#this fucking close to going out and buying a rope. i have free will :)) hell can’t be real; it can’t be. worst that could

[dandelionjack]

i don’t want to kill myself but looking at the future sometimes i feel like i have no other option. i fucked it up too far without anticipating consequences and it’s too late to make a change or strive towards any kind of hopeful meaningful existence. there is no way out for someone like me who has nothing going for them, squandered any opportunity, any talent, everything that was handed to them on a silver platter. no interesting personality traits, no aptitudes, nothing to make up for the gaping void where motivation and will to live and thrive and put in effort towards a goal should be. even the most basic steps are a pipe dream. i don’t want to die because i fear the possibility of hell but i no longer see any tolerable way of living.

[nor-4]

Hey pretty do you still take requests? If you do please write something about Lewis Hamilton x Fem Reader and their relationship is like that one video of rihanna and asap where rhi is looking lusty at asap. Lmao I'm bad at explaining I'm sorry, anything will do tbh i trust you. 🥰

Those sinful eyes - Lewis Hamilton x Fem!Reader

ᝰ.ᐟ A/N: Oh i just know what you mean lol. All the requests in my account got deleted and this is recent so if you are one of those peeps who sent me a requests back then you are free to send it again, I'm very sorry for the long take. 💋

ᯓ★ One of the things you can use against lewis is your eyes. They have a big impact on him it can be staring up at him or staring down at him.

"Don't move so much babe, I'm trying to do your hair." You giggled as you place your feet behind your ass resting it on his knees to comfortably sit on his lap while he wiggled like a child, "I'm sorry missus." as his eyes traveled from your lips to your eyes.

"fuck.." he muttered looking at you breathlessly, "What you have a staring problem now?" you joked as your fingers made their way into his curls before carefully tugging a piece as you continued your work with braiding his hair since the fronts are the only thing that was left untouched.

"You are so beautiful and beautiful and beautiful." Lewis blabbed looking back at your left to right eyes as if he is watching a tug rope competition fighting over which side is he gonna look at with how close you are.

The biggest hate love he has on the way he folds quickly just by the eye contact. The intimate eye contact and smile does something to him that will make him want to go on convulsion.

George once pointed it out on him which became a whole joke on the grid.

"The family guy is here again." Max said as lewis approach the drivers who just sat down and talk after the practice race, "What do you mean, we don't have a kid yet?" lewis cluelessly said as he sat down between all of them.

"With how whipped you look at her oh you will be soon" George marked spreading his arms on the back of the chair to welcome lewis more to share a detail about both of yours relationship. "Have you seen how his girl look at her? If she looked at me that way i would even faint, lewis is just a humble guy." Lando pointed out to side lewis and to give him a concrete reason on why lewis acted like that when you look at him.

"I mean have you seen lewis? I would look at him that way too" max stated before sipping his redbull.

ᯓ★ Get dressed, get your nails done, buy all your make up, own him up.

Another weakness of his is seeing you all ready and pretty for somewhere you guys are going for a date or whenever you go to the paddock.

"Hey guys i wasn't informed we are all meeting in here." Lewis entered as the laughter and talking went down to silence, "What's that on your face?" Lando was the first one to speak up which broke the silence.

"What what??" Lewis asked as he rose his phone up using it as a mirror to look at himself

"That kiss mark.."

"Oh it's from my missus." Lewis answered confidently before sitting down as a big smile still plastered on his face like a kid who's proud of his medal, "Yeah of course.." George bitterly said rolling his eyes and smacking his lips.

"Wow the missus really wifed you up."

That's one of his title that he is very proud of, hell have you guys checked on lewis when both of you first talked? He is very proud of it bragging it to everyone as if he won the most luckiest man alive. What worse when you said yes to his proposal of being your boyfriend who will definitely be your husband soon.

One of his dream is making a family with you, finally hearing his surname beside your name.

"Hello Mrs. Hamilton you look beautiful in that dress." Lewis addressed walking at your back feeling his palms on your back like he is sculpturing like those statues in museum, "Thank you Mr. Hamilton, you look handsome as ever.." You complimented back placing your hand on his face caressing his jaw and cheeks, holding up an eye contact on him with pure admiration.

"Of course i do, you are the one who picked my outfit" he commented and yes he lets you pick on what he wears. There are times where both of you wear a matchy outfit or just a same color shirt just so people can't tell you both apart. "Did you like it?"

"Oh i love it Mrs. Hamilton, look how good we look besides each other" He kept the nickname before looking at both of you in the mirror holding your waist like the mirror will take a picture any time moment. "I think something is missing hmm.." he said looking at you.

"What do you mean, you look really good." You muttered looking back at him, "My kiss.." he pouted as you smack his chest feeling a sigh of relief. "Darling you scared me" you giggled before grabbing his face with one hand and placing a kiss on his cheek.

Looking at the pigment that rests on his face is like looking at the painting of work from the history. The memories and moments of how many times you have did this, it's like reminding everyone that you own him, The seventh time world champion who makes everyone know that he can't function without feeling the affection you give to him by the daily basis.

"How i love looking at that on my face everyday, God knows you will walk down the aisle as a scene and confirmation to everyone that i am gifted with a gorgeous wife like you."

[snackhobi]

pairing: taehyung x reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: fluff, friends to lovers, smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: you’re used to being in love with taehyung. you’ve had a lot of time to get good at it, after all—by this point you’re the world’s expert at keeping your less-than-platonic feelings hidden from him, what with the amount of practice you’ve had.

but then he signs up for a massage therapy course, because apparently you can never catch a break.

or: the one where taehyung gives you a full body massage and then some.

warnings: sexually explicit content, massage with a happy ending (literally 🤧), cursing, edible massage oil/lube, fingering (f), unprotected sex (be safe when you have sex please), multiple orgasms (f), oral sex (m), cum swallowing, pet names, body worship?, brief mention of shower sex

a/n: I swear this was meant to be pwp. this was literally meant to just be pwp with some massage shenanigans. and then I blinked and it had become a soft 13k fic which honestly… kicked my ass quite a bit. but I hope you enjoy it!! thank you as always to @hobi-gif​ for beta reading this and encouraging me and putting up with me changing this multiple times, what would I do without your support miss hope?

--

Taehyung goes through a lot of different phases.

He just finds so many things interesting. Photography, art, art history, music, fashion, thrift shopping; heck, there was even the time he got weirdly into making tea and became some sort of connoisseur, going through the whole rigmarole of buying the loose leaves and weighing them out, checking the temperature of the water, brewing for a precisely measured amount of time.

You still remember the look on his face when you said it all tasted like hot leaf water to you.

Because, of course, as one of Taehyung’s best friends and his roommate, you’re inevitably swept up in everything he does. You’re used to the weirdly acrid smell of photo development fluid and how cold dark rooms can get. You use phrases like chiaroscuro and sfumato to describe the simplest things after listening to Taehyung do the same for so long. You’ve lost count of the amount of times you’ve tripped over his saxophone case when he leaves it lying around the apartment. You regularly wear the baggy t-shirt with the face that Taehyung had painted on it—even if you still refer to it as the Squidward-House-Shirt despite the fact you know he was inspired by Basquiet and Schiele and not the Easter Island themed stone head that Squidward lives in.

You don’t mind getting dragged along with whatever he does, honestly; you don’t have time to attend every class, but go with him when you can. It’s always good to expand your horizons. You also love watching Tae’s face whenever he learns something new, the various expressions that flit across his features—from wide eyed excitement and eyebrow raising astonishment to the more solemn side that appears whenever he’s taking something in and thinking deeply about it, turning it over in his mind, mulling on it.

(You love watching Tae’s face all the time, actually, but that’s a whole other can of worms you’d rather keep shut.)

However, the latest course he’s signed up for is not one you’d been expecting.

“Massage therapy?” Your face twists in equal parts confusion and surprise.

Taehyung’s dropped this latest nugget of information while you’re cooking, trying to fry some rice while also peering at the phone screen that’s been thrust into your face. You’re not bad at multitasking, per se, but Taehyung’s iPhone is drifting so close that you’re almost cross-eyed and it’s blocking you from seeing what’s going on in the pan. 

“I had a coupon,” he says, as if that explains everything. (It doesn’t.)

“Scooch,” you say, and he immediately moves so you can turn the gas off.

“Jiminie and Jungkookie say that my massages help with dance, and that's just from Youtube tutorials.” Taehyung continues to talk as you bustle around the tiny kitchen. He’s already set the table so now he’s free to watch you finish doing the rest of the work. “And Joon-hyung says I have the perfect hands for it.”

You fumble with the pan as you’re scooping the steaming rice into a large bowl, only just managing to save food from scattering everywhere. You’ve thought about Taehyung’s hands a lot, about how large and long fingered and beautiful they are, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Really? Huh. That’s nice.” You stare at the pan, fixated on getting every grain of rice so you can avoid looking at Taehyung’s face. And hands. Which are still cupped around his phone. Which looks so small in his big, pretty grip.

Jesus Christ.

“It means I can give you massages if you ever start to get tense.” Taehyung sounds pleased, lovely grin on his face at the prospect of being able to rub his hands over you. As if that isn’t going to make every single one of your muscles lock up and turn you into some sort of coiled rope of a human being, which is the complete opposite of what a massage is supposed to achieve. 

“Great.” Despite your inner turmoil, your voice is level and steady as you meticulously scrape the last grain of rice into the bowl, chasing the tiny fleck of white around the huge pan. Scrape, scrape, scrape. “Sounds fabulous. Can’t wait.”

Of course Taehyung would sign up to learn something that he could use to help his friends. He’s so big-hearted and loving. Big-hearted and loving and kind and funny and affectionate and beautiful and deep-voiced and so entirely overwhelming in every single way imaginable. 

You do what you always do when confronted yet again with your all-consuming crush—you bottle that shit the fuck up until he’s not in the room.

And then you have a miniature breakdown at Pickles.

“I am going to die,” you whisper-scream. “He’s going to offer to massage me and he’s going to get a bottle of massage oil out and he’s going drizzle it onto his massive hands and I am going to fucking die.”

The bearded dragon cocks his head as he stares at you. Taehyung had come home with the reptile one day, tank and all, saying that someone on Facebook had been giving him away because they were moving house and could they just look after him for a little while, please, pretty please? Until they found a good home for him? Please?

That was over a year ago. (You’ve always been bad at saying no to Taehyung.)

“I hate my life,” you lament to the lizard, but then you hear the noisy flush of the toilet and know that Taehyung is going to emerge from the bathroom soon, so you have to wrap this miniature meltdown up pronto. “I wish I was a bearded dragon too, you know. All you do is get fed and sit under the heat bulb. Your life is so easy. You don’t even know what capitalism is.”

The silence you get from Pickles is far more support than you get from your human friends once you tell them. Yoongi just raises his eyebrows while Seokjin and Hoseok laugh outright in your face, just like they always do when you cry to them about Taehyung.

You need new friends. These ones are defective. (If only you’d kept the receipt so you could return them.)

“We learned how to do neck and shoulder massages today!” Taehyung says brightly after the first session.

You hum in response. You’re rewatching Pacific Rim together, cuddled up against Taehyung’s side, and you don’t have to turn your head to know what expression is on his face. There’ll be that little upturn to his lips, happiness at learning something new. That warmth in his eyes at being able to share it with you, even if you couldn't be there with him. Those little freckles on his face, under his eye, his nose, his lip; the one you’ve imagined kissing more times than you can count.

“My teacher says I have a natural talent with my hands,” he adds, and you’re so grateful that you can blame your sudden intake of breath on the scene that’s playing on the screen, as high stakes as it is. 

“That’s nice,” you say, and mentally pat yourself on the back at keeping the strain out of your voice. You've had a lot of practice at this. “I’m not surprised, though. You’ve always been good at doing things with them.”

That’s not a euphemism. Taehyung’s always so careful when he makes things; you’d learned how to fold different origami patterns together, matching crane for crane, lotus for lotus, and he’d always been so delicate with his fingers. He’s always so careful and considerate with you, too, fingers splayed wide across your shoulder as he squeezes you closer to his side, leaving you breathless.

“I wish you could come too.” Taehyung sounds disappointed. “We always have so much fun together.”

For the first time in your life you’re grateful that your manager at Olive Chicken is such a hardass and won’t let you swap shifts, so you’d had to miss signing up for the massage course with Taehyung—because you know there’s no way you’d be able to keep it together if there was some sort of tandem practice in class or whatever. Your crush on him is filled with equal parts of tenderness and lust and you’re well aware of that. You’d rest your hands on the soft skin of Taehyung’s shoulders and back, the lust would overwhelm you, and you’d immediately burst into flames like some sort of demon stepping over the threshold of a church. 

Why oh why did God have to make Kim Taehyung so hot?

Why oh why did God have to make you so… not?

You know Taehyung doesn’t see you in a romantic light at all. You’re grateful for this deep, platonic relationship you have, and you love him to pieces, but holy hell is it hard to walk around with Kim Taehyung looking the way he does and wanting to jump his bones while simultaneously being aware that it’s never going to happen. Whenever he smiles at you, or touches you, or holds you, it’s in exactly the same way as he treats any of his friends—and as happy as you are to be one of those friends, it also kind of kills you inside. 

(Because you know you don’t have a chance, have never had a chance, and will never have a chance.)

The idea of offering to massage Taehyung is one that makes you want to melt into a puddle of horny goo. But when he offers to massage you, it’s because you’re a convenient practice partner who he’s comfortable with. It’s no big deal. You could strip naked and slather yourself up in oil and stand in front of him with your bosoms heaving and say ‘Have at me, big boy’ and Taehyung would say: ‘Sweet! A chance to practice deep tissue massage! Gee, thanks for being such a great pal!’

The kind of deep tissue you want Taehyung to massage is very different to whatever he’s talking about.

… Anyway.

You manage to avoid Taehyung using his apparently magic fingers on you for a surprising amount of time, though you’re kept up to date with his progress, because he shares everything with you and tells you about everything and you always, always listen. Because, more than being your crush, he’s one of your best friends and you love him.

Which is why you try your best to be gentle, graciously refusing his offer of a shoulder massage after he sees you wincing, even if with anyone else you’d just tell them to back off with zero hesitation.

“It’s fine,” you say, flapping a hand at him. “I just slept on it funny.”

“A massage would help! It won’t take long, I promise. Five minutes? Please?” 

Taehyung’s looking at you with those big puppy eyes of his, pleading. You waver. You’re torn between being steadfast and avoiding a situation you’ve literally had nightmares about (Taehyung had offered to massage you, and you’d said yes, but then you’d fallen over as you were walking to him and suddenly a lasagne had appeared in your hands and you’d spilled it all down your shirt and he’d pointed and laughed and laughed and you’d felt so embarrassed that you’d woken up, cheeks burning), but then he pouts and you give in like the spineless and lovesick fool that you are.

“Five minutes,” you say, and Taehyung nods emphatically, looking pleased.

(You have the backbone of a chocolate éclair.)

You send quiet thanks to whatever God is listening when he doesn’t ask you to take your top off and doesn’t break out a bottle of scented oil. Instead he just asks for you to straddle a chair, clutching a plushie against your chest to cushion where it leans against the backrest, and tells you to get comfy.

“Just relax,” he says, as you desperately try to remember how your body works and coax it to relax like Taehyung wants you to. You fail miserably. You feel like a ball of rubber bands, each muscle a layer of tighter and tighter elastic that’s circled around you. “Lean forwards a little?”

At least Taehyung can’t see your face from this angle. You have no idea what sort of expression is twisting your features; consternation and horrified anticipation, probably. You're basically throttling your plushie, taking out your tension and frustration on the poor thing, Rilakkuma's placid face morphing into a twisted expression of sympathy under your grasping fingers.

“Perfect,” Taehyung says. The sound of praise in his deep voice has your insides turning into overheated syrup, hot and thick, dripping down and pooling between your legs. You hate yourself. Getting turned on by the most innocuous words from your best friend, really? Get it together.

The second you feel Taehyung's warm hands touch the back of your neck, your shoulders hunch up faster than a whiplash, a turtle sucking its head into its shell. Your friend laughs.

“This is the opposite of relaxing,” he says, voice warm with amusement. 

“You surprised me.” You dig your nails into Rilakkuma's soft brown fur. Taehyung just thinks you're not used to being massaged, not that you're being weird because it's him that's touching you. Because he touches you a lot. He’s just never done it like this. “Sorry.”

“It's fine,” he replies, unruffled and oblivious. “Let me try again?”

You bite your lip, desperately trying to quell the mix of arousal and tension that’s churning in your stomach, begging your muscles to unwind. You’ve kept your crush a secret from him for this long, you can keep that energy up. (You have to keep that energy up.) “Um. Okay.”

