened? Is he okay? Blaise and Theo try to help to take your worries off your mind, but nothing works. “Something bad has happened to him guys, he’s never gone this long!” “Y/n, it’s okay! He’s probably caught in some stupid situation with Potter he can’t get out of!” Theo tries to reassure you. It just stresses you out even more. “Like that’s gonna help” Blaise mumbles. “Oh yea! Well you try then!” 

Blaise and Theo glare at each other before Blaise looks at you. “Read a book on the couch and wait for him to come back, it won’t be long, I promise.” 

The two of them head up to their dorm, leaving you alone to wait for Draco. 

He finally comes back in. Bursting through the door, soaked and looking extremely traumatised. You sit up quickly. “Draco! Where were you? What happened?” 

He plops down beside you on the couch. He sighs reluctantly “I should’ve listened to you. All I got was trouble. I’m so sorry Y/n, I wasn’t thinking.” You look at him expectantly, waiting for him to tell you the whole story but he just leans into you. “Never ever go into that forest okay? It’s…” he shivers, eyes clouding “Disgustingly terrifying.” 

You give him a big hug “And this is why we are NEVER getting into trouble again are we?” He chuckles “It’s not a promise but I’ll try.”

It’s finally nearing the end of the year. The rivalry between Draco and Harry has calmed down a bit since the adventure Harry and his friends took just a few days ago. All assignments were handed in, all spells learnt, all potions completed. 

I mean sure, you still had quite a few run-ins with Potter and his friends but at least they weren’t whipping out their wands and practically shooting ‘avada kedavra’ at each other.  

By the time the End of Year Feast rolled around, you were growing more and more reluctant to go. Hogwarts had become your second home. But you had your family waiting for you and you missed them more than ever. 

At the Feast, Draco sits beside you absolutely glowing with excitement. “Slytherins totally gonna win this year! I mean, look how many points we have!” He raises his voice slightly and stands so everyone can hear. “Suck on that Potter!” You roll your eyes and pull him back into his seat, amused by his antics. “Seems like you’re still the petty, competitive boy I made friends with seven years ago.” 

He scoffs a little. “Like that's ever gonna change.” ‘I hope not’ you think, looking back at the staff table. 

Dumbledore stands up, making his way to the podium. “Here we go..” you hear Draco whisper. Your mouth twitches into a little smirk. 

As usual, his speech was boring as hell. Slytherin banners turn into big red lions as Draco groans and slams his head onto the table. It was exactly like you had expected. 

The whole Slytherin table is in a bad mood throughout the Feast. You never knew people could care so much about points. To you, it was just a dumb way to get kids to do their homework.

You and Draco walk back to the dungeons together. “I still can’t believe Gryffindor won..” He groans for about the millionth time that evening. “it was quite obvious.” You say. He perks up. “How?” “THINK Draco! The idiots went into a highly dangerous area, survived and saved the Wizarding World from evil. Again.” You think about it for a second, stopping in your tracks. “Granted, they probably should’ve been expelled but thats beside the point.” 

You continue down into the dungeons, Draco running behind you, trying to catch up. “Maybe we can get the student body to sign a petition and get them expelled!” “Dray, thats stupid.” “Oh yeah, I forgot. Everybody likes Potter.” he spits out the name, like it was a nasty curse. 

“Well, everybody except us.” 

You consider this and decide to push his buttons a little. “Well, I don’t know. I think I’m really starting to fancy Potter.” He stares at you in disgust “You have just been officially unfriended. Get lost.” 

Your laughter echoes down the corridor, several portraits reprimanding you. 

You wake up once again to the obnoxious yelling of your roommates. Luckily you had packed your trunk last night, so you take it out and run downstairs. 

Draco was waiting for you, ready to go home. 

You arrive at Hogsmeade Station. You hurry onto the train, snagging the same compartment you had used at the start of this year. Draco settles down beside you. “So, going home huh.” 

“Yeah!” you exclaim. “I’m so excited to see my parents again! I really miss them.” 

“At least one of us does.” you give him a quick hug. “They’ll be proud of you Dray, who wouldn’t?” He smiles weakly and quickly changes the subject. 

At last, the train pulls into Kings Cross Station. You unwillingly step off the train, knowing full well that you weren’t gonna see Hogwarts and Draco for at least 3 months. 

You turn to face each other and smile. You pull him into a big hug, squeezing him extra tight. 

“See you next year?”

“Yeah”

“And please Draco, take care of your hair! Maybe your face too”

He laughs before heading towards his parents. They look at you with loathing before turning around and stalking off, noses in the air. 

Draco looks back one more time and gives you a little wave, you wave back, smiling a little. You find you parents and walk out through the magical barrier, back into the muggle world.

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[hunnybadgerv]

Fevered Observations | Guardians in the Darkness [Nyx Shepard/Kaidan Alenko]

Summary: Nyx and Kaidan practice long distance flirting while keeping up polite appearances.

a/n:  Prompted by @painterofhorizons for #1 (Good sex deserves to be loud) from the SEXY PROMPTS meme

Links: AO3 | FF.net

Fevered Observations

-1-

Kaidan arrived early. Of course, he did, Nyx thought as he stepped through the door with that damnable grin, holding a bottle like he had that night not so long ago on the Normandy. Just a drink, he’d said.

She knew better as soon as he’d said it, but the distraction had been so much more than welcome. And it would have been just as welcome again, if he’d been about thirty minutes earlier, but with the whole crew and then some scheduled to be at her apartment in a little more than 10 minutes.

His smile had always been her kryptonite, even more so when his amber eyes twinkled with a fire that threatened ignite every inch of her skin into a raging inferno. She gulped down a deep breath when his empty hand grazed over her hip, dipping to the small of her back. The gentle pressure of his familiar touch was all the encouragement she needed to press her body against his. Nyx let her head fall back to welcome his warm lips.

Nyx drew her fingers through the shorter hair at the back of his neck as a perfunctory hello peck became a more proper, passionate greeting. Ignoring the press of the bottle cap under her shoulder blade, Shepard reveled in his embrace. Kaidan enveloped her; Nyx lost herself to the sensations of him—the prickle of his stubble, the firmness of his chest, and the plushness of his lips. His thick arms tightened around her—as if he could pull her into him. And her head spun as she clung to his broad frame.

There was a softness to his kiss despite the bruising pressure of his mouth on hers. His tongue peeked past her lips, probing her mouth with teasing little flicks and long lunges. Nyx fisted her hand into his shirt, as if holding on for dear life. She’d learned one thing in her fight against the Reapers it was not to take a single second for granted, not to save for later what she could savor right then and there.

With Kaidan, that outlook intensified. She’d died once—abandoning him—then lost him a second time. She’d missed too much already to skimp on showing him how much he meant to her now. Her thigh eased against his leg. She all but dangled from his broad shoulders and replied to his deepening of the kiss with a greedy thrust of her own tongue past his lips. The hum reverberating through his chest seemed to vibrate through her as well.

“I love that sound,” Kaidan growled at her, breaking the kiss, but only enough to catch a breath.

“So do I,” she agreed, though meaning something else entirely.

His forehead rested against hers, and he brushed the tip of her nose with his. They shared breath, eyes locked. With the way he looked at her, Shepard felt like the only other person in the galaxy, like the lone planet basking in the warm, amber glow of his gaze.

“It always works its way down my spine in the most delicious way,” she told him, with a tiny shift of her hips.

As his grin widened, he made that sound again and tasted her lips. She pulled at the back of his neck in an effort to keep his mouth on hers. She wanted to keep him from ending this kiss too soon; wanted to hold onto the resonance of him just a little longer.

“Good to know, but I meant that sweet hum of yours,” he countered, leaving her wanting more.

“I wasn’t humming.”

Kaidan’s smile widened, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I assure you, Nyx, you were. Both times.” A flare of desire flashed in his gaze. “Want to go for a third?” He didn’t wait for an answer before the distance started to close, only to be halted by a shrill alarm.

It was her turn to growl, but hers came out more irritated than elated. Her embrace loosened, but Kaidan squeezed her tighter. “Where are you going?”

“Kaidan, the cookies are going to burn.”

His brow furrowed. “You made cookies?”

She slithered out of his grip with a heavy dose of reluctance. “It depends on your definition of ‘made,’” she said with a giggle as she hurried across the living room.

Kaidan followed, each footstep echoing through the room and her head—her pulse almost seemed to match the staccato beat of that rhythm. It had her regretting not waking him up that morning, maybe if she’d disturbed his sleep she wouldn’t be quite so susceptible to his mere presence now. Of course, that was just wishful thinking. He always affected her, even more so when it was just the two of them.

He leaned against the counter and watched her spatula cookies off the sheet then transfer them onto a cooling rack.

“I think the only thing that could make this more adorable would be one of those frilly aprons,” he teased.

“I’m not sure you could pull off the ruffles,” she teased.

“Oh, I assure I can pull off a lot of things. But you. I think something in a red check would bring out the fire in your eyes.”

“I can kill you with this spatula,” she assured, brandishing it at him, but her laughter would take any sting out of the playful, toothless threat.

“But you wouldn’t because I brought your favorite.” The thunk of the glass on the counter brought her attention to the bottle he’d brought. She merely assumed it was his brand of whiskey.

The corner of her mouth twitched into a surprised smile at the familiar label—English Harbor. “How the hell did you find that?”

“I have my ways.” His usually easy grin took on a cocky bent.

“Here I thought you were only going to use your Spectre powers for good,” she chided, abandoning the cookies and rounding the counter. Her hand slid along the length of his arm, draping over his shoulder.

He tipped his head. “How is making the love of your life smile a bad thing?”

Nyx laughed, her other hand following a similar track as the first until it met the other behind his neck. Kaidan gripped her hips, thumbs rubbing tiny circles near the bones of her pelvis.

“Besides, that’s not how I found it,” he said, pecking the tip of her nose.

“Oh, really?”

“Turns out you and Bailey have the same tastes in rum.”

Her brow pulled together and her head fell back a little as she looked at him incredulously. “You can’t be serious.”

Kaidan nodded. “I wouldn’t have figured that one either.”

She chuckled, that was unexpected information. “Thank you,” she replied, rising up on her tiptoes.

This kiss barely had a chance to build before another chime interrupted them. This time the buzzer wasn’t so innocuous as sweets, it announced the arrival of their crew.

“Could you put those last two pans in the oven for me?” she asked slipping out of his arms again.

Why did he only arrive a few minutes early? she thought with a hint of a pout on her lips. The thought mingled with a blooming frustration as she crossed to the front door to greet the first arrivals. She stole more than a few glances back toward the kitchen, where Kaidan leaned on the counter staring at her with a dark, sultry look that stole her breath from her chest. She couldn’t help but want to be a part of whatever was playing out in his head, but, alas, that would have to wait.

 -2-

The party picked up quickly. After Liara, Dr. Chakwas, and Miranda arrived, the others trickled in at a steady pace. It placed an expectation on Shepard. But Nyx played the role of hostess well—making sure tasty bites and goodies were available and that drinks were filled, she kept the music at a level that encouraged dancing while still allowing for conversation, and she kept the conversation moving and flowing as she checked in with her friends.

Kaidan left her to those hostess duties, admiring rather than impeding. He leaned against the glass of the full-sized windows in the living room, watching her. Besides a few quick little chats with his peers, he’d mostly been left on his own to nurse his whiskey and his desire.

Once in a while, she’d look over and catch him observing her. The time he winked, she gave him a sweet smile. The raise of his glass, earned a laugh. But his unwavering stare seemed the most successful.

In one instance, she bared her neck, pulling her long, honey blonde hair over one shoulder to show off that long column of supple flesh. He studied it with the same care and precision he would put into kissing and nibbling at that thin skin.  

Later in the evening, the same intense attention earned a wiggle as she chatted with Liara. The shift of her hips was subtle, though the recrossing of her legs wasn’t; deep down he’d hoped that movement had been to combat a tingle building between her thighs. A tingle he’d love to deepen until she couldn’t do anything but call out his name.

Of course, he wasn’t the only one playing that game. Nyx knew how to draw his attention. That sweeping motion that left him staring at her neck intensified his building desire to mar the smooth skin with a pink-red jagged half-moon shaped bite marks that would glow against her pale throat. Crossing her legs or brushing her calves against one another, locked his eyes and his thoughts on the shape of them. The curve and power. Without a doubt, drawing his attention to her strong legs would leave him thinking about having them wrapped tight around his waist. Kaidan also knew just the right amount of pressure to use when tracing the muscular shape of her calf to spark a stampede of goosebumps. A charge he’d happily chase with lingering open-mouthed kisses.

Even though she talked to everyone except him, she still managed to flirt with him. When her fingertip traced the neckline of her dress from near her shoulder and over the swell of her breast, it was a tease just for him. When his gaze rose to hers, those vibrant blues eyes were locked on him. For what seemed the first time that night, she was standing alone. Slipping a hand in his pocket, he closed the distance between them without losing her attention for a second.

“You’re quite adept at this,” he said, ignoring the polite, public standards of personal space and standing far too close, though not close enough for his personal tastes.

When Nyx shifted even closer, Kaidan figured she didn’t mind his presumption. “My parents were both officers, I’ve been to this sort of thing before. Though this is loads more fun than any of those stuffy command dinner parties.”

He nodded in silence.

Nyx looked up at him, her head shifting just so as to put that lovely neck of hers on display again. Her voice dropped to a honey-coated whisper that sparked along his nerves and wrapped tight around his groin. “You’ve been staring at me all night, Major.”

“I assure you, it’s not just tonight.”

She laughed and strangely a hint of pink chased across her cheeks. It wasn’t like Nyx to blush, at least not usually.

“I don’t think I told you earlier, but you look amazing.” He let his gaze caress every inch of her body with an untempered rapaciousness that he couldn’t yet telegraph to his fingertips. He kept both of his hands politely tucked into the pockets of his trousers, just as she kept her hands to herself for the moment.

“Thank you,” she dipped a little with a shallow curtsy. The strangeness of the gesture widened his grin. “You look pretty good yourself.” Finally, her fingers teased against the fabric of his shirt as her thumb traced the top of the V of his hip, it never dropped past his waistband, much to his dismay.

The pair of them stared at one another, bodies close enough that he could feel her breasts brush against his chest with every breath she took. The light scratch of her nails, sweeping downward along that intimate slope of his pelvis, didn’t help his willpower, nor did the fact they were steps from her bedroom.

Leaning toward her, he heard her breath catch when he whispered in her ear. “You do realize that you’re making it incredibly difficult for me to come up with convincing reasons not to drag you away from this party of yours.”

The way she smiled up at him, almost made the metaphorical angel on his shoulder faint and give up his battle to keep the little devil inside him in check.

“Why on Earth would you do a thing like that?”

“I can think of a hundred reasons.”

“Such as?” The purr in her voice did things to his body and mind.

“Hearing you say my name in that tone of voice for one,” he told her.

“Kaidan,” she replied, her breath teasing across his lips.

Throwing caution and propriety to the wind, Kaidan slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him. She gasped, as if his reaction had surprised her. With little more than a quick glance to confirm no one was watching the two of them, he pulled her into her blacked-out bedroom.

With a soft thud her shoulders connected with the wall, Kaidan’s mouth on hers muffled the quiet groan that almost escaped her lips. Her hands moved over his chest with fervor, as his  cradled her cheeks to facilitate the kind of kiss he’d been aching to give her since their short time alone before the party had been interrupted.

 -3-

All his staring had Nyx hot and bothered. She swore she could feel the weight of his gaze on her, and every time she had looked over at him, the intensity of it just left her in a more flushed state. Even trying to get him back seemed to have backfired—it just left her more desperate to feel the touch her mind conjured in far too vivid detail; it left her skin blazing.

Finally having his lips on hers, however, seemed to just make that gently roaring fire flash over. Sandwiched between him and the wall, she used the leverage the position gave her to press her body firmly against his. Her hands skimmed his waist then grabbed that noteworthy ass to pull his hips flush with hers. Kaidan swallowed the moan that broke free when she found evidence that maybe her retaliations might have been more successful than she imagined.

Her hands went to his fly, freeing his cock easily as his mouth blazed a heated trail down her neck. Her teeth buried in her bottom lip as she tried to stifle the sounds he inspired. When he bit her neck, she squeaked. It seemed so much louder in the darkness.

While she froze, her lover didn’t stop. One strap of her dress slipped over her shoulder a moment prior to his fingers tugged at fabric aside to expose her breast; his hot mouth sealed over her nipple before she could argue or suggest someone might hear. Instead, her thoughts swirled in her head, while naught but soft pleased sighs escaped her lips in reply to the tender attentions he paid to her body.

She felt his fingers against her thighs, and managed to catch his wrists before her skirt ended up around her waist.

“Kaidan,” she whispered in a tone just shy of alarmed. “Someone’s going to hear.”

She almost regretted her reason for halting his progress instantly. The absence of his mouth made her tight nipple ache, a sensation that now echoed between her legs.

He leaned over her, features barely noticeable in the stark darkness. But that voice, thick with need and desire washed over her. “It’s possible.” His fingertips swirled around her bare breast. And she could almost imagine the look in his eyes—somewhere between intoxicated and considerate. “Do you want me to stop?”

Stars, that was a good question. She didn’t answer immediately, taking a moment to consider all the options. As if trying to nudge her toward a decision, Kaidan pinched her nipple, sending a shock through her nervous system.

“I hate to, but I will. Just tell me what you want, Nyx.” His voice purred in her ear, his lips brushing the lobe in a way that made her want to feel his teeth tugging at it.

She didn’t want him to stop, but she also worried someone might hear. “Do you think the music is loud enough?” she asked as her hands abandoned him to turn to the interface of her omni-tool. She nudged the volume upward, then increased it a little bit more in the quadrant nearest the bedroom. “That should work, right?”

In the glow of her tool she caught a quick glimpse of the smirk he wore, the hungry way he looked at her. The weight of his gaze made it a little harder to breathe. The next moment she was plunged back into darkness and the next his forehead rested against hers.

“You do realize—” his voice—low and rumbling, painted with a shadowy, sultry tinge—reverberated through her as his hands returned to the her thighs, “—you might have to hold back a little, Nyx.” She could feel the brush of his lips against hers with certain sounds, but still he didn’t kiss her. His fingers ghosted over her thighs, causing little muscle tremors here and there. As if by magic, his touch inched up with the retreat of her hem. “But only if you’re really worried about them hearing, or caring enough to investigate a sound that’s clearly an orgasm.”

She gasped when those playfully dancing fingers grazed the soft fabric between her legs. Nyx immediately wondered why they didn’t do this in the dark more. Not seeing him, not being able to predict from the movement of his eyes or his hands what he was going to do was deliciously maddening.

The potential for social regret gave way to his intensity. She wanted him, that was all she thought about as he loomed over her. His hands pinched and caressed skin, sending shivers and shocks through her body like her own personal storm, which only intensified as the hem of her skirt receded.

“I thought you were of the opinion that good sex deserves to be loud?” she teased.

“Challenge accepted,” he said quickly before renewing the kiss.

His mouth on hers stole her breath, even though she’d been waiting for it. She couldn’t hug him quite the way she wanted, with one arm pinned in a halfway pulled down sleeve that exposed one breast. She gave up trying and let that hand skim higher, wrapping it around his cock. Nyx swallowed his groan and twisted her hand in the hopes of earning another.

She broke the kiss with a gasp, when his fingers pressed over her clit and inched further.

“You’re so wet,” he mumbled against her cheek.

“You’ve been staring at me all night like you wanted to fuck me right then and there.” Her voice broke on the last words when his finger slipped into her.

“Touché. I might have imagined that very scenario once or twice,” he admitted, stealing a kiss. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head all night. The taste of your lips.” He punctuated his revelation with a lingering kiss. “The way your skin would feel against mine.” There was a low growl clinging to his voice as his lips brushed her cheek.

“Kaidan,” she whined on a whisper as his lips moved lower.

“I could almost feel the bite of your nails scraping across my back, my chest. The feathery caress of your breath in my ear.” He placed kisses along her neck between every word.

Her hand stroked his cock, greedily pointing it toward her hips, which rocked against his touch as he lavished her in the sensations she’d been thinking about, too. “More,” she said, only barely finding the coherence to form the demand.

“Watching you walk, all I could think of was the way your hips move against mine. The way your back arches when I suck your nipples hard. Each time you threw your head back in a laugh, I could almost hear the way you keen when I bury my cock inside you,” he told her as he thrust into her hands. She sighed as his words brought the very sensation to her mind as well. His nose tickled along the length of her neck. “The way your pussy tightens when I pinch your nipples or bite your neck.”

He demonstrated the latter, and her body flexed in reply. “Kaidan,” she whimpered again.

“Yes, Nyx.”

Her lips found his and she kissed him with desperation, wordlessly begging him to do more than tell her what he wanted to do to her.

Kaidan knew what she was doing as well as she did. “Tell me what you want,” he said.

“Please, Kaidan.”

“Please, what?”

All this talking seemed counter to the point of holding back or being quiet. She managed to move in such a way as to just barely tease her clit with the tip of his cock, but he refused to indulge her.

“Tell me what you want,” he urged.

Nyx grabbed the back of his neck, her lips brushing against his. “I want to feel you inside me,” she said, perhaps a little too loudly, but her frustration was winning out.

Once she gave her desire voice, Kaidan didn’t make her wait. Pulling his fingers out of her, he tugged one of her legs over his hip. At that change, she released him and grabbed onto Kaidan’s waist for stability. Nyx buried her face against his chest just in time to muffle a low moan that escaped her as he guided his cock into her.

Curling his fingers under her chin, he brought her lips to his. They stayed like that, only breaking the kiss to gasp for the occasional breath that they couldn’t steal from the other’s lungs. Their mouths muffled some of the sounds of their passion as their bodies gave in to a biological imperative. They swallowed moans and whimpers, groans and grunts, as their bodies worked in tandem delivering on those sensations they had been imagining most of the night.

Her nails bored into his back, as his hips snapped against hers. Every rotation of his fingertips around her clit brought a whimper to her throat. To her own ears the sound seemed to get louder every single time his hips clapped against hers, but a part of her didn’t care—she damn sure didn’t want him to stop.

“Fuck, Nyx” Kaidan gasped in the absence of sound that signaled the cusp of Nyx’s orgasm. Her body tightened against and around him. His smooth movements roughed. Then his mouth found hers again as a long deep moan broke free from her throat. Moments later, he grunted into her mouth with his own orgasm. They rode one another’s climaxes out, oblivious to anything beyond the two of them in that instant.

She held him tight, dotting his lips with soft kisses. Kaidan cradled her body against his; neither of them rushed to separate. Deepening one of his sweet kisses, she had to admit that maybe there was something to quiet sex—sealing his mouth with hers, consuming every ounce of his desire. It was greedy and glorious. But her reverie was cut short by the vibrant laughter that invaded the darkness from the other room.

“We should probably get back,” Nyx whispered.

Kaidan didn’t move. “Or we could say hang the party.”

Shepard tried to summon up an argument.

“There is that huge tub.”

“I think Zaeed might have booby trapped it.”

Kaidan’s chuckle rumbled through her. “Well, guess it’s lucky I spent some time with that salarian EOD team.” He shifted, lowering her leg and baring her heated flesh to the chilly breeze of the environmental system. “C’mon.”

She laced her fingers into his and followed him across the room, stepping out of her heels as they went. Certainly none of their friends would fault them for disappearing early, she thought as they slipped through the bathroom door and closed it behind them. His lips were on hers again before the lights even came up, but Shepard had no complaint about that fact. She merely savored every moment they claimed together.

[thistreasurehunter]

Something New

A/N: Set in the After the Rain timeline (1 - After the Rain; 2 - Testing the Waters; 3 - Reflection; 4 - Comes the Rainbow; 5 - And So the Wind Blows; 6 - And Blows Again; 7 - Something New). All characters are aged 18+.

Summary: Pope wants to experiment. Or: The One With the Rimming

Requested: Yes, by multiple anons.

Genre: Smut (with a side helping of fluff)

Word length: 3.9k

Warning: Adult content – including explicit descriptions of an M/M sexual relationship. (Over 18s only please.)

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the Outer Banks characters or settings.

**************************************************************

It was the weekend. JJ and Pope had spent the day hanging out with John B and Kie. They’d taken the HMS Pogue out in the morning, done a bit of fishing, then returned to The Chateau to chill. They lazed in the hammocks and cooked up the fish they’d caught that morning in the fire-pit; laughing and joking over cold drinks and fresh, grilled fish.

Late in the afternoon, Kie left to go help her dad prepare for the evening rush at The Wreck. The other three stayed where they were, caught up in a game JJ had come up with that involved passing random objects between them without letting them touch the floor, using only their feet.

They’d been passing Pope’s snapback between them for a solid twenty minutes when John B’s phone pinged and he missed the pass from JJ, letting the hat fall to the floor.

“Dude!” JJ exclaimed, hands raised.

John B shrugged and checked his phone.

“It’s Sarah inviting me over,” he said. “She’s got the house to herself.”

“Booty call,” JJ grinned. “Sounds like you’re in there, mate.”

John B grimaced back. “You know, I’m not even sure. To be quite honest, things have felt a little off between us recently. I can’t quite put my finger on it. She just seems a little… distant, I suppose. She’s been hanging out with Kie a lot. So, yeah, who knows what it means.”

“Women. Just so complicated, man,” JJ let out a sigh of mock exasperation. “Yeah, tits are nice and everything, but cock is far superior. You should just level up and find yourself a nice guy to date instead.” He winked at Pope. “Just not this one, ‘cos he’s taken.”

Pope grinned, rolling his eyes.

“Guys!” John B shook his head frowning.

“Oh, quit whining,” Pope chuckled. “We all know you ship us hard.”

“So hard,” JJ added. “So, very, very hard. As hard as we make each other.”

“Oh, dear god!” John B cringed, covering his ears with his hands. “Mental images! Forcing their way into my brain. Cannot un-think!”

JJ and Pope both laughed.

“Well, on that note, I’m off.” John B patted himself down looking for the keys to the van and started towards the door. “You kids stay safe now. And for God’s sake, don’t cum on anything, please!”

“Don’t worry,” JJ called after him. “We swallow.”

“NOT LISTENING!” John B called back, hands over his ears again as he left, the front door clicking shut behind him.

JJ caught Pope’s eye and Pope raised an eyebrow and asked simply, “So, shall we?”

And JJ barked a laugh. “Hell, yes!” he said, pulling Pope to his feet.

They stumbled towards the spare room, which by this point had basically become JJ’s room, laughing and kissing and fumbling, hands pulling off clothes and blindly knocking into furniture in their haste.

“John B’s really going to appreciate the trail of discarded clothing leading to your room,” Pope smiled, glancing over JJ’s shoulder.

“Don’t care,” JJ breathed, his lips pressing kisses along Pope’s jaw. He took the lobe of Pope’s ear into his mouth and sucked. Pope shivered and JJ grinned, grazing his teeth along the flesh.

The door was barely shut behind them before JJ was sinking to his knees in front of Pope, hands scrambling to unbuckle his shorts.

Pope rested his head back against the door and allowed JJ to pull his shorts and boxers down, but before Pope had chance to step out of them, JJ was leaning forwards eagerly and taking Pope into his mouth.

Pope groaned, long and low, both his hands going to JJ’s head, fingers carding through the hair, fingernails raking slowly and seductively along the scalp. He then tugged gently, in just the way he knew JJ loved and JJ hummed in delight. The vibrations sent a wave of pleasure through Pope and he sighed out JJ’s name. JJ hummed again, then started sucking and bobbing his head in earnest, his hands steadying Pope’s hips.

Pope closed his eyes and let the feelings overtake him. JJ was setting a delicious rhythm, with just the right level of suction. His mouth was hot and wet and perfect. Pope could feel JJ breathe out as he relaxed his throat and took Pope down deeper.

“Oh, JJ…” Pope moaned, gently tugging on his hair again. “That’s so good.”

JJ hummed again and, fighting the impulse to gag, took him down ever further.

“Oh, yes!” Pope sighed. “Your mouth feels so good, babe.” The praises spilled off his lips, “Oh, you’re so good at that. It feels amazing. You’re amazing.” Pope could feel the pressure building, the knot tightening. JJ kept bobbing and sucking. “Oh yes, there, like that. JJ! Oh yes, yes.” He twitched his hips slightly and JJ squeezed his fingers, signalling that Pope could thrust forwards. Pope let out a strangled little sound and – ever so gently – started fucking JJ’s mouth. JJ moaned, his pupil’s blown and his chin wet. Pope could feel himself tensing, his pleasure cresting. “J!” he choked out.

JJ pulled back and off with a wet pop, a line of saliva still connecting them. He began fisting Pope’s length and opened his mouth wide, stuck out his tongue and rested Pope’s tip on the wet, pink muscle. He looked up: open and willing and eager. Ready to be claimed, though Pope.

Eyelids heavy and eyes dark with lust, JJ gazed up at Pope through his lashes. And staring down into JJ’s eyes, Pope’s pleasure crested and his orgasm crashed over him like a tidal surge. He came undone; pulsing and releasing, thick creamy ropes of cum landing over JJ’s tongue and his lips and his chin and his cheek. JJ closed his eyes and took it, hand still working Pope’s shaft, helping him ride out his high. And Pope just kept cumming, all over his boyfriend’s face and tongue and a bit in his hair. And it felt so dirty, but also so brilliant. And his brain thrummed: mine, mine, mine…

Pope’s cock gave a final weak pulse and JJ licked the small trickle of cum off the tip.

Pope looked down and blushed at the sight of JJ on his knees before him, his cheeks flushed, chin wet, face splattered with cum and his hair sticking up wildly from where Pope had been gripping the silky blond strands.

“Oh, J” he whispered reverently. And JJ smiled and kissed the tip one last time before getting to his feet.

Pope’s thumb came up to JJ’s bottom lip and smeared a spot of cum across the skin. JJ’s tongue came out to taste it, but Pope leaned forwards quickly and caught JJ’s lips in a kiss, tasting himself on JJ’s skin and in the slow slide of their lips and tongues.

“So, I guess we didn’t do what John B asked after all,” Pope smiled.

“Pretty sure he meant the sofa, or in the kitchen or something,” JJ grinned. “I don’t think it counts if the thing you’re cumming on is me.” Pope groaned again. Then reached blindly, grabbed a tissue and lightly wiped the mess off JJ’s face. Then he brought their faces close until the tips of their noses were touching and brushed them together in an Eskimo kiss.

Pope stepped forwards, trying to walk JJ back to the bed but, forgetting about his shorts still pooled around his ankles, he almost overbalanced. JJ laughed and held his arms steady while Pope toed off his high tops and socks and stepped out of his shorts. JJ’s shorts had been abandoned somewhere on the trip from the hammocks to the bedroom.