You’re still tense when Taehyung puts his hands on you again. The touch is warm through your clothes, firm but careful, digging into the sharp line of tension laid across your shoulders; despite the way your heart is threatening to launch itself out of your chest, you start to loosen up, because holy shit that feels nice, actually.

You melt against Rilakkuma and smother the bear's face in your chest. “Your teacher wasn’t kidding when they said that you’re good with your hands,” you mumble. 

You’ve never gotten a proper massage before but it feels so damn good that you can’t help but unwind, turning to jelly at the confident presses of Taehyung’s fingers and palms into the soft skin between your neck and shoulder. A little sigh spills past your lips when Taehyung starts to work at the part that’s been twinging after you lay crookedly on it, limbs akimbo in your sleep after a long night at work. “Oh, right there, Tae.”

Taehyung goes still for just a second before continuing, trailing his fingers over your shirt. “Here?”

Your eyes have drifted shut so you can focus on the sensation of that tension being pulled out of your body. “Yeah, right there,” you repeat, massaged into a state of lazy euphoria. The breath you let out is long and deep, catching in the back of your throat at a particularly firm rub of Taehyung’s hands; if you weren’t so blissed out you might be embarrassed at how much the noise you make is like a moan, but as it is, you don’t even notice. You just let out a little sound of discontent when Taehyung’s fingers stutter in their motions, displeased that he’s stopped even for a second.

By the time the massage is over, you’re so relaxed that you feel like you could melt into the floor, a wobbly puddle of unwound muscles and loose limbs. It’s official. You’re a massage convert.

“Holy shit.” Your eyes flutter open as you lean away from Rilakkuma so you can turn around. They’re the first coherent words you’ve spoken for a while; small sighs and sounds have been dripping from your lips and it’s only now that you’re able to regain your breath. “Tae, that was amazin—”

You’re met with the sight of Taehyung’s back as he power walks away, steps rapid, a little shaky, awkward. Before you can ask what’s wrong, he’s stepping into the bathroom. 

“I need to wash my hands,” he says without looking at you, before the door slams shut.

You don’t remember Tae telling you about how quickly you have to wash your hands after finishing a massage. But, thinking about it, you suppose it makes sense—you know, with massaging multiple clients or whatever—even if it’s surprising exactly how fast he’d hoofed it away from you. It sounds like he’s switched both taps on full blast as well, noisy even through the wooden door, and judging from how long he’s in there, he’s being very thorough. Hand washing must be a lot more important than you’d realised. 

Once Taehyung emerges, his face is a little flushed, cheeks a soft red. You wonder if the hot water tap is playing up again and filling your dinky bathroom with hot steam, and make a mental note to look into it. You smile at Taehyung from your perch on the sofa, Rilakkuma plopped on your lap, smile spread across your features; one that Taehyung returns, as pink-faced as he is.

“How’s your shoulder feeling?”

“So much better, honestly,” you admit. It’s incredible. He hasn’t even finished the course yet and he's already this good. He really does have magic hands.

“I’ll have to give you massages more often,” Taehyung says, though the end of the sentence trembles a little. He must be light-headed after all the steam in the bathroom.

The thought of more massages doesn’t fill you with as much mind-numbing trepidation as it might have earlier, utterly languid as you flop across the sofa, muscles uncoiled after the lovely touch of Taehyung’s even lovelier hands. No wonder people rave about spa days if they leave you feeling like this. Maybe if you’d been staring at Taehyung in the eye when he’d been touching you, then you’d feel a lot more awkward—as it is, it’s no worse than usual. Your crush is still all-encompassing but you also got a massage out of it, so.

“Sounds great.” This time you don’t even have to fake your excitement. “Now come sit your butt down so we can order some takeout and decide what to watch.”

When you bend down to speak to Pickles later, the bearded dragon is lolling on his favourite branch. “There’s still a high chance that I’m going to die,” you say in a low voice, before you flick the lights off so the lizard can sleep. “But he hasn’t broken out the oils yet, so I think I’ll be okay for now.”

--

Your luck doesn’t last.

“Strawberry and champagne, lychee martini, mint mojito, white chocolate, or tropical coconut?”

You look up from where you’re painting your toenails. “Huh?”

Taehyung bundles into the room and throws himself onto your bed, flopping on his belly and ignoring the way the mattress is jostled. You, of course, are used to his antics, which is why you’d swept your open bottle of nail polish up before he could spill it everywhere.

“What do you think sounds best?”

“Well, that depends,” you say, squinting at your toes and carefully sweeping the polish over the freshly buffed nails. “For candles, I think they sound pretty nice. For sauces to pour over a steak, I’d say I’d give them all a hard pass. What’s it for?”

“Massage oils,” Taehyung says blithely, too busy staring at his phone to see you muffle a curse when your hand slips and you paint your entire little toe blue. “I was wondering which you think sounds best.”

“Oh. Uh.” You fumble to clean your toe and salvage the now-terrible pedicure you’re trying to give yourself. It was only a matter of time before massage oils were going to become part of your life. Taehyung never goes into things half-hearted, so of course he’s going to invest in oils, too. God’s sake. You can never catch a break, can you? “Why these ones in particular?”

Taehyung pauses for a suspiciously long time, but it gives you the chance to furiously rub at your toe while he’s distracted. “We get a free bottle from the course,” he says eventually.

Huh. Okay. “That’s pretty neat. What was the last one? Coconut? Stick with the basics, can’t go wrong with that, right?”

“Coconut is always tasty,” Taehyung comments absently, and you glance up from your Smurf toe.

“Agreed, but it’s not like you’re about to eat massage oil, are you?”

Taehyung pauses, and then buries his face into his phone screen—suddenly very intent on rereading the list of ingredients in each bottle, it seems. “No, of course not, you’re right,” he mumbles.

He’s almost finished the course. He’s not going to be an accredited masseuse or anything, but you definitely think he could be, if he wanted to—you’ve never had less tension in your shoulders and neck in your life. Taehyung always eases his way into your personal space anyway, casual and effortless after years of friendship, but now you’re used to his fingers sliding over the back of your neck, a gliding touch, sending tense little goosebumps over your skin while simultaneously making you melt. 

“It’s pretty cool that you get free stuff, though.” Your toe is clean, thankfully, no longer blue. “And not just, like, a generic bottle of oil or something. They all sound really fancy. I didn’t realise that you could get massage oils that were scented like that?”

Taehyung makes a non-committal noise, which is uncharacteristic of him, but you’re too focused on repainting your final nail to pay it too much mind, letting out a loud huff of triumph when you’re done.

“Get me a bag of shrimp crackers, please?” You have a sudden craving but you don’t want to penguin waddle to the kitchen and risk getting anything on your wet nails. “Ya girl is hungry.”

“Got it.” Taehyung rolls off the bed without protest. You’re used to his antics, and he’s used to yours, indulging you whenever you feel lazy or want him to do something for you. “You need me to feed you?”

“I wasn’t going to use my toes to feed myself,” you laugh, but Taehyung ends up feeding them to you anyway.

When you recount the list to Seokjin later, his face crumples in a way that’s equal parts offended and disgusted. “They all sound terrible,” he says. “White chocolate should stay in chocolate form and not be turned into an oil. Why does massage oil even have to smell like anything?”

You’re both holed up in the tiny smoking nook behind Olive Chicken; neither of you smoke, but it’s a good excuse to go outside and get fresh air during longer shifts. 

“Hey, don’t ask me, I’m not the one who’s taking the course. I think lychee martini sounds interesting, though.”

“Agree to disagree.” Seokjin unwraps one of the complimentary chocolates the restaurant gives to diners with their bill, swallowing it whole. “Besides, we all know Taehyung could approach you with dirty, used fryer oil and you’d let him dip you in it.”

You slap the next chocolate out of his hand before it reaches his mouth. He’s unmoved and simply plucks another from his pocket, which is apparently bulging with them.

“Yoongichi,” Jin says, calling to the delivery boy, who’s just appeared from the dark like some tired-eyed spectre of fried chicken. “Tell me this. If I were to ask you what smell of massage oil you’d prefer, what—”

“I would say that I really could not care less.” Yoongi flops down on one of the rickety fold-out chairs before silently accepting a chocolate from Seokjin’s stash. “And then I’d ask why you’re asking me in the first place, seeing as you’re the one using it, not me. If Taehyung’s asking what massage oil you’d prefer, Y/n, it’s because he wants to rub it all over you specifically.” Yoongi munches on the chocolate, already filling in the blanks without needing to be told the context. You really are that transparent, huh. “Please, we’ve been over this.”

Jin pouts. “You ruined my set up. I had a whole speech prepared.”

“Oh no.” Yoongi remains blank-faced. “How terrible.”

“I hate both of you,” you say. “I’m going to tell Pickles how mean you are.”

“I bet if that lizard could talk, he’d tell you how tired he was of you two dancing around each other, just like the rest of us,” Yoongi says.

There’s no dancing around, though, no matter what your friends say. Well. Not on Taehyung’s end anyway. You’re out here doing the fandango, castanets and all, while Taehyung just stands stock still, oblivious.

You let out an incredibly long sigh. Seokjin hands you a sympathetic chocolate.

The massage oil doesn’t make an appearance in your life for a little while, though. The end of the course comes and goes, Taehyung proudly flapping the laminated certificate at you, wobble-wobble-wobble, filling the apartment with the sound of rippling plastic. But no coconut oil.

The scent of ‘tropical coconut’ has started to haunt your dreams, in a way that’s both good and bad; when you wake up in a sweat, heart pounding, it’s not because you’re having nightmares, let’s just put it like that. It’s like there’s an invisible countdown that you can’t trace and it’s only a matter of time before it ticks over and the shoulder massages (that you’ve gotten very comfortable with) edge into something different. Taehyung’s going to innocently offer to give you a backrub and uncap that bottle of scented oil and you’re going to explode into a mess of putty under his hands.

Well… then again… you had been worried about that with all the shoulder rubs. Now look at you. You weather those like a champ. Sure, your skin tingles and you run hot and you think about the sensation of Taehyung’s hands gliding over you whenever you’re alone, but you’re basically fine. Your friend who just so happens to also be the great love of your life remains none the wiser.

You bet a full back rub would feel great after a long week.

Which is why when Taehyung steps into the apartment with a look on his face that you immediately recognise as tiredness, you sort of wish you knew how to massage people, too.

He falls into your arms with little fanfare. It’s been one of those days, one of those ones that everyone gets, even Taehyung—he’s usually so Switched On and Exuberant and Alive, and people don’t seem to realise that even he feels exhausted, sometimes.

“You alright, bubs?” You can’t massage him but you can rub his back soothingly, let him snuffle against your neck. Sometimes you think about that little space between your chin and collarbones as Taehyung’s, a hollow that’s perfect for him to press his face into, hair tickling your chin as he curls up into you. His and his alone. “Did something happen?”

He just shakes his head.

“Okay,” you say.

(Close proximity and skin on skin with Taehyung doesn’t always have your pulse rising and your heart racing. Sometimes it’s just this: quiet and soft, your heart bright with fierce affection for this boy, the only thought in your mind that you want him to be happy, forever.)

The long silence is broken by the sound of Taehyung heaving in a breath before letting out a long, exhausted sigh. 

“Thank you.” His voice is quiet and low, far less energetic than his usual self.

“Nothing to thank me for, Tae,” you reply. “Always here for you. You know that, right?”

He doesn’t respond straight away. He just burrows closer, draped over you, until he murmurs, barely audible. “Why?”

Your face twists. “Why, what? Why am I always here for you?”

“Yeah.” Taehyung squeezes himself impossibly closer, skin warm against yours, forehead pressed to the skin of your neck. You can’t see his expression from this angle.

“Because you’re one of my best friends and I love you,” you answer, immediately. You don’t even have to think about it. “Because you’re important to me and if there’s anything I can do for you, I will. I’ll celebrate the good things in your life with you, and I’ll be at your side during the bad times, just like you are with me. Please don’t ever forget how much I love you, okay?”

There’s a pause, and then it feels like all the tension leaves Taehyung’s body, slumping his whole body weight against you. “Okay,” he murmurs. “I love you too. Thank you,” he says again. You just reply by squeezing his shoulders.

He’s a little quieter for a few days after that. You’re not sure why, because he’d perked up after a lazy evening of lying around and eating too many snacks, flopped against you like an oversized, clinging starfish—but you’re gentle with him nonetheless. 

(Well. You’re always gentle with him. It just takes you half a second to fold in the face of his whims, rather than a whole, full second.)

So when the dreaded bottle of oil finally appears, you’re far less ready to fight off Taehyung’s insistence on a full body massage, caught off guard after days of indulging him. Fuck. 

“You’ve had a long week!” Taehyung insists as you scrabble your way over the sofa’s backrest so you can hide behind it, clutching a cushion to your chest. “You need to relax!”

Without looking you fling the cushion over the sofa. Judging from the fact that Taehyung doesn’t make a sound, you’ve missed. “I was feeling perfectly relaxed until you started yelling at me about it! Why are you so obsessed with the idea of me being relaxed?”

Taehyung doesn’t respond. Oh, crap. Maybe you did hit him with the cushion?

You pop up from behind the sofa. Nope. It's an embarrassing distance away from Taehyung, who’s got that surprisingly large bottle of oil held loosely in his hands. There’s an expression on his face that you can’t decipher; a little crestfallen, a little unsure, but there’s something else there, too, something you can’t put a name to.

“Taehyung?”

“I just… wanted to help,” he says. “You’re always there for me when I’m not feeling great, and you calm me down, and I wanted to do the same for you.”

You immediately feel like the worst human being alive. Take the feeling you get whenever you accidentally step on an animal’s tail, multiply it by infinity, and that’s only just a drop in the ocean of awful, awful guilt that you’re drowning in. 

“Oh, Tae,” you say. Your voice comes out so much softer and sweeter than you mean it to, but you can't help it. “I’m sorry. I was just joking. It’s really nice of you to be so concerned. You just surprised me. You do help me relax and your massages are great.” (You tell him that often enough that he should know it, but it never hurts to repeat a compliment.)

His face lifts. It’s like the sun bursting forth from the clouds after heavy rain, and you have to resist the urge to shield your eyes, blinded by the brightness and beauty. Kim Taehyung is so unfairly gorgeous (but what else is new?). “So I can give you a massage?”

Despite the fact the prospect makes you want to fling yourself into space, when you’re faced with Taehyung’s dark eyes and wide smile and large, warm hands, you cave, because of course you do. If, way back when you’d first been frying up that kimchi rice and letting Taehyung thrust his phone into your face, you’d been told you’d end up in this position, you would have laughed outright. Haha, yeah, sure, like you’d be stupid enough to let yourself be wrangled into such a vulnerable state in front of Taehyung, nowhere to run, helpless under his fingers. Not.

But here you are. Whipped for Kim Taehyung, forever and always.

The pastel blue towels under your stomach and chest are soft as they shield you from the cold, hard floor. You’re incredibly aware of how chilly the apartment feels, air prickling against your bare skin; you shift to try and get comfortable, glancing over your shoulder to fiddle with the towel that’s draped over your hips and ass, making sure it’s covering everything. Taehyung insists on authenticity (as if you’re not lying on the floor of your apartment rather than on a massage table) and he says that it’s normal to be completely naked for a full-body massage, even underneath any towels that are covering you up.

Authenticity is also why he’s in the other room, warming up the massage oil, because that’s apparently a thing?

(You’re going to die.)

It doesn’t matter that Taehyung will only be able to see the back of your head, your shoulder blades, the small of your back, a slip of your thighs, your calves. None of these things are especially scandalous; all the parts of your body that someone might find more interesting are out of sight, pressed against the floor or hidden under a layer of Egyptian cotton microfibres. 

And yet you can’t help but be hyperaware of how you’re entirely unclothed. Even if it doesn’t bother Taehyung—what with, you know, the fact he’s not interested in you like that and doesn’t find you attractive at all (sigh)—embarrassment creeps hot and uncomfortable under your skin.

It just feels so crazy intimate to be laid out like this, even if people do this all the time, happily strip down to let professionals rub the tension out of their body. 

(Then again, most people aren’t best friends with their masseuses and haven’t harboured long, one-sided crushes on them, either.)

Just breathe. You can do this. You love the shoulder massages that Taehyung’s been giving you; just think of this as a shoulder massage. 

… A shoulder massage that involves warm oil, near-nakedness, and Taehyung’s hands sliding all over you.

… You are going to have a very long venting session with Pickles after all this.

You’re so distracted by your own self pity and distress that you don’t register the sound of Taehyung entering the room; the little pause when he steps over the threshold, feet stuttering, just for a moment. It’s only when he’s kneeling down that you notice his presence, body jolting from surprise before you let out a slip of high laughter.