Pope placed his hands on JJ’s immaculate chest and walked him back to the bed, pushing him down gently onto his back. JJ shuffled backwards, laying his head back on the pillow. He was toned and sun-golden and glorious, his erection a prominent bulge tenting his underwear. He’s gorgeous, Pope thought. Completely gorgeous and all mine. And a thrill ran through him.

Pope got onto the bed and pulled JJ’s underwear off. And then JJ was spread out before him, waiting: standing big and stiff and proud.

Pope crawled over JJ, propping himself up on his forearms so he could bring their lips together again. JJ sighed and ran one hand down Pope’s spine, resting the other on his backside and squeezing.

“Ass man,” Pope breathed into JJ’s mouth.

“Bite me,” JJ smiled back, and Pope caught his bottom lip between his teeth and nipped lightly. JJ groaned and pushed his hips up against Pope.

Pope grinned and rolled them over. He slotted his leg between JJ’s, presenting his thigh for JJ to ride. JJ propped himself up on his arms and pushed his hips down, grinding his erection into Pope’s thigh. He breathed out a sigh and leaned down to continue their kiss, his hips pressing forwards rhythmically. Pope pushed his tongue into JJ’s mouth and let the kiss get dirty, his hands kneading JJ’s ass cheeks as JJ humped his leg. The room was filled with the sound of JJ panting and grunting and the dull thunk of the headboard against the wall as JJ increased the pace and vigour of his thrusts.

“Look at you,” Pope breathed, eyeing JJ’s slack mouth and flushed cheeks. “So needy.”

“I wouldn’t be so needy,” JJ gritted out, “if you did something.”

“Oh, you want me to do something?” Pope teased.

“Yes,” JJ panted, a little frustrated and desperate to get off.

“Maybe you should ask nicely?”

JJ’s eyes went wide. For a heart stopping moment, Pope thought he might have gone too far, might have misread the vibe, might have killed the moment.

But then JJ flushed and whispered, “Yes, please.” Pope squeezed his ass cheeks and JJ whined and clamped his thighs around Pope’s leg, grinding his erection down harder. “Please,” he repeated in a small broken voice, “please do something to get me off.” He brought his lips to Pope’s ear, so close Pope could feel his lips moving, and murmured, “please, Sir…”

Pope swallowed hard. A rush of adrenaline, and also something else – something deeper and more primal – ran through him. He could feel the soft, warm weight of his partner, writhing and rutting against him. Needy and desperate. Needy, for him. Pope was suddenly overwhelmed by an instinctive, primal urge to give and please and provide. Mine, Pope thought again. He’s mine.

Pope hooked his leg around JJ’s and flipped them over again. He pressed one final searing kiss to JJ’s lips and then worked his way down JJ’s body, trailing kisses down his neck and chest, his tongue flicking over the hardened nub of a nipple, then kissed his way down the faint trail of fair hairs that started just below his navel and ended at the base of JJ’s cock. Pope could feel JJ breathing deeply, his chest rising and falling in anticipation. But rather than turning his attention to JJ’s erection. Pope dipped his head lower, and pressed kisses and teasing licks into the delicate skin surrounding JJ’s cock. He pressed his nose against JJ’s balls, nuzzling them slightly, then opened his mouth and sucked as much as he could into his mouth, applying delicious pressure and working the skin with his tongue. JJ whined above him. Pope repeated the action, then moved onto JJ’s other ball.

“Pope,” JJ panted. “Please.”

Pope smiled and rose onto his knees. His hands went to JJ’s hips. “Roll over,” he said.

“What?” JJ’s head came up, eyes slightly unfocussed.

“Roll over,” Pope repeated.

“Pope? What’re you…” JJ looked confused.

“I want to try something,” Pope smiled. “Something new. Something with my mouth. You’re not the only ass man in the room. Now turn over like a good boy.”

JJ’s eyes got wide again, but he obliged, rolling onto his front. Pope encouraged him to spread his legs and lift onto his knees and elbows. Pope sat back for a second and just took in the sight before him: his boyfriend bent over on his bed, flushed and hard and slightly bewildered, but presenting himself so beautifully for Pope. Pope licked his lips and smiled. He was going to enjoy this.

JJ’s head hung between his arms and he craned around to look at Pope admiring him and felt a spike of self-conscious embarrassment. He shifted and started to get up, “Pope, what’s… what’re you doing…?”

“Shhh,” Pope reassured, his hand rubbing soothing circles into JJ’s lower back and encouraging him back down. “It’s okay. I’m gonna make you feel so good. If you don’t like it though, just say and we can stop. But I just wanted to remember this moment.”

JJ narrowed his eyes slightly but relaxed back down.

Pope positioned himself between JJ’s legs and ran his hands over JJ’s ass cheeks, giving the right one a quick pat and squeeze. He leaned forwards and pressed a kiss into the middle of each. Then, using his thumbs, he spread the cheeks apart, revealing JJ’s pink, furled hole.

“Pope…?” He heard JJ choke out.

Pope blew a soft stream of warm air onto JJ’s little rosebud and watched as it clenched slightly.

Then, leaning forwards, he brought his face in close and slowly licked across JJ’s tight hole.

“Fuck!” He heard JJ exclaim.

Pope smiled and, tongue soft and wet and wide, he repeated the action.

“Oh, Pope! Oh, fuck!” JJ panted again.

Pope pointed his tongue and flicked it up and down, and left to right, brushing it quickly over the delicate skin. Pope could feel JJ’s hole fluttering under his tongue.

“Pope! Oh god, yes, oh yes!” JJ panted. He shifted his hips and repositioned his arm to take his weight and brought the other down to his cock, which was hanging thick and heavy and neglected between his legs. But before he could take hold of it, however, Pope caught his wrist and stopped him.

“Not yet,” he said. And his face was still so close to JJ’s most private area that JJ could feel the huff of air against his skin when Pope spoke.

JJ groaned, but brought his elbow back down to the bed, resigning himself to the sweet torture.

Pope put his tongue to work again and soon JJ was panting and sighing and pushing back against him, needy little whines escaping his throat.

Pope switched up the movement of his tongue from strong licks and fast little flicks, and instead covered JJ’s hole with his lips and sucked lightly.

JJ groaned under him, pushing back, his legs trembling. “Oh, fuuuuuck!” he whimpered.

Pope gave the furled hole another slow lick, then pointed his tongue and – ever so slowly – pushed it against JJ’s entrance. JJ’s breath hitched. At first JJ’s muscles resisted, but then as Pope wiggled his tongue slightly, he felt the tight ring of muscles begin to relax, allowing him to push his tongue in slightly. Pope pressed his tongue forwards in tight circular motions, then slowly pulled back and pressed in again, fucking JJ’s hole with the tip of his tongue.

“Oh, fuck me!” JJ wailed. “Fuck, Pope. Yes! Oh, fuck I need to come!”

Pope could feel JJ trembling under his hands, the erratic twitch of his hips, the desperate, broken edge to his voice.

“Please, Pope,” he pleaded. “Please…”

And Pope, his face still buried in JJ’s ass, finally reached around and gripped his leaking erection and started pumping.

And JJ keened, caught between thrusting his painfully hard cock forward into Pope’s fist and pressing back into the delicious wet flicks of Pope’s tongue against his quivering hole. He was so desperately, painfully hard; the desire to cum so strong. And the feeling of Pope finally touching his rock-hard cock was toe-curlingly amazing. And Pope’s tongue, pressing and licking and sucking him – there – was beyond amazing. And for JJ, time seemed to be caught in one delicious, shining moment of wet, hot, hard, fast, urgent, pleasure, clenching, tensing… and then he was cumming. Hard.

Thick creamy ropes spurted onto the bed and over Pope’s fist and Pope could feel JJ’s hole twitching and clenching under his tongue, and JJ was moaning Pope’s name wildly, then breathlessly, then a little brokenly as his trembling legs gave way and he collapsed onto the bed.

Pope lay down next to him and ran his fingers through JJ’s hair, studying his face, his closed eyes and blissed out expression.

JJ opened his eyes and looked at Pope.

“Pope,” he whispered. Pope smiled.

“Pope,” JJ tried again, “That was just so… thank you. Just, wow! Like really. I’ve never felt anything like that before. It was just,” he screwed up his face, trying to find the right words and failing, ending instead on just a low grunt of consonants. “Nngggh,” he finished.

Pope smiled, eyes fond and affectionate. “Well if I’ve rendered you speechless, I guess it must have been good,” he teased lightly. JJ blinked. Pope brought his lips down and tenderly kissed JJ’s forehead and whispered, “I’m glad you thought so. It felt pretty incredible to do it for you too.” JJ hummed and his eyes drifted closed.

“Hey,” Pope squeezed his shoulder. “You should have a quick shower before you sleep.”

“Don’t wanna,” JJ mumbled. “Tired and comfy and no energy.”

“Come on, up you get.” Pope encouraged. “You’re sticky and sweaty and smell like sex. You’re laying in the wet spot and you’ve got cum in your hair. Shower, now.”

JJ groaned and with great effort pulled himself up and moved towards the bathroom.

“Aren’t you coming?” JJ asked in a small voice.

“You get in, I’ll be there in a sec,” Pope said. JJ nodded and padded off.

Pope quickly stripped the bed and put on clean sheets from the cupboard, putting the dirty ones in the machine to wash. He then went into the bathroom to join JJ.

When they were showered and dry, wearing clean boxers and a couple of the soft old tees that JJ kept at The Chateau, they crawled into bed and JJ rested his head on Pope’s chest.

“Good call,” JJ admitted, running his hands over the crisp sheets.

Pope hummed in response. JJ closed his eyes, listening to the rumble of it against his ear.

“So, power kink, huh?” JJ smiled into Pope’s chest.

“I guess so,” Pope replied. “Believe me, I took me by surprise a bit too.”

“It was good,” JJ said. “Different. I’ve never experienced that dynamic before. With girls, even when they’re on top, you’re still the one fucking them. This was something completely new. Not just the act itself, but the dynamic too. I liked it. I like the idea that we can switch stuff up like that sometimes.”

“Me too,” Pope agreed. “Give and take, assertive and submissive, top and bottom… there’s so much we can try together. And that’s just power stuff. Then there’s, well, everything else as well.” He felt JJ hum his agreement into the skin over his heart.

“How’s the research going?” JJ asked tentatively.

“Still a work in progress,” Pope said. “But I think we might be ready to progress from theory to the practical part soon.”

“An Introduction to Anal with Professor Heyward,” JJ laughed. “Sign me up for that class! Also, don’t you mean ‘continue the practical part’? Surely rimming counts?”

“Thanks for your input Mr Maybank, but in my classroom we raise our hands when we want to talk, I’d thank you to remember that.”

JJ laughed. “Sorry, Sir…” he drawled out playfully.

Pope cleared his throat. “Anyway class,” he continued in a mock stern voice. “As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, next week we will be moving onto a new topic: fingering.” JJ laughed against Pope’s chest.

They both fell quiet. After a beat, Pope grinned and said, “I don’t know whether I should be a little bit offended, you know? About not being complicated, I mean.”

“What?” JJ frowned, opening his eyes.

“That thing you said to JB earlier, about girls being complicated, so you said he should date a guy instead.”

“Oh,” JJ settled back down. “That.” He paused then added. “You might be deep, Pope, but you’re not complicated. I mean, not complicated complicated.” Pope ran his fingers soothingly up and down JJ’s arm. “It’s not like do you confusing things that I can’t work out. You’re easy.”

Pope laughed.

“I don’t mean easy.” JJ corrected himself. “I mean…”

“I know what you mean,” Pope cut in. He pressed a kiss to the top of JJ’s head. “I think you’re easy, too.” JJ huffed a small laugh. “Although, you know that probably has more to do with us, specifically, right?” Pope carried on. “Our dynamic. Rather than our gender.”

“Yeah!” JJ agreed, peering up at him. “I mean, we just talk about the hard stuff, right? The emotional stuff. We look it in the eye. We don’t keep it bottled up. Really, what’s the point of that? We both care about each other, and from where I’m standing it seems like we’re on the same page about stuff.”

“Yeah, it probably feels like that because we click so well,” Pope said. “It might be just as complicated dating a guy as it is dating a girl if you don’t get each other the way we do. Or talk about the hard stuff, or the embarrassing stuff like we do. But then, I suppose we trust each other, so that helps.”

JJ blinked and swallowed hard.

“We do click, don’t we?”

“Yeah,” Pope breathed out.

“This really is something special, isn’t it?” JJ said quietly. He wants confirmation, Pope thought. He’s a little insecure and wants confirmation.

“Yes,” Pope said, giving it to him. “For me, right from the very first moment, this just felt right.”

“For me too,” JJ admitted.

JJ rolled over and settled on his side, pulling Pope flush behind him; the big spoon to JJ’s little spoon. Pope’s knees tucked into the crook of JJ’s legs, his arm coming over, fingers interlacing and hands curled close to JJ’s chest. Pope’s groin pressed against JJ’s backside, but in this moment, Pope felt nothing more than tenderness and affection. He pressed a kiss to the back of JJ’s neck, the spot right between his shoulders, and shifted slightly, snuggling them even closer.

“After everything,” JJ mumbled into the pillow, voice drowsy and muffled slightly. “After all this time, and everything we’ve been through to get here.” He paused, let out a breath and then carried on. “It’s hard to believe that this is how it could be from now on.”

Pope thought back to how he used to feel about his relationship with JJ – like his life had turned into a series of moments as precious and delicate and fragile as champagne flutes on a tray in the wind. He wondered when he had stopped feeling like the tiniest wrong move or misstep could bring his happiness crashing down in a shower of irreparable shards of shattered crystal.

“Believe it,” Pope replied, and JJ sighed and relaxed further into his arms. Pope shut his eyes and held him close, his heart beating a rhythm against JJ’s back: this, just this, just this, just this, just this…

[afni-fics]

Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn: Chapter 34: Hot Springs

Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn: Chapter 34: Hot Springs by C_R_Scott Fandom: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Red Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics), Batman (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Tim Drake, Lucien Flavius, Kaidan (Elder Scrolls) Additional Tags: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Skyrim/DCU crossover, Reluctant Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Not Beta Read, Alternate Universe - Skyrim Fusion, Modded Skyrim, Skyrim Spoilers, Tim Drake is Dragonborn | Dovahkiin, Tim Drake-centric, Trope: It sucks to be the chosen one, Trope: Trapped in another world, Trope: Kidnapped by the Call

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Summary:

Along the way to Ivarstead, the trio happen upon a set of hot springs...

Despite how rocky things started off that morning, as Tim and his companions continued along the road leading towards Ivarstead, things mellowed out somewhat. 

The most obvious quality of life improvement with Kaidan now travelling with them was that weaker threats like skeevers, small wolves, and the occasional small group of bandits that would've tried to take a chunk out of him or Lucien previously were content to keep their distance. Dressed in heavy steel armor with that giant sword longer than most men strapped to his back, Tim was honestly glad for the obvious visual threat deterrence Kaidan provided. After his argument with Lucien, and after spending half the night rescuing their new friend from the Thalmor, Tim was not in a mood to finish any fights started by the wildlife or wandering criminal population of Skyrim. 

While Lucien focused on conversing with Kaidan for most of the morning, Tim enjoyed the newfound peace and quiet of this leg of the journey and having a few hours to observe his surroundings alone with his own thoughts. The further they went, the more mountainous and wooded the terrain became, and the more enamored he became with his surroundings

The young man took note of the types of trees and plants that grew in abundance around him. Idly he wondered which were useful, potentially edible plants and which were toxic. He also made it a point to be mindful of movements of the animals that wandered amongst the trees. If he was going to have to survive out here, he needed to learn know how to identify, at a glance, the harmless creatures from the more dangerous ones that would immediately see him and his companions as a quick meal. 

"I should buy another journal, just for field notes, and pencils for sketching," Tim thought to himself. "I wish cameras were a thing here." There was so much... too much... to see and learn.

    "Word is, the waters here are good for you." 

The sun was starting to get affectionate with the horizon and Tim glanced backward to notice that Kaidan had paused to look at something just off the cobblestone path. He followed the swordsman's gaze to an interesting looking location on the other side of the river they'd been following towards their destination.

"What is that?" he asked

"Hot springs," Kaidan explained as he went to a better ledge overlooking the river and the pools beyond. "I've passed by every now and again over the years, but never indulged myself. The locals believe the water has healin' properties, and somehow they stay warm all year round."

"We have to camp here tonight!"

Kaidan and Lucien both looked at Tim curiously, who was staring at the hot springs with an expression of obvious longing.

"We 'have' to?" Lucien asked.

Tim whipped his head to his two travelling companions. "Yes! We 'have' to!" he insisted. Then, without even waiting for the other two to agree or disagree, Tim started making is way off the beaten path towards an obvious set of large stones that could easily serve as a makeshift bridge to across the river. After sharing a confused glance and a shrug of shoulders, Kaidan and Lucien both followed after him.

It didn't take Tim long to reach the outer edges of the hot springs ahead of his companions. The air was unfamiliarly warm and humid and there was a distinct medicinal aroma in the air. Tim took it all in with relish. As he got to the waters' edge, he tugged off one of his gloves and tested the temperature of both the sands on the shoreline as well as the water with his hand. He didn't even bother trying to mask the murmur of approval that escaped his lips.

"Are you seriously considering indulging in these springs, Timothy?"

Tim nodded at Lucien as he rose to his feet and tugged his glove back on. "I am not passing up this opportunity," he said as he glanced at the clearing just a dozen or so yards away from the water's edge. There was more than enough room to comfortably set up camp, and Tim was quick to set down his pack and pull out the things needed to set up their tent. 

"Opportunity?" Kaidan echoed with with confusion, which was rewarded with an exasperated grumble.

"It has been literal weeks since I've been able to take a decent bath since I woke up in Skyrim," Tim told Kaidan as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Not to mention it's cold all the damned time out here, especially at night! Every day the choice is either be clean and flirting with frostbite or stay decently warm but filthy." He glanced at Lucien, who was observing him with a fair amount of growing amusement.

"I think you're exaggerating a bit regarding how cold it is out here," the scholar chuckled.

"I probably am, but I don't care," Tim said matter-of-factly as he started setting up the tent as quickly and efficiently as he could. "You want me to not look for trouble tonight? Then this is your best chance for it, because short of a fucking dragon attack I am not squandering the chance for a hot bath and a decent night's sleep in a place that's actually radiating warmth instead of sucking it out of me."

While Kaidan regarded Tim with a fair amount of undisguised concern before borrowing an axe to collect firewood, Lucien just continued to snicker under his breath as he pulled out the cooking gear and ingredients from his own bag. It was his turn to cook, after all.

   "I am never taking hot baths for granted ever again," Tim thought to himself with a content sigh once he finally sank chest deep into the springs after finding a spot where there was a natural stone ledge next to the water's edge that allowed him to lounge comfortably while submerged. After camp had been set up, the sun had set, and Lucien had just started cooking, Tim was adamant about enjoying the springs as early and as long as he possibly could. After assuring Lucien and Kaidan he'd only be a few yards away, Tim made his way to the nearest deep pool he could find, stripped off his gear and clothing, and stepped into the deliciously hot waters.  After taking several minutes to actually clean his skin and hair, the young man finally settled into a mostly tranquil state as he stared up at the starry night sky with its twin moons. It was so warm and peaceful out there. One could almost forget that Skyrim was a wild mostly-untamed land full of a wide variety of things that wanted him dead.

Almost...

The subtle sound of something skulking in the shadows of some nearby trees behind him caught his ear. Without moving his head, Tim's eyes glanced towards the trees and recognized the outline of a man among the evergreens. Casually, Tim moved from where he was sitting and made his way back to the shore where his clothes were folded. He rummaged through his bag and pulled out a length of linen cloth he was planning on using as a towel. 

A feint. 

From beneath the cover of the linen cloth, Tim slipped several throwing stars into his hand. Then, as quickly as he could, he threw the stars at the evergreens right where the shadows looked most man-shaped. They whistled through the air and embedded themselves in the trunks of the trees with solid "THUNKS".

"What the fu--?!" the man in the darkness shouted as he quickly stumbled away from where the wickedly sharp metal stars had nearly clipped him. Unfortunately for that poor soul, the stars themselves had been another feint. 

While the stranger was distracted, Tim had wrapped the linen cloth around his waist and recovered his metal quarterstaff. On the silence of bare feet and without the weight of his own armor slowing him down, the vigilante rushed his distracted stalker and struck him with a headshot and a couple of body blows from his staff before finally taking him completely off his feet, where he crashed to the sandy shore with a clatter of metal.

Wait... Metal?

"What in the world is going on?" Lucien called out as he rushed to where Tim stood with a lantern in hand. As soon as the light was close enough to chase the shadows away, it was clear who Tim's unfortunate victim was.

"Kaidan?!"

Their new swordsman, flat on his back on the sand, groaned as he brought a hand up to his head. "What the Oblivion was that?"

Tim relaxed his defensive stance. "Were you... spying on me?!"

"Guardin'," Kaidan muttered as he gingerly eased himself up into a seated position. "Least, that was the plan. To keep watch your back while you were... vulnerable." He glanced at Lucien. "I thought you said he was bad at self-preservation?"

"I did, but I meant that in the way that he frequently throws himself into dangerous situations without any concern for his own health and wellbeing." Lucien shook his head, set down the lantern, and cast a quick healing spell over their swordsman. "When it comes to actual combat, Timothy's really quite skilled."

Tim leaned against his staff as he watched Lucien finish his healing. "Y'know Kaidan, you could've just told me you were worried about my safety before I went into the water."

"You wanted to bathe. I figured you'd tell me to sod off for privacy."

"I would've said, 'Do what you want. I don't give a fuck.' I can watch my own back just fine though." After taking a moment to retrieve his throwing stars from the nearby tree, Tim turned back to the pool. "Now if you guys don't mind, I'm going back to finish my bath."

Now that Kaidan was upright and he could see Tim more clearly in the lantern light, the swordsman took a moment to get a good look at the lines of the young man's body that had previously been hidden beneath layers of leather armor. Though he'd originally assumed he was a noble or scholar based on how Tim spoke and carried himself, as well as how he interacted with Lucien, Tim's body told a different story. His muscles were lean and well defined, looking like they'd been built over years of training for speed and finesse, rather than raw power and brute strength. His pale skin was also a map of scars scattered across both his torso and his limbs.

As Tim walked off, Kaidan noticed something that made his breath catch in his throat. It was the sight of Tim's burn scars consuming nearly the entirety of the young man's back and part of his left upper arm.

--- NOTE:

Indulging in little slices of life as Tim, Luci, and Kai travel towards Ivarstead. I'd forgotten initially during the playthrough that the hot springs were along one of the main paths to Ivarstead, so when Kaidan commented on it in-game I couldn't resist the pit stop.

It's been in the back of my mind that Tim has been missing a lot of modern conveniences since waking up in Skyrim. Motorized vehicles, computers, and cell phones/communication devices have been obvious ones. However, it occurred to me that things like regular access to hot baths would also be sorely missed too, especially in a region as cold as Skyrim, especially when you're spending days to weeks on end out on the road or in the wilderness.

#elder scrolls dc#fanfiction#tim drake#skyrim fanfiction#red robin#batfam#crossover#lucien flavius#wip#kaidan skyrim#afewnovelideas

[bnhavibes]

Dark Paradise

Chapter 3: Disquiet

Ao3

Mafia AU! 

“I want,” Shigaraki leaned in, all fingers but one curling around Kai’s bicep, “the girl.” His minatory gaze was trained on Kai’s, daring him to step out of line. Kai took a shaky inhale, eyes flicking over to the young woman on the couch. 

“Will you do that for me, Kai?” Shigaraki’s four fingers gripped tighter around Kai’s tense arm; a stern reminder that he didn’t have a choice. “If you don’t, I trust it’s not necessary to say what will happen to you.”

Art from this post, FOLLOW THEM THEIR ART IS AMAZING!!

Word Count: ~4k

Your sparkly princess shoe kicked the rock playfully and watched as it rolled along the sidewalk, giggling to yourself all the while. Dainty fingers trailed along the bottom of well-trimmed hedges. Through the green, you saw the off-white bleached brick of your house come into view and skipped the rest of the way there. You couldn’t wait to show the picture you had drawn at school today.

You kicked the welcome mat up to find the key to the towering red front door and you quickly replaced it before eagerly shuffling inside, ready for the delicious smell of homemade chocolate chip cookies to grace your nose. It was Wednesday, and every week your mom made cookies to celebrate a week half over. They were always ready for when you got home from school. Your older sister would help make them because her middle school got out earlier.

But it didn’t smell like cookies. You felt the bright hopefulness that adorned your face earlier sink, a pouty frown replacing it. Clumsily, you kicked off your shoes and socks, padding over to the couch to toss your backpack down. 

“Mommy? Skye?” There was no answer. Maybe they were playing in the backyard? Yeah, they were probably playing and going to make cookies later. Your mom always kept saying that one of these days you were going to have to start helping them bake. With great effort, you pulled the sliding door open to the expansive backyard, and your head tilted as you tried to process what was in front of you.

“Mommy?” She was lying prone on the ground, her neck was turned towards the door so you could see her face. It was blank, vacant. Her jaw was slack, and her arms were twisted strangely at her sides. You had dropped to your knees on the soft grass at the sight, so you crawled over to your mom and shook her arm. You were sad to feel she wasn’t as warm as usual; her embrace was the most comforting thing in the world. You kept calling out to her and telling her this game wasn’t funny. Why would she play a game like this? You wondered. You took in the sight of her. Maybe she is sleeping? Your small arms wrapped around her shoulders to pull her up. Her neck made a dull thunk! as her head hung in the air and lolled around. You shook her again, horrified at how her head rolled lifelessly. 

“Mommy? Mommy!”

Water clogged up your vision so that when you looked around the yard, you could just barely make out your sister several meters away. She lay there, limbs askew and back bent unnaturally. 

“Mommy, whats wrong with Skye?” You couldn’t take your eyes off the way your sister’s body lay uncomfortably. A deep cracking noise turned your attention back to your mother. Your eyes widened impossibly as you listened to the horrifying snaps and crunching of bone as your mom’s neck wrenched back around to face you. You couldn’t stare at anything except her completely vacant eyes.

“You weren’t here. We died alone.” Her arms started twisting in ways they shouldn’t, shattering the bones as she crawled towards you, dragging her bottom half behind her. Her strained gasps rang out in the yard. You stumbled backwards and a broken scream erupted from your throat.

~~

Your eyes shot open. There was a loud noise in your somber bedroom, and you realized with horror that it was your own forceful breathing and heart pounding dangerously fast against its confines. Your throat felt raw and dry. You must have been actually screaming. Bringing one trembling hand to your face as tears dropped from your eyes, you tried to control your breathing. Panic enveloped your entire being, those ever-present tons of rocks making their home on your ribcage, crushing your chest. Is this what Giles Corey felt like? You couldn’t get a full breath in no matter how hungrily, greedily you sucked in air. 

You sat up and pushed your back firmly against the headboard. Shoving your hand over your mouth again, you covered your nostrils to stop your hyperventilation. Dry lips and fingers went numb, pinprick pains raining under your skin, and your body felt heavy. Unable to do anything else, you stared emptily at the blank walls of your room. You had lived here for four years, and still hadn’t ever bothered to make it look like a home. The excuse you always used was that you didn’t value material possessions. Honestly, it was because decorating was commitment, and it would make this broken down place a more permanent thing in your life, which you didn’t want to think about.

By now you knew how to deal with the panic attacks that your recurring nightmare brought about. It had happened when you were in fifth grade. Your childhood house’s neighbour was a reckless young hero. He had been trying to show off his wind-based quirk for a news camera, not thinking of the consequences of using it in a residential area, and accidentally sent a strong gust of wind whipping towards your mother and sister. 

It snapped your mother’s neck, and the autopsy showed that your sister had died from a subarachnoid hemorrhage from the trauma of the hit. Even after so many years it still occasionally came back to haunt you in your dreams, but with a new horrifying twist each time. This one was especially bad. Sero had suggested therapy many times, but therapy wasn’t meant for people like you. What wisdom could a complete stranger give you? If you opened up to a therapist about your past you would have to leave it all out in the open, including your killing people. You supposed you could omit that part, but what good would that do? The thought of baring yourself completely to anyone, much less a random person, terrified you. Talking about emotions had never been your strong suit.

You leaned over and grabbed your phone to see the time. Squinting your eyes violently as your face was bathed in wretched artificial light, you barely made out the numbers. 4:27am. You sighed and lay back. Thoughts of the League of Villains filled your head. Could they really change the world so things like that wouldn’t happen? 

After you absently tossed and turned for a while, you drifted back to sleep, chest feeling so sorrowfully hollow.

~~

You woke to the sound of your alarm. You had 15 minutes to get ready before Sero came to pick you up. Sliding out of bed, you put on a sufficiently decent outfit for walking. The exercise pants accentuated your thighs and calves nicely. You glanced disapprovingly at the bags under your eyes that were considerably darker this morning. Skin blanched, you looked sickly, and it seemed like you could do with a few hundred years more sleep. You could already see Sero’s face contorting in that way it does when he’s worried about you. Though you detested the idea of a person who cared about you seeing you like this, you needed to talk things through to process. Also, it was just so crazy that you could still barely wrap your head around it. You could work for the League of Villains!

When Sero’s inked knuckles rapped on your front door, you opened it and took your time drinking in his appearance. Admiring the way his fitted white T-shirt stretched across the subtle muscles of his chest. His tattoos peeked out the top of his shirt, traveling up his neck and cascading down both arms. His dark ripped jeans complimented his shirt perfectly. His black plugs were paired with two silver cartilage piercings on his left ear, and a barbell in his right eyebrow. His short black hair was a bit longer than usual. Finally, your eyes landed on his left shoulder where a...sloth was clinging to him. You felt a rush of affection for Sero, and you pulled him into a long hug, carefully avoiding the sloth. You could already feel yourself healing. 

“So the sloth is… different. Any other new tattoos I should know about?” Your voice was muffled against his chest. He pulled back before responding.

“Nah, but here! I didn’t forget.” You watched as the tattoo on his left forearm of a cat with shiny stygian fur stretched and yawned before it hopped off his arm and became a real cat.

“Hey Biscuit! Good to see you buddy.” You definitely needed some kitty therapy. You cooed at the small cat and bent over to scoop him up into your arms. After a few scratches behind the ears, he started purring and nuzzled into your neck. 

Your mother and father had had cats when you were little, but they were long gone and you hadn’t been able to afford a pet while living in this house. Of course, you could have afforded cats if you agreed to take more money from the Deku gang or the Shie Hassaikai, like they kept pressuring you to do. You speculated this is why Sero had gotten the tattoo in the first place, but he had never admitted that to you. Certainly he wanted companionship like anyone else, but Sero was more of a dog person, considering he was pretty much the human version of a puppy. 

With one last check to ensure the back porch light was off, the two of you went off on your way to the restaurant where you were planning to stuff your face with hopefully a somewhat nutritious meal. Better than the crap you’ve been daring to call nourishment.

Locking the door behind you, the two of you stepped out into the breezy summer air. If you closed your eyes you could imagine yourself on a beach. Anywhere but here.

Before you got into all of your problems you couldn’t get off your mind, you asked Sero how his work was going. He owned his own small tattoo parlor in the next part of town that was significantly less ramshackle than your zip code. It was no rich people haven by any means, but still nicer. 

“Work is...good! Hey, when are you going to come to my shop and get a tattoo? I’ll make sure to give you the best-person-in-the-world discount!” His silly lopsided grin made giggles erupt from your throat, no matter how you tried to hold them in. The breakfast place he suggested was suspiciously close to said tattoo shop, and you had laughed when he first sent you the address. Always a businessman first.

“Sorry ink-man, no tattoos for me today.”

“Alright, alright, fine. It has been busier than usual, I think sending my card to those gangs like you suggested really paid off! They’re a little terrifying, but hey, they pay me. Oh and you wouldn’t believe what happened the other day.” He launched into a story about how a client had come into his shop for a consultation on a tattoo, whipped out a picture of her boyfriend completely naked and demanded he tattoo the entire thing across her back. 

“What? No way.” You let your head fall back as you laughed at the ridiculousness of some people. It was nice to hear about something screwed up, but not heavy. A story that made you laugh and forget about the betrayal you felt.

“Well, anyway, and most importantly, how are you?” He smiled at you expectantly. Your heart sank a bit as you were again forced back into your thoughts.

“Uh, pretty good I guess.” He raised his eyebrows in disbelief so you continued. “Okay not really. I’ve gotten a surge of trauma patients recently and I lost one last night.” Though it was never easy, Sero knew losing a patient was nothing new for you, so that couldn’t be why you had called. He nodded sympathetically and put a hand on your shoulder. 

After a moment he offered you a bright smile, “at least you’ve got me!” 

You smiled back, “yeah, I do.” 

The sunlight beamed in through the tree branches and leaves above you, casting spots of golden light onto Sero’s form. The wind whipped through your hair and you enjoyed the smell of summer coming in as you heard the birds chirping blithely around you. As if to keep you from truly enjoying any distraction, the image of your mother’s head twisting around flooded into your head and made you flinch, and you wrenched your eyes shut as if to lessen the impact. But there was no running away from the image plastered on the back of your eyelids.

“I had the nightmare again.” You couldn’t bring yourself to meet Sero’s eyes as you said it, electing to stare at the dirt-caked sidewalk instead. 

“Oh. I’m sorry. It was a bad one this time, huh?” A tattooed arm wrapped around your shoulders, and you snuggled closer, tugging your arm around his back, curling your fingers into his side. He let that fact hang in the air for a bit, leaving room for you to share more if you wanted. You both walked in comfortable silence for a bit, and you breathed in his scent. Soaking up his warmth and support, you tried not to cry as you felt your throat closing up. 

After a moment, Sero startled you by yelling and pointing his finger. He had felt the need to point out two birds in a tree “going at it” and you broke into a relieved laugh. 

From that point on, you chatted idly about everything and nothing while on your way to the restaurant. His laugh was the funniest part of any dumb joke he told. Though, you thought he was funny without even trying. 

~~

The steaming food was set down in front of you, and Sero decided it was time to forgo the small talk.

“So. What’s really going on? I know you love seeing me, of course, but I can tell when something else is on your mind.” His playful grin reminded you that no matter what you said he wouldn’t judge you. So you decided to cut right to the issue, as he bent to take a sip of his iced caramel coffee.

“The League of Villains wants me to be their on-call nurse.” Sero started choking on his drink, and his sloth placed a few gentle pats on his back. He was still able to breathe, so you continued.

“I have to live with them, but they’ll pay me for my time. And I don’t have to pay rent.” You paused for a bit, and your tone must have lacked finality because Sero stayed silent, sensing there was more you wanted to say. But he was also still in the middle of his coughing fit.

“They have made a big difference in the world, for the better, and it would be nice to be part of something bigger. I won’t go on missions with them or anything so my safety shouldn’t be compromised.” You sighed, staring pensively at your food and absently picking at it with your fork. There was another detail that was still bothering you.

“They somehow know about my mom and sister. They’ve done their research and think I would fit in well there.” You warmed at the thought of finally fitting in somewhere. It had been so hard to be somewhat morally grey as a nurse and always walk that line of never fully agreeing with the heroes or villains. Sero had recovered from inhaling his coffee, so he finally spoke.

“What, that’s crazy! Honestly, if it gets you out of that crappy neighborhood, I’ll be glad. I know you’re not happy there, and it sounds like you want to join them. So what’s stopping you?” You were thoughtful for a moment.

“I don’t know. It’s sort of a big change. I just need time to think it over. It seems like the perfect way to safely get out of those deals with the gangs. I wanted to talk it out with you first. You’re my go-to for advice,” you chuckled. He gave you a wide grin.

“Of course I am! I give only the best advice for the best of people. Look, it sounds like this could be really good for you. I mean, we both know your clinic was a lot more stressful than you expected and there’s no opportunities there. I want to see you happy. And maybe you’ll meet a hot villain guy to fu-“

“Ugh, Sero you always have to go there don’t you?” Dabi’s face played in your mind, and you felt the blush creeping up your neck, flicking your eyes to the sidewalk at the base of the outdoor table.

“There’s already a hot villain guy, isn’t there? Isn’t there?!” You blushed more and choked out an embarrassed laugh. Sero’s Cheshire grin went ear-to-ear as he continued.

“Oh there definitely is,” he waggled his eyebrows, “tell me about him. I was wondering how you heard from the League.” You sighed in defeat. 

“There was this guy, Dabi, that came to my house and told me they’ve been watching me, whatever the hell that means. He said they could use someone like me.” Sero looked at you expectantly and flailed his arms.

“And?” You sighed again.

“And he has lots of piercings, blue eyes, and he’s kind of an asshole,” you begrudgingly admitted.

“Just your type, then.”

“I guess.” Dabi did check all your boxes. Somehow.

Sero had been your best friend through all of your tumultuous relationships and your complete weakness for “bad boys” that never treated you right. Dabi definitely fit this category, especially with him being a villain. If you had to psychoanalyze yourself and guess, it must be some self-destructive tendency as a result of your dad’s abuse being the only kind of love you had known after the fifth grade. Therapy might be good. Or maybe you really had embraced your dark side like Midoriya had said. The cliché was almost laughable, but you certainly weren’t going to resist your interest in the scarred man.

“But he also told me that I should watch my back, and he basically admitted that he got information about me from one of the mobs I make deals with. I mean, what else could he mean by that?” Sero hummed and his face twisted slightly with concern. 

He didn’t say it, what you both knew, and what you had been trying to avoid thinking about. The possibility that your Uncle could be the one selling information about you to the League. What could be worth it? More money than they already had? Protection? Supplies? What was worth selling you out for after you had saved so many of their men’s lives? You were blood.

As much as you could tell yourself it was another gang who did it, the one detail remained inconsistent: how Dabi knew about your family. You were certain you hadn’t told a soul who didn’t already know because they were directly involved. The city had to cover up the story, sweep it under the rug and not give details about it to keep your story confidential. It would have looked bad for the well-known hero agency of which he was a member. Of course, the hero had gotten off on some bullshit jail time that wasn’t long enough for the murder (though accidental, it was still murder) he committed. So it wasn’t like anyone could look you up and figure out your entire life story. Or certainly not about that incident. 

You had done years of intensive, paranoid searching to find the story buried somewhere. You never found it. No one was interested in telling the stories of people like you. They would much prefer you stay unknown and unheard.

The only way to figure it out was an inside perspective. You supposed there were the gangsters close to your uncle that could possibly know. Certainly Chisaki, but would Tommy really have told his underlings? No, that seemed unlikely. So, the only people who realistically knew about it were Sero, Tommy, and Chisaki. You thought to the other gangs. In your numerous calculated conversations with Izuku, you were certain you had never slipped up and betrayed any details of your personal life, much less of your childhood trauma. That was a hard line you never crossed with the crime lord, even when he tried to poke around. 

It certainly couldn’t be Keigo. He didn’t seem to care enough about you, or any other than himself, to send people to spy on you. Even if a gangster was spying on you, it still didn’t explain how they knew. Maybe you had talked about it out in the open with Sero? You shook your head, beginning to feel a pounding at the base of your skull from overthinking. You needed a distraction.

“What’s his name?” You gestured your fork at the sloth that was now languidly picking through Sero’s hair. Maybe that’s why it looked more frizzy than usual. 

“Frank. Maybe.” You looked at him incredulously and laughed. It was a funny name, but he had to have thought of something better. “Oh what are you laughing about?” 

“Frank is an absolutely unacceptable name for a sloth. It would have to be something like….Morgan. Yeah, I can see that.”

“I can’t! How is Morgan any better than Frank? They’re both people names. And what else do you name sloths? Fluffy?” 

The rest of the meal was spent arguing over names from his new companion. Except when you occasionally interjected with new realizations about your predicament. Sero played along whenever you derailed the conversation with blurting your thoughts out loud, and gave you reassurance when you needed it. Thank the Gods for his endless patience.

After you both were done eating and paid for the food—the pink-skinned waitress with black pits for eyes was smitten and gave Sero a fuck me please discount—you both started walking back to your house, since Sero had to start up his tattoo shop for the day. You plotted activities for the next time you would come over to his apartment. 

Once you returned to your doorstep, Sero pulled you into his arms. 

“Just know that whatever you choose, I’m here to support you. I love you, okay? Get some more rest then call them and negotiate. They’re only getting you on your terms.” He gazed at you with fondness and a rare seriousness that differed from his normally felicitous demeanor. “And feel around to see who could possibly be telling the League that stuff. Whoever it is, it’ll be okay.”

“I will, and yeah I still need to think about it more, but you’re right. It’s on my terms,” you punched him on the shoulder, “love you too, weirdo.” You reached up to hesitantly stroke the sloth’s head, unsure if that’s what you did with pet sloths. “Bye, Frank.” 

It was a cute name, and you didn’t actually have a problem with it, you just liked messing with Sero. As you watched him walk away you wondered how you lucked out to have someone as great as Sero in your life. He made you laugh with his near-constant levity, but was still serious when you needed it. He had been your rock since high school, and you didn’t want to imagine how your life would be without him. 

You sighed. Now it was time to sit down and do some research.

[beckzorz]

Chips and Crack and Jacket 2

Pairing: biker!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Warnings: Swearing, mentions of cocaine Prompt: “You’re safe now.” with biker!bucky. 1.45k A/N: A follow-up to Chips and Cracks and Jacket, thanks to another fun prompt from @littledarlinhavefaithinme​! It’s another over-the-top drunk drabble for @the-ss-horniest-book-club <3 Hope you enjoy!

You’ve gotten good at talking to strangers over the years. Well, more not talking than talking, you suppose. Easy enough to catch someone’s eye, see them nod. Harder to get a sense of what they want when they’re disguising it all with words, words, words. Those conversations with the chatty ones, about sports or the weather or a party you’d never be invited to—all that layered over the top of a deal, sometimes it’d throw you off.

Not anymore.

This morning, you’re free.

Debt all paid, hands finally clean—well, maybe not clean, not quite, but they’ll be clean, from now on. No more selling, no more stuffing cash in your bra, no more dropping coins in your shoe and dressing like a hoe for a job.

The paint cracking on the wall is bright and ugly now you’ve pulled your cheap-ass window blinds up all the way. It’s been months since you let all the light in. Maybe even years. You don’t care much. Chipped paint is the least of the bullshit in this place. At least you haven’t got cockroaches anymore. Thank god for tenant protection laws and exterminators.

The mouse that haunts the kitchen is another story, but it’s not like you have much food in there anyway.

That’ll change soon.

It better, anyway. You might look good, but you feel every damn bite you should be eating missing in your knotted gut.

At any rate, today you can at least dress for yourself. Ripped jeans, a nostalgic band shirt from your younger years soft against your skin, and a hoodie you’d nabbed for a buck at a thrift store. And socks. Last night, with your extra cash leftover from what you’d needed to make, you’d bought socks.

You fiddle with your phone in the hoodie pocket. There’s a napkin in front of your crossed legs, spread out as smooth as it can be with the wrinkles. You glance at the leather jacket hanging with your ratty towel on your door, a sliver of the star patch on the far arm visible..

Well, you’re free.

And Motorcycle Man’s been waiting.

—

Seven texts between you, and you’ve got a—a date? An appointment? Who the fuck knows. All you know is that Motorcycle Man sure as hell doesn’t waste his words, and he’s a lot less flirty in writing. If he even had been flirting back at the sub shop. You’re not sure anymore.

Fuck him if he was just being kind.

—

There’s a coffee shop not too far from where you’d met, just enough blocks away to be respectable and not decrepit, creepy, illegal, whatever. Big windows, tinted glass, artsy font. Even a chalkboard sandwich board out front with puns on it. Inside, clean tables, clean floors, even with the crowd with their fancy laptops and books and handbags. There’s nothing for sale under two bucks. Except maybe a pad of butter, but even that’s pushing it.

You haven’t bought anything in a place like this for…

Forget it. You don’t know. You don’t want to think about it, either.

You spot Motorcycle Man just as he spots you—he’s at a little rickety round table, a round mug steaming, two fingers hooked absently in the handle. He looks as delicious as when you’d met, even if he’s not wearing a leather jacket or motorcycle gloves and his expression is more shocked than sexy. When he stands up you’re impressed he doesn’t knock the chair over. But he’s careful, even if he is a hunk and a half. Impressive. And—he’s got a splint on his left hand. Interesting, if irrelevant.

“Well hello,” you say.

“Hey,” he answers. His eyes skim you up and down, and your nose twitches.

What was he expecting? You’re not dressed like when you met. No, you’d gone to the thrift store, gotten a few new things. Well, new to you. Some jeans, not ripped for a change, and a sweater that’ll be enough if he wants his jacket back. Because of course you’re wearing his jacket. It still smells like him.

But that look, that up and down, that scan without any sort of feeling behind it… Yuck.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asks.

You shrug. “If you like.”

There’s no line, and all you have to do is rattle off the name of your favorite hot drink. He gives his own name—Bucky, of all things, what the hell kind of name is that?—and his own cash. Six damn dollars, minus the change, just for something to warm your bones.

Well, if he is just being kind, you’re gonna eke it out for all it’s worth. God knows your next job won’t be much better than your last one. Even if it will be legal.

He doesn’t make small talk as you wait, and neither do you. A heavy awkwardness settles between you. What are you even doing here? This guy might’ve thought you were cheeky in your sexy outfit last week, but now that you look like a regular person…

Well.

It’s pretty damn clear he doesn’t think so anymore.

Well, if Bucky—god, what a weird name—thinks you’re just a pity case, you’ll walk right the fuck out, even if it means taking your enormous hot mug that smells like absolute heaven with you.

If the smell is heaven, that first sip is paradise. Indulgence isn’t exactly familiar territory these days, but damn. No matter how sanctimonious this Bucky turns out to be, the drink’s made it worth it.

When you open your eyes again, once the warmth from your drink has settled in your belly, Bucky’s grinning at you.

“Good?” he asks.

You can’t help but smile back. “Delicious. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He settles back in his chair—he’d been leaning forward to look at you, hadn’t he?—and takes a swig of his coffee. “I’m glad you texted.”

Ah, here it comes. You steel yourself, muscles clenched.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. He looks into his coffee, his lips still quirked up. “Is it weird if I’m glad you’ve still got my jacket?”

“Why, do you want it back?”

“Not really.”

You pause, eyes narrowed over the rip of your mug as you take another sip. When you respond, your tone is only chilly, not murderous. “Why, ‘cause I’m clearly a charity case who needs all the help she can get?”

He narrows his eyes back at you. “No-o,” he says slowly. “Cause it looks good on you. And that patch on your sleeve means you shouldn’t ever get bothered, least not in this neighborhood. You’re safe now.”

“What? Why would I get bothered? Why would I need to not get bothered?”

Bucky leans forward, elbows on the table and his blue eyes boring into yours. “We both know what you do,” he whispers. He’s just loud enough to hear.

“Not anymore,” you tell him. He scoffs, and you sigh. “I mean, I’m done with it. All my debt’s paid off.”

“Wh—really? You’re not just shitting me?”

You roll your eyes. You’re not answering that. Like hell. He wants to drag you out, keep you safe like it’s his job or something… He can damn well do with some humbling. You drink until your mug is just about empty as Bucky tries to decide whether to believe you or not.

The thunk of your mug back on the table has him sitting back, face pinched.

“Are you serious?” Bucky asks.

“Ugh, yes, I’m not a fucking liar, Bucky.”

Weird name, but it still rolls off your tongue easy as pie. You’d like to say it again, maybe without twenty shades of annoyance.

“Okay.” Bucky lets out a breath between his teeth, shakes his head, and looks at you with a fresh glint in his eye. “Good.”

You suppress a shiver at the sudden hunger in his gaze.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Good.”

“Very good.” Bucky’s smirk is just as heart-stopping as it had been in the sub shop. “Cause now I don’t have to worry about taking up your valuable work time to ask you for a proper drink. If you drink proper drinks, I mean.”

“What if I didn’t?” you ask, skin prickling all over.

He leans close again, and the look in his eyes has you leaning in too. He curls his hand round your neck and turns your head until his breath is hot in your ear. 

“I’d suggest we skip the formalities and go straight to bed.”

You tilt your head, hum. The warmth from your drink still lingers, but it’s got nothing on the heat tingling in your cheeks, your belly, your chest.

“Whaddya say?” he murmurs.

You sit back just enough to look him in the eye. “I say yes.”

[subverbaldreams]

@reniisbooks  This one captured my imagination. I hope you enjoy! I’ve posted the full 5.9k story on my AO3 here: 

The Darkness In Me

warning: dubious consent

everyone’s 18 or older

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There have been a few (read: many) times in Tony’s life when he’s known he was fucked. Now, looking into his own eyes, ice-blue and devoid of empathy, he feels a great surge of nostalgia for those good old days.

Every inch of his body hurts. The fight was quick and brutal and now he’s tied up, legs spread, sitting up against the headboard of his own bed with his arms splayed out to either side.

Well. If being shibari’d to his own bed by his evil twin doesn’t say something about lifestyle choices, he isn’t sure what does.

His doppleganger picks up Tony’s phone from the floor and starts flipping through it. His lips— Tony’s lips, his own goddamn face except for the eye color—curl in a smug smirk that’s gut wrenching in its familiarity. Tony’s seen that look on his own face, before.

“And Pepper Potts, too,” his twin murmurs. “You really are just a pale copy of me and my universe, aren’t you? Ooh, hel-lo. Who’s this?” Avarice darkens his gaze; he taps and scrolls, then tilts the phone so Tony can see. Peter Parker’s innocent face fills the screen and Tony jerks at the cords around his wrists.

“You fucking piece of garbage, if you touch him—”

“Oh, my shadow,” his twin shakes his head. “Not a full day in your ‘verse and you keep disappointing me. You’ve just told me he’s exactly the person I should touch.”

He flicks his wrist; a splash of chrome flies off his suit like paint splatter and hits Tony’s throat, burns into his skin and he screams, but only for a second. Air keeps pushing out of his throat, but there is no more sound. Nothing. Tony meets his own eyes (pale as a winter sky) and a conspiratorial wink, grotesque because that’s his face, his wink and in this context, so wrong.

“Vocal cord paralytic. It’ll wear off in a bit,” his twin smiles. “Don’t want you ruining our surprise.” He taps the phone and Tony hears it ring.

Oh, Pete. Don’t pick up, kid. Don’t pick up!

“Hey. It’s me,” his doppleganger says, voice urgent. “I have an emergency situation. I need you at the tower, right now. No, don’t tell anyone. Top secret, superhero stuff, you know the drill.” He listens, watching Tony’s face, then his teeth bare in a shark’s grin. “You’ll understand everything, soon.”

  —

  Peter climbs the side of Stark tower to enter Tony’s quarters by the runway on the top floor. His chest is in knots, the hairs on his arms and neck lifted. Something isn’t right. The knot eases when he sees Tony, leaned against the door frame to greet him. He wears a pale blue shirt, unbuttoned, with the sleeves rolled up and Peter doesn’t know whether to be more distracted by his forearms or the curves of his abs. Tony’s got his sunglasses on, even though it’s two in the morning. The drink in his hand might explain it. He waves Peter inside, opens his arm as Peter gets close and wraps it around his shoulders.

“Take the mask off, baby. Let me see your face.”

Peter obeys without thought. “What’s wrong, Mr. Stark? I used the credit card you gave me to catch a cab, I hope you don’t mind.”

Tony laughs, then: a deep, rolling sound that’s both surprised and pleased. He turns into Peter, looks down at him and Peter wishes he could see Tony’s eyes; he isn’t acting like there’s an emergency.

“Oh, sweetheart. Of course I don’t mind.” He keeps that arm around Peter’s shoulders as he steps forward, pushing their chests together and Peter forgets how to breathe. Tony’s hand holding the drink comes up to touch his chin and the scent of fine whiskey wraps around him like a fog. “I’m glad you let me take care of you. You’re my boy, aren’t you?”

Peter inhales a sharp gasp. Those words, that tone, drive a line of heat straight to his crotch. Heat floods his neck. Surely Tony didn’t mean it that way. Peter knows his desire is one-sided; has been for years. He doesn’t answer the question. His mouth feels frozen. Tony walks him a few steps back, a smirk on his handsome lips like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and Peter knows this can’t be what he thinks it is, but his body isn’t listening.

Tony knocks back the rest of his drink and tosses the tumbler aside. It hits the floor with a heavy thunk. He pulls Peter in and grips his chin with the arm wrapped around his shoulders, half-choking him and Peter realizes with a flutter of panic that his hard-on is pushing against Tony’s thigh.

“Mr. Stark,” he gasps. It’s like his brain’s shorted out. He’s drowning in Tony’s scent, that delicious cologne he always wears, the light salt of his sweat, and Peter’s almost hyperventilating as Tony leans down until they’re drinking each other’s breaths.

“Mmmm, look at you, baby. So hungry for Daddy.” His thigh pushes forward and he rolls his hips up, and there’s no question he does it on purpose. Peter lets out an embarrassing whine. He may be stronger than Tony, but that sound speaks the truth of their relationship. Tony Stark owns him, body and soul. Has since they first met.

Tony drinks in the moan, reflects it back to him in a pleased sigh and nips at his bottom lip. Peter’s legs shake. He’s grinding against Tony’s thigh, needy like an animal and he can’t help it; he’s wanted this for so long.

“Do you dream about this, pretty baby? Huh?” Tony murmurs. He puts an arm around Peter’s lower back and lifts him with ease, nudges with his legs until Peter takes the hint and wraps his legs around Tony’s waist. “How many times have you jacked off to me? Tell me.”

He walks with Peter in his arms, walking toward the bedroom and if Peter’s brain was short-circuited before, it’s complete jelly now.

“I-I don’t know, sir,” he gasps. “Every day. For years. Oh, god. I want...oh, Mr. Stark!” He arches as the man’s hand dips into the cleft of his ass, pressing through the suit. They cross the threshold of the bedroom and Tony kicks the door shut behind them. The lights are low and it’s perfect because Peter’s simultaneously shy and desperate to see Tony without the shirt on.

“Take this off,” Tony murmurs, tapping Peter’s suit. “Let me taste you.”

“Oh,” Peter whimpers, so close to cumming right there as he tightens his legs around Tony’s waist and Tony holds his ass in both hands so Peter can let go of him to pull out of the suit. He pushes it down to his waist, then Tony’s hand is in his hair, pulling his back into an arch and there’s warm breath on his nipple and teeth and oh god, is this happening?!

“AH! Ah, ah, Mr. Stark, ohhHHH!”

The man’s lips sealed around the throbbing, bitten skin and sucked, and Peter thinks he might die from pleasure. No one’s ever touched him like this. He wishes Tony would take off the sunglasses; it feels so impersonal, not being able to see his eyes.

“Are you still a virgin, baby boy?” Tony asks, and Peter shudders because he can feel Tony’s hard cock riding up against his balls.

Peter nods, embarrassed. Tony’s so much older than him, so much more experienced. Will he back off, once he realizes Peter’s “experience” comes entirely from porn videos on his phone?

But Tony’s grip in his hair tightens; he yanks back and Peter yells in surprise.

“Use your words, Petey. Is Daddy’s little boy a virgin?”

Those words steal Peter’s breath, but he manages a choked, “Yes, sir!”

Tony’s pleased chuckle rumbles through him. “What about kissing? Have those pretty lips ever tasted another boy? A girl, maybe?”

Peter shakes his head, too humiliated to look into Tony’s eyes, even shaded as they are by the sunglasses. “No, sir,” he whispers.

But Tony groans, as if that answer makes him incredibly hot. He grinds their hips together and Peter’s transported.

“Oh, please, Tony,” he moans.

That hand jerks his hair back, and Peter’s head rocks from a slap that leaves his ear ringing on that side. He’s so shocked, he doesn’t even think to pull away. Tony’s lips are hot against his burning cheek, the scratch of his beard unbearable on the sensitized flesh.

“You may call me sir, or Mr. Stark, or Daddy. Those are your options, boy. Do you understand?”

Peter’s eyes are full of tears. He blinks and they run down his face, onto T—onto Mr. Stark’s lips, and the man licks it up as though he enjoys the taste.

“Y-yes sir, Mr. Stark,” he stammers; he’s not brave enough to call the man “Daddy.”

Mr. Stark thumbs his chin.

“There’s my good boy,” he murmurs. Humiliation and pride fuse into a glowing ball in Peter’s chest, spreading warmth throughout his body. Mr. Stark’s skin is cool by comparison, the only thing that keeps Peter from burning up. He leans in and presses his lips against Peter’s, tongue invading his mouth and goatee scratching his lips raw. His first kiss and it’s Tony Stark, and the man doesn’t hold back. He knows how sensitive Peter is, yet he eats into him like a hungry beast. Peter submits to it, completely overwhelmed. His mouth and nose and flesh and senses are all full of Tony, and if the hair’s still lifted on his neck, that’s just because everything is dialed way past eleven right now.

  —

  Tony Stark grins over Peter’s shoulder at his shadow-self, who watches helplessly from the bed. The pathetic sap looks like a vein in his forehead is about to burst. Tony slips his own shirt off, grinning as Peter’s hands flutter over his skin, eager, but (rightfully) afraid to lay hands on him.

“You really are a virgin in every way,” he smirks. “Touch me, boy. Find out what a real man feels like.”

The flush has gone all the way down Peter’s chest. Tony’s handprint lights up Peter’s left cheek: a gorgeous, cherry red overlaying all that hot pink. The tips of the boy’s ears glow like candle flames.

Tony grips his shirt behind Peter’s back and folds it, then brings it up over Peter’s eyes.

“No,” Peter gasps.

“Did you just say ‘no’ to me?” Tony lets his words melt with the disdain he holds for this entire, sorry world. If Peter fights him, he’s going to find himself badly outclassed.

Peter inhales sharply.

“I-I didn’t mean it, sir,” he amends. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Mmm, that’s what I thought.” He ties the blindfold tightly around Peter’s eyes, tucks in the fabric to block all sight.

He maneuvers the boy’s legs from around his waist, makes him stand straight and turns him sideways, putting the boy on display for their bound audience.

Tony takes off the sunglasses with a flourish that is for the benefit of no one but himself. He kneels in front of the boy to pull the spider-suit the rest of the way off. Peter’s thick, young cock springs out eagerly. Tony fists it and chuckles when a wavering moan leaks from the boy’s mouth. Over on the bed, his shadow self glances at Peter’s dripping cock then looks quickly away.

“Never been fucked,” Tony murmurs, looking at his other self and letting his breath ghost along Peter’s cock. “Never been kissed.” He curls his tongue around the base of Peter’s cock and grins at the whimper he elicits. “Never been sucked.”

He wraps his lips around the boy’s hooded cockhead and slathers it with his tongue. Peter’s hands find his hair, but the boy is smart enough not to pull. Tony gets the head nice and wet before he dives down to bury his nose in Peter’s thatch. The kid’s cock makes a nice throatful, and he bobs on it a few more times before pulling off with a satisfied smack. Peter’s legs shake adorably; he really is a virgin in every way.

Tony looks up at his lesser twin. The man’s face is twisted between horror and hunger. Of course, the pathetic worm has denied himself this pleasure. But he’s wanted it.

Tony knows that, because he wanted Peter from the moment he saw that sweet face gazing out of his shadow-self’s phone.

  —

  Bound to the headboard, silenced by some tech he’s never even considered, Tony can do nothing but watch. Peter’s innocent moans tug at his heart. The way the boy shakes, cries out “Mr. Stark!” Not even angry after the slap. As if Tony has the right to treat him any way he wants.

As if Tony owns him.

He’d denied it for so long, and here it is, his sin of the mind coming back to swallow him whole. Tony could cry when Peter arches under his twin’s touch.

“Please, sir...please...”

The other man stands up, trailing kisses along Peter’s hip, stomach, chest and shoulder as he does. He tilts the boy’s chin up and takes his mouth in a kiss that’s got to be thick with the taste of Peter’s cock. The boy’s hands come to his shoulders, gripping hard as his legs tremble like they’ll go out from beneath him.

“Beg me to fuck you,” the man whispers, but his blue eyes are focused on Tony. Peter licks his lips, breath shaking.

“Please...f...fuck me, Mr. Stark, sir,” Peter breathes.

I’m gonna kill you, Tony thinks, and it’s almost like his doppleganger can hear his thoughts. It’s Tony’s own cocky smirk that shines back at him, and it’s like they share one mind in that moment.

I’m taking what’s yours, his twin is saying to him. And you’re going to sit there and watch. And want. And hate yourself for not doing it first.

Because he does; he wants this. He wants to be Peter’s first. He’s rock hard, watching the boy’s slim muscles shake under his hands. It’s like he’s watching the world’s most invasive porn video.

His other self walks Peter to the bed and shoves him back on it. Pulls his wrists together and a chrome tendril laces out from the glowing reactor on his chest, swirls down his arm and wraps Peter’s wrists and forearms a dozen times over. Peter gasps and tugs at the binding.