“Jesus, Tae,” you say. In any other circumstance, you’d be clutching your chest. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” He sounds genuinely apologetic.

Your cheek is pillowed on your arms. When you turn to look at your best friend you immediately regret it; he’s settled back on his ankles, knees spread wide, and you come eye-to-eye with his crotch.

In an effort to look away from his clothed dick, your gaze flies up to his face, which might be even worse. He has this intense look in his eyes, and wow, alright, you’ve never been able to see Taehyung’s face as he’s been massaging you, but you never realised exactly how seriously he seems to take it, judging from his expression.

(Do all massage therapists look like that when they work?)

“That’s alright.” You’re a little breathless, but you’re going to blame that on how your boobs are smooshed into the floor, and not on anything else, nuh uh. Shoulder massage. It’s a shoulder massage. It’s just like a full bodied shoulder massage. (Maybe if you repeat it to yourself often enough then you’ll actually start to believe it.) “Uh. Do you need me to… do anything? Or do I just lie here?”

Taehyung’s expression lightens a little at the uncertainty in your tone, smile curling up the corners of his mouth. “You’re perfect right where you are,” he says, and then he reaches for the bottle of oil.

You turn your head away again, cheeks burning. There’s no way you’ll be able to handle the visual of him slicking his fingers and palms up. “Cool,” you say, voice only a little strained. “Coolcoolcoolcool.”

(It’s not cool.)

You don’t have a visual, but you do get the auditory experience thanks to the relative silence in the apartment. Goosebumps ripple down the back of your neck and trail down your spine at the sound of Tae’s hands sliding against each other, thoroughly coated in the warmed oil, and you’re so glad that you can blame it on the chill in the air.

At first, it’s okay. Taehyung starts at the parts of your body that are used to receiving his attention, though it’s different without the barrier of clothing in the way, not to mention how easily his palms glide over you, the air full of the light scent of coconut. It’s different, but manageable, and you think you just might be okay; as always, his touches are firm but careful, and your body is used to this by now, relaxing.

But. The second you feel Taehyung’s touch between your shoulder blades, you stiffen with a shiver. The oil is the perfect temperature against your skin, but you’ve always had a sensitive back; you can’t help but clench your fists, digging your fingers into your palms. Relax. Just breathe. 

“You’ve got a lot of tension here.” Taehyung’s voice is low as he digs the heel of his palm into the dip of your spine.

It’s because you’re touching me there, you think to yourself, but just let out a non-committal hum of agreement instead. 

You feel Taehyung's hands, a repeated sliding motion between your shoulder blades; the tension starts to leak out of you again, but your breath hitches in your throat at how you're pressed downwards and into the cotton towels beneath you, nipples hardening against them.

Thank God you're on your front so Tae can't see what effect he's having on you.

“Better?”

Taehyung's voice is always deep, but you'd swear it was even deeper in this moment, pitched low. Maybe that’s because the sound of blood pumping is filling your ears so it’s hard to discern. At this point, who even knows? Not you, that’s for sure.

“Yep.” Why are you so breathless? You haven’t moved at all, but you sound like you’ve just run the 100m sprint, winded and weak. “So much better.”

You regret agreeing to this. You are so out of your depth and there’s no way you’re going to be able to hide exactly how much this is affecting you and you want to collapse in on yourself and shrivel up like a sundried tomato, tiny and wrinkly and underwhelming. 

Taehyung shifts to reach more of you and you squeeze your eyes shut so you don’t come face first with his crotch again, shielding yourself from the view of his loose linen trousers stretched almost taut with how wide his knees are. It’s both a blessing and a curse—a blessing because you’re saved from aforementioned view, but a curse because your sensation of touch is heightened, and all you’re aware of is his hands sliding down your sides. You’d swear those fingers were so long he could circle your waist with ease.

(Massages are meant to relax you and yet you’ve never felt so tense in your life.)

Taehyung clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth. “I can’t get a good angle like this,” he mutters.

Before you can think anything or say anything, you become aware of the sound of moving and shifting and—

Your eyes fly open. Taehyung’s straddling your thighs, heavy and warm, and you suck in a breath so sharp and fast you can feel your chest expand, brain full of the screaming clang of warning bells. There’s no way this is a normal masseuse thing. There’s no way. It’s intimate and entirely too physical and there’s absolutely no way that this is something Taehyung learned in class. 

(What is he doing?)

But then any coherent thought in your brain slips when his hands settle on you again.

They so, so lightly brush the hem of the towel that preserves your modesty, and you can’t help the full-body shiver that wracks through you. You suck your lips into your mouth, swallowing down the noise that threatens to bubble up in your throat. There’s the sensation of fingers trailing up the line of your spine, feather light, smoothed by the slide of oil, and you feel like molten lava, burning hot and bright.

“Taehyung.” Your voice is high and faint.

His fingers splay down your ribcage and run down your sides, confident and smooth, warm with that coconut-scented oil, and you’re dying, you’re living; you want to disappear, you never want this to end. 

“Taehyung,” you repeat. Your voice shakes.

He hums, low and indulgent. “Yes?”

“M-my thighs,” you stammer, unable to articulate yourself. Why are you on my thighs, oh God, you’re so warm and heavy on top of me, oh God oh God oh God.

Taehyung completely misunderstands you. “Oh? Of course.” He sounds nonchalant. “I’ll massage those next.”

You can feel the drag of his linen trousers against your skin as he moves down to rest on your calves, and hear the bottle open as Taehyung drizzles more oil over his hands, far more than he could possibly need. His palms feel so broad and warm against the smoothness of your thighs, touches firm and confident as he digs his fingers into the muscle, and, oh, fuck, this is, this is too much—

Your legs jump when Taehyung hitches the towel up, just a little, baring more of your body.

“Fuck.” You can't keep quiet any longer. “Tae, I’m fine, I’m feeling way less tense now.”

He’s still, for a moment, before his hands slide up the back of your thighs. “Are you sure? You want me to stop?”

It’s only then that you realise how deeply Taehyung is breathing, fast and low, voice rough and gravelled. His fingers rest in wait, warm and slick with oil; you’re so close to losing any modicum of modesty, only one motion away from that towel being rucked high enough that there’s nothing protecting you from Taehyung’s touch and eyes.

“I haven’t finished yet, though,” he continues, digging his thumbs into your skin as he pulls his hands down your thighs, mindlessly following the motions he’s been taught. “There’s still more to go.”

You could twist around to look at him but you’re almost afraid to look at his face, afraid of what you’d find there. He sounds as affected as you are, but there’s absolutely no way. There’s no way.

“You don’t need to do the whole massage if I’m feeling relaxed, right?” 

(Because you’re feeling so relaxed right now, of course, and not like you’re about to go supernova and burst into heat and light. Absolutely.)

(But.)

(But. Taehyung’s hands settle at the back of your knees, swiping the sensitive skin with his thumbs. You can’t see his face, but you can feel something in that touch, something more than skin deep, like it’s sinking into you, through skin and muscle and bone, in in in, settling inside you, a flicker of—of—)

“Want to do this perfectly for you,” he murmurs. You clench your hands at the husky note in his voice, nails digging so hard into your palms it hurts. “You deserve the best. I want you to feel good.”

He must be able to see your back rise and fall as you breathe in sharply.

“Taehyung.” Almost pleading. 

“Yes, love?”

You suck in another sharp breath. The pet name sounds so soft and sweet in his mouth, somehow, even with the heated edge to his voice. One that’s definitely there. You’re not imagining it. 

(You’re not.)

“Do you want me to make you feel good?” he continues.

Before you can think, you nod.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”

You’re trembling. Taehyung’s still heavy and warm across the back of your calves, sliding one hand to the inside of a knee and up the soft skin of your inner thighs. You instinctively shift them apart, as far as you can with Taehyung trapping your legs, and, oh, his hand is going higher, oh—

His hand is so big, cupping your overheated sex. It’s hard to tell where the oil ends and your own arousal begins, flushed wet and hot; when he dips his middle finger between your lower lips, long and gentle and firm, you let out a noise you didn’t realise you were capable of. The angle is off, a little awkward, the motions of Taehyung’s fingers stifled by how you’re lying flush to the ground, but God, you’re so turned on it barely matters.

You’re hyperaware of everything. The soft touch of air on the cooling oil across your skin. The fall of the towel, bunched around your waist, slowly slipping to one side. Taehyung’s hand, his fingertips easing through the heat of you, sliding over your clit, over your entrance, slow and soft and amazing. 

“Again,” you plead. “Again, Tae, please.”

“Feels good?” He asks, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you nod, cheek still pillowed against your arm.

“So good,” you say. “But I want more, please, Tae.”

“Anything you want,” he murmurs.

Taehyung’s hand shifts between your legs again, so hot, so big, so reverent. The slide is smooth as his fingers press into your folds, practically gliding. You twist beneath him, letting out a noise of displeasure when he draws his hand away, but then he lifts off your calves. You let him thrust your legs apart before he resettles between them.

Just as you’re distracted with the towel being tugged away from your hips, baring you entirely, Taehyung slides a finger into your weeping cunt.

You whine. It's so long. Now that your calves aren’t trapped, there’s nothing to stop you from rutting back against his fingers. He splays his other hand over the soft flesh of your ass, encouraging the rolling motion of your hips, and you’re gasping, wanton in your noises of desire and pleasure. One finger becomes two, and then three, Taehyung’s voice a low undercurrent to your stuttered moans as he presses them as deep as he can.

“Just like that, angel,” he breathes. “Want you to feel good, keep making those pretty noises, let me know how good it is—”

“Taehyung,” you whine, dragging the syllables of his name out when he curls his fingers inside you, so amazing, hitting you in all the right places.

“Baby.” He sounds wrecked, words sliding together, and you haven’t even touched him yet. “You’re so hot n’ wet, fuck. So perfect. Just like that, keep moving like that.”

You can hear the slick sounds of his thrusts into you. He’s already learned what you like, twisting his fingers in a way that leaves you breathless; they’re so fucking long, sliding into your greedy cunt with ease, reaching so much deeper than your own can. His pretty lovely hands are on you, inside you, and you’re heady at the thought.

“There, Tae, don’t stop, please, p-please.” The coil twists tighter in between your legs, a taut thread that’s ready to snap. He listens, repeating the motion that’s pulling you closer to the edge, eyes wide, staring at the way you’re writhing underneath him; the way the oil on your back and legs shimmers in the light, the evidence of his touch all over you, shining. “Tae, oh, God, right there, yes, yes, yes—”

Your entire body goes tense and then you’re cumming around Taehyung’s fingers, clenching your thighs together, trapping him inside as you buck your hips. You grind back against his hand, a loud moan falling from your lips, drowning out the noise of awe that Taehyung makes when he feels your walls pulsate around him. You're warm and tight and wet, arousal flooding thick against his skin, and he lets out a stuttered groan, fingers buried knuckle deep inside you, feeling every wave of pleasure that rocks through your core.

You’re panting by the time you settle back down and barely make a sound when Taehyung drags his fingers out of you. When he leans down the oil on your skin feels tacky against his clothes, material sticking to you, chest to back, hips to ass. You can feel the hot curve of him through his trousers, his cock heavy, getting harder—and it feels sososo good.

Taehyung’s face is so close, now, chin hooked over your shoulder. Even though you can feel the hardness of his cock pressed against you, the smile on his face is so gentle. Your heart thrums in your chest.

“So cute n' pretty,” he says, and presses his nose to the soft curve of your cheek. Rather than coconut, all you can smell is his shampoo, familiar and homely and heady. “All over. God, I can’t believe you’d let me touch you like this. I’m so lucky. Was that good, baby?”

“Yes,” you say, and then, because you’re still floating in a light haze of disbelief: “I’m the lucky one.” 

Taehyung laughs, low and quiet. It’s a honeyed moment, dripping slow and sweet, even sweeter when he tilts his head forward. His lips are soft against your cheekbone, your jaw, and when you turn towards him, they’re even softer against your mouth. You can feel the shape of his smile, and it tastes so bright, small kisses that turn open mouthed, so perfect. Because you’re kissing Kim Taehyung, your Taehyung, something you’ve been dreaming about for so long, now—even if this entire situation is pretty unbelievable, honestly.

When you pull back, his eyes spark with unadulterated joy. He’s warm and heavy, pinning you down against the towels that are soft against your front; arching your spine, you lean back against the weight of Taehyung’s body, his cock fattening up through the layers of clothes that separate you. He lets out a breath of surprise before he grinds down, pressing that hard heat against you, and your cunt clenches.

“Can I finish the massage?” He asks, sounding almost eager, even with the rasp of lust in his voice. You can’t help but laugh, an affectionate giggle that has you knocking your foreheads together.

“Of course,” you say, and he catches your lips again, swallowing the last of your laughter, sweeping his tongue over your lips, inside your mouth, wet and hot and a little messy, but good. 

“You need to be on your back,” Taehyung continues, slow after the kiss is broken, and, oh, okay, that has you shivering. “If you want to?”

Of course you want to.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Let me move.”

He shifts to give you room, but not before pressing a kiss to the back of your neck, the bump of the top of your spine, lips sliding against the oil that he’d rubbed there earlier, goosebumps erupting over your skin.

“So good to me,” he whispers. You don’t think he even means for you to hear it. 

(It’s said without thought; not thoughtless, no, but a soft little thing that says so much. A thought that’s slipped across his mind and fallen from his lips, warm and tender. Like you’re always good to him, and he sees it, he knows it, he feels it, he thinks it, and he’s almost in disbelief about it, because you’re so good to him.)

You feel warm and languid after cumming, loose-limbed as you flop onto your back. There’s no going back now. There’s no going back from this moment, naked and vulnerable under Taehyung, nothing hidden away any more—the soft fall of your breasts, your stomach, the lines of your hips, your fingers tightening in the towels spread beneath you as Taehyung’s eyes drink you in, wide and overawed at the sight of your flushed cunt, ripe and slick and ready for him.

(There's no more hiding how much you want Taehyung to have you, body and heart alike.)

You can see the shape of your body silhouetted on his clothes, where the oil has seeped into the material from how close he’d been pressed against you. You can see just how affected he is, cock straining against the loose linen of his white trousers, and you bite your lip to try and stifle the sound you make.

“Look at you,” Taehyung breathes, kneeling between your legs. “You’re so perfect.”

Your cheeks burn. “Taehyung, please,” you say, embarrassed. You really aren’t, especially in comparison to model-gorgeous Kim Taehyung, eyes dark and full of heated lust, hair falling in his eyes, effortlessly beautiful, always.

“You are,” he insists. “You have no idea how perfect you are.”

Before he reaches for the massage oil, he sucks the taste of you off his fingers, sloppy and messy. Your pussy throbs at the sight. And—you were also right about the visual being too much to handle, breath catching in your throat as you watch it drip into his broad hands. His palms shine as he rubs them together, interlacing his fingers, so graceful in their motions. You’re so wet from your orgasm, only getting wetter as you stare back at Taehyung, whose gaze has been heavy on you the whole time.

He starts at your collarbones. It’s even slower than before, and you ease underneath him, revelling in the softness of his touch. He sweeps his hands over your shoulders, down your arms, circling his long fingers around your wrists before lifting one of your hands. Your eyelashes flutter as he presses a kiss to your palm, a motion so full of adoration and tenderness it steals your breath away, and you squirm, shy.

“Tae,” you whine. “You can’t just do that.”

Of course he doubles down, lifting your other hand and repeating the motion, letting his lips linger between your head line and your heart line. “I can,” he says, words warm in your cupped palm. 

“I hope you didn’t do this in class.” Your voice is too weak for it to come out as the joke you mean it to be. 

Taehyung just shakes his head, mouth brushing over the tips of your fingers. “Only for you,” he says. “Did the whole class for you. I wanted—wanted an excuse to touch you more,” he admits, and your heart feels like it’s going to launch itself out of your throat.

“Then touch me,” you say, trying to sound confident even if your cheeks burn.

And he does. He lets your hands drop, gliding his touch back up your arms, down your body, over your legs; he massages your thighs and calves, digs his thumbs into the arches of your feet, circling his fingers around your ankles, shackles you don’t want to escape from. You feel so relaxed and lax, somehow, even if every touch has you biting your lip, anticipation roiling  in your stomach for what’s to come, Taehyung laying your legs down softly before he shifts back up, hands held out towards you—

—then he cups your breasts in his big, big hands and your back arches, fingers sliding over your nipples, glistening with coconut oil, circling them with the pads of his thumbs. You let out an embarrassing whine.

“Oh, Tae,” you beg. “More, please.���

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

You smile at another soft, unexpected pet name, flustered, but then your eyes slide shut when Taehyung bends down to kiss your neck as he continues to run his hands over the swell of your breasts. He trails his lips over your oiled skin, shifts down, drawing a line from your neck to the valley of your chest, the hard line at the center of your ribcage.

“Tae,” you murmur, and then, feeling bold under the heat of Taehyung’s dark eyes— “Baby.”

He hums before laying another sloppy kiss against your sensitive skin. You can feel the curve of his smile in the kiss. “Yes, love?”

“Is it really okay for you to… you know… get that oil in your mouth? I don’t want you to get sick,” you say, concerned, even through the haze of your arousal. His lips shine with it, at how he’s been trailing his mouth over all the parts of your body that he’s touched.

There’s a short beat, and then Taehyung buries his head against your neck—in that little hollow that’s his, in a motion he’s done dozens of times. Except this time you’re naked and he still has fingers splayed across the soft skin of your chest, nipples dragging underneath his palms.

“You’re always so considerate.” His words are muffled against your skin. “It’s fine. It’s edible.”

“You got edible massage oil from your course?”

Taehyung hesitates. “No,” he admits. “I bought it. It’s edible and, uh. Safe for intimate use.”

You’re silent, just for a moment, and then you can’t help it. You start to laugh. 

“Kim Taehyung,” you say, body shaking with amusement. “Did you buy edible massage oil that you can also use as lube?”

Taehyung pulls his face away from your neck and glances up. You’re giggling at him, and he feels so full of love and affection; he can’t help but join in, both laughing at him, loud and carefree.

“It’s why I asked which one you liked,” he confesses, once he can catch his breath.

“I can’t believe you lied to me,” you say, but you don’t mind, really, and he knows it. You lift a hand to push hair out of his face, running your fingers down his scalp. He leans into your touch with a smile, bright and lovely, before he abruptly shifts one of his hands down so he can lick a hot, wet stripe across the skin of your breast.

That stops your laughter pretty fast, surprised hiccup shifting into a broken moan when he engulfs your nipple in the heat of his mouth. “O-oh,” you gasp. “Oh, Taehyung—”

“Been thinking about this for so long.” Taehyung’s eyes are lidded and dark as he leans back, watching the way you react to his touch, arching up towards him. “Wanted to touch you like this so much.”

“Wanted it too,” you breathe. “Wanted—oh, God, Tae, fuck—”

It’s overwhelming. Not just the way Taehyung is flicking his tongue over each of your nipples, pressing his lips against your skin, no—but the idea that he’s been hoping for this, too. Each wet motion of his tongue over your pebbled skin drags pulls out of you; Taehyung’s cock twitches at a loud keen that’s drawn from your lips, a wet patch of precum seeping through his boxers and trousers, darkening the fabric, even though you haven’t touched him yet.

When you reach out to grasp him through his clothes, his hips jolt forward and he bites off a surprised gasp, cutting through the sound with his teeth. He feels long and heavy as you stroke him, thumbing over the wet patch at his tip, hot, even through all those layers between your skin and his.

“I want to feel you, Tae,” you say, staring at him. “Inside me. Please.”

His breath hitches when you tighten your fingers around his shaft and drag your hand upwards, slow and intent. 

“The oil isn’t condom friendly,” he admits, abashed. 

“Then you can cum in my mouth,” you reply. No hesitation.

Taehyung’s eyes are so wide, but then he smiles, eyes squeezing into crescents, mouth turning up into that lovely, broad grin of his. He looks so sweet and sincere, and you feel like you could explode, stuffed overfull with love for him.

“You really are perfect,” he says.

“Only for you,” you reply, your smile just as bright.

He lays one final kiss to your chest, above your beating heart, before he starts to strip. The oil has obviously soaked through his shirt and onto his skin because it sticks when he peels it off and carelessly throws it aside. 

Just like his heart, Taehyung’s body is soft and lovely. You sit up so you can touch him properly, catching him off guard when you pull him in for a kiss—one he eagerly leans into, and without the shirt in the way you can feel the way your skin slides against his, softened with oil. 

There really is no one as beautiful as Kim Taehyung. You drag your hands over him, so warm and wonderful under your palms; his chest, his cute tummy, his waist, his hips, the soft skin above his red, neglected cock. He’s radiant in his nakedness, every easing line of his body so perfect as he kneels in front of you, the flush of his skin, the heavy weight of his arousal, head shining with precum, so wet it’s practically dripping.

You lean in to kiss his neck and nip at his Adam's apple as his hands slide over your shoulder blades and down your back, the parts that make you shudder.

“Want you, Tae.” You whisper into his mouth, a soft secret that isn’t really a secret at all, not any more. “All of you.”

“Going to give you everything you want.” The words flow out of him with ease. “Everything you want.”

His chest and stomach shine with the massage oil that’s rubbed off from your own skin. You run your hands across him, and when you finally grasp his cock without the barrier of cloth in the way, he’s almost burning under your grasp, thick, his entire body shuddering when you pump his length. So sensitive to your touch.

“I’m goin’ to make you cum again,” he promises, and you love it, the way he talks when he’s losing himself. “Bet you’ll feel so good around my cock, so perfect.”

A shiver skates through your body. Taehyung’s fingers dig into your skin when he feels you trembling under his hands, and all you can think about is how you want him in you.

“Please,” you say. “Please, wanna make you feel good too—”

“Hands and knees, angel,” he rasps, and, God, yes, those words cut straight through you, sharp and electric.

Maybe you should feel embarrassed at how quickly you obey. The towels underneath you, so carefully placed at the start, perfectly flat, become rumpled as you shift into position; you arch your back, wanting to look as good as possible, and glance over your shoulder to see if it works.

Judging from the look on Taehyung’s face, it does. He looks like he’s never seen anything more awe-inspiring, eyes wide and mouth a little slack, dumbstruck. But then his jaw snaps shut and he splays his hands over the soft skin of your hips, your waist, your ass, shuffling closer to you; you feel the curve of his cock slide against your skin and you bite back a noise of need.

“Fuck, so beautiful.” He ruts forward, and you can feel the wetness of his precum slicking against you, a beaded line drawn across the sheen of massage oil. “My beautiful, perfect girl.”

“Tae,” you plead, already overwhelmed with need, heart squeezing at his words.

“Just one more thing, angel, I promise.”

It’s a good thing that the bottle of massage oil is so big, considering how liberal Taehyung is with it. You gasp when he uses one hand to spread your ass and before you can react there’s a drizzle of oil falling onto your skin, down-down-down, over your cunt, dripping over your inner thighs; Taehyung catches the excess with his palms before he slicks himself up, spreading that sweet coconut over his throbbing cock.

(You wonder what it’ll taste like when you lick it off him.)

When you feel the blunt head of his cock nudging at your pussy, your entire body lights up in anticipation, nerve endings on fire, every inch of your body singing under Taehyung’s touch—and when he finally sinks in, it’s almost effortless. He’s thick and long but everything slides so easy; you gasp and he moans, both lost in how your body opens up for him, hot and wet. By the time he’s bottomed out you're a quivering mess, collapsed onto your elbows. You’re so full. You feel split open in all the best ways, wanting to draw him in impossibly deeper even so.

Taehyung is gripping your sides, hands unmoving even with the slick oil underneath them, fingers digging into your skin. He’s breathing so loud, and when you experimentally shift your hips, he bites back a noise that cuts through that breath.

“How’s it feel, love?” His words slur together in arousal, but the hand that strokes your back is slow, thoughtful. “Feel good?”

“Fuck me, Tae, baby, please,” you beg. It’s so, so so much, so good, amazing, hotter and bigger and harder than anything you’d let yourself imagine, your entire body taking Taehyung and holding him in, in, in. “Please, I need it, it feels good but I want more, please.”

When he pulls away it’s slow and torturous and he goes so far he almost slips out, cock nearly sliding out of your folds. You whine, a little shameless, mostly needy, but then—

The snap of his hips drives you forwards, towels shifting underneath as you scrabble for a hold on something. Each sharp motion of Taehyung’s body has you choking for air and letting out whimpers and gasps, drowned out by the slap of skin on skin; his hipbones meet the soft flesh of your ass, again and again, but all you can focus on is the thick heat of his cock inside you, in-out-in-out, the press of his balls against your clit, everything so wet and smooth and slick.

You can feel how you’re losing yourself to that heady place that’s golden bright with feeling, lust and sex, the rest of the world gone, unimportant. There’s nothing but this—Taehyung touching you, filling your body so well, so perfect, helping you chase that high that’s growing faster and faster, that precipice of pleasure that he’s going to throw you over again, intent on it.

One of his hands trails up your back, between that sensitive dip of your shoulder blades and into your hair, locks tangling with coconut oil before he urges you up. He doesn’t yank or pull but his hold is firm and you end up back on your hands, arms trembling as you try to keep your balance, back bowed, overwhelmed. 

“Baby,” he rasps. “Oh, you’re so tight n’ hot, so pretty, fuck. You feel so good, do you feel good?”

Your answer is almost a wail, so overcome with pleasure, sensation, the glide of his hands over your shining skin, the mix of oil and arousal that drips out of you, only getting wetter with each thrust of his hips into you. “So good, o-oh God, Tae, baby, fuck, oh, theretherethere—”

“Here?”

He punctuates this with a roll of his hips, using the hand still on your hip to pull you back onto his cock as he fills you up once more, throbbing heat. He bends over you, and this time, there’s nothing stopping the skin on skin contact, the slide of his chest against your back as he kisses the soft skin behind your ear, nipping at your lobe, and that’s it, you’re gone. Your eyes slide shut and your mouth falls open as another orgasm crashes through you, legs shaking as you cum around Taehyung’s cock, grinding back against him to drag out that pleasure; the only thing holding you up is the hand still in your hair, the lips trailing up the side of your bared neck, the hard cock inside you, keeping you against him, so many points of connection with Taehyung.

(His chest pressed against your back, heart beating so hard you can feel it, your own heart moving in tandem, matching him.)

He’s been whispering filth to you, heated praise and love, how good you feel, how beautiful you are, what it’s like to see you like this, touch you like this, have you like this. Lovely, pretty, perfect, gorgeous, hot n’ wet n’ tight, fuck, love, oh.

You’re still shivering, the final pulses of your orgasm curling through you with each unintentional shift of Taehyung’s hips, the drag of his length inside your inner walls. You can feel something dripping out of you; oil, cum, you don't know, but fuck, it feels so so good.

“Oh, God,” you say. Breathless. “Oh, Taehyung, oh.”

“Pretty darling,” he murmurs. He swivels his hips, grinding against you, and your entire body jolts with oversensitivity, clit swollen where his balls press against it. You tighten around him and groan at how hot and big he still feels inside, even as you still shiver from the come down of your second orgasm. “Gonna roll you over so I can see that perfect face.”

And when you’re on your back again, fucked out and mussed and wrecked, he just stares at you. You’ve watched his face for so long, seen so many expressions flit across his features, but never something like this—it’s a mix of amazement and awe and tenderness and lust and love, a lift to his brows and a spark in his eyes and a set to his lips.

And when he leans down to kiss you, that look doesn’t leave. It melts and softens around the edges as you catch each other's mouths, as you kiss and kiss, small tender things interspersed with longer, deeper touches, lips and teeth and tongue—his eyes darken and his mouth flushes darker pink, kiss swollen and so beautiful, but that expression stays. It stays for you. 

Kim Taehyung is beautiful and lovely and unique. Kim Taehyung is so far out of your reach it’s kind of stunning, actually. And yet, here you are, existence of his touch over every part of you, in every part of you, lust driven, love full; the carefully balanced weight of his body splayed over you, pinning you down, keeping you close.

“I wanna see you cum, Tae,” you say. ��Please?”

And just like he always does, Taehyung indulges you, just like you indulge him. He presses back inside you, cunt opening up for him so easy, so smooth, like his touch has already been etched into the memory of your body, perfect for him. He stays pressed close, face so near as he rolls into each thrust, sweat and coconut oil painted across your skin as your bodies shift together.

He’s been covering you in his words, both heated and sweet, and now you return the favour. You tell him how good he feels, how beautiful he is, so good, so perfect, so considerate, how much you’ve wanted this. So good, so long and thick, oh, Tae, feels so good, ah-ah-ah, baby, you’re unreal, fuck.

You can see the exact moment he starts to reach his high, the way he sucks in air, the way he lifts his chin, starts to thrust a little harder, a little faster, chasing that thread of pleasure that’s spiralling through him, and you urge him on. You lift your hips and clench so tight it has him gasping, hips stuttering, and you press your nose against his jaw, saying give it to me give it to me give it to me, wanting him to feel the same pleasure he’s given you. 

When he pulls out, you’re too busy moving to pay attention to how empty you feel, settling between his legs and swallowing down his shining cock almost desperately. There’s no coconut. You can only taste yourself and when you lave your tongue across his slit it’s all Taehyung-Taehyung-Taehyung, hot and salt and bitter; he gasps and his hips jump and you take it all, lowering your head as far as you can, the head of his cock at the back of your throat before you pull up, dragging your tongue over the pulsing vein at the underside, messy and wet. You drink down the wetness of his cock, your own arousal, mixed with his, the precum that beads at his head, staring up at him, your hands sliding over the sheen of his stomach, his thighs, cupping his balls, everything slick with oil and sweat.

“Oh, God.” Taehyung’s eyes are blown and his hair is a mess and his mouth is wide open as he pants for air, watching. “Baby, baby, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum.”

You suck hard, dragging your lips up from the base of the cock to the rounded tip, swirling your tongue, bobbing your head faster—

“Oh, fuck—”

—and you swallow down each wave of cum, swallow down the way his cock twitches as he spills the evidence of pleasure into your mouth, swallow down the lovely noises that shudder out of him, watching him the whole time, never wanting to look away.

When you take your mouth off his softening cock, you draw a line of kisses with your mouth, up the soft skin of his body, stomach to chest to neck to mouth. He licks the taste of coconut oil off your lips, the taste of himself off your tongue; you curl up in his lap, settled against him, the apartment’s cool air even sharper against your skin, magnified by the oil that still lingers.

(Even without the oil painted across him, Taehyung would still shine, even under the weak light from the cheap lightbulb that hangs above you.)

You feel soft and warm and small in the circle of Taehyung’s arms, pulled close, and you can hear the words in his chest as he speaks, a resonance that touches against your skin.

“‘M sorry,” he murmurs. 

You pause.

“Baby, love, darling.” The endearments are sugar sweet in your mouth, soft against his skin before you pull back to look at him, confused, concerned. “Sorry for what?”

“I really—I really was just planning to do a massage, but you’re so…” 

You let out a slip of laughter. The room smells of coconut and sex, but when you lay your head against Taehyung’s collarbone all you can smell is the light tinge of his sweat. You breathe in, deep, like you can hold onto that ephemeral part of him. “Oh, Tae. I’m so what?”

“You’re so good,” he says. “So good and kind and lovely and—and so beautiful. I was going to do the massage to make you happy and then… tell you. About how happy you make me.”

You burrow your head into the hollow of his neck, the way he does to you, shy. “I’m not as beautiful as you,” you reply. “Tae, you are literally the most beautiful person alive, and—God, I’ve. I’ve been. So head over heels for you.”

There’s a pause. “Really?”

When you pull back to fix Taehyung with all the surprise in your gaze, you can see that he’s surprised, too. His hair hangs into his eyes, and he looks a little unsure, like he believes you, but finds it impossible to fathom.

You leave massage oil on his cheeks when you cup his face in your hands, staring at him with wide eyes. “Kim Taehyung, I have had daily breakdowns about the intensity of my love for you to Pickles ever since we got him. You’re the first person I think about each morning—usually because we wake each other up—and the last thing I think about at night—well, usually because you end up climbing into my bed more often than not, but, it still counts,” you say. You’re both tangled together in so many ways already. “You’ve had my heart for a long time, you know. I just never thought I had a chance?”

When Taehyung kisses you, it’s brief, a hard press of his lips before he rests his forehead against yours. “You really, really have no idea how perfect you are,” he murmurs. “I’ve wanted—I want to do everything for you to show you how grateful I am for everything you do for me.”

“You don’t have to,” you protest, but he just smiles.

“I don’t have to, but I want to,” he says. “Like you don’t have to look after me, but you do.”

“That’s because I love you,” you say. “Like, capital L love you.”

You’ve been so afraid of confessing, so convinced that it was an unattainable dream; that Kim Taehyung would never, could never, has never seen you as more than a friend. But the way he’s looking at you now, the way he’s touched you, the way your body still echoes with the feeling of him inside you: you’re not scared, any more. You don’t need to be.

Taehyung’s eyes are so dark and warm when he replies, easy and effortless. “I love you, too.”