“You can try to break it, if you want,” the doppleganger says, grinning. “You aren’t getting out of this until I let you out.”

Peter’s breath is high and tight in his throat. He’s afraid, but he doesn’t know he should be terrified. Tony’s hands flex, aching to grab Peter and run.

His doppleganger climbs onto the bed, hooks one hand under Peter’s arm and lifts him. Peter kicks his legs, making a hurt sound that socks Tony straight in the chest.

You’re HURTING HIM! His throat won’t move, so he screams the accusation with his eyes.

His twin’s cold gaze reflects back at him: I know.

Peter’s feet are still tangled in his suit. He squirms until the fabric comes free. He’s just starting to get his feet under him when Tony’s twin kicks his legs apart. More silver ropes flow around Peter’s ankles and pull his legs wide. The man throws him down and Peter doesn’t quite catch himself. His face hits the bed inches from Tony’s crotch.

Peter’s whimpers are edging out of “scared” and into “panicked.” He rubs his face against the mattress, trying to push the blindfold up. The doppleganger slaps a hand over Peter’s cloth-covered eyes and jerks his head back.

“Do you want to see? Ask and you shall receive. Don’t be a naughty boy and try to take what you want.”

Peter swallows loudly. His voice sounds wet, like he’s holding back a sob. “Please Mr. Stark. Please take the blindfold off?”

“Mmm...what’ll you do in exchange for your sight? Will you make Daddy happy with your tight, virgin ass? Will you be good while Daddy cums inside you?”

A whine. Tony’s legs shift; he can hardly hold still when Peter sounds like that. The boy is letting Tony take him apart because he trusts Tony to put him back together. He doesn’t understand the darkness in Tony’s heart. That darkness, free and hungry behind glacial blue eyes, is enough to break him until there’s nothing left to repair.

Don’t, he begs, and he’s begging himself. Literally and figuratively. Begging that he doesn’t have it in him to do this to Peter.

“Of course you will,” his other self coos. “You’ll be a good little slut for us, won’t you.”

Peter twitches, and goes still. His nostrils flare. “Us?” He repeats, a plea in his voice. Let me have heard wrong, it said. Let me have misunderstood.

The doppleganger spits onto his own fingers, slips them between Peter’s legs and the boy lurches forward with a choked scream. At the same moment, the man pulls the blindfold off him.

Shocked amber eyes stare at Tony’s crotch, then up his bare chest to his face. Tony is shaking, head to foot. But then, so is Peter. The boy lifts himself on his forearms and twists to look behind, at the blue eyed Tony Stark, also shirtless and with at least one finger inside him from the way Peter had screamed.

“W-w-what,” Peter stutters. He looks forward again, at Tony desperately trying to get sound out of his paralyzed throat. “Mr. Stark!?”

His eyes are begging. Please tell me this isn’t happening.

The doppleganger pulls a small bottle from his pocket, squeezes it over Peter’s crack and the boy jerks forward again as he feels the liquid hit him.

“Oh, god,” Peter moans.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, sweetheart.” The man’s forearm flexes with the movement of his fingers and Peter’s mouth hangs open over a choked whimper. “Just feel. Feel what we do to you. Listen to my voice, baby. You know who I am. You’ve always belonged to Tony Stark, haven’t you, baby boy?”

He slaps the side of Peter’s head. The boy shakes his head like he’s shaking off water, and gasps out a hasty, “Yes, sir,” followed by a loud moan as Tony’s twin grabs the back of his neck and drives his fingers in to the last knuckle.

“Oh, please, Mr. Stark! Please, I can’t—I can’t—”

“Can’t what? Can’t give me what’s mine?” Blue eyes harden and he twists his wrist until Peter sobs into the mattress, hips bucking into his touch as much as away from it. “Can’t help being a dirty slut for your old man? With your legs wide open and your ass in the air? Try and tell me you don’t want this,” he snarls, and releases Peter’s neck to reach around him and stroke his leaking cock.

Peter’s bloodshot eyes lift back to Tony’s, desperate. Begging him, but for what? To make it stop? Or to let it continue? Tony’s cock is at high mast inside his pajama pants and Peter sees it. His trembling lips open as if to say something, but it turns into another moan.

The doppleganger takes hold of Peter’s hair, holding him so he has no choice but to look at Tony.

“Say, ‘please, fuck me with your giant cock, Mr. Stark,’” he orders.

Peter’s breath shivers over a whine. Tears drip down the sides of his nose. “Pl-lease—AH!—oh! Please fuck m-me, with your giant…OHGODOHGOD!”

“My giant what, boy?” The man grins. He tilts Peter’s ass up until Tony can see: he’s got four fingers shoved inside the boy’s virgin hole.

“Giant cock!” Peter shouts. “It hurts! Please, it hurts, Mr. Stark!”

“Poor baby,” the man rumbles. “I’ve got something that’ll feel a whole lot better.”

Peter glances up at Tony’s eyes, then away. His whole face, neck and ears are bright red. Humiliation and pain have his eyes glassy as a drug addict’s. He moans in relief as the man’s fingers pull out of him. The doppleganger unbuckles his pants and pulls himself out. His cock, like the rest of him, is a mirror image of Tony’s. Long and thick, far too big for a virgin boy.

“I’m gonna ruin you, baby,” he purrs, and smiles as Tony jerks ineffectually against the ropes. He maintains that eye contact while he slicks up his cock, then brings it right up to Peter’s entrance.

Tony twists and tugs at his bonds in a panic. Peter’s hyperventilating. He’s too tense. He’s going to tear. He’s going to bleed. Tony shakes his head at himself, because it is him, it’s him doing this. His lips move in silent pleas.

Don’t! Stop! Stop!

He can go to hell for a lot of things, but please god not this.

Tony looks into his own eyes as the man’s hips push forward.

Peter’s breath cuts off. He curls over himself as if clutching a stomach wound, statue-still as Tony’s double breaches him. The man takes it slow, millimeter by millimeter pressing inside. Thirty seconds without a breath, and then a gasp rattles through Peter’s throat. He tries to lurch forward, but the man grabs his hips and holds him in place. Peter’s bound hands reach forward, grab onto Tony’s thigh like it’s a life raft.

“Hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts aah aah aah—”

“Mmm, I know it does, baby,” the man rumbles, with Tony’s voice, Tony’s words (if he was a sociopathic monster and would do this to someone who loves and trusts him) (and clearly, he is) Tony’s hands holding Peter’s hips in place as he drives deeper.

Peter’s breath stops again. His grip is going to leave black bruises on Tony’s skin. It’s the least he deserves for causing this.

His twin pauses, halfway sheathed in Peter’s body. He tilts Peter’s hips so Tony can see the ridge of the boy’s overstretched hole wrapped tight around his cock.

“Would you look at that,” he marvels. “Look at that cherry pop.” He traces a finger over the rim. Peter hitches in a sob. “Shh, that’s a good little boy. Get used to Daddy inside you. Ohh, fuck that’s good.” He groans, turns half-lidded eyes up to Tony and sneers, “you pathetic worm. You could have had this, but you left him for me. You did this. Saved him for the superior version of you. Guess that just goes to show, you’re still not stupid as the rest of the vermin on this planet.” A triumphant sneer tugs at his lips and he sinks deeper into Peter’s shaking body. “This one, though...ugh, I’m keeping this one. It’s gonna be fun, dirtying him up.”

“Can’t,” Peter begs into the comforter, “s-s-st-op...hurrrts…”

“Push down on me, baby,” the man coos. “There you go. I know, I know. It’ll start to feel good. You’re doing such a good job for Daddy. Being such a good boy. Giving me that sweet little cherry. Look up, sweetheart. Look at how much your Tony wants you.”

Peter’s head comes up. Low to the bed now, his eyes are blocked by the tent in Tony’s pants.

Tony feels like he’s choking on flames, the shame burns so hot inside him. And even so, a part of him is memorizing the taut lines of Peter’s body, the way his pink hole stretches to take his twin’s cock, the breathy whines of “can’t” and “hurts.”

The man shoves his hips forward when there are just a couple inches left, slides home with a slap of skin on skin, and Peter shrieks. He tries to lunge forward, to get away from the pain, but the man hangs onto his hips and rides the motion. He jerks Peter’s hair until the boy’s head leans back onto his shoulder, so Peter’s lithe body is on display, and Tony is shocked to see the boy’s cock still hard, with precum drooling from the tip.

Tony’s twin sets a hand over Peter’s belly and pushes. Peter’s eyes fly wide open. He squeals out a helpless sound, and the doppleganger laughs. He shifts, angles so he’s thrusting straight forward and Peter bucks in his arms. His scream breaks in his throat.

“You’re always gonna remember this first time,” the man promises, eyes locked with Tony. “Cause you’ll never be the same after I’m through with you.”

He pushes Peter back onto his elbows, drags the sobbing boy forward until he’s hovering right over Tony’s crotch. His big hand closes over the back of Peter’s head and pushes his face down into the thin fabric which covers Tony’s raging hard-on.

“Suck it,” the man orders. “It’s mine, after all. Show me how desperate you are for my cock. Take it in your mouth and ass at the same time, you depraved little cockslut.”

Peter tries to look up, maybe for permission, but the other Tony holds his head down. A sob ratchets through his chest and Tony can feel his wet breath through the soft cotton of his pants. Then Peter’s mouth closes around the side of his cock and it’s a struggle not to let his eyes roll back. Not to admit to himself—neither the Tony across from him nor the Tony that is him—how fucking good it feels.

“That’s right, whore. Suck your Daddy’s big cock. Show him how much you want it.”

The man tilts his hips gently forward and back while Peter sobs over Tony’s clothed cock, loosening the boy up with the motion.

“Fuck, Tony,” the doppleganger groans. “How’d you keep your dick outta this for so long? This slut’s been after you for years, you know that? Jerking himself to sleep, dreaming about getting bred by Daddy Stark. Isn’t that right, boy?”

He jerks Peter’s head up. Peter’s eyes meet Tony’s for an instant, and the fear in them says everything. His twin is telling the truth.

“You piece of shit,” Tony rasps, then looks up as he realizes his voice is back. His other self smirks.

“Right on time. You wanna cuss yourself out while we take what we’ve always wanted? Be my guest.”

Without pulling out, he shoves his hips forward, hard.

Peter’s breath chokes off. He thrashes his head back and forth in silence until his voice bursts free in a broken whine.

“Mmm, feels good from that angle, doesn’t it, baby? Daddy’s sooo deep inside your little body.”

He stirs his hips, and Peter writhes, face buried in the comforter until the man jerks his hair back.

“Look at him. That’s me, right there. That’s the part of me too chickenshit to take what’s mine.”

“I’m gonna kill you,” Tony snarls. “I will rip you limb from limb and leave you for the vultures, you fucking sack of garbage.”

His own face smirks back at him. “Look at him, Peter. Leaking through his pants for you. This is what he always wanted to give you. Not some StarkTech suit, not money, not mentoring or whatever the fuck he’s told you. He wanted to feel your lips on his cock. He wanted to feel your ass sucking tight around him.”

Peter’s eyes are too wide, white showing all around the irises. His breath pants out in little whimpers. The rocking motion changes to short thrusts, and Peter’s forehead creases; a thin whine leaks from his mouth.

“Mmm, starting to feel good, now? Tell Daddy you like it. Say it!” He jerks back on Peter’s hair.

“OHH Daddy I like it! AHH!” His voice is a train wreck. Tony is never going to forget that sound; his twisted brain will make sure of that.

“Good boy,” Tony’s twin purrs. “You get a sweet treat for being so honest with Daddy.”

He pushes on Peter’s upper back until his chest is arched into the bed, ass in the air and hair still pulled back so he’s staring wide-eyed up at Tony.

The man starts pounding into him, long thrusts that knock the breath from Peter’s lungs.

Fat tears stream down the boy’s face. Tony whispers Peter’s name, tells him it’ll be ok, that he’ll get through this, but his own rigid dick gives the lie to his comfort and he’s dying inside because he can see Peter shattering. Those doe eyes go half-lidded as endorphins help him ride out the pain and there are moans sandwiched between his wet sobs.

“That’s my baby boy,” the other man coos, his praise a twisted complement to Tony’s words of support. “Fuck, such a good boy for Daddy. Come here. Show your other Daddy some love.”

Tony looks up, almost chokes out “No!” before he thinks how much more damage that might do to Peter, and begs instead with his eyes.

Please, don’t do this. Please. You’ve got what you wanted.

His own eyes narrow back at him. The cruel baring of teeth replies:

I want MORE.

  —

  Peter can hardly breathe as Mr. Stark lifts his legs. Still inside him, he curls his knees to his chest and tries to hold still. Any movement might tear him to shreds. Mr. Stark lifts him up until he’s straddling the other Mr. Stark, his bound hands resting against the shining reactor in the man’s chest, and his own hard cock smacks Mr. Stark’s lower belly. He gasps at the sensation of warm flesh and soft, curly hair. Mr. Stark’s hard-on rubs up his perineum and pushes his balls to one side. He’s only vaguely aware that he should have tried to run when the bonds loosened around his ankles. They’re tight again, holding him to the bed. Holding him in Mr. Stark’s lap.

Peter’s head is floating in a cloud. It still hurts, the cock inside him, but when it moves, these sparks fly through his whole body and it feels like flying. The blue-eyed Mr. Stark breathes against his throat, hips still with a waiting silence. Calm before a storm.

“Ride him,” he orders.

Peter glances up to meet brown eyes, wide like he might say “no.” Like maybe Peter only deserves to get fucked by some cruel, twin version of himself, but isn’t good enough for the real Tony Stark. Misery floods through his chest at that thought. But it’s the other’s words that pulls him out of the imminent spiral.

“See how much he wants you, sweetheart?,” the man rumbles in his ear. “See how he’s been denying himself. He’s been desperate to bend your pretty body over his desk and fuck you raw, to breed you full of his cum and leave your hole gaping wide open, dripping wet. He needs to fuck his little boy. Show him, baby. Show him how good it is.”

Peter swallows his tears. This, at least, makes sense. Of course, he wants to help Mr. Stark feel good. He rocks his hips tentatively, but that makes the other man’s cock pull out just a fraction and his breath stops.

“You need Daddy’s help?” The man intuits, hands stroking down Peter’s sides. Soothing him.

Peter sniffles and nods. Mr. Stark is looking up at him, and he’s actually blushing, which is somehow more intimate and strange than their position.

“Show him how your lips taste,” the other says, pushing Peter forward until his bound forearms are sandwiched tightly between himself and Mr. Stark. “Show him what he’s been missing. I promise you, he’ll love it just as much as I do.”

They’re already close enough to taste each other’s breath. With the help of a hand pushing on the back of his head, Peter closes the gap.

Instead of alcohol, this Tony Stark tastes like mint toothpaste. At first, neither of them move. Then the man behind him renews his thrusts, and it forces Peter’s hips forward and back, makes him grind on his mentor’s clothed cock and rubs his own sensitive cockhead into ticklish belly hair.

Peter moans into Mr. Stark’s mouth. His cry is swallowed and Mr. Stark is returning the kiss now, groaning and biting Peter’s lips as if he’s starved for the taste of them.

Something explodes behind Peter’s eyes as the unexpected orgasm sweeps through him. He disappears, lost under waves of pleasure beyond anything he can comprehend.

He comes back to himself, still crying out as he’s filled with a cock that seems bigger than his whole body. He looks on in a daze as a hand runs through the dripping, white cum on Mr. Stark’s chest, then lifts it to his open mouth. Those fingers force the semen past his tongue and shove into Peter’s throat. He gags and struggles. Drool falls down his chin, onto the bound Mr. Stark’s neck and chest.

The fingers stay hooked over his tongue. Peter struggles to breathe, struggles just to exist as that massive cock pushes in and out of him. It still feels good, but it’s hurting again too and he tries to beg. He gurgles unintelligible sounds around the fingers in his mouth.

“Oh, son,” the other Mr. Stark breathes hot on his ear, gritty with need. “Daddy’s gonna cum. Beg me to breed you, sweetheart. Come on.” He slaps the side of Peter’s face with his free hand. Peter tries to pull back from the hand in his mouth so he can speak, but the man won’t let him. Shame drives deep into his guts, twisting him inside out.

Peter gargles out “Please breed me Daddy” as best he can, then screams as Mr. Stark’s teeth latch onto his throat and bite down. The cock inside him pulses and Peter realizes he’s cumming. Tony Stark, the man Peter idolizes above any other, is cumming inside of him.

But it isn’t Tony.

But it is.

Something deep, deep inside of Peter’s chest cracks and shatters into pieces.

  —

  Tony cums at the same time as his doppleganger. It’s Peter’s voice that does it: the choked gargle around his thick fingers, the way the kid tries to please Tony no matter what the situation. The way Peter’s cum clings to his chest, or how the drool shines on his chin and his strong thighs squeeze Tony’s hips.

Tony’s other self stares him down, pushes Peter against Tony’s chest to pull out of him, and hot cum leaks out of the boy’s gaping hole to soak through Tony’s pants. Peter hides his face in Tony’s neck, lets out a wrecked sob, and Tony tilts his head against Peter’s.

“Hush baby,” he whispers. “Shh, it’s alright. I’m right here.”

His other cocks an eyebrow at that. He leans in against Peter’s back, lips close to Tony’s so he’s almost kissing himself.

“Stay here sweetheart,” he says to Peter. “I’ll be ready to fuck you again in a minute. I’m sure your Mr. Stark will look after you while I clean up,” he smirks.

Tony avoids the blue eyes, this time. He can’t bear to look at himself. At what he’s done. What he is. He doesn’t move until his twin disappears into the bathroom.

“Peter,” he whispers urgently. “Can you reach my wrists? Untie me, Pete, I’ll get you out of here, sweetheart—”

He cuts off, realizing what he just said. How naturally it rolled off his lips. Peter catches it too; he hides further in Tony’s neck and shakes his head.

“Can’t, sir,” he mumbles. “You said to wait for you.”

Tony leans his head back against the headboard, tears stinging behind his eyes. "I'm right here, sweetheart. It'll be ok."

***********************************************************

my AO3: SubverbalDreams

The rest of this story: [Part 2]  [Part 3]  [everything]

[nicole-lynne]

Normal Is a Thing of the Past

Hello all! This is my submission for @holylulusworld (Prompt - Don’t be scared, I just need you to come with me for a second). I really hope you enjoy it and I’m semi-debating turning this into a mini-series so I’d appreciate feedback! Please like, reblog, comment, and follow! 

Summary: Life has always been normal for you, but one heartbreaking night and one hungry Ghoul could send you down a completely different road than you’d ever imagined.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Death/blood/killing

Up until today, your life had been fairly ordinary. Some would even say downright boring. You had grown up with two ordinary parents and an ordinary sister, you graduated college with a degree to get you an ordinary job as an office nurse, and occasionally you would go out with an ordinary guy. 

Everything about your life was the apple-pie American Dream. And truthfully, you were perfectly happy with that. You didn’t think there was anything abnormal about a normal life. 

Sure, there were always people who would would make comments like, “don’t you want an adventure?” or “isn’t it awfully dull to live like that?” but your response was always the same - no, I like my normal life. 

All the things you loved about your normal life were coming to a crashing halt in one evening.

It had been like any other friday night for you. You had gotten off your shift a little late and ran by a redbox to rent some movies for a night in with your family. But from the moment you walked into your front door, everything felt different.

Almost all of the lights in the house had been turned out except the flicker of light from the fireplace. Usually your house was filled with music because your parents thought it helped sharpen the mind, but tonight it was eerily quiet. 

You stumbled around in the dark for a minute and called out for your parents, but nothing around you moved.

After feeling your way through the hall, you made it to the living room. A wave of terror hit you as your eyes fell on your older sister, Cara, covered in blood, her mouth wrapped around your mother’s throat. Your mother’s eyes were blank, staring into the abyss, as she hung limply in your sister’s arms.

A sob racked your body at the scene before you and Cara shifted her focus straight to you. A surprised whine came from your throat as she immediately dropped your mother’s body on top of your father’s corpse on the floor. 

You wanted to break down and cry right then but Cara was stalking toward you with a menacing look on her face. She bared her teeth at you and her face distorted into a disgusting beast. Out of instinct, you started to move backwards, but your feet stumbled over the crack in the hardwood knocking you to the floor. The crack in the floor that you and your sister had made by dropping a bowling ball. Your chest was tight with the memory of a girl that clearly no longer existed. 

“Car? Wh-what are you doing? You can ta-talk to me, sissy.” You croaked.

Your sister sneered, “my dear little sister, there’s nothing to be scared of, I wouldn’t hurt you.” 

“Is that what you told mom and dad?” You tried to sound brave but the sentiment fell short. 

“Mommy and daddy dearest didn’t feel any pain, sweet little Y/N.” You scurried backwards, trying and failing to put some space between you two. Cara was getting closer every second. “Stop moving and let me get a good look at you.”

You scooted back one more time and bumped into the coat rack that sat by the front door. The coat rack was a thin, heavy piece of metal but in a pinch, it was the only thing you could use to defend yourself. With a big deep breath, you prayed the fight in your fight or flight response would win out, and gripped the base of the rack with a tight fist.

Putting all your weight on it, you stood up slowly. Cara’s top lip drew up in disgust as she watched you square up to her. 

“You really think you’ll be able to fight me and win? I recall beating you every time you’ve tried to fight me, sis. I’ve always been better than you and nothing's gonna change that now.” 

“Why are you doing this?!” You screamed, tears starting to fall. Cara had always taunted you when you were little because you would cry when you were angry. Such a little baby, she would always snicker. 

“Because I’m starving. I’ve been watching you for days and you look so delicious.” 

“Wh-what did you do with my sister?” The realization that she may be gone hit you like a punch to the stomach. 

Her nose stuck in the air and she breathed in deep. “Ahh the stench of fear is dripping off of yo-” 

Adrenaline flooded your veins and you swung the coat rack against the side of her head with all your strength and her body crumpled to the ground like a rag doll. The second her body dropped, you threw the rack down and raced for the stairs. Your foot slipped and your knee slammed against the edge of the step. You winced but pushed the pain to the back of your mind and kept moving upwards.

As if muscle memory were taking over, you ran into your childhood bedroom and slammed the door. Your breath was coming in short, heavy spurts the more you thought about your mom and dad laying lifeless downstairs. 

“Oh my god, why did I just do this? Everyone knows you never go to a second floor.” You muttered to yourself as you paced back and forth between the bed and the desk. “What the hell is going on? That thing is clearly not my sister.” 

You could hear your sister groaning and stumbling around and suddenly your heart was in your throat. 

“No no no, I’m not cut out for this shit.” 

“I’m gonna kill you, you little bitch!” Cara cried out over the sound of her boots thunking up the staircase. Her nails were scratching along the wall and you shuddered at the sound invading your head. You had never believed in the supernatural, let alone seen a monster. Now here you were, running from one trying to kill you.

“God dammit... I locked myself in the worst room.” You kept talking to yourself. There were no good places to hide in this plain room and you mentally slapped yourself for being so okay with simplicity for once. 

“Little sissy,” Cara’s voice was closer, “come out come out wherever you are.” 

This bitch was toying with you now and that just made you panic even more. With nowhere else to go, you dropped to the floor and shimmied yourself between two boxes under your bed. 

Outside, Cara had fallen silent. The final moment of quiet before she burst in the door and ripped your head off, you thought. At the last moment, you tugged your comforter down a little more to conceal your hiding place and slapped your hand over your mouth to hide your breathing. 

Downstairs you heard a loud crash that made you jump and you flattened yourself even more. Sighing, you laid your head on the floor and spotted your old teddy bear, Winston, shoved next to the wall. You hadn’t seen him in years but he looked just the same. You and Cara used to fight over who would sit next to him at tea parties but your parents would always say he loved you both equally. Tears pricked your eyes when you realized you would never hear your parents say they love you again. 

With a heavy arm, you pulled Winston against your chest and buried your face into his ears, willing yourself to not start bawling while your life was on the line. Grunts and groans were floating up the stairs and you could tell someone was struggling. Your hopes rose at the thought of one of your parents still being alive. 

Heavy footsteps thumped outside your door and stopped. You held your breath and waited as the doorknob to your room jiggled before it finally creaked open. The footsteps came closer and closer and stopped right next to your bed. Cara had found you. 

Your heart was slamming in your chest and you were positive that she would be able to hear it from where she was. 

The edge of your comforter flipped up and you prepared yourself to scream, but the sensation died in your throat as you came face to face with bright green eyes. A man looked at you, worry etched between his brows. 

“Don’t be scared. I just need you to come with me for a minute.” The man’s voice was husky. He reached for your hand but you shrunk away from him. 

“Don’t touch me.” You whimpered pathetically. 

“Okay, alright,” He raised his hands in defense, “I know you’re freaked out, but I’m here to help you.” 

You studied the man for a second. His flannel shirt was askew and he had a big cut on his forearm. Truthfully, he looked like he’d had a rather long night. 

“How do I know you’re not one of those things? That...that thing...my sis-sister oh god my sister.” The cries were bubbling out of you like a fountain. 

The man laid himself on his stomach and slowly reached for you. “Shh shh shh it’s okay,” his hand rested on yours. They were tough with callouses but the heat radiating off them caused you to shiver. “My name is Dean and I’m here to help you. I promise it’ll be alright.” 

You wanted to believe what he was saying, you just couldn’t see how anything would ever be okay again. But when he had touched your hand, something in your heart made you trust him. 

“Di-did you see her? Is she gone?”

Dean’s face flashed regret before he looked away, towards the door. You followed his gaze and could see another pair of shoes standing there. 

He finally looked back at you, “my brother Sam took care of it. That thing will never hurt you again.” You opened your mouth to ask another question but he kept talking. “Come on, let’s get you out from under there and I promise I’ll answer all your questions.” 

He hooked his hands under your arms and pulled you out and stood you firmly on the floor. Your knees wobbled and Dean tucked you close to his body in case your legs gave out.

You were thankful to have someone taking care of you because you had no clue what you would have done on your own. You’d probably be dead so you wouldn’t have to worry about it. 

You turned to your gaze to the other man, Sam, and a chill ran up your spine. His face was splattered with blood and there was a long scratch across his chest that was oozing. 

Dean watched your face change from stunned to horror at the sight of Sam. He turned your shoulders in and led you to the door. You followed blindly, whimpering like a sad puppy as you passed your parents bodies. It answered your next question. Your parents hadn’t made it out alive. 

Gently, he set you on the steps outside and sat next to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. You were shivering from the cold or shock, you couldn’t tell. 

“I’m sure you’ve got a lot of questions...” he started.

“That thing, it killed my parents...and my sister?” Your voice was hoarse from all the crying. 

The edges of Dean’s lips fell deeper, “yes, it did. I’m so sorry, Y/N.” 

“How do you know my name? I never told you...” You lean away from his body to examine his face. 

“Uhh...well, we’ve been hunting this thing for a few days and we had a feeling that it might be coming for you next. It’s why we showed up...just too late.” 

Your head was reeling with information. First, monsters were a real thing, then, there were people who hunted monsters, and they were the ones who saved your life. This was anything but normal. 

“So that thing...” 

“A ghoul. It was a ghoul.” Dean offered the name.

“A ghoul...” The taste of the word was sour. The name of the creature that had changed your life forever. “Why did it do this to me, to my family? I’ve never done anything to deserve this.” 

Dean let out a long breath and he rubbed his hand against his thighs. He was searching his mind for the perfect answer but everything seemed to fall short of comforting. “I wish I knew why good people like you get caught in the crossfire of the monsters senseless killing.” 

You relaxed your head on his shoulder. The scent of leather, gun powder, and faint cologne filled your nose and for the first time in the whole night, you felt like you might be able to find a way out of this. 

“But you stop-hunt creatures like this... creatures who hurt people?” He strained to hear your quiet voice above the wind blowing. 

“We do. I wish there was a way to stop it completely but all we can do now is try to save as many people as possible.” 

He watched you pick at the scrapes on your hands from when you’d squeezed under your bed. “It must be a hard life saving everyone else in the world from the things that go bump in the night.” 

In response, he leaned his head against yours with a serious sigh. You barely glanced up when Sam sat down on the other side of you. He plopped his elbows on his knees and hung his head, defeated. You were three misfits sharing silence for all the troubles you’d been through and all the troubles yet to come. 

“I want to come with you guys.” you whispered. 

Dean’s head snapped up, already chuckling at the ridiculous words. “That’s a cool offer, but no way.” 

You frowned, “and why not? What gives you any more right to help people than me?” 

“You have no idea what you would be getting into.” Sam spoke up and you shifted to face him. “We grew up in this lifestyle because we had to. But you, you have a chance to move on from this. To grieve your loss and go on to live a normal life.” 

“I’ll never be normal again!” You snapped at Sam. “Every person I’ve ever loved just got murdered by some monstrosity. And now you’re telling me that it’d be easier if I just stayed in the same place that it happened and I’ll just get over it?!” 

Sam’s eyes fell, embarrassed that he had been so quick to brush you off. He knew exactly what it felt like to lose the people you cared about. He had run off with Dean as soon as he’d lost Jess and now he was scoffing at the thought of you doing the same. He met Dean’s eyes over the top of your head. 

Dean knew exactly what was going through Sam’s head without one word. His gaze fell to the girl beside him and he knew immediately that him and Sam would not be going back on the road alone. 

He blew out deep before clasping your hand and lifting you up. You peeked up at him from under your tear-ruined eyelashes and he groaned because he could feel his determination already starting to crumble. His eyes rolled to the sky then darted to Sam one more time who was nodding behind you. Dean inhaled deeply before finally dropping his gaze back to you and giving you one sharp nod. 

“Thank you, Dean.” You rested your hand gently on his forearm and gave him a one-sided smile. 

He gave you one final sorrowful smile before gesturing toward the street. You followed his gesture to a beautiful Impala parked at the curb. Sam stepped forward and opened the back door for you and you slid across the seat. 

You took a final glimpse at the house you had called home. The memories of your parents dancing in the kitchen together, you and Cara running around through the sprinklers in the summer, all the holidays that you would never get to spend with them again. A tear rolled down your cheek and you had to turn away before the pain overcame you. 

Sam and Dean were watching you warily from the front seat, but you wiped the tear away and lifted your chin slightly. Already, Dean could see the walls building behind your eyes and his chest tightened, but he knew that pain and there was no way around it. 

“Drive, Dean. Take me away from here.”

[mollymauk-teafleak]

Come Home With Me (part six)

Okay, so all I can say is I’m sorry. 

Thanks as always to my beautiful beta readers and friends @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian

I always appreciate reblogs, comments and donations to my ko-fi!

-----

“Love, all I’m saying is hear me out…”

“Mollymauk, the answer is no.”