Your relationship has always been a give and take, is the thing. When you climb in the shower together, he washes the oil from your back while you massage shampoo into his scalp, laughing when he makes devil horns in his hair. He catches you by surprise when he presses you against the tiles, swallowing your moans when he coaxes one final orgasm from your tired body, rubbing tight circles over your clit as you buck against his hand and water cascades over you both. His cock hardens in your hands, sliding between your legs when you press them together, tight-tight-tight, his length rubbing against your cunt as he fucks your thighs until he’s moaning and shaking and cumming again.

(The water’s cold by the time you finally climb out, but that’s okay. You giggle and kiss as you dry yourselves, each other, excuses to keep touching and feeling, driven by affection, not lust.)

When you’re both clean, and dry, Taehyung’s leg thrown over your hip as he tugs you in, flush with his body under the covers, you press your lips against the line of his jaw.

“Taehyung?”

“Yes, angel?”

You smile and hunch up even closer to him, scrunching yourself up as small as you can to plaster yourself against his side. “Thank you for the wonderful massage. Definitely the best massage I’ve ever been given, ten out of ten, would do again.”

Taehyung laughs, pressing his rectangular smile into the kiss he lays against your lips, and you think that nothing tastes better than the happiness curling his mouth.

“Love you,” he murmurs. Always romantic. “I love you love you love you.”

“Tae-honey-hyung.” And it feels so nice to not have to filter your words, to bite back that second layer of meaning, to try and keep things platonic and chaste when you speak. “I love you.”

And it feels so nice to have your Taehyung beside you, your body still aching with the press of him inside you, a good ache, a nice ache. A physical ache from good love, rather than a heartache from a love you didn’t think was reciprocated. But it is, somehow, each of you so bowled over by each other.

--

(“Hey, Pickles.”

The bearded dragon looks up at you, placid as he lounges in his tank.

“Well, you’ll be happy to hear that you won’t have to put up with me ranting at you any more,” you say. “Taehyung did break out the massage oil but it’s all good. I didn’t spontaneously combust or anything, like I thought I would.”

Pickles’ tongue flicks out as he shifts, and you smile.

“Okay, that’s it, I’m done,” you finish. “Thanks, Pickles. You’re a real pal.”

Taehyung nuzzles into your neck. His arms are a tight circle around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as he looks down at the reptile, too. He’s warm and solid against your back, and you lean into him, happiness tingling through you.

“I wonder how much longer we would have taken if you didn’t get that coupon for a massage therapy course,” you muse, and Taehyung chuckles, warm and lovely.

“We would have gotten there eventually. And we would have had each other until we did, anyway. Right, angel?”

Pickles stays quiet as you both kiss, but you can tell he approves.)

--

taglist: @beyoncesdragon​

[babyboibucky]

Project V: As Seen On P***H**

Pairing: College!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky wants to reenact something that he saw on a certain website.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Cock rubbing against pussy lmfao

A/N: Another filthy piece for these two sksksks

Project V Masterlist ||  MAIN MASTERLIST

“You keep on glancing at me, Bucky. What do you want?”

You kept your attention on your notes as you called out Bucky. The two of you were in the library, it was a little past seven in the evening already but you needed to finish the paper you were doing.

Bucky exhaled out loud and surveyed the surroundings before moving around the table to sit beside you. You looked at him suspiciously, the growing smile on his face giving away that he had something mischievous in mind.

“What?” You asked again.

Bucky bit his lip and shook his head in sudden embarrassment, “Nevermind. I’m shy.”

You slapped his arm, “Just tell me!” You hissed, stretching your neck to see whether the grumpy librarian heard.

She didn’t and kept on rearranging the books on the opposite aisle.

“Okay, so you know how we’ve been comfortable with each other.” Bucky trailed.

“Where is this going, Buck?” You asked monotonously.

Bucky giggled as he tried to compose himself. He was turning red all over and you instantly knew what he was thinking about. It definitely had something to do with his weird ass kinks.

“I’m not gonna peg you, Buck.” You said.

“The fuck, I don’t...I’m not into that, okay?! It was just one weird dream. Can we please move on from that?” He defended himself.

You snorted. Bucky dreamt about you pegging him one time and you never stopped teasing him about it. It was funny as hell, because Bucky called you in the middle of the night to talk about his dream and he couldn’t get over how weird it felt.

“Then what do you want?” You asked, setting aside your notes.

Bucky licked his lips and inhaled, “I watched this porn the other night where the girl still had her panties on and the guy was just you know...rubbing his dick against her pussy until he came. I don’t know, something about pushing aside her panties got to me. I was thinking that maybe—“

“Yes, okay. I’m in.”

Ever since Project V, you and Bucky have been going at it as often as possible. Needless to say, you were one horny bitch and match that with Bucky’s libido, well, you’d get two best friends humping at each other like fucking rabbits.

Bucky did seem to ruin other guys for you because damn, he knows how to turn you on. Except for the times when he’s being a dumbass but whatever, he always gave you one orgasm after another.

“Wanna go at it now?” Bucky whispered, pupils darkening as soon as you agreed to his proposal.

“I’m wearing my granny panties, can I at least change first?” You asked with no shame.

“For the love of fucking, can you please get rid of your granny panties?” Bucky complained.

“They’re comfy. Besides, I never complained about your Spongebob boxers.” You snapped back and started putting away your things.

-

As soon as the both of you arrived in Bucky’s dorm, bags were dropped and jackets were thrown around. Bucky wasted no time to push you against the door, kissing you sloppily as he fumbled with the button of your jeans.

“We gotta be fast, Buck. We have a class in an hour.” you reminded him, shimmying out of your jeans before clawing at Bucky’s shirt.

He merely grunted in response as he took off his shirt followed by his own pair of pants. Your shirt and bra were removed in the process and the next thing you knew, Bucky was already throwing you on top of his bed.

“Wanna bet?” he asked against your lips before kissing you. “Twenty dollars I get to make you cum in fifteen.” he said, biting your lower lip before pressing kisses against your throat.

You sighed, stretching your neck to give Bucky more access. A moan left your lips when his fingers pinched your nipples, making your back arch from his bed.

“No penetration. You can’t use your mouth or fingers. Just your cock rubbing against my pussy. If you cum within the first fifteen minutes, I win.” you reminded him with a glare. “You good with that?” you asked.

“Only if you let me skip the condom.” Bucky said as he looked at you with puppy eyes. “Please?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “Fine, but buy me a Plan B after this. I don’t want no little Barnes in my fucking tummy anytime soon.”

Bucky grinned and pumped his fist in the air, “I’ll buy you birth control pills too so I can fuck you raw next time.”

“Jesus.” you huffed out.

Bucky smirked and sat up, “It’s just me, Bucky.” he said as he knelt down on the bed, bending your legs up and spreading them wide open.

“Twenty dollars.” you repeated. “Seal the deal. Let’s pinky swear on it.” you said as you lifted your body up to twist your pinky around Bucky’s.

After the pinky promise, Bucky spread your thighs further apart and carefully pushed your white cotton panties aside, moaning out loud at the sight of your glistening pussy. You snorted at his reaction and covered your mouth with your hand, throwing your head back as you bit back your laugh.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, pushing his boxer briefs down to reveal his aching cock.

“You’re so fucking horny.” you said. “You should see yourself.” you quickly added.

Bucky rolled his eyes at you until he hatched an idea, “Maybe I should. Let’s make an amateur video next time.”

You were about to protest to his idea when he immediately slid his cock against your folds, your complaint quickly dying on your tongue when he started to tap the head of his cock against your clit. You fell back onto the bed and arched your back, wanting to feel more friction as your pussy clenched on nothing.

“Fuck, Bucky...” you whimpered.

Bucky kept his gaze on his cock as he rubbed it against your folds, watching how your wetness was gushing out of your entrance as he teased you. His own pre-cum was mixing against your juices, making it easier for him to slide against your cunt. The sight was just as stimulating as the ones he’d seen on PornHub, but it felt so much fucking better now that he was actually experiencing what it’s like.

“Goddamn, baby.” Bucky grunted. “So fucking wet.” he said through gritted teeth as he sped up his face.

His free hand held onto your panties, keeping it aside as he guided his cock along your folds. Bucky pressed the tip against your entrance, teasing you by prodding a bit before pulling back to let it slide up to your clit.

“Bucky, ten minutes...” you warned. “Ten minutes and I get my twenty bu— oh!” you almost squealed when Bucky started moving his cock from side to side, stimulating your clit even more.

You wanted to kick Bucky’s face when he smirked, knowing that he was working you up. Throwing a pillow on your face, you started grinding your hips to get as much friction.

“Take off the pillow, wanna see your face.” Bucky demanded, grabbing the pillow and throwing it aside.

He started thrusting his hips, placing your panties over his dick as he continued to rub it against your pussy. The fabric only added more pleasure for Bucky, as it kept his cock pressed tightly against your sex which was soaking wet.

Bucky sped up his pace, pressing his cock harder against your lips until you could feel yourself approaching your orgasm. You tried to hold back, not wanting to lose the bet. And so you decided to do something that might throw Bucky off and make him finish first.

“Love it when you rub your cock against my pussy like that, Bucky.” you moaned out loud, your hands caressing your sides until they reach your tits, squeezing them together.

Bucky was unable to hold back his groan, “I fucking hate you, I know what you’re trying to do.” he panted, slowing down his pace.

You bit your lower lip and tilted your head as you looked up at Bucky through your lashes, “Come on, Bucky. Keep rubbing, feels so good when I feel the head of your cock press down on my clit. I get so fucking wet.” you moaned again, this time letting you fingers play with your nipples.

“Dammit...” Bucky huffed out, pushing your panties aside again and actually ripping them in the process with how harsh he held onto them.

“Did you just-- oh fuck! Right there, fuck yeah. Don’t stop, Bucky!” you squealed when Bucky rubbed your pussy just the right way.

“Gonna make you cum first and I’m gonna get my twenty bucks.” Bucky said, watching how much wetness was gushing out of your entrance, drenching his cock in its entirety.

Determined to win, you slightly sat up and leaned your weight against your elbows. You could feel Bucky’s cock throb against your cunt, his hips stuttering and the veins on his neck bulging. He was close, so fucking close.

You were just as close to winning the bet so you pulled the big guns and placed two fingers into your mouth, sucking on them while keeping your eyes on Bucky.

You moaned out loud, just enough to catch Bucky’s attention and when his head snapped towards yours, you hollowed your cheeks as you sucked on your fingers. The sight was enough to make Bucky cum first; he groaned and growled as ropes of his cum began to spurt on your pussy.

“Goddammit!” Bucky grunted, both in bliss and disappointment that he had lost the bet.

You started chuckling in victory, falling back down on the bed and ignoring the growing throb in your pussy since you haven’t finished yet.

“I win!” you declared.

Bucky ran a hand through his locks as he plopped down next to you, “All that for just twenty bucks?” he asked.

You sat up and shrugged, “Twenty bucks is twenty bucks.” you said and looked down in between your legs, “Are you going to finish me or what?” you asked.

Bucky snorted, “Bold of you to assume I’d finish you after I lost the bet.” he said, reaching towards the box of tissue on top of his bedside table and handing it to you.

“Fine, I’ll do it myself then.” you said, cleaning up yourself before heading towards the bathroom. “You owe me an underwear.”

-

With twenty minutes left before your next class, you and Bucky have showered and cleaned up.

“Why is this so thick?” you complained when Bucky let you wear one of his boxer briefs.

“Stop whining unless you want to attend our next class without any underwear on.” he said and picked up your jeans from the floor, throwing it on your face.

Just as when you were about to wear your jeans, Bucky’s bedroom door opened and Steve stepped in. Both you and Bucky froze, not knowing how to explain the situation when Steve turned to you and slowly realized what was going on.

He opened his mouth to say something but then closed it again before he let out a defeated sigh.

“I don’t know what’s going on but may I respectfully ask...why on earth are you wearing Bucky’s boxer briefs?”

-

Everything Bucky Tag List:

@ddowii @jessou893 @stealapizzamyheart @bagelofthelord @mxnt @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @jeeperky @ohladymacbeth @wildflowergubler @supraveng @twinerd14 @buckysmar @bakugouswh0r3 @sweetcoldharmony @wintersfilm @charminivy @amelia-song-pond​ @iamvalentinaconstanza @mcubqrnes @im-squished @tcc-gizmachine​ @sipsteacasually​ @prettyintopeerpressure​ @weloveyasmin​ @est19xxshit​ @bloodhon3yx​ @dressed-in-prada​ @lizette50​ @thatfangirl42​ @sunflowerbunny2​ @unmagically​ @okiegirl24​ @sugarpunch-princess​ @enlyume​ @vvipgotbb @slimeyderp​ @lyoongx​ @just-deka​ @nobody-will​ @jaziona92 @elisebuitron​ @dpaccione​ @suvikamahes98blr​ @buckybarneshairpullingkink​ @earthtonav @x-judyjude-x​ @nani-kenobi @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @belladonnabarnes​ @iloveangstposts​ @weenersoldierr​ @asemistablehundredyearoldman​ @reidbuck​ @lizzarooni​ @girlfriday007​ @bonkywobble​ @lost-in-the-stars03​ @its-yasbxtch​ @whoth3hellisbucky​

[study-coffee-chicago]

Small (A Halstead brothers + Halstead sister imagine)

Grab your snacks because this is a long one.

Warning: graphic depictions of violence.

Being short and able to fit into small spaces had its perks...but you didn't think it would come in handy in such a dire situation as this. Your mind wandered back to who knows how many hours ago, reminding you of how you got in the situation and what the current situation entailed. Needless to say, you were currently in hell.

***

"Sev? What are you doing here?" you asked as you opened the front door to reveal Kelly Severide holding a six-pack of beer.

"Heard your brother just worked a really tough case. He here?" Kelly asked.

"He's in the shower. Voight gave him the day off after the case yesterday. But, c'mon in."

You stepped out of the way and allowed Kelly to enter, and closed the door. You went back over to the kitchen where you were pouring yourself a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee. After all, it was only nine in the morning.

"Want anything?" you asked Kelly.

"I'm good, thanks. But if you could put these in the fridge that'd be great."

"Only if I can have one," you joked, grabbing the beer and putting it on a shelf in the fridge.

"If your brother wasn't here, I probably would let you."

"Kelly?" Jay asked walking out of the bathroom in a pair of jeans, still without a shirt on as it was in his hand.

"My eyes!" you yelled, quickly covering them with your hand.

"Do you ever leave the bathroom with a shirt on? Or do you just put it on once you're out?" Kelly laughed.

"It's my house. I can do what I want."

"Well, put the damn shirt on. You're scarring the poor kid."

"Fine, fine, okay." He slipped the shirt over his head. "You're good now."

You uncovered your eyes and took a sip of your coffee. You were about to swallow when Jay decided it wasn't too early to mess with you. "Not like she hasn't seen dudes shirtless before. She really wants to see that one kid from her political science class shirtless."

"Excuse you?" you exclaimed after you had spit your coffee back into your mug, causing Kelly to look at you with a disgusted look on his face. "I do not!"

"You're not exactly quiet when you talk on the phone with Emma, Y/N," Jay smirked.

"You see this, Kelly? This is the shit I have to put up with every day."

Kelly decided to smack Jay upside the head. "Ow! What the hell was that for?"

"Be nice to your sister!" Kelly laughed. "Or else I'll tell her that I caught you and Hailey making out in your truck on my way out of Molly's the other night!"

"I knew it! I knew you guys were in love with each other! Kelly, I need you to put that statement in writing because Will now owes me fifty bucks."

"Wait, you guys made bets on my love life?" Jay asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"So, he is in love with her!" Kelly yelled, giving you a high five.

"Okay, enough about me," Jay started, effectively putting an end to that conversation. "What are you even doing here?" he asked, turning to Kelly.

"I heard about your case last night and I figured you could use some company. I brought beer."

"Great. Once I finish my coffee, we can break into that. You catch the Bears game the other day?"

And, now that they were talking about the glorified game of catch that was football, you took that as your cue to leave.

***

A reminder popped up on your phone at 11 am sharp. Tell Jay that low oil light came on in car it read.

You walked out into the living room only to hear Kelly say, "I'm tellin' you man, girls love that shit."

You assumed that shit was some sex thing...so you didn't want to know in the slightest. You cleared your throat, and Jay turned to you with wide-eyes.

"Uh, Y/N, how much of that did you happen to hear?"

"All I heard was him saying girls love that shit. Thank God I didn't hear more. But, my low oil light came on, so can change it?"

"The light or the oil?" Jay asked, taking another sip of his beer.

You squinted your eyes at him. "The oil. I'm stupid when it comes to cars, but I'm not that stupid."

"I'll do it in an hour."

"I have a class at three."

Jay groaned. "Seriously? Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"Because it just came on yesterday?" Jay raised an eyebrow. "Okay, fine it came on three days ago. But in my defense, you haven't been home during the day and it's hard to change the oil in the dark."

"I can do it in the dark," Kelly pointed out.

"I can do it in the dark," Jay mocked. "Of course you can, because you're a firefighter. I don't suppose you know how to fire a sniper do you?"

"Dude, I'm a firefighter, not a cop!"

"Listen, I don't care who changes it faster or who can do it in the dark. Jay, just please change my oil."

"Uh, fine," Jay groaned, standing up from the couch.

"No, I can do it," Kelly offered.

"You sure?" Jay asked.

"As long as you buy me lunch."

"I knew there was a catch. But, sure. Me and Y/N will go pick up lunch and we'll bring some to Will too and we'll be back before she has to leave for her class at three." He turned to you. "Sound good?"

"When have I ever passed up the opportunity for free food?"

"Never?" Jay guessed.

"Exactly," you answered, grabbing your car keys off the hook and tossing them to Kelly.

If you knew what was about to happen, you would have definitely stayed home.

***

"So, care to elaborate on you and Hailey?" you asked Jay as you were on your way to Chicago Med to drop off some food from Mama Garcia's to Will.

"If you give me that fifty bucks Will's gonna pay you, then I might just enlighten you."

"Nah, I'll just have Kelly tell me everything he knows instead. Or I can ask Ruzek--"

You were cut off by the sound of sirens behind you. "What the hell? I wasn't even speeding," Jay muttered.

"For once in your life," you shot back.

"Shut it."

Jay rolled the truck to a stop and you shot a look behind you. No one had gotten out of the car yet.

"They're probably just running my plates," Jay answered, seeing as you looked confused. "Some cops are weird and run 'em before they get out of the car. I made the mistake of doing that once when I was a rookie and the suspect fled."

"Oooh, did you get in trouble? I hope you got yelled at!"

Jay looked behind him at the cops who stepped out of the car. At first, he thought they might have been plain-clothed officers, but why would plain-clothed officers be driving a squad car? Then, he looked closer and it was as if he was transported back to four years ago.

"Y/N--"

"I was kidding, I don't care if you got yelled at or--"

"Y/N!" Jay yelled. "I need you to get down now, and call 911. Tell them my name and tell them to ping your phone."

"Jay, what's going on?" You slid off your seat and curled up into a ball on the floor, pulling out your phone.

"Just do it, dammit!"

Jay reached for his gun that he kept hidden in the glove compartment as your fingers flew across your phone.

You heard the tell-tale sound of a window being broken and looked up the see Jay covering his face, gun still in hand. Jay tried to push open the door, but before he could, the door was ripped open and he was dragged out of the car. "Detective Halstead. So, we meet again," you heard a deep voice say.

"Hello, 911 what's your emergency?"

"Detective Jay Halstead, intelligence. Ping this phone," was all you could manage to get out.

"You hear that?" another voice asked. "Sounded like a girl and it came from his truck."

"I'm alone!" Jay yelled. "I just came to pick up some food is all!" he protested. In a normal situation, he would've tried to fight back. But, this wasn't a normal situation. He needed them to take him wherever it was they wanted him and he needed them to do it fast so that they didn't find you.

"I don't know about that, Detective. Where's the fire from the last time I saw you? You never go down without a fight. Are you protecting someone, is that it?" He paused and nodded to his associate. "Check his car."

"You son of a-- Ahhhhh!" Jay writhed as a taser struck his stomach.

"Jay!" You jumped up at the sound of your brother's cries of pain. He never showed weakness, so this was bad.

"Take her!" the man who was holding Jay yelled.

You jumped out of the car and started running, but they were too fast and caught up to you within five steps.

"Let me go! Let me go!" you yelled as you struggled and kicked your legs out as you were picked up off the ground.

You saw Jay trying to fight his captor as well, but it was no use because as soon as he got tased again and showed weakness for a second time, they tied his hands behind his back. "Y/N, stop fighting," Jay gritted out. "It'll-- only get-- worse."

"Let go of me you fucking asshole!" you yelled, swinging your arms, hoping that you got him in the nose.

"Derek, I think this bitch needs a little lesson in obedience," the one who was holding you said.

"I'll do that in a second." He pulled out a syringe.

"Don't!" you yelled as you watched what he was doing. But it was too late, the syringe full of sedatives had already been plunged into your older brother's shoulder, ending all your hopes of escape.

"Now for you," he walked over, twirling a knife in his hands. He handed it to his associate, who held it against your throat.

"You scream or move, you die."

***

Jay woke up to a pain in his shoulder. All he could think was Not again. Not fucking Derek Keyes again.

But then, he heard your screams of pain coming from the other room and that immediately snapped him out of his groggy state. He had to get out of here. He could be tortured like an animal, after all, he'd already been through it once, but there was no way in hell he was going to sit back and allow it to happen to you.

He tugged on the ropes securing him to the pipe and tried to jam his shoulder into it to make it loose. It moved slightly and he knew that if he had time, he could get out of it.

You would no longer laugh at the story of Jay going through taser certification or laugh at how much he bitched about having to be recertified each year. Because God, taking a taser to the stomach hurt like hell. And, what made it even worse was that you were chained to the ceiling, so because of your short stature, you couldn't even put a toe on the ground. So now, when you were tased or hit, despite trying to double over, you would just swing back and forth, like a tormented and tortured rag doll.

"J-Jay!" you yelled as you were tased in the stomach and swung back once more.

"He won't put himself through this again, sweetheart. After all, he knows what's it's like. He'll just let you take one for the team this time."

"Liar," you gasped out.

"I have a better idea. How about we play a little game, just you and me." He fiddled with your bra strap that was falling down your left shoulder. They had ripped your shirt off before they had begun tasing you. You were just thankful they had let you keep your jeans on. "Don't you want to know what the game is?"

"No--" you were cut off by being tased in the shoulder, causing you to scream out.

"Not the answer I was looking for. Let's try this again, shall we? Do you want to know what the game is?"

"Y-Yes."

"See now that wasn't so hard." Keyes put his hands on your shoulders to stop you from swinging. "The game is simple. I give you a choice between two clothing items. You choose the one you want to take off and then...well, you'll see what happens from there. Now, here's your choice: bra or jeans?"

"Wh-what?" you stuttered.

"Did I stutter, bitch? Make your decision, bra or jeans?"

"Jeans," you gasped. At least you had underwear underneath. And, if he took off your bra and tased you there, well, you did not want to know how that felt.

He pulled out a knife and you instinctively tried to sway back away from him. Keyes chuckled. "Don't worry. This won't come near your face...yet."

Then, you heard the ripping of denim as your jeans were quite literally cut off of your body.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you the rest of the game," Keyes smirked. "Wherever I take clothes of off, you take a taser hit to." Without even giving you time to process what he had said, he stuck the taser into your left leg, causing a burning and writhing sensation to go up your entire body.

"Mercy! Mercy!" you yelled out. Honestly, at this point, you wished you would just pass out.

"One last choice," Keyes started, twirling the knife between his fingers. "I can continue having all my fun with you or I can get your brother and--"

"Jay. Take Jay," you gritted your teeth and said without thinking of the repercussions of your actions.

"What you want, you get."

Keyes unchained your hands and you all but fell into his arms to avoid falling on the cold, hard concrete. He tugged your arm, pulling you up and you could've sworn if he pulled any harder, that your shoulder would have popped out of its socket. He then dragged you over to a large steel door, put in a code, and pushed it open, causing it to scrape against the floor.

That's when you heard him. Jay.

"Let her go you fucking animals!"

"Oh, we're letting her go alright," Keyes chuckled sinisterly as he got closer and closer to the light of the small flickering lightbulb that was hanging from the ceiling, giving the space you and Jay were currently being held an eerie glow. "But the deal was her for you."

***

You didn't know how much time had passed. You tried to keep your mind off of Jay's screams from the torture chamber by translating all your thoughts into Spanish. That only helped for the first few though, because they all had to do with pain.

Me duele. Me duele. Me duele.

I hurt. I hurt. I hurt.

Pain. Pain. Pain.

You were currently tied to a pole about six inches away from the rectangular-looking pipe that Jay had been tied to before Keyes took him. Everything Jay had taught you about survival had gone out the window. Not that you thought it mattered. All he had taught you to really do was how to break zip ties if your wrists and ankles were zip-tied together and if you needed to hit someone, hit their nose with the heel of your hand and then run as fast as possible while their vision was blurry.

Your shoulders ached from holding your weight for so long and the bleeding on your stomach had slowed to a trickle after all those taser hits. Your thigh was still numb from the worst taser hit of them all, but you were slowly regaining feeling in it.

You heard moaning coming from the left of you and turned your head to see a shirtless Jay being dragged back over to you. His face was already bruising and there was blood dripping down his torso. As he got closer, you couldn't even bear to look at him. You were the one who caused this. You were the one who made him go through all this pain. If you would've just taken what Keyes was giving you, Jay wouldn't be hurting as much--if not more--than you were.

They tied Jay to the pipe once more and then Keyes crouched down to your height. You resisted the urge to spit in his face. "I hope he forgives you." He began to caress your face, causing you to grit your teeth to keep from crying out, in fear or disgust, you weren't sure which. "Because I sure as hell wouldn't, sweetheart."

"Get your-- hands-- off her," Jay heavily panted next to you.

"Nobody asked you!" The echo of the slap Jay had just received from Keyes could be heard throughout the entire basement, causing you to flinch backward, hitting your head on the pole.

"Ah, fuck," you muttered through gritted teeth.

"Now, I'm gonna go make a few phone calls, eat some food, maybe have some friends over." At the mention of friends, your eyes widened, hoping that didn't mean what you thought it did. "Oh, don't worry, sweetheart. It's not what you think...yet."

Then, he left and you scooted around the pole so you could be closer to your brother. "I'm a monster," you whispered.

"What?" Jay turned his head to look at you, trying to maneuver his shoulders under the pipe to loosen it once more.

"He said you or me, that I had to choose and I told him to take you. I'm sorry. I should've just let him--"

"No, what you did was the right thing. I'll be fine. I was worried about you the whole time you were in there." Only then did he get a good look at you and saw that you were only in your bra and underwear. "Oh, God. He didn't-- I can't forgive myself if he--"

"Jay, he didn't do that." You shivered, despite being covered in a layer of nervous sweat.

And, Jay being a detective and all, didn't miss that. "Can you move any closer to me?"

You tugged on the rope, using whatever slack it had left in it to slowly drag yourself closer to Jay. Somehow, you got yourself close enough to Jay that you were leaning against him. You felt the warmth of his chest and remembered when Jay had told the doctor one time that his temperature always ran a little high, that that was normal for him. And God, right now you were really thankfully for those extra point three degrees he had on you.

"You're warm," you mumbled.

"You're getting blood in your hair."

"But it's warm." You closed your eyes.

"No, no, no, no, no." Jay moved his shoulder, making your head move up and down.

"Stop it. Trying to take a nap before he comes back."

"No, no we are not doing that. You do not close your eyes on me, Y/N Halstead. Do you understand me?"

You blinked and opened your eyes. "Fine. But everything hurts."

"I know. I know it does, kid. But we're gonna get out of here, okay?" Jay craned his neck to look above him. Then, he looked you up and down. "Think you could fit through that air vent?"

***

"You've reached Jay. Leave a message and I'll get back to you. At the tone please record your message, when you have finished recording--"

"Dammit, Halstead. It's been two hours!" Severide grumbled to himself as he sat on the couch in your house. Then, he scrolled through the phone to find your contact.

He waited for a few rings. "Hey, it's Y/N. I can't come to the phone right now. But pro tip, send me a text and maybe I'll answer that. Bye! At the tone please record your--"

He slammed his finger down on the end call button and went to call the third Halstead in a row, Will.

"Kelly?" Will asked as he answered his phone in the doctor's lounge. "Not to sound rude or anything, but why are you calling me?"

"Have you seen Jay or Y/N?"

"Can't say I have, why?"

"They went out to grab lunch and said they'd drop some off to you and it's been two hours. I don't know, maybe something happened to them."

"Yeah, I'll call Voight. Maybe Jay got called in and Y/N's just at the district. I'll let you know what I find out."

"Thanks, man."

Will ended the call and scrolled through his contacts until he found Hank Voight's phone number.

"Voight," the gravely-voiced sergeant answered.

"Hank, it's Will Halstead. Any chance you've seen my brother or sister lately?"

"No. I gave Halstead the day off and I haven't seen Y/N. Why? Is everything alright?"

"It's just that Kelly Severide just called me and he said that Jay and Y/N were out grabbing food and it's been two hours and neither of them is answering their phones."

"Okay, I'll look into it and get back to you. Don't worry about it. They probably just have no service because of a downed line."

"Yeah," Will agreed, trying to be optimistic. "Thanks."

"No problem, doc."

Voight ended the call and walked out of his office and into the bullpen. It was a slow day in Intelligence and hell, Ruzek hadn't even shown up yet.

"Is Ruzek gonna show up or is he playing hookey today?" Voight asked, annoyed.

"I think he's just hungover," Kevin answered. "If we got a case though, I'll pick him up on the way there and wake his ass up."

"Hank." Voight turned to look at the stairs, seeing none other than Trudy Platt. "You all need to listen to this."

She pressed play on an iPad and your voice came through the speaker. "Detective Jay Halstead, intelligence. Ping this phone."

"That's Y/N's voice," Kevin said.

"Trudy, when was this call placed?" Voight asked.

"About an hour and a half ago."

"Okay. Atwater, go pick up Ruzek. Burgess, ping Y/N's phone. Upton, me and you are gonna go suit up and then go find Jay and Y/N's last known."

"Copy that," Hailey answered.

***

"No sign of them, Sarge," Hailey said as she walked around Jay's truck, which showed clear signs of forced entry.

"This is 5021 squad," Voight spoke into his radio, "I need you to roll the crime lab on our current location and notify all units, an officer and a civilian have been abducted."

"Should we call Will?" Hailey asked.

"No. Not until we get more information. We don't need him to know that both of his siblings have been kidnapped. Because, if he's anything like Jay, which there's a 99% chance he is, he'll do something reckless. And we can't have that, not with this case."

"Kim, do you have any pod footage from our location?" Hailey asked.

"I do, but it's not facing that way. Wait, I got something. It looks like there was a squad car...and Jay's truck is out of frame. Dammit!"

"Kim track that patrol car number, see if it was reported missing or stolen."

"Copy."

There was typing on Kim's end before she came back on the radio. "Patrol car was reported stolen from the police garage this morning. According to the GPS, it says it's at the bottom of the Chicago River."

"So, whoever did this ripped the GPS out. Great."

"Hank," Trudy's voice came over the radio.

"What do you have for me, Trudy?"

"You need to get back to the district. There's a package for you and it's got a DVD and a flip phone in it. Some kid dropped it off, said it was important that this be viewed by you and Intelligence."

***

"Anybody else getting deja vu from this? Or is it just me?" Adam asked as he popped the DVD into the computer as everyone else crowded around to get a view of the screen.

"If this is what I think it is, then it is not good," Voight agreed.

"Someone care to enlighten me?" Hailey asked.

"About four years ago, there was this dealer, Derek Keyes. We had a buy going down in Midway and he killed his own brother and took Jay. Sent us a DVD and a flip phone," Adam answered.

"We watched Jay get tortured like an animal," Kevin said.

"And then Keyes called," Adam continued. "He said he wanted all our CI files and to send a lone female officer. We made fake files and sent Erin Lindsay, but they didn't have him. So, Erin had to go back with them, and somehow, I have no idea how those two did it, but they fought off Keyes and his associates and got out of there alive."

"Let's get this over with," Voight said.

They all held their breath as the video booted up. When Adam did press play, they were met with you hanging from the ceiling and being tased. They could hear Jay's screams in the background telling them to let you go.

"J-Jay. Take Jay," you panted and were taken down and dragged out.

Then, the video switched to Jay being tased. Hailey thought she was going to be sick. They had her partner, the man she had finally shared her feelings with and she'd be damned if they took him away from her.

The phone rang and Voight flipped it open and put it on speaker. "Hello?"

"Sergeant Voight, so we meet again," Derek Keyes' voice came through the phone. "I wish it were under better circumstances."

"What do you want, Keyes? We both know how this goes."

"I know what you want," Keyes started, smirking on the other end of the call. "You want your detective and his precious little sister who just so happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I've gotta say, Jay is quite the martyr this time around. Not like his sister gave him much of a choice, but he did it willingly. Didn't even fight back when he got back in there, all he said was not to hurt her more than I already have."

"She's just a kid, Keyes!" Adam yelled. "Let her go!"