The tiefling groaned dramatically, flopping back, head hitting the wall with a dull thunk. Most of it was exaggerated theatrics, enough that Caleb was fighting back a smile.

“I told you, I don’t perform. I’d be terrible at it.”

Molly jerked back up, eyes wide and emphatic, “You keep saying that but how do you know if you’ve never tried it?”

Caleb put on an exaggeratedly pensive face, ticking off on his fingers, “I can barely speak coherently when it’s my own thoughts let alone anyone else’s, I hate people looking at me, I don’t like wearing clothes that aren’t mine, I get horrible stage fright, I hate being the centre of attention…”

“All of those things you just listed are the things I love about performing,” Molly huffed, leaning against Caleb’s shoulder as if the weight of him could physically push him into agreement.

“Well, we are two very different people, Liebling,” Caleb reached a hand up to start stroking his hair, digging his fingers into it.

They’d been having this argument, or at least a version of it, every day for the past week. Ever since Mollymauk had decided to save them the trouble of packing and unpacking the tent for towns simply too small to contain it comfortably and put on plays instead, using the town hall when offered or the wagon that converted into a stage when not.

Plays had always been part of the circus’ repertoire but now the summer was over and quickly turning to a butter autumn, Molly had decided to rely on them more and more, as they were more portable, a more secure bet in some places and his troupe were more than up to the task.

And some that very much were not.

“The part isn’t that big! It’s half a page at most,” Molly continued, tone wheedling, “And its perfect for you. The guy’s a humble innkeeper who seems so ordinary but then later he’s revealed to actually be one of the most powerful wizards that’s ever existed…”

“And this is perfect for me, how?” Caleb raised an eyebrow.

Molly nudged him with a shoulder, “Don’t put yourself down. You are incredibly powerful.”

“Then let me make the special effects and do the magic stuff I’m good at,” Caleb returned easily, kissing the side of his head.

Molly pulled a face, “You have an annoyingly narrow view of what you’re good at.”

Caleb wasn’t sure if he was being told off or not but he could sense the care and love behind Molly’s words so he let it slide, kissing him again.

One good thing about the days getting colder were the travelling days like today, where Molly drew the curtains tight, pulled a blanket around the both of them and they could let the world roll past with less than a glace, whiling away the hours together, curled up and warm and safe.

Summer had been fun, even Caleb had to admit, the raucous, colourful days in Port Damali had been everything Molly had promised. Confetti and lanterns, music and laughter, the taste of sweet, rich wine and Mollymauk never leaving his lips. But that just wasn’t what he was built for, the handful of weeks had been more than enough. Now, with the blustering wind and bitter rain surrounding their perfect little pocket of warmth, he was content as a cat.

“Believe me,” he said, with a tone of finality, “Your play is better without me in it.”

“Nothing is better without you,” Molly said softly, after the barest pause, his hands finding those fingers of Caleb’s that weren’t busy combing through his own curls.

Caleb hesitated, just a little. Not because the words were unkind but because they sounded more like the start of a sentence, a hanging thread made to be followed. But Molly didn’t follow it. He just cleared his throat and turned back to the script book he’d set hopefully in Caleb’s lap that morning.

For a few seconds, his fingers flitted idly with the page ends, lifting them and letting them fall before sighing, “It’s not a day for working, anyway. Want to try that thing we saw those two exotic dancers do back at the Port?”

Caleb felt his face go red, “Yes. Yes, I do.”

There was finally a break in the rain and Molly had called a halt of the caravans so they could all stretch their legs and get a little air. Caleb tugged his trousers back on from where they’d ended up (strewn on the overhead lamp, somehow) and ventured out into a deliciously fresh day.

Everything was green and jewelled with fallen raindrops, sparkling in the sun which too had come out to stretch and sigh and breathe the air. Puddles like miniature lakes filled potholes in the road and Frumpkin’s ears twitched interestedly as a dappled brown frog went hopping past the caravan steps to wallow in one.

“Don’t you hurt it,” Caleb warned sternly, as his cat slid from around his shoulders where he usually perched like an extravagant stole and plopped down to the ground.

If a cat, or rather a powerful fae being in the body of a cat, could look exasperated, Frumpkin did so, twitching his tail. But Caleb knew he’d listen.

He left Frumpkin to poke excitedly at a very disinterested frog, continuing on through the stalled procession. His friends waved and called out to him as he went by, most to comment on the weather or the state of the road, Jester to comment almost proudly on the hickey the size of a plum blossoming on his chest. Caleb jumped a little, laced up the front of his shirt tighter and thanked her quickly.

At the very edge of the caravan, where the road met the edge of the forest, he found Caduceus, instantly recognisable from quite a way off. Even sat as he was on the very lip of the road, seeming not to mind the black, wet earth clinging to his trousers, the firbolg almost as tall as Caleb and his tail swept lazily behind him. A gentle, swaying metronome rather than the twisting snake of Molly’s that seemed to have a mind of its own.

“Hullo, Mr Clay,” Caleb said conversationally as he paused by his side. Caduceus had never been anything but sweet, reassuring and kind with him and he intended to return the favour.

“Mr Caleb,” the firbolg returned easily, voice low and deep as the wind itself. His eyes were turned out to the forest beyond them, a longing in them that was almost painful to look at. After a moment of quiet, or really the only quiet that could be found in little pockets of near wilderness like this which is to say a quiet full of chirping birds, slow dripping of water, and swaying leaves, he murmured, “It smells of home.”

“I suppose it does,” Caleb replied after a moment, though he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.

They’d turned the edge of the circus’ travelling route, kissing the Menagerie Coast goodbye before pivoting and making a slow, winding course in the other direction. They were still so far from anything Caleb had ever known in his younger days but still, in his quieter moments, he’d found himself constantly aware, in an itchy kind of way, that every turn of the wheel now brought them closer to the Empire rather than further away. Closer to Rexxantrum. Closer to Ikithon.

Part of him wanted that. It would be a lie to say otherwise. The anger he’d found in Blumenthal still burned in the very pit of his stomach, like coals that refused to go out. Most days he could ignore it, days where Molly was nearly always beside him or he had a show to prepare for or maps to search through. But it was always there, the desire to see terror in Ikithon’s eyes, the way he’d always seen his own terror reflected. The need to break and tear and scream, part of him that still felt the chafe of the heavy magical chains he’d only recently been able to throw off his own memories. The need for Ikithon to feel even a small fraction of the pain Caleb had been in for years.

But then there was the other part of him that was so utterly and completely terrified of the shrinking miles between himself and Rexxantrum that he couldn’t move. Bren knocking on the door of his mind again, with all of the constant, gnawing fear that Caleb couldn’t understand how he’d ever borne. A voice that still whispered fearfully that if he went back now, as fast as he could, begged Father’s forgiveness, blamed it all on the circus folk, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

In the moment, thinking on it, tears stung Caleb’s eyes and he had to blink them away quickly. He just wanted to know when he’d feel okay again. When he’d be gifted the ease with life, the simple contentment that came so naturally to everyone else around him. When he’d feel normal.

When, another part of him thought, he’d feel like someone worthy to ask Molly what else he’d meant to say that morning. And all the other times he’d felt his lover pause, hesitate, like there were more words on his tongue that he was letting go of, like birds hesitant to leave the nest. Maybe even say some things himself.

He’d thought Caduceus was deep in his own thoughts but those almost elephantine ears twitched and he turned, just in time to see the tears before Caleb managed to get a firmer hold on himself.

There wasn’t the slightest hesitation, the firbolg reached out and grasped Caleb’s much smaller hand in his own, squeezing comfortingly. The size difference made him feel half a child but Caleb didn’t mind that right now.

“You were someone else back then,” he rumbled, voice almost like Frumpkin’s deepest, most contented purr, “You are so much stronger now, you can see it in your eyes. Different place, different person, y’know?”

“I don’t,” Caleb admitted, smiling weakly, “But I trust you so I guess we’ll see.”

Caduceus laughed at that, turning back to the forest, “That we will, Mr Caleb.”

“Where have you been?” Molly saw him coming from where he was perched on the wheels of their caravan, by the looks of things to get a good peer at the clouds overhead as if that would help him judge the weather better.

“Just for a walk,” Caleb called, strolling up.

An incredibly muddy Frumpkin, clearly having had a successful hour of chasing frogs, miaowed in greeting and jumped up to his shoulder, leaving a trail of muddy paw prints up Caleb’s arm.

“Well, settle in,” Molly took off his top hat and shook raindrops off it, “Just looked ahead, the road is flooded and a tree’s fallen right across it. No way we’re getting through until it dries up and we can get it clear.”

Caleb frowned, “Strange. This is the king’s road. It should be better maintained.”

Molly shrugged, nimbly jumping down and avoiding a puddle, “If we troupers had our way the roads would always be straight as arrows, the days would be sunny and everyone would tip in silver. Such is life.”

He had to smile at that. Everything was half a poem with Mollymauk.

“Either way, we may as well pass the time somehow.”

Caleb winced a little, “I don’t think I can stand another round, Liebling. I could barely walk as it was.”

Mollymauk smirked at that, looking more than a little proud, “Look how dirty minded you’ve become in such a short space of time. I love it. But no, what I meant was if you’re not going to be in my play you can at least help me run lines.”

Caleb blushed, though not as ferociously as he might have blushed a year ago, his cheeks barely reached the colour of his hair. He liked helping Mollymauk run lines, playing all the different characters to give him his cues, moving through the stage directions with him in an exaggerated manner, using whatever was around them as makeshift props. He would even do voices, delighting when Mollymauk would collapse in laughter.

Performing for strangers was one thing but just making his tiefling laugh was another. Molly made a good audience.

Caleb sat cross legged on the bed, cupping a mug of coffee with both hands, letting the warmth spread through him before he took a sip. They’d splashed out on a bag of the stuff in Port Dumali and though there were only a handful of beans left, every cup still reminded him of sand under his back, the prickling of skin that had been warming in the sun all day, Molly crouched over him, his lips slightly sticky with mango juice as he kissed down Caleb’s neck.

He could sense a lifelong addiction on the horizon.

“Right…” Molly flicked quickly through pages. He always held scripts with a kind of reverence, a respect. People quickly learned not to dog ear their scripts or throw them around carelessly when their ringmaster was around.

But today, there seemed to be a manic energy about him. He swept through pages carelessly, nearly tearing some of them in his haste, as if his hands were occupied but his brain wasn’t. His thoughts seemed to be somewhere else entirely, worrying at something restlessly like an anxious dog.

“Molly?” Caleb pressed gently, worry creeping into his voice, “Is everything alright?”

The tiefling looked up like he hadn’t noticed anything wrong at all, a mask of calm indifference quickly sliding into place, “Yes? Why?”

“Nothing,” Caleb shrugged after a bit of a pause. He chalked it up to his lover’s inherent dislike of having to sit and twiddle his thumbs, not being able to press on with their journey.

Molly found his place finally, “Okay, so this is the climax of the whole thing. Classic tender admission of feelings that gives the hero the push he needs to finish off the big bad guy.”

“Right,” Caleb nodded, smiling.

In the first few weeks since he took up his position, when he mostly haunted Molly’s caravan for fear of Ikithon being behind every roadside shrub, he’d devoured the many plays and scripts and books of tales the troupe kept on hand to whip out at a moment’s notice like colourful scarves. The idea of having all the time in the world to read was too good to be believed at first. He’d read each and every one cover to cover until the tropes were clear as stage directions; the stiff morality plays, the plays where gods and goddesses meddled in the affairs of mortals and everyone came off the worse, the plays where everyone ended up dead at the end with one character left alive to deliver the closing monologue and even the incredibly raunchy plays where every other line was laden like a pack donkey with innuendo and several roles amounted to nothing but making loud sex noises from off stage which most of the troupers found hilarious and loved to be assigned.

A few of that last breed had been brought out to play in Port Dumali as well. Caleb had missed a fair amount of his technical cues whenever Molly took one of the major roles.

But this was definitely not one of those plays. From just that brief description of one scene, Caleb knew it instantly to be a rousing, chest thumping tale of heroics with three magic items- always three- a humble old beggar man who turned out to be a powerful mage, enough vicious monsters to fill the stage and a witty, beautiful love interest.

There was a nice familiarity about always knowing how a play wound end, reading the traditions and tropes as easily as a road map. Even if the ending was sad, the worst kind of tragedy that would keep him very busy conjuring up gouts of fake blood, it was still nice to know what you were going to get. Caleb could see why so many poor folk would scrounge up the dregs of their rainy day money just to see their plays. It wasn’t as much about entertainment as it was about comfort.

Another thing Caleb realised was that he didn’t know this play. The hand was unfamiliar to him and as he scanned his eyes down the character names at the side, none of them sparked any recognition. He hadn’t realised before, having refused to pick it up whenever Molly presented it to him, firm in his resolve to have no part in it that didn’t involve being well hidden from the audience’s view.

“Is this new?” he asked, eyes flickering up to Molly.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I picked it up in the Port over midsummer. They’ve got the best writers there.”

Caleb paused, hesitation holding him still. You’d think being a performer would make Mollymauk a peerless liar, seeing as it was his livelihood to pick up other faces and other truths but weave them into something utterly believable. But in fact, the opposite was true, at least with Caleb.

Caleb knew what his voice sounded like when what he was saying wasn’t quite the truth, when he was acting a part. It was subtle, nearly untraceable, the difference between being in an empty room and being in a room where someone was sleeping but you hadn't noticed them yet. And it would have been invisible, to someone who didn’t hear Molly’s other voice, his own voice, every single day and treasured it more than anything else in the world.

Caleb could always tell when Mollymauk was lying. And he was lying now.

A wary prickle started up between his shoulder blades.

Molly didn’t notice the slight change in him, smiling and picking up his script book, “Okay. Your line, love?”

Caleb nodded slowly and found his place on the page. No voice yet, not until he got a grip on the character, “I just don’t know what to do. It feels like there’s no way forward.”

Molly smiled and nodded encouragingly. He spoke in his own voice too, not even his acting voice. His own, honest voice, “I know you’ve had a hard life, my love. People have hurt you and lied to you and that’s awful but believe me, you’re stronger than you can ever know.”

A beat of sweat started running down Caleb’s back.

He cleared his throat, looking down to his life, “But what if they were right? What if I am useless and worthless and broken?”

Molly reached out and took Caleb’s hand. It was in the stage directions.

“Look at everything you’ve achieved in spite of what they said. You’re brave and strong and kind and every day, even when it felt like too much, you kept fighting. How many people would do that?”

Caleb swallowed, starting to see where this was going. He wondered where on earth Molly had found someone to bind this, who he’d hired to write it out so his own handwriting wouldn’t be recognisable. So much gold, so much effort...all for him…

The next lines were his. He took a deep breath and found it shook.

“Why are you telling me all this?” he asked, not able to meet Molly’s eyes.

Even without looking at him, he could feel the smile in his voice. Soft and shy and hopeful. The words were there, printed in black ink, stark on the creamy white page but he didn’t need to see them to know what was coming next.

“Because I love you, Caleb Widogast,” Molly murmured, smiling hopefully. The complete and total truth, wholly sincere.

This time it wasn’t a forest silence. It was a total silence, a waiting silence.

The caravan creaked slowly in the wind, rocking a little, though as Caleb sat there it felt like the tossing of a ship in the grips of the worst kind of storm. He felt himself torn into two halves, a rushing, pulsing in his head that was growing sickeningly loud.

And Molly looked at him, eyes red and wide. Grief began to creep into the edges of them.

Caleb threw himself to his feet, barked out, “I need...I...um…” and fled through the caravan door.

Exit stage left.

Not that anyone came particularly deep into this part of the forest, as wild as it was, as thick and green and natural was the darkness. But if they had, they might have seen the scorch marks on the thick, ancient trunks and wonder what kind of beast had been through, rampaging and reeling and managing to gouge out parts of such enormous trees. They probably would have gone back to their villages and talked of dragons, great green dragons with moss on their backs and hungry teeth.

They probably would have been very disappointed to know the actual cause of the marks was an average height, hormonal human wizard, sniffling tearfully as he launched fireball after fireball at anything not sentient in his path and hating himself.

Caleb had never been allowed to be a teenager. He’d never been allowed to feel things so intensely that they burned in his chest, to hate and love without any kind of restraint, to throw things haphazardly around a bedroom in pure frustration. Everything he felt had needed to be kept small and contained, caged inside himself like an angry little animal that would claw and scratch his insides.

So now, twenty six years old, he had no idea what to do with everything he was feeling. He’d had no kind of training, no practise. So, in typical fashion for someone who was at least a teenager in training and a fair way behind everyone else, he was throwing fire around and trying to destroy everything around him that couldn’t actually feel pain.

After a few moments, he’d come exhausted, panting and covered in a fine sweat that made his hair stick to his forehead. But then he’d remember Molly’s face, the way disappointment and anguish cracked the edges of his hopeful expression. Pain that Caleb had caused after he’d been given nothing but kindness and gentleness.

And the fire would flare to life in his hands again and he’d throw it out in front of him, sobbing, “Stupid, stupid, stupid…”

He should be overjoyed. He should be ecstatic. He should be back at the caravan, kissing Mollymauk over and over until his lips became soft and lovingly swollen, letting his hands wander.

He should be saying those words until he ran out of voice.

But instead he’d ran. Like the worst kind of coward, he’d ran, from himself more than Molly’s gentle offer of love. He’d panicked and bolted like a frightened deer, terrified of the emotions he found inside himself.

The rain started up again, thicker and fuller than before until it was like someone up above was simply pouring buckets of water down onto the forest floor, and Caleb’s fire burned out along with his anger. He slumped down onto a nearby stump and let the fat raindrops run down his face until he was completely soaked to the skin. He made no attempt to get under any cover.

He wanted to love Mollymauk. But to love took a kind of bravery that maybe he didn’t have yet. He’d loved before, he’d loved his mama and his papa, and look how that had ended.

To see a fire burning in front of you and plunge your already scarred and blackened hand back into it, what kind of foolishness was that?

The sound of the rain was deafening so Caleb didn’t realise Frumpkin was there until he felt wet fur rubbing against his ankles. He jumped a little, looking down and seeing his cat, looking utterly sodden and very pleased with himself.

“Chased off every frog within a five mile radius, huh?” Caleb grunted, reaching down and dandling those wet ears.

Frumpkin gave a purr that Caleb couldn’t hear over the rain but could feel under his fingertips. He had to smile a little when he felt it, that low rumbling that had kept him going so many times when things had seemed impossible and he’d been lost in his own mind.

And, like all those other times, something inside him became unstuck and he started to talk.

“It’s just…the whole idea of it scares me,” he sighed, voice low under the patter of the rain on the leaves up above, “I’d just accepted that I was never going to know anything even close to love, I’d written the whole idea off. And now…now everything’s changing. And I’ve never liked change, Frumpkin, you know that.”

Frumpkin blinked his amber eyes, like two dollops of honey, and flicked raindrops off his whiskers.

“But…” Caleb bit his lip, “I guess running away from an abusive home and joining a circus is a huge change too. And that worked out pretty well, as far as these things go. And it took a while to get there but it was all okay in the end.”

The smell of wet dirt filled his nose but it was that warm, rich sort of earthy smell that’s actually very nice. There had never been those kind of smells in Rexxantrum.

“Caduceus is right,” he said softly, ruffling Frumpkin’s fur, “I am someone different. I’m not Bren any more, I’m Caleb. And maybe it’s okay that what I want changes. That I want to be loved now and I want to love in return. And it might not be okay at the start…but it will.”

He sat in the rain a moment longer and looked down at his cat, “I should be having this conversation with Mollymauk, shouldn’t I?”

Frumpkin blinked slowly, making it clear that he thought that was obvious.

“Right,” Caleb smiled crookedly.

He stood, let Frumpkin settle around his shoulders and strode off back towards the camp.

The thought had occurred to Caleb but he’d let it pass so quickly, he’d barely even registered it. The king’s road was supposed to run straight and true from one end of the empire to the other, it had done even back when there had been a king. Nothing was meant to hamper it or block it, if it was, crownsguard would remove it quick as blinking.

Unless, of course, something was placed there deliberately. A fallen tree, not swept aside by the wind but cut at the base. Deliberately felled to block the path of a troupe who came this way every year at the exact same time.

Caleb knew something was wrong before he saw it. Even with the rain, it was too quiet.

He stopped, face paling, Frumpkin bristling around his shoulders. No voices, no music, no laughter, making the unpleasant task go faster. Silence like a held breath.

He broke into a run.

It had to be magic fire. The rain would have guttered out any normal flame and still the caravans burned even as nature desperately tried to stem the damage. Caleb ran past it, unable to stop, knowing something worse was ahead.

Molly was in the centre of the worst wreckage, splintered gilded wood and torn fabric, soaked and trampled into the mud so it lost its brightness, all scattered around him. He was soaked and struggling to breathe, looking like a butterfly with its wings torn away. Left there, thrown aside, discarded so he would be the very first thing Caleb saw.

The tiefling raised his head, looking like even that simple motion caused him intense pain, and saw Caleb there. Grief flooded his eyes and he mouthed a word lost to the rain.

“Run…”

Caleb did, though towards him. Of course he was allowed to get maddeningly close, a few steps away from their outstretched hands meeting, enough to hope. Enough that it hurt all the more when the spectral hand closed around him and yanked him back, slamming him down to the ground.

Mud and water rushed into his nose and mouth, bending him double with wracking coughs, incapacitating him with burning lungs. He could hear Molly crying his name, over the ringing and rush of the rain. But then that too was lost as something seized his wrists and yanked them behind his back until his joints screamed, jerking him into an upright position.

“Bren, I can’t tell you how disappointed I am.”

Caleb’s heart plummeted down to the pit of his stomach. He didn’t want to open his eyes, some small childish part of him hoping beyond all sense that if he didn’t, none of it would be real and it would all turn out to be one of his awful nightmares.

But then the pulling on his arms increased by agonizing increments, tugging with a cold, ruthless indifference until it was nearly a certainty that his shoulders would tear from their sockets.

With a dry sob of pain, he opened his eyes, blinking through the streaming water.

Ikithon stood there, holding Mollymauk by a limp arm, his face carved from stone. He didn’t seem to have changed at all since Caleb had seen him last. The same cold eyes, the same hard line of a mouth, the same lantern jaw. And despite everything, Caleb felt the same fear grip him.

He hated how familiar it felt.

“Lucky that I found you before you could do anything too stupid,” Ikithon continued, voice calm and casual like he didn’t have a tiefling whimpering in pain and dangling from his hand, “Not to worry, those disgusting people who spirited you away have been taken in by the crownsguard. They will be duly punished.”

“No!” Caleb rasped, trying to fight against the force keeping him bound, “Please, don’t…”

“Because surely,” Ikithon snapped, his voice hard as ice breaking underfoot, “Surely you, my faithful ward, the boy I rescued from the streets, wouldn’t run away and shame me like this? Tell me the truth now, I’ll take you home and it will be as if none of this ever happened.”

Caleb winced. He knew exactly what Ikithon wanted. He wanted him to denounce Molly and all of his new family, he wanted to hear Caleb lie and blame everything on them, believe that it would truly keep him safe. All so he would have the guild of his admission, that extra crack in his heart, to weigh down on him even harder when they went home and he received his full punishment.

And once, not that long ago, he would have done it. But Ikithon didn’t know Caleb Widogast.

Something gave behind him and his hands were free. Lightning filled his cupped hands, lightning that seemed to come from the fury in his eyes.

But there it stayed.

Because without hesitation, Ikithon dragged Molly bodily in front of him, shamelessly using the younger man as a shield.

“Now Bren,” he counselled, voice low and dangerous, “Do not do anything foolish.”

Wrath and desperation filled Caleb’s voice, “The only foolish thing I ever did was believe your lies. I’m stronger than you, Ikithon, you know I am.”

Something flickered behind those cool blue eyes. Fear. He was right.

All the training, every time he had been beaten into the ground under the guise of teaching, it hadn’t been to make him stronger. It had been to keep him weak, keep him scared, keep him a tool. Because when it came down to it, he could turn Ikithon to ash.

And Mollymauk with him.

“Very well then,” the fear turned to the worst kind of ice cold desperation and he took Mollymauk’s hand, holding one of his fingers in a cruel grip.

The hands Molly held his swords with. The hands he played his lute with. The hands that had held Caleb so many gentle ways.

The hands he depended on for everything.

Ikithon’s hands jerked. There was an awful snap over the rumble of the rain. Mollymauk screamed.

“No!” Caleb wailed, the lightning dissipating to nothing, leaving only the smell of ozone.

Cool as anything, Ikithon moved to the next finger. He would snap each one, snap them beyond healing, and not even flinch, just to see Caleb break. And there was no way Caleb could stop him, not without hurting Mollymauk too.

Caleb felt as though he was immersed in ice cold water, vision foggy, lungs burning, heart gripped with shock. Unable to see which way was up. All he could do was cry out.

“Okay,” he sobbed, falling to his knees, the force taking hold of him again, “Okay, I’ll go with you. Just…just please, leave him alone.”

“Oh, we have gone far past you being able to make demands, insolent wretch,” Ikithon snapped, muscles tensing to yank again.

But Caleb managed to choke his words out faster, “I go with you. You take me, you leave them alone and don’t hurt them anymore. Or I’ll tell everyone what you did to my parents.”

That froze Ikithon where he stood. There was an awful lot an archmage could make disappear, a terrifying amount. But the cold blooded murder of two innocent citizens of the empire…that would be too much.

“Whatever you think you know…” the older wizard frowned, though without much conviction. Caleb had learned over the past year to spot bad actors and this performance wasn’t worth a bent penny.

“I know exactly what you did,” Caleb threw all the venom he’d been harbouring since he’d knelt in the charred skeleton of his first home into his voice, “I saw the ruins myself. I spoke to people who saw what you did. I got my memories back, you fucker.”

Ikithon narrowed his eyes. It was obvious how much he despised this, how much he hated Caleb gaining any kind of ground. A small part of Caleb’s mind whispered the truth that was starting to dawn on the both of them simultaneously.

He’ll kill you, the voice whispered, you’ve made yourself too dangerous. He’s just going to take you back to Rexxantrum and kill you.

Fine then. Caleb set his jaw resolutely. As long as Molly was safe.

“Very well,” Ikithon let Molly fall. The mud soaked into his colourful coat which was torn all the way up the side.

Caleb stood, his legs shaky, shrugging off the binding spell. Ikithon sniffed, though that uncertainty in his eyes spoiled the effect of his previous domineering stare. That gave Caleb a small amount of satisfaction, at least.

“I’m saying goodbye,” Caleb limped his way over to where Molly lay, “You call off the crownsguard. Tell them the troupers are forgiven.”

Ikithon looked over his shoulder, eyes narrowing.

He swallowed, feeling his stomach turn over, “Please. Father.”

The one, petty win was apparently enough. With a dismissive grunt, he walked away, down to where Caleb could now hear the sounds of angry, muted conversation just beyond the trees.

Part of him hoped Molly would have passed out. Part of him didn’t want to have to do this. But something in his brave, beautiful, stubborn tiefling had held out. His breathing was shallow, his eyes fluttered open, as Caleb came over and knelt beside him.

“Caleb…” he rasped, voice pained and weak.

“Don’t try and move, Liebling, it’s okay…” Caleb somehow managed to keep his voice calm even as his insides roiled at the wounds he could see on Mollymauk. He desperately wished he knew some healing magic, “Caduceus is coming, he’ll fix you up.”

“Caleb, please…” Molly’s hand clung to his sodden, filthy shirt, “Please don’t go with him. I…I can’t lose you…”

“And I can’t lose you,” the tears pushed dangerously at him now, he only barely managed to keep them at bay, “It’s like you said, Molly, the best way to make me proud is just…live. Keep going, keep telling stories, keep singing songs. Make people smile.”

“Not without you,” Molly’s face was wet with something that had nothing to do with the rain or the blood.

“Please?” Caleb kissed his hand as he removed it from his arm, “For me? You saved my life, this is just me returning the favour.”

Molly still shook his head, still sobbed but he was too weak to do any more than that. Caleb moved away from him without too much trouble.

“And…I love you,” he whispered, eyes really stinging now with the effort of not dissolving into sobs, “I suppose I should say that too. I’m sorry my timing is so shitty.”

Molly’s wretched cry was what broke him and he turned away quickly before it became too painful. If he looked back, he would be done for.

“Tell the rest of them I’m sorry,” he continued, voice still calm, as if they were simply saying goodbye before the two of them went off to their starting places for another show, “I don’t think I have time to say goodbye to them all so…just tell them how grateful I am. To all of you.”

He could hear Molly shifting behind him, “Caleb…please, don’t, please don’t leave me…”

Caleb swallowed hard. He could feel the dull, pulsing energy of the transportation spell Ikithon must have used to get here, just beyond the tree line. He could feel him waiting for him, ready to make good on the promise his dead eyes had made if Caleb tried to back out on their arrangement. He would kill them all and he would save Mollymauk for the last and longest.

One foot in front of the other. Don’t look back.

“It has to be this way, Molly. Please…have a good life for me.”

Caleb had read all the plays, he knew how they had to end. If he were taller, broader in the shoulders, if he had a magic sword or something like that, he would fight Ikithon and he would win. If he was cleverer, if he told better jokes, he would be able to trick him and save the day.

But some stories just couldn’t end that way. Some stories were tragedies.

Caleb didn’t look back as he stepped into the trees.

[olicitysecretsanta]

Trapped

A gift by @leuska for @hope-for-olicity

This has to be the worst Christmas Eve ever. Not that she minds that it’s Christmas Eve. No, that’s just the icing on the whole fracking cake.

 Her back hurts. Her left hip throbs uncomfortably, courtesy of the massive cabinet currently pinning her down. It’s just so damn heavy. She had already tried to shift it off of herself multiple times to no avail. The heavy cow just wouldn’t budge an inch. Not even enough to relieve the pain of the metal edge cutting into her skin across the underside of her ribs. She doesn’t know how long she lies there. Maybe minutes. Maybe hours. She’s long since lost track of time.

 Felicity’s trapped.

 The chill of the stone floor doesn’t help, sending unpleasant shivers up her spine. But Felicity can’t bring herself to worry about the chill in that moment, because she has a more immediate problem.

The fire.

 She has yet to see the flames; but she can hear them, somewhere above her on the ground floor, cracking merrily, slowly but surely making their way down to her.

 The walls and beams of the building above groan before falling eerily silent again. Darkness envelops her and Felicity tries not to succumb to the crippling hopelessness and fear that had been creeping up on her ever since the first crackle of the flames.

 No one knows she’s down here. She could die here and no one would find her body for days.