Adam was like another older brother to you, but he was the fun brother. He always said that if you went to a party and needed a place to crash after without telling your brothers, he was your guy. He was also the one who, whenever you had to be stuck at the district for whatever reason,  would sneak you a few dollars if you didn't have cash on you and you'd get Oreos from the vending machine.

"Oh, but that wouldn't be much fun for me now, would it?" Keyes chuckled.

"What do want?" Voight sneered.

"All of the drugs from the evidence locker. Meet me tonight at ten pm and you'll get your precious detective and his kid sister back. Send a lone, female officer. I'll send you the address."

Then, the line went dead.

"Okay, so we just go and check out all the drugs from evidence and throw them in a bag and do the meet. Simple," Adam stated.

"Are you out of your mind?" Voight asked, stepping closer to Adam. "Most of those drugs are laced, and there no way I am sending that much out onto the streets!"

"It's not just Jay this time! They have Y/N!"

"He's right, Sarge," Kevin backed up his best friend. "If it were just Jay, we might be able to get out of it without getting the drugs to Keyes. But, Y/N's got no way to defend herself in there, not with guys two times her size. You saw how she looked in that video and how she cried out for Jay. He'll do anything for her, Sarge. That's usually a good thing, but it might not be in this case."

They all knew what Kevin was getting at: If it was a choice between you or Jay dying, Jay would take the bullet in a heartbeat.

"Alright," Voight nodded. "I'll go sign out the drugs. Kim, get a wire on Hailey. Atwater and Ruzek, scope out the place and find the best spot to watch the drop."

***

"Jay, I swear to God if you break your damn shoulder--"

"I will not break my shoulder, Y/N." Jay gritted his teeth as he shoved his shoulder into the pipe.

"All I'm saying is that Will is gonna have to poke you with a needle if that happens."

"Listen, we're gonna get poked and prodded anyway." There was a soft clang as one end of the pipe came loose and popped off its bearings.

Jay quickly got his hands out of the rope and moved over to untie you.

"Oh, Thank God." Jay pulled the rope off your wrists, to see blood trickling down them.

"What the hell did you do?" Jay asked. His wrists weren't bloody, just raw, so he didn't know how yours had gotten that bad without you saying something.

"When they were hurting you, I just kept tugging on them. But it didn't work. They just got tighter."

"Yeah, because with the type of knot they tied you up with, the more you tug, the tighter it gets. Can you feel your leg yet?"

"How did you know it was numb?"

"I'm a detective. I notice things and you kept pinching your leg."

"It's better, I guess."

"Try and stand up, walk a few steps, and then we are getting out of here."

"How? You're gonna boost me up to that air vent where we have no idea where it ends and then I'm gonna go outside, pray that it's not snowing, and try and fight this guy off. Not to mention, I am literally just in my bra and underwear!"

"Listen, you probably won't have to go very far before someone who's concerned comes up to you and you ask to use their phone and you call Will, who will call Voight. If Will doesn't pick up, call 911. And, it's Chicago. People have seen weirder things than this."

You started walking around, making sure you could feel your leg. And you could feel it alright. You could feel it aching from your knee up to your hip, but you had to get out of here. You didn't know how much more of that you could take. And, you felt nauseous...but you couldn't tell Jay that or else he'd make you sit down and your escape plan would be dead in the water.

"Ready?" Jay asked.

"As I'll ever be," you answered, walking closer to him.

"You'll be okay, kid. We're gonna be okay."

You nodded, holding back tears, and then took a deep breath. Jay grunted in pain as he took your foot in his hand and boosted you up so that you could reach the open vent. Once you got your hands tightly wrapped around the entrance, Jay pushed so that your body was completely inside. You couldn't imagine the amount of pain he was in as he was having to irritate all of the wounds on his stomach and shoulders to get you up there.

You began your crawl through the dark and hoped that you didn't see a snake or a different type of reptile or rodent. Because, if you did and Keyes didn't kill Jay, you sure as hell would.

You crawled through the dark for what to you felt like hours, but in reality, it had only been three minutes, until you saw a speck of light ahead of you. You went as fast as your injured body would allow you to go, knowing that the outside world and freedom were getting closer and closer with every struggling step.

"Fuck," you muttered. You could see outside through the vent, but there was just one problem. You'd have to kick out the metal filter in order to jump outside.

You stifled a scream as you pulled your legs back, crunching them up to your chest which rubbed against the wounds on your stomach and kicked forward. You heard a creaking noise, taking that as a good sign, you kicked the filter seven more times with all the strength you had left and heard it hit the soft snow below.

You poked your head out, for once thankful that you were being held in a basement so that you were at ground level and wouldn't have to jump from four stories high.

But it was cold, oh so cold, and your lack of clothing didn't help matters.

Then, you heard Jay scream.

Hearing that kicked your adrenaline into high gear and you slipped out of the air vent and onto the ground, your feet making footprints in the snow. But, it was as if you couldn't even feel your feet on the verge of being frostbitten as you ran across the yard, further and further away from that place, closer and closer to safety.

But then, you came to a fence, which made your heart stop. You couldn't remember the last time you had climbed a fence! Yes, it paid to be small so you could fit in an air vent, but it did not help you the slightest bit when trying to jump a fence.

You gripped the metal and slid your foot into one of the rectangles, hauling yourself up as fast as you could.

But, you weren't fast enough.

You were ripped off the fence so fast that it made your head spin, the dizziness causing bile to rise in your throat.

"Let me go!" you yelled, kicking and screaming, hoping that your foot would make contact with any part of Derek Keyes' body that would cause him pain.

"Oh, where's the fun in that?"

"Please--" You couldn't finish your sentence before Keyes had slapped you across the face and then pressed a piece of duck tape on your mouth, effectively shutting you up.

"Much better. Now I can enjoy my peace and quiet."

You huffed and tried to scream through the duck tape, but it was no use. You tried to lick the duck tape like Jay had taught you, but you had been without water for so long that the tape wouldn't lose its stickiness no matter how hard or long you tried. Salty tears rolled down your face, wasting whatever water your probably dehydrated body had left.

You were once again dragged into the basement, meeting Jay, who was on the floor writhing in pain from the taser hit he had just received, chains on his wrists and ankles.

"Look who finally decided to turn back up, detective," Derek said, as he chained you to the pole. You knew that you'd probably need a tetanus shot from the rust getting into your cut-up wrists...if you ever go out of here that is.

"Op! Op!" you tried to yell stop through your duck tape, but that was the best you could do.

"Let her go, Keyes," Jay panted. "You want me, you have me. Now," he paused to take in some much-needed air, "just let her go."

"That was going to be the plan before I caught her trying to escape. I was going to take her and exchange her for the drugs and then maybe your people would find you in time. But, seeing as she is the escapee and you're just the accomplice, I think that she should get a longer prison sentence. That's how it works, isn't it detective?"

You whimpered, but Jay said nothing. A kick to his side made him remember who was in charge. "Yeah, yeah, that's how-- that's how it works."

"Precisely my point." He nodded at one of his associates who pulled out a syringe. Instinctively, Jay flinched. "Aw, is the big, bad detective afraid of a little needle?" Then, he plunged the needle into Jay's shoulder once more.

Jay tried to stay awake by focusing on you, silently telling you that it would be okay, but soon his eyes closed, the drugs taking over his system.

"Get him in the van, go do the deal," he told the guy who had just put sedatives in your brother's system. "As for you, sweetheart, it's time for another game."

***

"Hailey, van pulling up on your six," Ruzek said into his radio.

"Copy," Hailey answered. Seeing as she was unarmed, this needed to go smoothly. Not just for her, but for you and Jay.

As the van pulled up, Hailey's heart beat faster and faster. One slip up and she, Jay, and you would all easily be dead.

"Lone female officer," Keyes' associate said as he pulled up to Hailey. "Voight knows how to listen. You got what we asked for?"

"Sure do," Hailey answered, popping the trunk and pulling out the bag full of drugs. "All the drugs from 21st's evidence locker." She unzipped the bag, showing it to the men. "Now, give me my people, and then you can have 'em."

"That's not how this works. The drugs and then you get them back."

Hailey hesitated, but then she heard Voight's voice in her earpiece. "Do it, Upton. We have them surrounded."

She handed over the bag and he inspected it. "Get him out!" he yelled to the person in the back with Jay.

The door was opened and Jay was shoved out of the van, smashing his face into the gravel as the van sped off.

"Take 'em," Voight said.

"Sarge, Y/N's not here!" Hailey yelled. "It's only Jay and I need an ambo here! Now!"

"They- They got her, Hailey. Escape-- caught-- still there," Jay gasped as Hailey helped him sit up and wiped some blood from his face.

"Jay says Y/N's still there!" Hailey said and then the ambulance came up next to them.

Hailey undid the knots that were holding Jay's wrists and ankles together. They had switched out the chains for rope as soon as they were far away enough from Keyes' place that they knew that Jay wouldn't escape.

"Hailey, I counted- I counted the turns. They didn't give me enough and I woke- I woke up as soon as the van started."

"Sarge, I need you here, now! I think we got something, but I'm gonna need some help."

"Copy," Voight answered.

"Can you stand up, sir?" the paramedic asked Jay.

"Yeah, yeah I can do that." Hailey took his hand and helped him stand up and sit in the back of the ambulance.

"Jesus, man," Adam said as he saw Jay's current state. "You look like hell."

"Not the time," Voight admonished. "Hailey, what do you got?"

"Jay said he counted the turns. So if we can somehow get him in the car, I think he might be able to tell us where to go by backtracking."

"Halstead, you good to go?"

"Yeah," Jay answered, slowly standing up.

"Sergeant," the paramedic turned to Voight, "we really need to get him to Chicago Med."

"Listen to me, his sister is missing and probably being tortured right now. He is the only person who knows where to go because those other two sons of bitches who brought him here ain't talking. So, if you take him to the hospital and his sister dies, her death is on you. But if it makes you feel any better, one of you can ride with us," Voight sneered.

The paramedic reached behind her, pulling out a medical bag. "Take this. Use the hydrogen peroxide to clean the cuts. Use the bandages and gauze to cover them up, but remember to clean all of them." She looked at his stomach. "This one needs stitches, so I'm gonna need to keep him here--"

"No! We can just pack it, can't we?" Hailey asked.

"I mean, you could. It'd only work for a max of two hours."

"Well, we better work fast then," Voight said. "Hailey, help him to the car."

***

Keyes roughly grabbed your face in his hand. You were once again chained up and hanging from the ceiling by your wrists. The minute you stopped swinging, you did what you should've done hours ago. Jay wasn't here to save you and this wasn't going to get any easier. You were saving yourself in this one.

You spat in his face, resulting in you getting a slap across your face and then getting tased in the shoulder.

"I'm getting bored of this," Keyes said, faking a yawn.

He turned around and you used that moment to gather up all your strength and swing backward, using the momentum to carry you forward and kicking your legs out, successfully hitting him in the back, making him fall to the ground with a thud. You wiggled in the chains, ignoring the pain in your bloody wrists screaming out for you to stop. But, who were you kidding? They weren't going to budge.

"Tough girl, huh?" Keyes snarled as he stood up, pulling an orange lighter from his pocket. He flicked it open, flames slithering out. "Good thing I like tough girls. And, I also have another game."

You spit at him again, but he was too far away for it to reach him. "Go to hell!"

"I was going to tell you the rules, but since you wanna be so feisty, you can figure it out as we go."

He moved closer to you and reached up to your arms. You screamed out as the flames licked up your left arm, testing your restraints once more and trying with all your might to swing to the right, away from Keyes and his lighter. As you screamed, Keyes counted.

Then, he went to the other arm and did the same thing, counting to the same number and pulling the lighter away. But, since you kept screaming, he kept counting.

He then moved the lighter around your stomach for six seconds, and you screamed for another two. "You know what this means? Eight seconds the next place I light up. If you shut your goddamn mouth, I wouldn't have to do this."

"Fuck you!" You felt a wave of nausea again and this time, you knew you weren't going to be able to keep it down. "I'm gonna- I'm gonna--" And then you puked right down yourself. If you didn't already feel humiliated and at the mercy of Keyes, you sure did now. Chained up, covered in your own vomit, and just waiting to be burned once more.

This was how you were going to die. At this point, you just needed to accept it. Maybe if you shut up, you'd be able to die in a little less pain than you were currently in.

Keyes laughed at how helpless you were and moved his lighter to your collarbone. "No, no, please! Please just kill me! Please!" you pleaded.

"Where's the fun in that?"

Then, he held the lighter to your collarbone. You screamed and tried to get away from the lighter, but you were losing energy and through the pain, you remembered what Keyes said: If you shut your goddamn mouth, I wouldn't have to do this. So, you screamed for two seconds and bit your tongue as hard as you could to keep from yelling out once again, making more seconds get added to your burns.

"You're learning. That's good," Keyes said as he played with the lighter, making the flames go in between his fingers.

"I'll be quiet I promise!"

"Two more seconds." He moved the lighter to your thigh and was about to flick it to make fire spit out when he was loudly interrupted.

"Derek! We gotta go! They found us!"

Keyes threw the open lighter to the ground. "Looks like you'll actually get your death wish."

Then, he bolted out the door as you watched the flames moving across the concrete, quickly starting to burn the pile of rope that sat next to the wall, only making the fire accelerate.

***

"Turn left!" Jay yelled to Voight.

"Is that smoke?" Hailey asked.

Jay saw the black smoke. "That means a house is burning! Call CFD!" he yelled, his Rangers training and all the things he saw in Afghanistan paying off once again.

"This is 5021 Squad, requesting CFD-- Jay, is this close to where you were?"

Jay's face paled, realizing what Voight was insinuating. "Oh my God."

"This is 5021 Squad," Voight started again, "Requesting CFD and Rescue Squad. We have a house fire and possible victim inside in an unknown condition. Offenders assumed to be fleeing, patrol be advised."

***

Your eyelids felt heavy as you felt the flames licking the wall next to you, dangerously close.

Please let me pass out from smoke inhalation. Please let me pass out from smoke inhalation, you thought to yourself. After all, if you were going to end up being burned alive, you'd prefer to be unconscious when it occurred; it'd hurt less.

You thought that you might actually get your way for once today, two days? You didn't know how long you had been here. Your eyelids fluttered closed and you thought you were alive, but then you heard someone calling out to you.

Severide?

The first person you thought you'd hear from or see when you got to heaven, you assumed was going to be your mom, but apparently, that had changed.

"Want Mom," you mumbled, hoping she'd appear out of thin air. Because, you were in heaven and that's what angels do, right?

"Fire Department, call out!"

Why was Severide dead and why was he saying to call out? You were dead so why did you need saving?

"Fire Department, call out!" another voice yelled.

Wait, was that Cruz?

Holy shit, you weren't dead...not yet at least.

"In here," you tried to be as loud as you could, using the last energy you had, but it was just your normal talking voice. So, with all the strength you had left, you tried to clang the chains connected to your wrists and the ceiling together, hoping they'd make enough sound so that they could find you.

"Cruz, get the bolt cutters and cut these chains off her!" you heard Kelly yell. "I'll catch her and then we'll get outta here!"

The smoke hurt your eyes and you were so, so tired.

You felt yourself falling and your eyes shot open in fear. You tried to move out of the hold, but everything hurt...especially the newly added burns from Keyes which were especially tender.

"Y/N, relax. It's just me, it's Kelly."

"Kelly," you muttered, closing your eyes and slipping into an unconscious state.

"I need a medic!" Kelly yelled as he carried you out of the burning house and towards the second ambulance.

Jay was sitting in the first one, getting the cut on his stomach looked at. "Y/N!"

He moved to try and stand to get over to you, but he was pushed back down. "You can see her at the hospital," the paramedic told him. "I can't have you ripping the cut more than it is."

"Jay, she's in good hands," Hailey said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Please, just tell me she's alive." He made eye contact with Kelly who looked at Sylvie. She nodded.

"She's alive, Jay."

***

"Dr. Marcel, trauma victim is two minutes out!" Maggie yelled to Crockett who was standing at a computer, finishing some charts.

"I'll help," Will volunteered.

"Good, know anything else about the victim?"

"Kidnapping victim." Maggie paused, listening to the radio. "Will, you can't treat this patient."

"What do you mean I can't treat this patient?" he asked, taking a step closer to Maggie.

"Will, it's Y/N."

"What?"

"I don't need a wheelchair, Hailey! I can walk!" Jay yelled as he entered the ED, to be met with a shock-faced Will.

"Give it to me," Marcel said as Sylvie rolled you in on the stretcher, still unconscious.