 Well...Perhaps that’s a little melodramatic. And probably not true. Laurel knows. But she wouldn’t be much good to Felicity if she happened to be in a similar predicament, somewhere a floor or two above her, also trapped, seriously injured, or even worse, dead.

 She hates the darkness of the basement. She hates darkness, period. Even as a child, she would sleep with a lamp on, and did so until well into her teens. But the electricity is gone, courtesy of the fire.

 She wishes suddenly for her menorah. She doesn’t care how ridiculous the thought is. It would’ve brought light.

 She had celebrated Hanukkah this year, if only because her mother had pestered her about it. She had lit the candles, done the rituals, all alone in her small apartment, and yet, didn’t feel any more enlightened nor spiritually illuminated, nor anything else that one was supposed to feel during as a result of such ceremonies.

 She could really do with some light now though, spiritual or otherwise.

 Because with the way things are looking just now, Felicity Smoak is going to die on Christmas Eve in a dark, dingy basement, struck down by a cabinet whilst trying to troubleshoot CNRI’s recent server issues.

 Life is indeed not fair.

 Felicity’s chest hurts, but it has nothing to do with the dust and debris she is lying in. A tight fist of fear and regret closes around her throat and heart.

 She doesn’t want to die. Not yet. Not like this.

 A single tear slips from the corner of her eye, disappearing into her hairline, causing a tickling sensation to run through her.

 This is it. This is how her lonely existence ends at mere 23 years of age. Another statistic of young people tragically dying before their time. Millenials doing it again: killing safety in IT jobs.

 A sound comes from above her, but this time, it’s not the building groaning as it burns on its less-than-stable support beams. No, this sound is deliberately and distinctly man-made. Someone or something is banging against the door to the basement, trying to get inside. Then she hears the voice.

 “Hello? Is anybody down there?!”

 Oh, God, yes. YES!

 “Y-yea, I am…” Felicity croaks, her voice a feeble cough cracking through her body, dust filling her lungs. She gives another mighty cough before trying again, voice stronger this time.

 “Help! I am down here! I am trapped down here!”

 There is a moment of silence, nothing but the groaning of the building that’s about to collapse on top of her, accompanied by the ominous crackle of the fire. She starts to think she’s imaged the whole thing, wished the voice into existence. Then:

 “Just hold on—stay calm—I am coming down!” the voice calls through the still closed metal door that she can hear is being attacked by something heavy from upstairs.

 “Not gonna be a problem,” Felicity murmurs to herself, her head flopping back to the concrete, her body once again wracked with coughs.

 The door above her suddenly bursts open, a ray of light spilling down the stairs to where she’s trapped.

 She would smirk at the trite nature of the words which come to mind – and then there was light – were she not trapped, tired, hurting and so very scared.

 Instead, she tries to crane her neck, see the person hurrying down, but with the way she is pinned, it’s just her luck that her back is to the stairs. All she can do is listen as a heavy pair of boots clomp down the stairs, their echo bouncing off the walls of the basement as well as Felicity’s skull. Despite the inharmonious thunk of the sound, it sounds like music to her ears.

 “Okay miss, I am here,” says a masculine voice and Felicity squeezes her eyes tightly shut as a ray of light from a strong, heavy-duty flashlight hits her face.

 There is movement above her and she squints when the beam slips from her face and hits the floor. A black and yellow blur flashes in front of her eyes. She hears the flashlight clatter to the floor and it bathes the room in light shadows.

 The quick transition from lying unmoving in the dark to sudden light and movement is more than a bit disconcerting, but Felicity fights to adapt, wracking her brain to make some sense of the situation. She wonders if this is all just a figment of her shock-riddled imagination.

 “Hold on, I am going to try and lift this a little so you can wiggle out.”

 Yellow and black flashes again and she finally puts it all together. A firefighter. Of course. Who else?

 And a pretty strong one, too, if the grunts and groans coming from him are any indication as the man tries to shift the cabinet off of her. Suddenly, the weight lifts from her hips and she can move again.

 “Can you–“ a heavy groan, “–maneuver yourself out?” the Hulk of a man grunts, holding the cabinet an inch or two above her.

 Awed, Felicity takes her first free breath; then forces her mind to take a quick inventory of her body. Her hip and legs are prickling with pins and needles shooting down to her toes as proper blood circulation resumes, but nothing feels too severely damaged.

 “Ye-es,” Felicity stammers. “I think so.”

 She lifts her body to her elbows and pulls back, slowly and painstakingly shuffling herself out from underneath the cabinet.

 “Just don’t let it fall on me again,” she whimpers, the words escaping her mouth on their own when she sees the man’s arms shake with the exertion, sweat running down his face.

 “I won’t,” he bites out through clenched teeth. She absolutely believes him.

 It takes longer than she expected, but once her legs are free, she hastily pulls the rest of her body out and draws her feet underneath herself so the man can let the cabinet fall to the ground with a grinding crash.

 For a moment, Felicity just sits there, gawking up at her savior, still in awe of the man who just single handedly helped her out from the death trap that would have buried her alive.

 And boy, upon closer inspection, he is one fine specimen of a savior. A hunk of a savior, her mom would say.

 The firefighter’s uniform is bulky on his fit frame, hiding the finer contours of his body, but Felicity can still see that he is tall and broad. Her eyes seize him from head to toe, her mouth slightly agape. When her gaze falls to the ground, she spots his helmet he must have pulled down while heaving the cabinet off of her, and Felicity now has the perfect view of him panting and wiping his sweaty brow with one huge glowed hand. And if his body looks massive and strong, it definitely doesn’t take away anything from the man’s handsome face.

 The firefighter gives one final sigh before directing his eyes at her, stepping closer and oh boy, is he even more handsome up close.

 “Are you okay, miss? Are you hurt?” he asks urgently as he crouches down to her, his face coming impossibly close.

 Even in the flickering light, she notices that his eyes are blue. Impossibly blue.

 Wow.

 They are still shrouded in dimness, the only two sources of light coming from the flames upstairs and the beam of his flashlight.

 Yet she can still see that his eyes are a very distinctive blue. Dark brown hair, angular broad jaw deliciously peppered with stubble. Unfairly handsome, indeed.

 And very concerned for her, obviously.

 “Lady, are you hurt? Can you stand?”

 Lady. Now that sounds super weird. Shaking her head like a dog, Felicity forces herself to concentrate on the question.

 “I don’t think so…” she murmurs and almost panics when the man reaches for her, before realizing he is just trying to help her stand.

 “Time to find out,” he murmurs in a deep, caring voice and Felicity realizes that it’s a very nice murmur. And what the hell is wrong with her? Before she can finish the thought, however, she is standing, half on her own, half supported by the man.

 “You good?”

 It’s that damn sexy murmur again, so close to her ear now that it makes her jump in surprise.

 “Ye-yes.” She stammers, a shiver running down her spine. She takes a step back from him, trying to find her center.

 “Wonderful, because we really need to get out before the whole building collapses,” he says urgently and she nods, the reality of their situation crashing back down to her.

 It started with Laurel Lance’s call, begging Felicity for a Christmas Eve favor – a Christmas Eve miracle, Laurel called it. Then the sudden explosion and subsequent fire. The blast had shaken the whole building, causing a heavy cabinet to turn over, effectively trapping her.

 “Hey,” a gentle voice brings her back from her spiraling thoughts, a gloved hand closing around her arm and squeezing reassuringly. “Don’t be scared. I’m here to help you. What’s your name?”

“Fe-Felicity.”

“Felicity. That’s a nice name.”

She likes the way he says her name.

“Can you breathe for me?”

Those intense blue eyes are on hers again, urging her on as she steadily takes one breath after another, long enough to stop the ringing in her ears.

“Okay,” she manages to bite out through clenched teeth. “I’m good.”

She isn’t. But the groaning of the building above her doesn’t really leave her any choice but to be ready and face whatever awaits them above.

The man gives a short nod, then crouches down to pick up his dropped flashlight and helmet. Pondering something for a moment, he makes a quick decision and instead puts the helmet on Felicity’s head.

“Here. It’s dangerous up there,” he explains with a small smile.

The helmet is heavy and dwarfs her head. Still. Everything Felicity can think about is that the man has a really nice smile. Which only serves as clear proof of how mentally unstable she currently is, swooning about the handsomeness of her rescuer instead of the very real danger of her dying in the next couple of minutes.

The man silently directs her to follow closely behind him before he starts walking up the stairs again.

“My God, what happened up there?” Felicity asks with a gasp, because now that they are half up the stairs, she can actually see all the damage lying behind the door to CNRI’s server basement.

“We don’t know yet,” the man replies, not turning or stopping to give his explanation. “But considering the part of town we’re in, probably a gas leak that caused an explosion. It doesn’t take much where these particular buildings are concerned. They are old and not very well maintained. It actually, sadly, happens quite often.”

They reach the top of the stairs and the sight in front of her as she peaks around the man’s broad back makes Felicity freeze with shock.

What greets her eye can’t be described any other way than utter wreckage. The CNRI building – or what’s left of it – looks like it’s been bombed in air strikes. There is rubble everywhere, multiple small fires crackling all around the place, concrete pillars that used to support the building not an hour ago now cracked or outright ripped apart, some completely blown from their fundamentals. There are burning documents, computers and furniture everywhere and considering what lays ahead of her, it looks like a very deadly obstacle course. Or simply a death trap, there is no way around it.

Felicity gulps again, taking an involuntary step back before she remembers not to move any further so she doesn’t fall down the stairs again. Her rescuer turns to her, a silent question in his eyes. Maybe this is the time to lay her cards on the table and admit she isn’t much of an athletic person. Or, you know, not athletic at all, period. Oh, who is she kidding, she only bought that stationary bike because she was feeling guilty for not exercising in the first place. The very same bicycle that now serves as a fancy coat rack.

So no. There is absolutely no way she can make her way through this.

“Felicity?” the man questions, and her eyes fall shut with embarrassment and shame.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispers, barely over the crackling of the fire.

“You can.” The man says with conviction Felicity doesn’t feel.

“I’m scared,” she involuntarily whimpers, her cheeks growing warm at the admission. Here he is, a firefighter ready to risk his own life to save hers and she is stalling out of fear and insecurity. By now, the man sure must regret finding her alive in the first place.

“Hey, don’t be scared, Felicity. I am here to help you. I know it looks bad, but you are not alone and I won’t let anything happen to you, okay?”

She already loves him. Like not loves loves him, not like being in love with him, but loves how wonderful of a rescuer he is. And she wants to believe him. Actually, Felicity realizes as she looks back into those gorgeous blue eyes of his, she does believe him. At least she believes the part where he won’t willingly let anything happen to her. As for herself and her own abilities…

“Okay,” she nods and takes a deep breath before she realizes what a stupid mistake that is. Her lungs instantly fill with hot smoke and dust, wrecking her body with a violent fit of coughs causing her mangled hip and side to burn with searing pain.

Frack! Frack, frackity-frack!

“Here.”

Something presses into her hand, a cloth the man must have wet with water.

“Press this over your nose and mouth.”

The Hunk – cause yeah, she needs a name for him, even if only in her own head, and it is the very first description that originally came to her mind. Well, no, actually it was Hulk, but that nickname is just stupid, because he isn’t mean nor green nor violent, so Hunk will have to do. The Hunk is now looking an her urgently, his eyes still gentle but more insistent.

“We really need to keep going, Felicity. You ready?”

She is not. God, she so is not. But she bravely nods anyway.

He takes her hand and starts directing them through the maze that was once the cubicle-ed offices of CNRI. Only now, the space looks nothing like what Felicity remembers.

Using one hand to press the wet cloth against her face while the other clutches the gloved hand of her rescuer for dear life, Felicity stumbles behind him as they painstakingly and slowly make their way through the rubble. It’s not easy, because they have to crouch underneath fallen pillars, and crawl over overturned furniture, chunks of blown apart walls or walk around the small fires that burn everywhere.

The environment is also very hot. And not only because of the proximity of her handsome rescuer, who is definitely a solid ten on the hotness scale, if Felicity does say so herself. No, it’s the smoke and dust and fire that are making her eyes water and lungs seize, her abused body tiredly stumbling behind the man whose step never falters.

They are proceeding slowly but safely, inching towards the door where Felicity hopes the exit lies. In the smoke and dust and rubble, she is absolutely lost as to which room exactly they are currently walking across.

Making a short stop in a small niche in the doorway between two rooms, her firefighter silently offers her the bottle of water before he takes out his radio, reaching out while she drinks hastily, the water a welcoming balm against her parched throat.

“Queen here. I found the woman. We are on our way out now.”

There is a short moment of static crackling before a deep rumble of a voice responds. “Queen, you son of a bitch. You better get your ass safely out of there or I will kill you myself. Waiting on standby. Boys are trying to contain the fire from outside. Make it quick though, the building doesn’t have much time.”

“Yes, sir.”

With that, the man – the Hunk – is done and once again looking expectedly towards her. She gives a slow nod and he silently takes her hand again as they make their way towards the next door in what feels like a sick game of walking through a minefield.

They are close, so close in fact, Felicity can almost feel the cool draft of wind coming from somewhere in front of her when it all goes straight to hell.

The ceiling in the very last room they need to cross caves right in front of their eyes, and the Hunk barely has time to jump back and turn towards her, roughly showing Felicity back and against the doorframe they just came through, shielding her as huge chunks plaster, wood and concrete come raining down onto them.

It’s sheer luck they weren’t too deep in the room yet, otherwise they would have been buried alive.

There’s a little break in the collapsing and before she knows what’s happening, Felicity is pushed backward further into the previous room, further away from the longed-for exit.

Somewhere behind her, she can hear the deep male voice from before call to them, repeating ‘Queen, Queen’, which doesn’t make any sense at all, before she realizes the Hunk is not hot at her heels anymore but cursing and diving back into the caving room. And that’s when it clicks to her; the radio.

He’s lost the radio.

She just manages to turn back and grab him by the arm, yanking him back violently, surprised at her own reflexes as well as strength, but she manages to pull him back just in time for the room he was just about to enter again into completely caving in on itself, debris of several floors crashing down with deafening racket. And it doesn’t end there, the whole statics of the building is compromised now and there is no way the building can remain standing anymore.

“Back!” Felicity shouts, orders really, once again surprising herself by her decisiveness. “We need to get back to that basement before it all comes crashing down on us!”

Before she knows, the Hunk is already pushing at her from behind, urging her to move on as she speeds through the rooms they so carefully maneuvered before, not caring about possibly catching her clothes on fire or scratching her hands against obstacles standing in their way anymore, only going forward, always forward, running until they reach the door to the basement again. Without thinking, she flies down the stairs and is once again back where it all started.

That’s when the building above them completely gives way, all three floors pancaking on themselves. The sound is deafening. Felicity has never heard anything as ear-splitting and utterly scary in her life. The ceilings and walls crash down and rubble flies down the stairs of the basement, effectively burying them alive.

Felicity stands frozen, just at the bottom the stairs where rubble and debris still falls, but she is unable to move, paralyzed by fear. She feels herself being swooped up just as a large chunk of concrete lands at the spot she’s just been standing at and she is pushed under the metal stairs and pulled against a solid chest, strong arms enveloping her as everything else around them collapses.

She clutches at the Hunks uniform, her face against his throat, absolutely certain they are about to die any second, squashed to a bloody pulp by tons and tons of concrete and construction material.

But death never comes.

It could have been moments, it could have been hours, but finally, there is just silence, darkness, and the heavy breathing of two very much alive people.

She feels movement, then sees a flicker and the room is suddenly bathed in the harsh beam of a flashlight cutting through whirls of dust. The Hunk is directing his flashlight towards her even as she is still cowering in his arms, a concerned look on his face.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice ragged and slightly out of breath. When she doesn’t answer, he asks more urgently, addressing her directly by name to drill his point across, “Felicity, are you hurt!?”

She shakes her head against him.

“No.” It’s all she is able to mutter before her whole body begins to shake, her teeth rattling.

“Y-you?” For some reason, it is paramount to her that he is okay too.

“Fine,” the Hunk sighs, finally pulling back and away from her. She nearly whimpers.

Instead, Felicity follows the flashlight’s light as it dances around the room and bounces off the walls, or at least what’s left of them. Half the space is filled with rubble and debris, the metal stairs practically the only thing that saved them from having their heads smashed by falling chunks of construction material.

What’s left free is a space of a couple of feet that stretches from underneath the stairs to – ironically – the very cabinet Felicity has been trapped under earlier.

This is…it’s bad. Very bad.

The Hunk gets to his feet and makes a quick scoop around the room, assessing the damage, as if trying to find some miraculous way out of here. Without having to look herself, Felicity knows with absolute certainty that they are effectively trapped. The Hunk must have reached the same conclusion, because his shoulders sag. To his credit though, once he turns back to her, he’s straightened them out again while speaking in a steady, calm voice.

“Don’t worry. My colleagues know we are here. They will come searching for us.”

She really wants to share his enthusiasm. Only, she is a very practical and rational person. And she knows things aren’t that easy.

“Only your colleagues think we got smashed to a pulp by the collapsing building.”

The Hunk shakes his head disapprovingly. “No, they heard we were okay when I radioed us in.”

“Yes, but that was before the building fell in on itself like a damn house of cards,” she counter-reasons. “And you lost your radio.” It’s only sheer luck she doesn’t say ‘drop’.

“I know,” the Hunk says, tightness for the very first time entering his voice and posture as he lays his hands on his hips, his breathing growing heavier. He is agitated, but that doesn’t stop Felicity from voicing the obvious problem.

“I am just saying. When your colleagues try to call again, all they will get is radio silence. Which to them will appear as if we--”

“Could you maybe tone it down with the pessimism? I am trying to keep a cool head here, but your pinpointing of everything that’s wrong in not really helping,” the man hisses, shooting her a disbelieving glare.

Its intensity makes Felicity flinch. “I’m sorry,” she utters, bringing her knees to her chest, trying to ignore how her eyes, lungs as well as half her body burn and hurt.

“It’s just that when I am stressed, I talk,” she squeezed out through clenched teeth before nervously picking a loose threat of her already completely destroyed skirt. With a start, she realizes she isn’t wearing the helmet anymore. Duh. Must have lost it somewhere while running back for cover.

The Hunk gives a heavy sigh, air leaving his lungs in a whoosh.

“No, Felicity,” he tells her in a surprisingly gentle tone. “It’s me who’s sorry.”

He takes the few steps, circling back to where she is sitting pressed with her back against the wall underneath the stairs. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. That was unhelpful and very unprofessional of me. I apologize.”

She only nods in response, not trusting her voice just yet.

The Hunk puts the flashlight between them on its rear end, its light hitting the ceiling and casting the room in a greyish half-light. He proceeds by unzipping his heavy fireproof jacked, pushing it from his shoulders with a wince before plopping down to the ground close to her in nothing but a black shirt (and suspenders!), gingerly laying back against the same concrete wall but keeping a respectable distance of a couple feet between them.

“Are you hurt?” Felicity asks, noticing the way he unsuccessfully tries to mask his discomfort.

“Just bruises and abrasions,” he brushes her off. When she silently pins him with a look, he sighs and elaborates. “When the ceiling came down in the last room and I pushed you against the doorway, some of the falling debris caught me on the back.”

Felicity thinks that’s a very nice way to put how he literally wrapped himself around her to shield her from the falling pieces of ceiling. She can’t dwell on it however, as his next words knock the breath out of her.

“You saved my life back there,” he says with a gentle smile. “Thank you.” It’s not even a question, just a statement. But for the life of her, Felicity can’t come up with what he means by that.

So the only thing she manages in response in a stupid, “What?”

“Back in the room, when I dropped my radio. I dived back for it. It was a stupid, instinctive reaction. You pulled me back in time not to be crushed. Thank you for that.”

Felicity’s cheeks grow warm. She didn’t think about it like that, not at that time. It doesn’t even make sense to her like that now. She didn’t think what she was doing, she just reacted.

She clears her throat, feeling slightly uncomfortable to be put into the spotlight.

“So. Since it looks like we are going to be here for a while, what do I call you? Mr. Sexy Firefighter is kind of long.”

Her eyes fall shut. She can’t believe those words actually left her stupid, stupid mouth. “Not that being sexy qualifies you to be a good firefighter. Which you obviously are, though. Since you rescued me. You’re sexy too, but that’s beside the point here,” she heavily gulps down, squeezing her eyes tightly. How can she be so devastatingly embarrassing even in a life-threating situation like this? “I just mean that I would really like to know your name, if that’s okay with you. Since you already know mine, it would only be fair.”

She dares to open her eyes then and the small smile playing over his lips in the dim light almost makes her embarrassment worth it. Almost.

“Oliver. You can call me Oliver, Felicity.”

Oliver. She tries it out, likes how it rolls on her tongue. And oh my god, what is wrong with her? They are fighting for their lives here and she is drooling about a sexy firefighter’s name. A sexy firefighter who sure as hell has some hot lawyer chic like Laurel Lance waiting at home for him to carve up the Christmas turkey and scoop up the stuffing.

That puts a damper on her absolutely inappropriate thoughts. Because there won’t be any turkey carving tonight. For either of them. Not that she has any plans or a turkey or a hot boyfriend waiting at home for her. Nope. But he might. And instead, he is stuck here with her.

“Thank you, by the way. For coming and saving me from underneath that cabinet. And then trying to get us out,” she says in barely a whisper.

“It’s my job,” The Hunk-- Oliver shrugs. Like it’s no big deal. When it’s everything to another human being. Everything to her.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I am grateful. I mean, look at you! Good looking and saving lives on Christmas Eve. It doesn’t get any better than that. Sorry for that, by the way. Ruining your Christmas. Surely, you girlfriend or family will be pissed I took you away from them on such an important evening.”

“Actually, you didn’t ruin anything. I am on shift today as well as tomorrow. Well, not anymore. If we get out tonight, I’m sure they’ll order me to take tomorrow off.”

That catches her by surprise. And sure enough, her big mouth runs away with her once again.

“So…No Mrs. Sexy Firefighter waiting for that broad chest with a six pack back at home? That’s kind of a waste, if you ask me. Not that you’re asking me. Or that I’ve seen your chest. I just assumed. You know, how you picked up that cabinet all by yourself? That was really impressive. And also indicative of the fact that you must indeed have a pretty neat six pack in order to do that.”

It was his answering breathless chuckle that made her realize how very uncomfortable her words have been making him. Well, that made two of them. Only, she was the idiot who couldn’t stop them from leaving her mouth.

“Sorry. Again,” she murmured in embarrassment, “It’s probably the lack of oxygen talking. I don’t usually ramble like this. Actually no, who am I kidding,” she sighed unhappily. “It’s exactly what I do. It’s my very own specialty; a superpower, really. And my personal kind of hell. Duh, maybe that’s why I have so little friends. I guess it must be pretty hard to hang out with a person like me with her thoughts completely scattered all over the place all the time. Talk getting awkward on the go. Anytime, anywhere. I can make the both of us feel uncomfortable in no time. Anytime. So I will shut up now. No reason to waste precious oxygen on my rambles. Which will end. Right now.”

She does fall silent after that, hiding her face against her knees, still not able to believe she actually unloaded all that on her fancy rescuer. Felicity doesn’t dare to look at him, not interested to see the embarrassment on his face. Or pity, or annoyance. That’s probably the top three emotions she gets from people whenever they catch her during one of her nervous rambles. She hates this personal trait of herself and yet for the love of her, she can’t change it. The more she tries, the more awkward and mortifying she gets.

Been there, done that. It’s how it is with her. She’s made her peace with that. But she doesn’t have to subject innocent bystanders to this horrible habit of hers. And definitely not such nice ones as hot men trying to rescue her from a burning building and endangering themselves in the process.

Or just one hot and nice man. She feels bad for him. He might die here because of her. They might both die here. Handsome and skilled as he is, his death would surely be a crime against humanity. She doesn’t want that on her conscience.

But she manages at least one thing. She stays silent. Doesn’t need to incriminate herself any further. Definitely doesn’t want to embarrass either of them any more than she already has.

Her cheeks are aflame, eyes burning. She tells herself it’s because of the exertion, smoke and dust.

“How did you know I was down here anyway? How did you know where to look?” She utters after a while, unable to stand the stretching, uncomfortable silence any longer. Well, maybe it was just her. Maybe he was perfectly comfortable with the silence.

Felicity always hated silences with a vengeance. She always felt the compulsive need to fill them. With whatever happened to come across her mind. With her track record, she always managed to fill them with the worst possible type of word-vomit. At least this was something sensible to ask.

Maybe they could even have a casual conversation like two normal people. She desperately needed to take away the edge of her fear that neither of them would make it out of this stupid basement alive.

“Laurel Lance told me,” Oliver replies after a while, effectively cutting through her spiraling thoughts. Her mouth shapes into a perfect ’O’ before the meaning of his words fully registers.

“Oh! Oh my god, Laurel! Is she okay?!”

 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 Oliver is perplexed.

And no. It’s not the fact that a rescue mission has gone so terribly wrong. That’s just the way his work is, risk of being hurt or dying on the job comes with the territory. So it’s not the fact that he is stuck in a basement low on oxygen in a building that had previously collapsed onto him with a woman he was supposed to rescue only to be rescued by her in return. Not even the fact that he might not make it out of here alive tonight is the reason for his shock.

What has put his whole system into a state of utter bewilderment is the woman sitting just a couple of feet next to him. A woman that utterly baffles and intrigues him at the same time.

And that’s the thing. She shouldn’t. It’s what he does every single day. He saves people from the most dangerous or risky situations. Sometimes it’s injured people, sometimes it’s hysteric people, sometimes he has to deal with utterly stupid people (like those two drunk college kids who got stuck trying to climb down a chimney, Santa-style). He rescues very badly hurt people, people with deep wounds or missing limbs, people shouting in agony from terrible burns, people crying because they saw their loved ones die in front of their own eyes. He’s seen it all.

And still, seeing that young woman helplessly trapped under the heavy cabinet, utterly alone waiting in the dark to possibly die, on Christmas Eve no less, in a dingy server basement of a non-profit organization’s collapsing building – it did something to him. Moved something in him it shouldn’t have.

Yet it was cruel somehow, that this would possibly have been the way she would’ve died if he hadn’t done what he’d done. It was in times like these when Oliver really appreciated his job. This was the very reason he did it. Why he put his life on the line.

He’d quickly run down the stairs and heaved the cabinet off her, relieved that she was in a state to cooperate. Once free, he prepared himself for possible hysterics and subsequent gentle persuasion, a lot of convincing and the possibility of having to somehow carry her out himself if she proved unable to follow him outside through the wreckage on her own. But despite her injuries, fear and apprehension, she cooperated flawlessly.

That was something he’d appreciated very much, although it was neither unique nor unheard of. Different people coped in different ways. She was one of the tougher ones, apparently, despite expressing her fear to him. It was the fact that in spite of her fear she followed his instructions to a T that told Oliver she underestimated herself, big time.

What truly surprised him was her saving his own life a mere fifteen minutes later by making the smart, logical decision of not letting him leap after his lost radio. It was a rookie mistake that Oliver still couldn’t wrap his head around making in the first place. Such mistakes usually cost you your life. And he knew that had he been with anyone else, he would be dead by now, buried under the rubble.

So much for his professional pride.

Then she did another amazing thing, in a split decision that spoke of a very sharp mind. Once again, she’d saved both of their lives. Truth was, it had been Felicity’s idea to return to the basement, which was, in fact, the safest and only place they could possibly survive the building collapsing.

It could still cave under the pressure of three stories, but given the fact that it hadn’t yet proved Felicity’s decision had been right.

Once again, she mesmerized him when she didn’t even acknowledge how she’d saved their lives twice in the course of five minutes. Instead, she‘d rambled her way through their rather unorthodox introductions, something Oliver suspected she did quite a lot. A quality – according to her – not many people enjoyed. He could understand why. And yet, he didn’t mind it, not coming from her. She was genuine. Constantly full of surprises. Fascinating.

This girl – woman – Felicity. She really was quite something. And despite knowing it to be very, very unprofessional, Oliver Queen was very much intrigued.

And then he’d told her about Laurel being the one who’d tipped him off, and despite being buried alive under tons of rubble and concrete herself, no doubt hurting from the injuries caused by the cabinet she’d been trapped under, Oliver can still see how affected she is by the prospect of Laurel Lance being hurt.

Therefore, he hurries to reassure her, to give her at least something to bring her a little peace of mind.

“Yeah, Laurel’s fine. She got out in time, looked relatively unscathed.”

He doesn’t tell her about the gash across Laurel’s forehead or the blood trickling down her throat. Doesn’t elaborate on how the she’d looked like a mirage, a ghost, running from the burning building, clothes and face white as a sheet covered in dust and plaster, hands trembling and hair disheveled, a wild look on her face as her eyes sought him out.

They’d always had a connection, he and Laurel, back during the time they’d dated, on and off and on again. Despite it being a long time ago, her uncanny ability to always seek him out even amongst a crowd always stayed. He never could do that. Never even cared to try, if he was being honest.

But Laurel’s always known.

“Ollie!”

Immediately, she’d crossed the space between them, her cries directed at him even as his other colleagues reached her first.

“Ollie, there’s still a woman in the building! You have to help her!”

She knew he didn’t need to hear more. That’s why she’d sought him out, specifically him. Laurel knew he wouldn’t think twice to rush in, knew his reckless nature would propel him into action where others would have hesitated. After all, it was one of the reasons why they’d split. Well, that, and the fact that he just hadn’t cared about her enough. However, that was a long time ago.

Still, Laurel knew Oliver wouldn’t hesitate. Maybe it was her karmic payback, using one of the things she hated most about him against him, though Oliver didn’t mind or dwell on it too much. The outcome was just the same for him, he would have gone no matter who’d told him there was somebody left inside. It was what he did. It was also the thing that made him one of the best and at the same time most dangerous men in his unit.

He liked it. He liked doing the risky thing, going places no one else dared to go. He liked feeling the rush of carrying a person, still alive, from a burning building. It was gratifying, sure. It was also absolutely daring and reckless as hell. He wouldn’t want to live his life any other way but it didn’t do him any favors with his superiors.

John Diggle was the only person able to handle him. To deal with the hot-headed side of him. He managed – to a certain degree – to reign in Oliver’s impulsive behavior, or so their superiors thought. Tonight was not one of those days. Oliver had gone in, not sparing his Captain – his boss and his friend – a second glance, even though he knew very well the structure of the building had been severely compromised and a further plan of action needed to be coordinated.

He knows Diggle will give him an earful for this, if he survives. Not for the fact that he tried to save someone. No, that would make him a hero in the public eye, Oliver already knew from so many brushes with death in the past.

The problem isn’t his drive to save someone, but his lack of discipline while doing so. There is a clear chain of command he blatantly disregards whenever it suits him. He doesn’t listen, doesn’t wait for backup, doesn’t talk strategy. He acts as he sees fit in moments like these. It doesn’t bode well with the Battalion Chief and Oliver knows it’s only thanks to Diggle that he still has a job.

One of these days, you will get yourself killed out there.

It’s what John keeps telling him, always angry and aggravated after whatever stunt he has just pulled. Oliver doesn’t particularly care about that thought. He never really had. Not if the alternative would be this woman dying here in agony and fear, alone in the dark. She still might die. But at least she won’t die alone.

Of course, Oliver hopes it won’t come to that. He is reckless and driven, not suicidal.

“Are you and Laurel friends?” he asks Felicity, willing to stop his dangerous train of thought. Felicity – he really likes the name – just shakes her head.

“No. I just do some work for CNRI.”

The rubble above them shifts, something in the ruins above them moaning dangerously. Felicity flinches before cowering in fear.

Oliver desperately wants to keep the conversation flowing, keep their mind of the sword of Damocles hanging above them. So he inquires further.

“What kind of work?”

Felicity shrugs. “Mainly system maintenance, installation of upgrades, checking the firewall, you know. Usual boring IT stuff. Sometimes,” she points to the back of the room where the corner of the now completely destroyed server is peaking from, “fixing server issues. Something tells me that one is beyond repair, though.” She huffs, and there is an annoyed lilt to her voice. “I spent over two hours working on that stupid thing and it’s all for naught.”

A smile tugs at the corner of Oliver’s mouth, but he tries to rein it in. It doesn’t seem fitting to smile in a situation like this.

“Again, sorry about all of this.” Felicity says, making a circling gesture with her hand. She tries to play it nonchalant, but Oliver can see the current situation weighing on her. “You just tried to help me. And now we are both stuck and might die here.”

Her voice shakes at the end and that’s when Oliver notices a couple of silent tears slipping down her cheeks. It makes his chest hurt. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s pulling his fire safe gloves off his hands so he can curl his fingers around her forearm in what he hopes is a soothing gesture.

“Felicity, hey. It’s not your fault, okay? We’re gonna be fine, you’ll see.”

“Yeah,” she mumbles, but there is no conviction in her voice as she retreats even further into herself, her knees pulled tight to her chest, her body curled into a ball. He lets his hand drop, at a loss for how to comfort her. It takes a while before either of them speaks again.

“I know you said you’re on shift both, today as well tomorrow, so I didn’t ruin any Christmas plans for you,” she quietly states. “But I’m sure your family won’t be pleased when they find out that you are trapped under a collapsed building, possibly already—” she harshly stops herself from finishing that sentence.

He doesn’t know why he feels the need to reassure her that what happened today is not much different from what he does regularly. That people sometimes think he is on a suicide mission, with the way he leads his life, conducts his work. He just wants to make her feel better about the situation and the misplaced guilt she obviously feels for his being stuck with her.

“Nah,” he shrugs. “Even if I die tonight, trust me, not many people will shed a tear. See, I have what most people would call a bad reputation. Which is just a nice way to say that most of the time, they consider me a real dick.”

He flashes her a half-cocked smile, expecting her to give an indignated laugh or a roll of her eyes at his drama. She does neither, only studies him intensely. It makes him uncomfortable.

“That’s a horrible thing to say. Besides, I have a hard time believing that,” she argues. “I mean not the part about your reputation. For all I know, that could be perfectly true.”

Amused, Oliver raises an eyebrow and her brain finally seems to catch up to her mouth. Realizing how that must have sounded, she quickly hastens to elaborate. “I mean I hardly know you to be able the judge that. Maybe you are an awesome rescuer and firefighter but a dick of a person, making farting noises when your colleagues sit down or stealing their food from the fridge at work. God knows I’ve met plenty of such assholes in my days as a corporate IT girl. That said, I didn’t want to imply I think you are dick-”

She is rambling again. Oliver is surprised to realize he actually likes it. He isn’t just impartial to it anymore, he genuinely enjoys observing how her mouth runs away from her and how her statements snowball as she goes. It has an awkward yet endearing quality about it. It’s like she genuinely doesn’t have a filter. It makes her speak honestly. He’s always appreciated honesty and hated any kind of sugarcoating of the truth. But then, why is he doing the very same thing to her right now? Because, Oliver knows, he is sugarcoating. About himself. About why he is sitting here, with her, in a bubble of air left under three stories of collapsed glass and concrete, on Christmas Eve, not the least concerned about whether he lives or dies tonight. Why, if he dies tonight, there won’t be no big hole gaping in anybody’s heart.

“Both my parents are dead,” he blurts out of the blue. Felicity blinks, her mouth falling agape. Yeah, no wonder. Way to kill the mood. Not that there was any mood to begin with. But that’s what it basically comes down to. His voice is quiet when he continues, his eyes wandering away.

“I do have a sister. Thea. She’s younger than me, way younger. She only turned 20 a couple of months ago. I know she would miss me. But she lives with the constant knowledge that the day I won’t return from work might come. It comes with the territory. An occupational hazard, if you will. She would understand, would – hopefully – be proud I died trying to save another person. It sucks that it’s Christmas, cause it’s her favorite holiday and it’s been only the two of us for so long. But she has a fiancée now. A good guy in her life. She will be hurt, but she will make it.”

He doesn’t even realize when he slips up and transitions from hypothetical would to certain will. Maybe that says something about him. The certainty that he will die on this job one day not too far from now. He is glad Thea is settled. It makes it easier to lead the life he does, with no regrets.

He clears his throat. “I have a best friend, Tommy. He is a billionaire who is disgustingly rich and who loves to party, so he will probably throw a big bash in my name and hope to pick up some girls in the process,” it makes him smile, even as he hears Felicity gasp. That’s Tommy for you, but he doesn’t dare to look at her. He has no idea why he is telling her all this in the first place other than he feels like telling her. Like telling someone. Because maybe he won’t ever get a chance to do so again.

“The guys in my unit, they’re great. My Captain, John, he’s a true friend. They will mourn the loss of a brother and pay their respects. And then they’ll move on, get back to their own families with their daily day to day problems. It’s what we do.”

Oliver realizes he’s saying that quite a lot. It comes with the territory. The risk is part of the job. It’s to be expected. Suddenly, it sounds like an excuse, but he doesn’t want to analyze it too much, and merely clears his throat once again.

“What about you, Felicity? Who would you be leaving behind if we died tonight? Which we won’t. This is purely hypothetical,” he adds with a reassuring smile. “Any boyfriend who would build you a Taj Mahal?”

He doesn’t know what makes him ask that question. It’s extremely unprofessional, inappropriate on many different levels and borderline unethical. He just blurts it out. He’s fishing. That’s what it is, if he’s downright honest with himself. Despite the inappropriate comments and innuendos Felicity has made about him and his physique through the evening, Oliver still wants to make sure. That there is no wonderful, caring boyfriend waiting for her behind the red tape just outside. He doesn’t even fully understand why exactly he needs to hear that.

Maybe nearly dying is making him bold.

Maybe he wants to know if he even has a chance.

Whatever the reason, he regrets his audacity the moment he sees how his question hits her in an almost physical way, her hands resting on her knees curling into tight fists.

“I am sorry, Felicity,” He instantly apologizes, backtracking. “That was way out of line. When I told you I was a dick, I wasn’t exaggerating.”

Surprisingly, her lips twitch at that. “You really weren’t,” she huffs with amusement and he winces, knowing very well he earned that one. She sighs then, laying her head onto her knees, silently regarding him for long moments.

Oliver is puzzled. Not by her reaction, but by his own behavior this whole night. Nothing makes sense anymore. He’s a firefighter, for Christ’s sake. He is trained better than that. He should stay professional, assure her all is going to be okay and that they would make it. He could even talk about weather. Anything would fly but bringing up his dead parents or potential scared boyfriends due to his fishing for her private details he has absolutely no business asking about.

But nothing about their situation right now is conventional. And for once, Oliver doesn’t want to be the aloof professional, he doesn’t want to keep his distance from her. Doesn’t want to be the detached rescue worker you won’t ever see again. Quite the opposite, in fact. He feels a surprising pull to give and get more information about this woman he was brought together with by sheer chance. He can’t explain it other than that she genuinely intrigues him.

He can’t help but think back when she claimed she had no friends. He can’t wrap his head around that one.

She is remarkable. Adorable, charming and smart. Kind of quirky, yet utterly fascinating. And beautiful, in spite of her face currently smudged by smoke and dust, cheeks stained with tear tracks and rundown mascara. There is an element of innocence and vulnerability about her, something he’s only ever seen in his sister. She is funny, too. Quick witted, cheeky even. And yet, there is also something fragile and broken about her, something that calls to his own emptiness.

She has managed to make him smile, even under these dire conditions, more than once. Which is no small accomplishment. And Oliver feels like under any other circumstances, he would most definitely want to be her friend. Maybe more.

She carries both a lightness and heaviness about herself at the same time. And it intrigues him to no end.

Felicity sighs again before opening her mouth to speak, but he beats her to it.

“No, please. You don’t have to say a thing. You don’t owe me anything.”

She regards him a while longer, mulling over his words, her eyes analyzing as she regards him. Her silent scrutiny makes him slightly uncomfortable. “I know I don’t owe you anything. But strangely enough, I want to. You shared something personal with me, even though you didn’t have to. And I feel like extending that courtesy.”

He nods in acceptance, yet is barely able to breathe.

Then, the words spill from her lips like a confession. “The truth is, my situation is probably even bleaker than yours. I am the daughter of a single mom living in Vegas. No immediate family, no siblings, no boyfriend or close friends. Which is usually fine with me.”

“Usually?”

“Yeah. I am kind of used to being on my own. It’s sort of par for the course of being me,” she admits, shrugging casually.

It hurts him to hear her say that. Even he, Oliver Queen, the womanizing and reckless firefighter, is not completely alone in the world. He has a sweet, loving sister, a handful of close friends and the brothers from his unit. The way Felicity talks about her life, however, truly sounds lonely. There is a difference between liking being alone – which he can absolutely understand – and being lonely. And Felicity, no matter how she tries to play it, sounds the latter. From what she tells him, outside of her mom, there is literally no one in her life. How can she be fine with that? How could anyone be fine with that?

“My mom…Oh god, my mom,” she suddenly sobs. “I can’t even think about what would happen to my mom if anything happens to me. She would be crushed. She lives vicariously through me, not that there’s much exciting going on, but I am the only one she’s got.”

Her distress grows and tears flood her eyes again before they start to fall. “God, who would even tell her? They would have to track her down and it might take a couple of days for someone to even figure out how to contact her.”

It’s perfectly possible. Still, it shocks Oliver to the core. His partner, his team know where he is. Despite working, he knows that Thea will call him tomorrow. Actually, she will call and call and call until he picks up just to wish him “Merry Christmas, you grouchy, anti-social jerk! I love you, big brother. I know you are working, but at least stop by and give your little sister her well-earned present!” Thea’s customary passive-aggressive yet still very loving Christmas calls always make him smile. It is a certainty he can always count on.

Felicity, however, obviously doesn’t have a single person in her life outside her mom to even notice if she’d be gone. That’s just not right. That shouldn’t even be possible.

“Wouldn’t your mom miss you for Christmas?” Oliver asks tentatively, hoping to offer a possibility she hasn’t considered yet to make her logical conclusion less depressing. After all, everybody gets calls from their relatives on Christmas – wished as well as unsolicited alike. “I am sure she will try to call you tomorrow.”

“Nah.” Felicity sniffs, shaking her head. “We are Jewish. Don’t really celebrate Christmas. That’s why Laurel called me in the first place. She knew I had nothing better to do during the holidays.”

Oliver is well aware it was him who had chased and pressed this heavy topic. He realizes now how utterly unprepared he was to hear the answers. He desperately wants to take it back now, or at least make Felicity feel a little better. If the ceiling caves and crushes them right now, he wants her to have a smile on her face. Or at least not cry because he made her.

His voice is steady when he reaches out to cup her shoulder in what he hopes is a soothing gesture. “We are not dead yet, Felicity. You will call your mom tomorrow.” He’s never wished to speak the truth like he does in that moment.

Felicity sniffs and shrugs her shoulders, seemingly unimpressed by his pep talk. He flounders for something, anything, to say.

“At least it pays well working through holidays, right?”

She barks a small laugh at that. Score!

“Nope,” she says, accentuating the ‘p’ while shaking her head. “CNRI is part of my pro-bono work. Since, you know, CNRI as a non-profit is not known for its vast resources. So I offer them my expertise. Feels like the least I can do to help the people who in turn actually help the less fortunate.”

She shrugs again, like it’s no big deal, like everybody does it, lifting her head from her knees at last and letting it fall back against the wall, her eyes momentarily closing.

Oliver is beyond impressed. Literally struck speechless. Beautiful, funny, smart, and with a giant, compassionate heart. She appears almost too perfect. How come it has to be a stupid gas explosion for the two of them to meet?

Not realizing his amazement, Felicity quietly admits, grumpy annoyance entering her voice. “You wanna know what sucks the most about today?” She sighs dramatically. “I am starving. Literally starving. All I had today was my regular coffee in the morning and a stupid meager salad for lunch because I felt like I could use something light.” She makes air quotations around the last word. “Let me tell you, this is the most brutal reminder of life’s too short. Next time, I will go straight for the dessert cart.”

She pouts in honest disappointment and he finds it so adorable, he’s a goner. For now though, he plays along.

“Okay. Despite the threat of being considered a mean dick again, what I’d like to know is this: if you could, what food would you choose to eat right now?”

Without missing a heartbeat, Felicity perks up, her eyes shining with longing, a dreamy gaze on her face. “Burgers! With fries. And a strawberry milkshake. With ketchup. Loads of ketchup and mayo and oh, oh! Onion rings!”

He scrunches his nose in order not to laugh outright at her enthusiasm, because he really doesn’t want to make her self-conscious despite finding her obvious love for burgers adorable.

And okay, seriously, what has this woman done to him? Since when does he even have the word adorable in his vocabulary?

Felicity scowls at him, misinterpreting his grimace to hold his laughter for disapprovement.

“Let me guess. You are the type of guy who has a kale smoothie for breakfast and steam cooked salmon with peas for dinner.”

When he doesn’t reply but merely chuckles at her in response, she takes it as a confirmation, glowering at him. “Of course you are. A person with a physique like yours surely views eating a burger as a crime against humanity. Or at least against their abs.”

His chuckle morphs into a full-blown chortle. Which is something, and not only because they are trapped and possibly about to die. The sound leaving his lips takes him by surprise. He hasn’t laughed so freely, so openly in quite some time.

“Actually, it’s you who is being judgmental right now, Felicity,” he points out good-naturedly, mirth still dancing in his eyes. “My unit’s Captain, John, remember? I mentioned him earlier. His sister-in-law works at Big Belly Burger a couple of blocks from here and we frequently eat there at the end of a shift.”

Her eyes grow huge at that. “No way! And you still look like that?? That’s so unfair on so so many levels,” she groans, burying her face against her knees.

He just smirks back at her, but he likes what he’s seeing. She’s not so coiled anymore, not so uptight. Her hands are not gripping her knees until her knuckles turn white anymore, just resting on top of them comfortably, and when she turns her face back to him, her face is illuminated with those huge, animated eyes of hers. They are blue too, he just realized, his own eyes finally having adjusted to the darkness around them enough to be able to tell for sure. He wants to see more of her like this. More of her light spirit.

He decides on the topic of his next question in order to keep the conversation light. “So miss-“ he frowns, realizing he doesn’t know her second name.

“Smoak,” she supplies easily.

“Okay, miss Smoak. If Christmas Eve is of no interest for a Jewish girl like you, what are your plans for New Year’s Eve?”

At that question, Felicity surprisingly turns a lovely shade of red, which only piques his interest to an impossible level. He absolutely has to know.

“Well, mister-”

“Queen,” he supplies without missing a beat.

“Oh.” Her eyebrows pull together as she contemplates something, “Queen. Okay, now that makes sense. I thought you had some weird code name going on with your boss back there on the radio. And regarding my plans…well, what the hell, we might die here anyway, so you might take my secret to your grave.”

His eyes grow huge.

“What, too soon?” she asks innocently.

Another hearty, breathless laugh escapes his lips. “You are quite something, Felicity Smoak, you know that? Too soon, she asks,” he grumbles, good naturedly. “Felicity, it didn’t even happen yet!”

“Yeah, but if it does, there will be no opportunity for me to make that joke anymore, so-”

“Don’t try to weasel your way of answering my question, Felicity,” Oliver warns and she deflates.

“Ugh, okay. You got me there. New Year’s Eve. Okay. Big plans. A date. With my couch, a pint of ice cream, a bottle of red and a re-watch of the 22. season of Doctor Who.”

 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 They are trapped, having met under the worst of circumstances. And yet, talking to her feels like the most natural thing in the world. They continue their verbal dance, the back and forth, for a couple of more hours, until Oliver notices Felicity growing more and more tired. She’s also holding her body more stiffly, her side probably already heavily bruised from the injuries caused by the falling cabinet. She doesn’t complain though, not once, keeps her spirits up as they talk, and Oliver is once again mesmerized by her.

She tells him a little about her work, about her life. The small one-woman IT company she runs from home and the big plans she has for it. She tells him about some of her freelancing work and shares a couple of funny stories about the more difficult clients. She even tells him a little about growing up in Vegas. He tells her a little about himself in return. His sister, his work. Those two idiots he had to rescue from being stuck in the chimney. It’s only fair, after all.

They share the water that’s remained of his bottle, the same one he used earlier to wet the cloth he gave her to wear around her face. He pretends to drink, but he barely sips at the liquid despite his throat being parched, leaving the water for her to drink when it’s her turn. He is better trained for such circumstances, after all, and she is the one who was trapped and hurt by a cabinet, lying on a cold basement floor for a long while. If anybody needs the water, it’s her, but he doesn’t tell her that, pretends to drink too, because if he’s learned anything about Felicity Smoak tonight, it’s that she’s not person to wait for hand-outs. She obviously has also a very high sense for justice and fair distribution of resources, so he plays along.

In short, she’s absolutely got her hooks into him.

And if their predicament wasn’t so dire, Oliver would love to spend more time just talking to her. There is much, much more hiding underneath that plain, boring look she tries to pull. But Oliver’s seen enough to be fooled. There’s just something about her that pulls him deeper in the more he spends time with her. And it goes beyond the adorable rambles and obvious superior intellect, beautiful smile and captivating blue eyes (she tells him, with regret, that she usually wears glasses but she must have lost them when the cabinet fell onto her. He even tried to look for them a while back, but to no avail. She still thanked him with a sweet smile playing over her lips that made him feel like tearing through the rubble with his bare hands just to find those damn glasses for her.)

Their situation is almost like a plot of a rom-com movie. A man and a woman meet by getting stuck together in an elevator, or during a storm while both hiding under the same tree. If it weren’t for the bruises currently making her shift uncomfortably on the hard ground or the very real possibility of them still being crushed by the ceiling caving above them, it would have been an utterly delightful night.

Somewhere in the past couple of hours, Oliver has shifted closer to Felicity, her head tiredly resting against his shoulder as she squirmed closer to find a more comfortable position for her sore body.

He could almost pretend this was a very, very nice and successful first date. Only, it’s not. Because she is hurting, they are both hungry and thirsty and beyond tired. And slowly loosing hope for help to even come or come in time. The silences between them grow more and more prolonged. Not uncomfortably, but heavy still.

It’s during one of these silences when Oliver feels a violent shiver run down Felicity’s body.

 “Hey,” he whispers, “you cold?”

 She shakes her head with a wince. “No. Just sore.”

 Yeah, right. More like bruised black and blue, with smoke inhalation and dehydration and God knows what else. She should be being checked out by a doctor in a hospital right about now, anywhere really but here.

 “Hey, did I tell you that I am a paramedic too?” Oliver suddenly blurts out.

 “What?”

 “Just that…I am a firefighter slash paramedic. That’s my official position.” Once again, he doesn’t know why he’s telling her this.

 She is quiet for a moment. Then, “So what? Are you trying to tell me that if we got out of here earlier, you would be the one checking me out?” she asks cheekily and he honestly has to chuckle again.

 “You, Felicity Smoak, are something else,” he tells her in a playful, appreciative tone and he could swear he feels her smile against his chest at that. “And yes, I probably would. But that’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?” she asks, growing more serious.

“I- I don’t know anymore,” he says honestly, realizing it’s partly true. The other part of him knows that for some reason, he wanted to impress her. For some reason, he wanted her to think good about him.

“So that’s what you do?” She picks up the conversation. “You go to burning buildings and rescue damsels in distress and put out fires and then patch the cute girls up?”

“I also helped a pregnant lady deliver her baby in the back of her car when she got stuck in traffic and rescued a kitten from a tree once-- and oh God,” he groans, “I have no idea why I just told you that.”

Felicity’s peal of laughter is almost worth the embarrassment he is feeling. “I am afraid you are starting to rub off of me,” he complains.

That makes her laugh even harder before she grows quiet and one of their silences falls over them again. Oliver thinks she might have dozed off, when she suddenly speaks.

“When I was seven, my dad left us.”

His heart stops at her words, his breath catching in his chest.

“Just like that. One day he was there, the other he was gone. No explanation whatsoever. It’s like me and my mom didn’t even deserve an explanation. I’ve never heard from him since.”

“I am sorry,” Oliver utters. And it’s the truth.

“Thank you,” Felicity acknowledges. “My mom worked a lot. I was alone a lot of the time. One day, when she was at work, I discovered my father’s secret stash of computer components. It felt...comforting, for some reason. Although he was the one leaving us, I blamed my mom a lot. So to spite her, and to remember my dad, trying to prove something to him, perhaps that I was worth it, I threw myself into computers. I found them easier to understand than people anyway. People are hard. Computers are easy. Sometimes I think...sometimes I think if my dad didn’t leave us, I would have turned to people for comfort rather than computers. I wouldn’t hide behind a screen in order to avoid living my life, scared of getting hurt again by someone else important to me leaving because I was just not worth it.” Her voice trembles at the end.

She breaks his heart. She utterly breaks his heart, devastates him with her words. He keeps silent, not trusting his own voice, but he tightens his arm around her, brings her even closer. The only thing he finds worthy to offer in return for her honesty is his own.

“When I was younger, I was a real fuck up. I drank a lot, a screwed around. I didn’t much care for the world, for my parents, for school. I could never keep a single relationship longer than a couple of months. I never wanted it. My parents…they were good people who loved both of their children unconditionally. And they had money. Which meant that any problem I had, any problem I caused, they made it disappear. I was never accountable for anything, never had to carry any responsibility. Until the day they died in a car crash, leaving me as the sole custodian of a little girl that barely turned a teenager. It was a harsh reality check.”

He felt silent, reminiscing for a while. Felicity kept silent too and he was glad for it because it was easier to confess like this.

“One of the reasons I do this job is to honor them. They were good people, and they wished for me to grow into a good person. I don’t know if I achieved that. But every time I pull someone out of a wreckage, every time I help saving someone else’s property, property they’ve spend their entire lives working for, when I cut someone out from a wreckage of a car the same way someone once tried to help my parents, I feel closer to them somehow. And most of the days, that’s the sole most important reason I do this job.”

“What’s the main reason on those other days?” Felicity asks quietly and Oliver is once again faced with the harsh truth of his existence. Only this time, he doesn’t run away from it.

“The other reason is that my life is so empty that I need the adrenaline – the thrill of the often too close calls – to even feel alive. Don’t get me wrong. I love my job. I love helping people. But I also like the risk of tempting fate. The possibility that at the end of the day I might not be coming home makes me feel alive.”

For a long while, she doesn’t say anything. Then, “That’s a pretty bleak outlook on life.”

He doesn’t reply to that. She is right. And he just begins to realize how tired that kind of life is making him.

“Who am I to speak, though?” sighs Felicity. “Abandonment issues from early childhood, some bad experiences at college. The same way you hide in your work, I hide in mine. I hide behind computers because they are easier to understand. They never lie or let me down. They don’t walk away when things get tough. I love my work. I love my company. I have great plans for it. But the honest truth is, that at the end of the day, when I come home, I feel lonely. I never admit it to anybody. Least of all to myself. I pretend it’s what I want. But today made me realize.”

Her voice trembles before gaining a desperate quality as she suddenly whimpers against his chest. “I don’t want to die! I want to experience all that life has to offer. I haven’t been living until now, not really. I’ve been living buried in my work and avoiding personal relationships because they are messy and require a lot of work and still, in the end, people might leave. I am socially awkward, not particularly pretty and I talk a lot. Building relationships doesn’t come easy to me. But I want a chance to try.” Her sniffs grow into steady sobs and Oliver’s heart breaks for her again. She is so wrong, on so many levels, her view of herself completely askew, but he lets her voice everything she’s never dared to admit, listens to her without interruptions, his own breath hitching in his throat.

“Dammit,” she suddenly swears angrily. “At least I want a dog! That was actually going to be my New Year’s resolution. Getting a dog. Nothing fancy. Just a sweet shelter pooch. One that is just as lonely as me so maybe we can be not so lonely together.” Tears are falling down her face, but she is either unwilling or too tired to wipe them away. “I just wanted to have one thing in my life, one living soul that in case I wouldn’t come home one day would actually give a crap.”

Oliver doesn’t know her. Not really. Yesterday, he didn’t even know a Felicity Smoak existed. Today, however, he doesn’t want to imagine a world without her. There is something pure and sweet and innocent about her that should be preserved. And still, circumstance and bad experiences have made her completely oblivious to how special she is. It shouldn’t be like this.

Oliver observes how heartachingly sweet she is. How compassionate. Intelligent. It physically pains him to see her stuck in life like this. He knows her for less than six hours, but he feels – no, he knows – she definitely doesn’t deserve this. Either of this – this shitty building collapsing onto her or the lonely life she’s leading.

“You know what, Felicity Smoak?” he says, forcing his tone to be light despite the heaviness in his heart. “I’ll make you an offer.”

Her head perks up at that, those huge, impossibly warm blue eyes still glistening with tears as she silently observes him.

“When-” (he deliberately omits using if) “we make it out of here, I’m going to take you out to dinner,” he smiles at her then, honest yet unassuming.

“You don’t have to-”

He suspected that’s what she would say. A self-preserving reaction, but one he is quick to dismiss. “No. It’s not because I feel like I have to. It’s because I want to. Do you understand?” He’s holding her eyes, willing her to understand this is not a pity invite by no means.

She studies him for a long time, is if trying to find a catch, but she doesn’t find any, because there’s none, and her lips form into an adorable ‘O’ he has a hard time not to kiss away.

“You mean dinner like a date? A date date?”

His lips stretch into a huge smile, because finally, they are on the same page. “Yes, Felicity Smoak. Exactly like that.” And he means it. He doesn’t think he’s ever meant anything more in his life.

“It’s a date,” she whispers back.

 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 Oliver doesn’t say it. He doesn’t want to scare her. No more than she already is.

But they are running out of time. The ceiling above them cracks and creaks, things shifting, giving in. It will cave soon.

It’s the very first time in his life when Oliver doesn’t feel like tempting fate. When he feels like he wants a chance at life instead, absolutely risk free.

He wants that chance. Wants a date with the girl he only met today more than anything.

Felicity has fallen asleep a while ago. Well, more like her body has given up. He is glad for her sake, even if he could use her company right now. He misses the bubbly laugh, the rambles, the nervous jokes. Those eyes seemingly looking directly into his very soul.

Something has changed today. And Oliver Queen doesn’t want to go through the motions anymore, expecting death to come and claim him. He wants to live.

There are sounds, noises. Rumbling and tearing and things-hitting-ground noises, something heavy right above them giving way.

He presses her to his side in a ridiculous attempt to shield her. He has absolutely no chance, but still, he feels an overpowering urge to protect her. The shakes and vibrations rouse her and she wakes with a start, a coughing fit seizing her as she trembles in his arms like a leaf.

“Oliver?” she asks in a small voice and it’s his undoing. She knows that this is it. She knows and she presses against him even tighter.

He’s never felt anything as intense as he feels right this very moment. Not with the adrenaline rush, not the chase from his brushes with death, nothing compares to the feeling of how very much he wants to protect this other human being in this very moment.

The ceiling howls over them, but there are new sounds, something cutting through metal and concrete, and then Oliver finally realizes. These sounds are manmade.

Hope floods him, desperate, exhilarating hope and he can’t help but take a deep breath before bellowing at the top of his lung: “HELP! WE ARE TRAPPED IN THE BASEMENT!”

It takes another twenty minutes before a small ray of light appears in one of the basement walls and another ten before a very sweaty and tired face of John Diggle peeps inside, uttering a simple: “Told you I would kill you myself, Oliver.”

 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 She spends two days at the hospital. Nothing major, she is assured, at least nothing with long lasting effects. A couple of deep hematomas where the cabinet squashed her, a few mild skin abrasions. The doctor’s most severe concern is her prolonged smoke inhalation plus making sure there are no other underlying internal injuries they are not aware of. She’s given an IV to restore fluids and a leaflet about iron deficiency because that’s apparently the important thing her blood tests unveil and what has absolutely nothing to do with the ordeal she just survived. Thank you, near death experience, for bringing the point home of how she has been failing at regular life even before the whole CNRI collapsing fiasco.

Christmas Day is spent in a blur of being wheeled in and out to various tests and poked by sharp objects, being asked questions about way too personal things.

Later in the afternoon, tired but finally allowed to take some rest, Felicity asks the nurse for a phone to cross off the last thing on her to-do list and finally calls her mom.

Donna Smoak is a wreck. She is halfway out the door to the airport when Felicity finally manages to convince her there is absolutely no need for her to fly out to Starling. It’s Christmas, she wouldn’t find a last-minute flight even if her life depended on it anyway, and besides, there is no need. Felicity is okay, she is not injured, merely being kept for observation. Yes, yesterday sucked – an understatement in the history of understatements – but she is absolutely okay and scheduled to be released the following day, so there will be no major changes to her original holiday plans of doing nothing while laying on her couch watching reruns of her favorite shows.

It takes another forty-five minutes for her mother to finally settle and accept her daughter will survive even without her personal motherly care and Felicity – now utterly spent – ends the call with a tired ‘love you’ to her mom and the elation she won’t have to deal with Donna Smoak in person on top of everything else. Don’t get her wrong. She loves her mom more than anything, but she can be quite… intense. And overbearing. And Felicity just… she could really use a bit of silent and quiet for a while.

Laurel visits her the day after Christmas, just hours before Felicity’s scheduled to be released. She brings her a beautiful bouquet of flowers and in a surprisingly thoughtful gesture a change of clothes to go home in. Felicity is beyond touched. Her eyes almost fill with tears when the next thing Laurel produces from her miraculous carry-on is Felicity’s own handbag, a bit charred and destroyed by smoke, but her wallet and its contents – even her freaking phone – are untouched and that, at least, is a blessing and a small miracle on itself. She doesn’t dare to ask how Laurel’s got her hands on it, how it could be salvaged from the wreckage of a multiple story building. With shaking hands and a little thank you that’s a little more teary than she would have liked, Felicity accepts the items.

The whole time while visiting, Laurel is wearing a guilty expression on her face, apologizing to Felicity profusely before the other woman can even try to stop her. Laurel’s own bruises are testament enough the other woman’s been through the same ordeal as herself and for Felicity, Laurel’s escaping the building just a tad sooner doesn’t take away from the horror of having it explode and fall on you unexpectedly.

Later in the afternoon, Felicity changes into the clothes gifted by Laurel (Oh, look, this could be considered her very own Christmas gift!). They are a little tight and longer than Felicity would normally wear, but otherwise fit just fine. She takes the flowers along with her charred handbag and after signing what feels like dozens of forms, Felicity Smoak finally walks out of the hospital. Right there, in the hospitals parking lot, she takes a moment to look towards the skies and take what feels like her first free breath in days, thanking whatever deity out there for being granted another chance at life.

Five days later, Felicity has to admit her bruises are healing quite nicely. Though currently still sporting a very bright shade of maroon, some are already turning green. Iron deficiency her ass, she thinks before she grumpily gulps down her iron supplements.

Her eyes fall on the bouquet of flowers, a beautiful batch of still rather fresh-looking white and pink lilies that emit a heavy, heady fragrance which is almost too much for Felicity’s small apartment, but she doesn’t mind that much. It was a very nice gesture from Laurel. Felicity can’t remember the last time she received flowers from anyone, if ever, and she likes to see them in her apartment. They remind her that it all really happened. And that in fact, she might not be as alone as she had originally thought.

Back at the hospital, Laurel apologized time and again for calling Felicity so late and on Christmas Eve on top of it to work on a server problem that could have very well been put off for a couple more days. However, what Felicity remembers most from that afternoon, was how later Laurel went out to grab them some coffee, and how they talked for quite some time over their wonderful caramel lattes, mostly about CNRI and what its destruction would mean for the non-profit’s future. Once again, like a broken record, Laurel thanked Felicity for her help, but it was Felicity who felt like the one thanking Laurel. If not for her, no one would have even suspected she was still inside the building and there would’ve been no Hunk of a rescuer to save her life.

Speaking of which. Oliver Queen. There is no way around the subject. It’s been a week – exactly seven days – since she’s been pulled out of the wreckage as the first of the two of them – Oliver insisted and she didn’t argue – and brought to the hospital. Felicity hasn’t seen or heard from the man since.

She hasn’t expected to.

She is glad it was him she was stuck with, though. Immensely glad. That ordeal had made her realize a lot about herself. Not only thanks to the gas explosion and subsequently being trapped for hours underground, not sure whether she would survive the night, but because of the man himself and the gut-wrenchingly honest confessions that had transpired between them during those long hours of waiting for a miracle.

Everything else that was said and done that night was relative and would stay in that basement forever. Felicity doesn’t begrudge her rescuer not contacting her afterwards, neither is she too disappointed in him for not making good on his promises made during their shared time. Statements made under duress, albeit made sincerely at the time, were often seen under a different light once the threat of death was gone. It was perfectly understandable.

Even if it all felt a little…unfinished. For a while, Felicity plays with the idea of writing him a thank you note, as well as with the idea of stopping by at his station to personally thank him – he had, after all, saved her life and almost lost his own while trying – but with everything else, with how achingly personal that rescue mission had turned out to be in the end, Felicity doesn’t want to make him feel any more awkward about it.

She is no fool. Of course she thought about it, about how he promised her a date if they got out. And she would have loved to go on that date. Oliver Queen seemed like a really nice guy that she could really grow to care about and his promise had felt really really nice at the time it was made, but in hindsight, Felicity now sees the promise for what it was. A nice gesture offering her hope, nothing more. Now that the danger is gone, there is no reason for him to make good on that promise. He did his job, he rescued her. Maybe in more ways than one. What he did for her back there was more than any human being could ever do for another human being, and she was beyond grateful. He has allowed her a second chance at life and Felicity won’t tarnish that memory by feeling sour about possible maybe’s and what-ifs.

The bottom line is, Oliver Queen has saved Felicity Smoak’s life. And she is finally ready to live it.

Starting today. Well, no, not really, tomorrow more like.

Cause she has a date tonight. With her couch, and a pint of mint chocolate-chip ice cream, a celebratory bottle of red and The Doctor, with whom she would kiss the old year goodbye.

Oh, but tomorrow! Tomorrow, the world would get to see the new Felicity Smoak emerge from the ashes, like a Phoenix she would rise and show the world she was not scared to live anymore.

Or…well. Live a little more fearlessly. Be a little more open and outgoing. That was the plan. After all, she does have a lunch date with Laurel Lance tomorrow. It’s a start, right? Maybe it will even become a regular thing.

With a tablespoon full of ice cream in her mouth, Felicity makes herself comfortable on her couch, doing a mental inventory of everything she will need tonight. TV remote, check. First DVD in the player, check. A bottle of red – uncorked, check. A glass – because she does have that much self-esteem not to drink directly from the bottle – check. A duvet to cover her soon to be freezing toes nearby – check. Favorite comfy pajamas, hell yeah, check.

Just as she’s about to press play, there is a soft knock on the door and it makes Felicity jump. There is absolutely no one who should be visiting her, certainly not on New Year’s Eve, only mere hours before the big ball on Times Square is supposed to hit the ground. Weird. She hasn’t ordered any food and as long as she knows, Mrs. Fitzpatrick found her cat just that very morning. No way the bloody tabby run away again!

For one dreadful second, Felicity wonders if it might be her mom – it would be so much Donna Smoak’s style – but then she remembers how her mom texted her a picture of her and her girlfriends at a bar preparing to celebrate New Year together at Vegas only an hour ago.

Phew, dodged a bullet, there.

The knocking comes again, more insistent this time and Felicity mentally shakes herself, jumping to her feet and quickly making her way to the door. She checks the peephole first – of course she does, she has seen all the true crime series and documentaries the Crime and Investigation channel (her guilty pleasure) has to offer, after all. Once realizing who stands at the other side of the door however, she doesn’t hesitate a second and rips it open, almost missing catching its edge before it smashes against the wall.

“Oliver,” she breathes out in surprise. “What are doing here?”

He is standing there, in all his glory of six feet plus, handsome and charming as ever, a boyish smile stretching across his lips as he takes her in. Only then does Felicity realize what a picture she must make standing in her door, barefoot and braless, in her flannel pajamas with tiny grumpy cats printed all over it, her spare pair of glasses slipping down her nose and hair fixed in a messy bun at the top of her head, clutching a half-eaten spoon of ice cream in her right hand.

She must make quite the sight, Felicity thinks, groaning inwardly. Why couldn’t she wear makeup and something sexy when she finally meets the Hunk – her personal Hunk of a rescuer – again? Or, you know, at least wear a freaking bra!

If Oliver has any objections to her look however, he keeps them to himself while his eyes roam her, his eyes shining in almost the same intense way as she remembers from the basement, causing a light shiver run down her spine. Must be the draft from the doorway, she stubbornly tells herself as she takes her own time to fully take him in.

It’s the first time she sees him without the uniform and a face blackened by ash and dust. She’s finally allowed to ogle him in full light, and she must admit, she likes what she sees. He wears a pair of loose, washed-out jeans, a simple grey V-neck shirt and a brown leather jacket. She wonders how he got here, because even despite the casual clothes, something suggests to her he’s exactly the type to ride a bike. There is no evidence supporting her claim, nothing other than maybe his disheveled hair sticking in all directions like he let the wind blow through it carelessly, along with slightly reddened cheeks – but that might be nothing, it’s December, after all.

But that doesn’t matter, because his smile’s easy and relaxed and his eyes are their usual sparkly blue, that strong jaw deliciously peppered with scruff that only begs for her hands to run through it and oh God, the man has a mole – the tiniest mole near his bottom lip and nope, nope, she will absolutely not survive this encounter.

“Nice to see you again, Felicity,” he finally speaks in that deep, gentle voice of his. It’s a voice that’ll be seared to her brain forever. “I hope I am not intruding,” he says, still smiling that trademark million-dollar smile of his and Felicity almost narrows her eyes at him in a glare, because she knows he knows he is not interrupting anything; they’ve had this discussion before. And yes, she would be annoyed with him, if only her stomach wasn’t filled to the brim with happy butterflies at the sight of him.

She still hasn’t said anything, hasn’t even stepped aside to invite him in, is instead standing frozen on her spot like a stupid, dumbfounded block of wood, but he doesn’t seem deterred by it (there is a God, after all).

“To answer your question,” he tells her in a nonchalant, flirty voice (the bastard), “I am here to collect on your promise.

It’s a date.

Her knees almost give out.

“I brought food,” he smiles further, uncovering a big paper bag from behind his back, a bag adorned with a huge BBB logo, and where she might have had a crush on him before, she is halfway in love with him by now. “I believe you have wine and dessert to go with dinner,” he adds, rising his eyebrows and hinting with a pointed look at the melting ice-cream dripping from the spoon she is still stupidly clutching in her hand.

The ice cream, however, is not the only thing melting at this point. Because he came. And what’s more important, he intends to make good on their mutual promise. The blinding smile she offers him in return almost splits her face.

Lost for words, Felicity only nods enthusiastically and steps back to let him in, her heart filled to the brim.

 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 Three hours later, laughing over Doctor Who with feet propped on her coffee table littered with burger wrappers, greasy napkins and empty strawberry milkshake cups – because yes, he remembered that too – along an empty bottle of red that’s fallen to its side and bickering about who the best Doctor ever was while eating ice cream from the same bowl, the clock strikes midnight.

Oliver freezes, looking at Felicity, and she almost laughs at the apprehensive, deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face. She isn’t deterred by it whatsoever. If the past couple of hours have proved anything to her, it’s that Oliver Queen isn’t merely doing good on his word and fulfilling a promise he has given her under duress, but very much wants to be here with her and is enjoying himself as much as she is.

And with that realization, another comes.

It’s a New Year.

The first day of the new her. A week ago, she would say she didn’t know what possessed her. But today, she knows. The deep blue eyes crinkling with a boyish smile and a little mole at the side of his lips are calling to her, pulling her in.

And this new Felicity? She is supposed to be bold. Fearless. She’s supposed to live her life to the fullest and risk her heart.

So she does.

She kisses him.

She goes all in, and it’s a risk well taken, because Oliver doesn’t skip a beat in kissing her right back.

END

A/N: Happy Holidays!!!

[starry-kfics]

feathers [sanha]

(1.0) (2.0)

word count: 2547

warnings: none

extra info: guardian angel au, where you have a particularly difficult assignment in the form of yoon sanha and his chronic bad luck

♡

Taking a deep breath, you paused at the door of your house that you had just moved into. You were a Guardian Angel, and today was the day you were to meet your assignment. They had just turned 18, which means that it was now your job to keep them alive. As long as they stayed alive, you would be allowed to live on Earth.

You had been assigned a house next to your assignment’s residence. It was in the middle of a busy city in Korea, you quite liked the city from the little you had seen when you “moved in” a few hours earlier. Guardian Angels were supposed to be inconspicuous, but humans knew about your existence; however you still weren’t supposed to come right out and say it. So you still had to attempt to keep up the appearance of a human. Remembering that, you tucked your pale lilac wings into your back. Now you could pass as a human.

Opening the door, you stepped out onto the sidewalk. The city was alive and bustling, the streets filled with people. Thankfully, a Guardian Angel could identify their assignment by the glowing aura around them, visible only to their Guardian Angel. Craning your neck, you finally saw the human you had been assigned.

He was quite tall, with pastel pink hair, and was dressed casually. He was looking down at his phone, not quite paying attention to where he was going, and your eyes widened when you saw that a car was coming at him as he stepped onto on a crosswalk.

Instincts kicking in, you darted forward, grabbing his sweater sleeve and yanking him back onto the sidewalk before the car went hurtling by. The driver was also looking at his phone, not a good thing. The boy you had just saved seemed startled, and you saw that he had headphones in as well, so he wouldn’t have been able to even hear the car coming.

“Oh, thank you.” He said, still shaken, then seemed to remember his manners, bowing deeply to you. “I am Yoon Sanha, and I think I owe you my life now.”

“Ah, nice to meet you, Sanha. I’m Y/N.” You replied, watching as the glowing aura around him faded. You knew his name, now your assignment was truly beginning.

“Is there anything I can do to repay you, Y/N-ssi?”

“Look both ways before crossing?”

Sanha grinned down at you, nodding. “Of course. I need to be going, but thank you again!”

You breathed a sigh of relief you didn’t even realize had been building up. First day of your assignment and he almost got hit by a car. But you couldn’t leave him alone just yet, you had to make sure he stayed safe. Slipping a few people behind him, you followed him down the streets as he walked somewhere, a destination obviously in mind. Sanha stopped at a food truck, ordering his lunch.

If Guardian Angels needed to eat, you would have bought some as well, it looked delicious. But there was no hunger in your stomach, so you remained a safe distance away.

You smiled when you saw that he stopped at the crosswalk, pressing the button, and looking both ways before crossing. Managing to get across after him with only a couple seconds left, you saw him heading towards the doors of a large building, the word ‘FANTAGIO’ emblazoned across it. Must be where he works. Thinking back to your assignment information, you had also be given a job there, so this wouldn’t be that suspicious at least.

Sanha went to take a bite of the wrap he had bought, and you sensed that something was wrong with the food. This boy was about to get food poisoning, according to your Guardian Angel instincts. Not deadly, so did you really have to save him from it, and risk giving yourself away on the first day? Nah, he’ll learn a lesson.

Then, you saw a shadow move as Sanha walked by an alley. Great, he was also about the be mugged.

“You have got to be kidding me.” You groaned, dashing to intercept the confrontation. Not wanting to beat up someone, you decided to con your way out of this one.

Grabbing Sanha’s hand, you smiled at him brightly, pulling him away from the alley. “Hey, Sanha! We’re running late, let’s go, jagiya!”

With a firm grip, you dragged him forward quickly, and in the rush, he dropped his wrap. You just saved him from a mugging and food poisoning, you would have asked for a raise if you got paid. You were moving extremely fast, to the point where you were running and he was jogging, long legs able to keep up with your shorter ones. The figure disappeared back into the alley, and you stopped in front of the Fantagio building doors, promptly letting go of his hand.

“Y/N-ssi? What just happened?” Sanha asked, cocking his head, clearly confused.

“I saw someone in the alley with a knife. They looked like they were about to mug you or something, so I got you out of there.”

“Why were you there?”

“I was just on my way to work.” You explained, gesturing to the Fantagio building.

“You work here? I haven’t seen you before.” Sanha questioned, holding the door open for you.

“I’m a new hire, today’s my first day.”

“So what do you do?”

Remembering what human job you’d been given, you replied, “Nothing special, just a personal assistant.”

Stopping at the front desk, you were surprised that Sanha waited with you as you spoke to the receptionist, getting all of your first day stuff. He eyed your packet that contained all of your job descriptions. “So, who are you assisting for? One of the producers? Managers?”

Opening it, you skimmed until you saw it. “A group named ASTRO.”

“I’m in that group!” Sanha squealed excitedly. “This is awesome, come on!”

You had to jog after Sanha as he ran to the elevator, pressing the button excitedly. Sensing danger again, you looked over to the stairs. “Sanha, this is going to take too long, how about we just take the stairs?”

“We’re going to the sixth floor, Y/N-ssi, no way.”

As he said that, the elevator opened, and you reluctantly followed him. The elevator was empty, and he smiled as you stepped on, leaning against the wall. As you went up, you watched the numbers go up, the elevator stopping on the second floor. A maintenance man got on, pushing his cart of tools with him. Perched precariously on top of some boxes was a sledgehammer, and you sensed it starting to wobble towards Sanha. If that hit his head, it definitely wouldn’t feel good.

“Sanha, could you please move?” You asked, and he looked at you strangely.

“Why?”

“Move.”

Seeming extremely put-off, he did as you said, and just as he moved to a different corner, the hammer fell. It slammed to the floor with a heavy thunk, breaking the tiles underneath it.

“I am so sorry!” The maintenance man exclaimed, picking his tool up before bowing deeply to Sanha.

“It was an accident, I forgive you.” The younger man said awkwardly, and the elevator binged, it had reached floor six. Sanha and you got off, leaving the other man on the elevator.

“So far you’re a great personal assistant.” Your companion commented, and you laughed a little bit.

“Thanks.”

“Now come on, you’ll want to meet the others. We’re doing dance practice today, so you’ll probably be busy running around getting water and towels and fans or whatever else the boys will need.” Sanha explained, leading you down the a hallway.

“We try to bring our own stuff, but most of the time we’re really forgetful. Like today, I don’t have any water, so I’m going to need some, if you don’t mind.” He seemed really uncomfortable with ordering someone around, even if it’s your job, he obviously wasn’t used to it.

“Of course, Mr. Yoon.” You replied.

“Don’t call me that, okay? You called me Sanha before, you can still call me that, okay?”

“Okay, Sanha.”

Sanha gave you a small grin before opening a door for you. “This, is the practice room.”

It was a fairly large room, wood floors, and a wall covered entirely in mirrors, probably so they could check their form when they danced. There were five other boys in there, and one turned to the pink-haired boy.

“Ya! The maknae finally decides to join us.” The short brunette man said, exasperated, but he still had a hint of friendliness in his tone.

“Sorry hyungs, I almost got hit by a car, and then almost mugged, and then almost killed by a falling sledgehammer. Oh, this is Y/N-ssi, by the way, she’s our new personal assistant.”

The others didn’t seem surprised by Sanha recounting the three times he almost died today, but were more surprised by your precense. “We got a personal assistant?” A dark-haired boy asked curiously.

“You should be used to it, Dongmin, don’t you actors get one on set or something?” A shorter dark-haired boy replied, and the one addressed as Dongmin seemed to ponder this for a moment.

You took this opportunity to introduce yourself. “Nice to meet you all, I’m Y/N. Please, ask me for anything, I’m here to help.”

They went one by one and you learned all their names before a couple older people entered. Apparently they were the dance instructors, and you took this as your cue to stay to the side, observing and ready to fetch anything they might need.

The members of ASTRO seemed reluctant to actually ask you for anything, so you had to instinctually get things they wanted. You saw Rocky had to blink the sweat out of his eyes frequently, and handed him a towel. Sanha had mentioned before that he didn’t have water, so you grabbed three water bottles from the vending machine; the two extra came in handy when JinJin knocked his over and spilled most of it, and the other because Moonbin had also forgotten water. Dongmin needed batteries for his fan during their five minute break, and MJ’s headband flew off at one point, and you had to pick it up before Sanha slipped on it and ended up breaking his neck or something.

This assignment was going to be exhausting.

Finally, the members were done with practice, had gotten changed, and were all starting to go home.

“Hey Y/N-ssi, we’re all going to dinner, would you like to come with us?” JinJin offered, and you looked to Sanha.

“Hyungs, I’m actually really tired. Can I just go home now?” Sanha asked, a slight whine in his voice. Thankfully you wouldn’t have to stay out any longer.

“Do you have your key?” Dongmin questioned, and the youngest nodded his head. “Okay, be safe.”

“He only wants to go home so he can finish the ice cream.” Moonbin proclaimed, and you had to hold back your laughter at Sanha’s indignant look.

“Nu-uh!”

Dongmin shook his head at their bickering, turning to you. “Are you coming, Y/N-ssi?”

“I’d love to, but I have more unpacking to do before I go to bed. Another time maybe?” You told him, and the other boys looked disappointed, but accepted your reasoning anyway.

“Okay, well see you tomorrow!”

The five older members said their goodbyes to you, waving as they headed down towards whatever restaurant they were going to.

“Did you just move in?” Sanha asked, falling into step with you as you both walked down the sidewalk. It was still crowded, but a little less so now that it was late.

“Yep, as soon as I got the job.”

“Where are you from?”

“Nowhere you’ve been to, trust me.”

“Oh. Well, how old are you?”

“Why are you asking?”

“So I know what to call you.” He said in a ‘duh’ tone, and you remembered that there were different customs around the world that you had to adapt to as a Guardian Angel.

“Oh, well I just turned twenty-one.” You made up an age, knowing that you couldn’t tell him your real age, but also that you wouldn’t get hired as a personal assistant at an age any closer to Sanha’s.

“Ah, noona, you’re the same age as Dongmin hyung!” Sanha exclaimed brightly, and you were surprised that he had called you noona so soon. From what you understood, that was used by a guy in reference to one of his close female friends that was older than him.

He had apparently seen your surprise, and started backtracking. “If you’re okay with me calling you that, Y/N-ssi.”

“You can call me whatever you’d like, Sanha, I don’t mind.” You reassured him, and his smile came back.

The rest of the walk home was filled with amicable conversation, no more danger to Sanha’s life appeared. When you saw the door to your house ahead of you, you felt relief flood your system. Your day was almost done.

“This is where we live.” Sanha gestured to the house beside yours.

“Really?” You feigned surprise, approaching your own door. “I live right next door.”

Sanha looked at you strangely, furrowing his brows. “You live next door to me, you’re my personal assistant, and you saved my life nearly half a dozen times today.” His eyes widened as he seemed to figure it out. “You’re my Guardian Angel! Oh my god!”

Rolling your eyes, you clamped a hand over his mouth. “Stop yelling, please.”

Sanha nodded to show his compliance, and you took your hand off his mouth. “Can I see your wings?”

“No.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I’m not supposed to be fun, I’m supposed to keep you alive. And so far, that has been incredibly difficult.”

Sanha seemed embarassed, rubbing his neck. “Sorry, noona.”

“It’s my job, so whatever.” You shrugged, approaching your door. “Can I trust you to get inside and get to sleep safely?”

“How does this work, can you like, see into the future? Or is it like Spiderman with his Spidey Senses?”

“The second one? I don’t know, I just kind of… know when something’s going to happen.” You rubbed your face, wanting to just get inside. Even if Guardian Angels didn’t need sleep, you still felt exhausted, and wanted to at least get some kind of rest, awake or not.

“Do you-”

“Sanha.” Interrupting him, you were starting to feel exasperated. “You need to get to sleep. Lack of sleep leads you to be less aware of your surroundings, and makes my job a bit harder. Please, ask me these questions at another time.”

“Okay!” He smiled cheerfully, unlocking his door. “See you tomorrow Guardian Angel noona!”

And with that, he disappeared into his house, allowing you to retreat into yours. As you walked into your somewhat empty living room, you stretched, allowing your wings to erupt out of your shoulderblades. Finally feeling relaxed, you sat on your kitchen counter, ready to run next door at any moment. Even if Sanha was home, you had the feeling that he still wasn’t safe from his own bad luck.

[would you all maybe like a part 2 of this? bc i know there was no actual romance or anything in here. just curious]

[bethofbells]

Solace - A Criminal Minds (Derek/Penelope) fic

On FF.net | On AO3

(I’m rewatching the series and I’m like mid season three and my morcia shipper heart is getting to me)

At the end of a long hard day of seeing the worst humanity has to offer Penelope Garcia likes things to be soft and sweet. Old romantic comedies are a go to on nights when she can’t get graphic images out of her mind. She puts them on, turning the volume down to a pleasant murmur in the background. She likes the sound of people falling in love while she’s cooking dinner, early nineties soundtracks filling her cluttered apartment as she chops up veggies.

Her favorite is You’ve Got Mail. There’s just something about the texture of the film, Meg Ryan’s soft blonde bob and her decidedly taupey monochromatic wardrobe are soothing in a way. It’s the complete opposite of Penelope’s own bright and flashy sense of style, but it fits the character so perfectly she doesn’t mind. It’s comforting when someone leans into their own personality.

She contemplates the seemingly endless monochromatic collection of turtlenecks and slacks that the character owns, getting lost in the feel of the movie. She’s grateful for that. The BAU’s last case, while not the most horrific one she’d ever been subjected to, was so just unrelentingly sad. It had made her feel heavy waking out of the office tonight, melancholia clinging to her like a wet blanket.

She’s half way through a pint of her favorite Ben & Jerry’s, watching Meg Ryan happy-cry into Tom Hank’s arms when her door buzzer sounds. It’s only then that she realizes she’s crying right along with the movie, moving to dash away the moisture running down her face.

A quick glance at the time tells her it’s past midnight, and she can’t help the little thrill of fear that trickles down her spine. It hasn’t been that long since her apartment building was a scene of mayhem, a man hell-bent on killing her stalking the halls. She can still feel the cold metal of the gun Derek had pressed into her hands for protection. Shuddering, she moves to see who’s buzzing.

Her finger presses down on the button, only a slight tremor revealing her anxiety. “H-hello. Who is it?”

”It’s your knight, coming to release you from your tower.”

She smiles, the fear draining out of her completely. “I like my tower just fine, thank you very much. It has high speed wifi and a well stocked freezer.”

She buzzes him up before waiting for a reply, suddenly feeling a bit nervous. It strikes her as odd, but she shakes it off, attributing it to the fact that Derek has never really been to her home when circumstances weren’t dire.

He’s knocking on her door in minutes and she doesn’t have to fake the bright smile that splits across her face when she swings it open.

He’s come straight from the airport, and he looks tired, his travel bag hanging on his shoulder, eyes not their usual brightness. It worries her for a second, but she’s no profiler, doesn’t want to be, so she chalks it up to the exhausting nature of a transcontinental flight and invites him the rest of the way in

”Not that I’m averse to inviting a deliciously handsome and roguish looking gentleman into my boudoir in the middle of the night, but what are you doing here?”

It’s not normal, and they both know it, but Derek has a look on his face that Penelope’s not used to. It’s sad and tired. She has the strongest urge to step forward and wrap her arms around him.

After a long pause, he answers. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

It’s something of a lie, and they both know it, but his expression begs her to accept it and so she does. He moves further into her apartment, dropping his bag on the hardwood with a thunk. “This is the first week the teams been gone since…” He trails off, the mere mention of her attack seems like just one more thing that makes him sad and tired. “… and I know you were probably a little edgy the whole time.”

Somehow they’ve migrated into her little kitchen area, Derek leaning against her island in an almost obscene display of his natural tendency to strike a modelesque pose. Her eyes involuntarily give him a once over. He’s another one of those people who really leans into the image they present to the word. His dark fitted tee accentuating the line of his pecs, the sleeves cutting across his arm in the perfect place to make his biceps seem enormous. Internally she fans herself like a southern belle suddenly accosted with a bout of the vapors. Externally she’s as cool as a cucumber, a slight bite of her bottom lip the only sign of her inner struggle.

Of course he notices the small movement, one of his perfectly sculpted eyebrows arching upward in amusement. He leans forward, reaching up to catch her bottom lip with his thumb. “You alright there, Pen?”

She smiles at him, adopting her most sultry gaze. It’s her only defense against Derek’s charms, to play along with this game of his. It had been like this from day one. She knows his flirtation is not serious, so she responds flippantly. “Oh, I’m more than alright, Agent Morgan. Just enjoying the view.”

It has the desired result. His eyes crinkle at the corners and he lets out an amused laugh, moving in to land a smacking kiss on her cheek. The strange tension is broken, and he moves toward her fridge to rummage through it for leftovers. “I’m starving, baby girl. The jet of ours is seriously lacking in snack department.”

She moves him out of the way, digging around and making him a plate of what she’d had for dinner hours ago. In minutes they’re sitting side by side on her couch, watching the opening scenes of her second favorite romcom. Harry and Sally are arguing when Derek sets his empty plate on the coffee table, a satisfied sigh escaping him.

She catches him staring, a strange feeling fluttering in the pit of her stomach. For the millionth time since she met him she thinks about how unfair it is, the way he can unthinkingly melt her into a gooey puddle and just go about his life like it’s no big deal.

But he has an unusual expression on his face this time, like he needs to say something but just can’t find the words. He opens his mouth, but closes it, awkwardly waiting a second before he tries again. “I missed you.”

It’s her turn to feel awkward. Things have been different between them since her attack. The deep cut of hurt she’d experienced when he’d seemed skeptical about her romantic life was still in the back of her mind, and she’d definitely been calling the other agents more frequently with information when they were out in the field. She couldn’t help it, there was still a thin film of embarrassment. He’d been right, and god her cheeks still flamed when she’d thought about how angry she’d been at him. It was, she knew, a very revelatory response, one that she knew Derek (one of the bureau’s he’d profilers) had picked up on.

”Derek, look, I’m sorry. You were right about Battle. I just–”

”No, stop. You have nothing to apologize for. I, uh, wasn’t exactly using my abilities as profiler when it came to him.”

”Huh?”

”I was being selfish, I think.” He frowns, trying to articulate what he means. “I felt defensive when you told me you’d met someone, like it meant whatever our thing was might have to change.”

”Our thing?” The hope that springs in her chest momentarily takes her breath away.

”You’re my best friend, Pen… kind of all I have.”

”Oh.” It’s a quiet response, accompanied by a mixture of disappointment and affection. She hates the lonely note in his voice.

“…and when you said you blew him off… I was so relieved I said the first stupid thing that came into my head. It had nothing to do with you.”

She doesn’t have a response. Unspoken is the idea that he was possibly jealous. It sends a thrill through her, but she does her best to tamp it down. “Well, I am sorry too. I have a few sensitive spots, and you just… sort of accidentally found one.” She sighs. “And it’s not like you were wrong.”

She’s staring at the screen now, avoiding looking directly at him. That’s how she feels his touch against her face before she sees him move. His fingers slide under her chin, making her look at him. “Look at me, angel.”

She does. His eyes, when they aren’t sparkling with amusement are always so sincere. It’s no different now, and she feels the remnants of whatever made her cry earlier stir in her chest.

”He was a scumbag, yes.” Derek continues without relinquishing her gaze. “But I’m so lucky that you’re the one who’s on the other end of the lin when my phone rings, that you’re the one I get to come home to after spending a week in a strange place with horrible people. I don’t ever want that to change.”

She smiles, leaning into his embrace. “It’s not going to.”

”Promise?”

”Promise.”

And that’s how they sleep together the first time. Innocently. Penelope’s head tucked under his chin, her ear pressed against his heart. Whatever nightmares lie in wait for the both of them are shoved to the periphery, the sound of people falling in love coming from the television as the two drift into unconsciousness.