"Y/N Halstead, 20-year-old female, kidnapping victim. Diminished breath sounds, most likely from smoke inhalation. First-degree burns on her stomach, shoulder, and collarbone, needs stitches in her right wrist and a tetanus shot. No broken bones that we could find, but it wouldn't hurt to check. Bruising on a lot of her body, but it looks superficial. Go through concussion protocol as well. There's a big bump on her head," Sylvie answered.

"Thanks, Brett."

"Trauma three!"

Will just stood, staring at you being pushed into the trauma room. Then, he flicked his eyes up at Jay. You were here because of Jay.

"She's gonna be okay, right Will?" Jay asked, walking closer to his older brother.

Will said nothing.

"Will!" Jay yelled once more.

Will's eyes darkened and he looked down at Jay. "She's here because of you!" If Jay had a shirt on, Will would've grabbed him by his collar. "You could've gotten her out of there and you didn't!"

"I tried! We tried to escape and they caught her. They took me instead of her to go back--"

"They took you back instead of her? God, did you even try to fight back, or did you just let them take her back and torture her?"

"Are kidding me right now? You don't think I tried? Look at me! I fucking tried but they chained me to a fucking wall, Will! There wasn't much I could do from there!"

"Okay, okay," Hailey said, stepping between the two men and placing her hands on Jay's chest. "Let's go get you stitched up. And, you two better work this out before Y/N wakes up. Because she will wake up."

***

Will tapped the glass of the entrance to Jay's hospital room, seeing as it was midnight and Will was working a double shift, he had grabbed some coffee to keep him awake. And, knowing Jay, he knew that he wouldn't sleep at a time like this, so he grabbed him a coffee, too.

Hailey had gotten up to go to the bathroom before Will had gotten there, leaving Jay alone. Jay looked up to see who was knocking and nodded his head, allowing his older brother to enter.

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier," Will apologized, handing Jay his coffee. "I know you tried your hardest, it's just, I'm used to seeing you come here in an ambulance, but seeing Y/N? That hits different. It's like everything I learned in med school flew out the window the minute Brett brought her through the ED doors."

"If only we didn't try to escape, then she could've gone when Keyes' people went to do the deal and she wouldn't be in this mess," Jay sighed, taking a sip of his coffee, being careful not to move his left arm too much.

"How's the shoulder?" Will asked.

"I didn't break it. Just hurts a lot. They said if I would've hit it a few more times I would've broken it though."

Will nodded, wanting to ask Jay how the hell you got yourself into this mess. But, he didn't want Jay to shut him down.

"Out with it," Jay prompted. "I know that look. It's when you want to say something, but won't."

Will raked a hand through his hair, tugging on the roots. "How did she even get in this mess to begin with?"

"We were just going to get lunch, that's all we were doing." Jay's voice grew quieter, as he realized that this entire thing was wholly on him and no one else. "I got pulled over and it was- it was Keyes. Must've stolen a patrol car. I- I told her to get down and call 911, but they heard her on the phone. They heard her on the phone and grabbed her, Will. I tried to fight back, but then I was drugged and..." He stopped and looked down. Then, he set his coffee on the table and put his face in his hands as his body began to shake with sobs.

Will stood up and put his hand on Jay's good shoulder, rubbing back and forth. "When I woke up, I was tied to- to a pipe and I heard- I heard her screaming for me."

"Hey, hey, it's okay. She's safe now. She's safe."

And, then Will's pager went off, alerting him that he had an incoming victim of a car crash. "I gotta go, little brother, but Hailey's back." He gave Jay's shoulder one last squeeze and slipped out of the room.

"Jay, I know what you're doing," Hailey said, dragging a chair across the small room to be closer to him. "None of this is your fault."

"But it is, Hailey! If I didn't have the brilliant idea to try and get her to go through that air vent and escape, she wouldn't be here right now."

"You were doing what you thought would get her out of harm's way. You did what you were supposed to do. It just...didn't work out quite right this time."

"Obviously. God, if they would've just taken me instead..."

"Hey, hey. Jay, look at me," Hailey said sternly, grabbing his face in her hands when he looked up at her. "She is safe now and I know for a fact that when Y/N wakes up, she's gonna need you. She can't have you spiraling. She's gonna need all the help, support, and love she can get."

"But what if she hates me?" Jay whispered. "I'm the reason she's in all that pain."

"She could never hate you, not now, not ever. And, Keyes is the reason she's in all that pain. Not you, most definitely not you."

***

You woke up to the steady hum of machines and you felt something in your arm.

Keyes was going to drug you just like he did to Jay. And the machines were so that he could electrocute you.

"Please wake up," you heard Jay mutter.

If he was here, that means the deal didn't go down as planned and Jay probably had more injuries. You couldn't open your eyes, for fear of what condition your big brother would be in because of you. If only you had gotten over that fence...

They didn't know you were awake yet, so you fumbled with the needle in your arm, hoping to pull it out to stop any more drugs from invading your system.

You jumped back as you felt someone's hand on your arm, keeping the needle in and your eyes shot open, to be met with just Jay.

You moved away from him, knowing that if he was back, Keyes would follow.

"I need some help in here!" Jay yelled as you reached once more for the needle in your arm.

"Y/N, we need you to calm down!" Maggie told you as she ran in, grabbing your hand to pull it off the arm where the IV was. "You're in the hospital, at Chicago Med. Will's here, but he's with a patient."

That was when you finally took in your surroundings. The hum of the machines were the monitors, and whatever was going into your body were drugs, but they were to get you better.

Your heart rate steadily slowed, until it was back to its normal rhythm. "There you go," Maggie said as she handed you a cup of water which you gladly drank. "I'll get Will and Dr. Marcel."

"Thanks, Maggie," Jay said, finally sitting down again. You ran the fingers of your left hand over the stitches on your right wrist and started poking at them. "Uh, no," Jay told you as he saw what you were doing. You looked up at him. "I know it's your first time getting stitches, but I can promise you, as someone who has gotten over 100, they aren't as interesting as they seem."

Luckily, Jay was saved from telling you to stop messing with stuff when Will and Crockett entered.

"Y/N, you're okay, kid," Will said as he gave you a small hug, careful of your injuries. You just looked at him and nodded.

"Now, Miss Halstead," Marcel began, "how are you feeling?" You didn't say anything, just kept staring. "Does anything hurt?" Again, he received no response.

Will and Marcel shared a looked, they knew what this could be. And, that didn't go unnoticed by Jay. "What? What's going on?"

"She could have sustained other neurological injuries besides her concussion, as it seems like she can't hear us," Marcel answered.

"You're saying our sister's deaf?" Jay asked, horrified.

"That's not what I'm saying, but it is a possibility. I just need to do a quick neuro exam to be sure."

He reached into his pocket, causing you to flinch and move back on the bed, your heart rate rising as you remembered Keyes reaching into his pocket to grab the lighter. This did not go unnoticed by the three men in the room.

"Jay, hand me that whiteboard and marker behind you, would you?" Will asked.

Jay handed it to him. "What are you doing?"

"Writing down what Dr. Marcel's doing so that Y/N knows. Because, if she did lose her hearing, she has no idea what he's grabbing right now."

"Oh," was all Jay said. If his sister went deaf all because of him, he wouldn't be able to forgive himself.

Marcel's grabbing a flashlight, you read. And then he's gonna shine it in your eyes and you have to follow it w/o moving your head.

You nodded, understanding what he was doing, even though you could hear the whole conversation.

You completed the exam and everything seemed neurologically intact. The two doctors shared a look. "Jay, come with us," Will said.

"I'll be right back," Jay told you. He thought about squeezing your hand but thought it might be too early for him to do that without warning. When you squeezed Marcel's hand during the neuro exam, that didn't freak you out because Will had written it on the whiteboard, telling you what was about to happen.

"What's going on? She did everything right in there," Jay asked once they were out of the room.

"Everything is neurologically intact," Marcel answered.

"But..."

"But, she's traumatized, to say the least."

"So you're telling me that our sister won't talk because she's been through trauma?" Jay asked, quieter this time.

"Short answer, yes."

"Why?"

"There's a multitude of reasons. She might not feel safe and comfortable yet. Your captor might have told her if she talked, that he'd hurt her."

"He never said that to her," Jay said. "Not when I was there anyway." Then, he turned to his brother. "She's gonna talk, right? She won't be like this forever?"

"It's all up to Y/N, now," Will answered. "She'll talk when she feels like talking."

"Care to give me a timeline on that?"

"Could be hours, days, months. I've heard stories in my psych rotation of it taking years."

"So what do we do?"

"You just be there for her," Marcel answered Jay's question. "Both of you."

***

2 days since kidnapping

You were finally headed home after being stuck in the hospital, not that it really mattered to you anyway. The only difference was that you would get to sleep in your own bed and look at the pile of homework on your desk that should be getting done, but not doing it.

Jay unlocked the front door and you walked inside, glad to be home. "I'm gonna make us some breakfast. Anything specific you want?" Jay asked. You just shrugged. "Okay, breakfast burritos it is then."

You headed into the bathroom to shower while Jay was making breakfast. You hadn't looked at yourself in the mirror since you had been kidnapped, and quite frankly, you had no desire to. You had seen the number Keyes had done on your stomach, arms, and thighs, and you didn't want to see what he did to your face. If it looked as bad as it felt though, it'd give a toddler nightmares.

You stood in the shower, using mostly cold water, so your burns didn't hurt too badly. You used a washcloth in place of a loofa to avoid opening any stitches, cuts, or burns. And, you had switched out your face wash with Jay's since his didn't have scrubbing beads in it, so they didn't irritate the bruises on your face.

You showered and changed into your comfiest pajamas (careful to have your back to the mirror while changing so you didn't so much as peek at yourself), and wrapped yourself in your favorite blanket. You grabbed gauze, bandages, and the cream you were supposed to put on your burns to have Jay help you re-wrap your burn on your left arm. Then, you walked back into the kitchen, to see Jay wrapping up your burrito.

"Not only are we eating burritos, but you're one, too," Jay joked, referring to you being wrapped in a blanket, as he set the plate of food down in front of you.

You shrugged and nodded. You set the supplies on the table and then held your arm out to him. He moved a chair closer to you and spread the cream on the burn, put the bandages on top, and then wrapped it in the gauze. "Not too tight, is it?"

You shook your head no and then started to nibble on your burrito.

By the time you were only halfway done, Jay had eaten two burritos and put his plate in the dishwasher. "You're not getting up from the table until you finish that," Jay stated, turning to you.

You scowled at him, but he just smiled back. "I'll even watch Survivor with you while you eat. And we can watch as many episodes as you want...but if you don't finish that, we're only watching one episode. Sound good?"

You looked at him and nodded, and he went off to his bedroom to grab his laptop.

The episode started to play and you knew which one it was immediately: the three amigos episode where your favorite castaway was at the bottom with his two alliance members and they all played immunity idols to avoid going home that night. You looked at Jay and nodded, telling him that he made a good choice.

You slowly but surely finished your burrito, not before heating it back up in the microwave during the ad breaks, just before the end of the episode. "You know what episode comes next, right?" Jay asked as if you had no idea. "The one where Malcolm gets voted off."

That was your favorite player in Survivor that season, but seeing as you had seen that episode before, you knew it was coming. So, you just shrugged and moved to the couch to continue your binge-watching.

***

Jay slowly closed his laptop, trying to make as little noise as possible so he didn't wake you. The two of you had broken for meals and to go to the bathroom, but other than that, you had watched Survivor all day. Typically, Jay hated sitting around all day and doing nothing, since that meant he was being unproductive, something he had learned from his years in the military. But, seeing how distracted you looked when watching the show even though you knew what was going to happen, he knew he couldn't just leave you after everything that had happened.

You had fallen asleep halfway through the episode, so Jay finished it by himself, but was sure to jot down the time in case you wanted to finish watching it tomorrow. He turned on the lamp on the small table next to you and put a glass of water next to you in case you woke up in the middle of the night.

Typically, he'd sleep with a fan on, something that you now did as well, but tonight, tonight that was not going to happen. He knew he had to have as little background noise as possible in case you woke up screaming or gasping in the middle of the night.

***

You were chained to the ceiling once again. And, just like last time, your feet didn't touch the ground so you just hung there, practically limp. But, unlike last time, Derek Keyes was nowhere in sight.

You strained your ears to try and hear anything that would alert you that he was coming but you heard nothing, absolutely nothing except the clink of the chains when you moved.

That was until you heard yelling, Jay yelling to be precise.

"I said you for the drugs and this," There was a pause, you assumed so that Keyes could show whatever the hell it was to your brother. "this is not drugs!"

You heard Jay yell and then you heard a sound, like someone dragging a sack of potatoes across the floor. And, it was getting louder.

The door opened, revealing Keyes dragging Jay inside the room, followed closely by an associate of his. You tried to swing back.

"Get her down," Keyes commanded. "And then tie her up with that rope over there. Make sure her hands are tied in front of her though and leave a line of rope dragging on the floor."

"Don't touch her!" Jay spat with all the energy he had left.

Keyes punched Jay in the face. "Shut the fuck up!"

Jay spat out blood and made eye contact with you. I'm sorry he mouthed. You sucked in a breath, knowing that this would not be good for either of you if Jay was apologizing before anything even happened.

You were roughly taken down from the chains and tied up in the corner now. You could probably try and walk around, try and make a run for it even, but your hands were tied in front of you and that door would be too heavy for you to push open without them tied up. You needed a code, too. So, there was no escaping.

"Now, you're taking her place and you just get to watch," Keyes said as he chained Jay up to the ceiling.

"Do whatever you want to me! Just leave her alone!"

Keyes punched Jay in the stomach. "What did I say? Shut up!"

Keyes then walked over to you, pulling a lighter from his pocket. You tugged on the rope as hard as you could, moving your entire upper body to try and get loose, but it was no use.

"Now, I'm going to light the end of this and it's going to slowly travel up the rope and to your hands. Maybe I'll put the fire out when it just gets your hands, maybe I'll let you die a slow and painful death by fire. You'll just have to wait and see."

"Keyes you can do whatever you want with me! Just don't touch her!" Jay yelled, pulling on the chains and trying to move closer to you.

Keyes flicked open the lighter.

"Please no," you whimpered. He crouched down at the end of the rope, the flame dancing dangerously close to it.

Then, you heard a crash. Did Jay somehow pull off the unthinkable and break out of his chains?

"Y/N, Y/N wake up."

Wake up? What did that mean? You were awake. If you weren't you wouldn't feel the rope digging into your wrists--

You jolted awake as you felt someone gently touch your shoulder.

"Y/N, it's Jay. You're at home on the couch. You're safe." At this, you went to sit up but were stopped when you felt a wetness on your right wrist as if it had been sitting in water.

You turned and looked at your hand. It was covered in blood. Then, you looked at the floor and saw the broken water glass that Jay must've left out for you.

"I'm gonna throw a few towels on the floor and then we're gonna get you cleaned up, okay? Looks to me like you threw out a few stitches."

He left to go grab a few towels and then came back--this time with shoes on--and laid them on the floor. "Do you mind if I quick pick you up just to get you into the hallway? Wouldn't want you to get glass in your foot and have to get more stitches." You hesitated, but nodded, allowing Jay to carry you to the hallway, your blanket still wrapped around your shoulders, where he then set you back down and you followed him to the bathroom.

Jay flicked on the light and pulled out the first kit, while you pushed yourself up onto the counter using your good wrist.

"I need you to rinse it out," Jay said as he reached over and turned on the faucet. "That way, if it's really bad, I can tell and call Will to come over here. But, maybe we'll get lucky and we can just wrap it up for right now and get it restitched in the morning."

You placed your wrist under the running water, thankful that Jay had tested the temperature to make sure that it was not too hot and not too cold. After a few seconds, you took it back out and allowed Jay to gently pat it dry with a towel. Then, he looked at it and came up with his verdict.

"I think I know what happened," Jay started.

You furrowed your eyebrows. You didn't even know how this happened, so how did he know?

"I think you kept rubbing your wrist back and forth on that jagged edge of the table because there's a splinter in here." You jerked your arm away from him, hiding your hand back under the safety of your blanket. Ain't no way in hell he was digging into your open wound with a pair of tweezers, no way in hell.

"Relax, I'm not gonna take it out. I'm gonna call Will and he's gonna take it out and stitch you back up." You shook your head, no. No way were you even allowing your doctor brother to take a pair of tweezers into your open skin. "He'll numb it and everything, don't worry," Jay reassured you, pulling out his phone.

"Will! It's not Lanik calling to cover your shift, it's me." you listened to Jay's side of the conversation. "Y/N threw out some stitches and now there's a splinter in there, so I need you to come over and fix it." There was a pause. "Believe me, if I thought it could wait a few more hours, you wouldn't be getting this call." Another pause. "Yeah, you can just stay over here. No, just a blanket." Another pause, this time longer. "Yeah, I'll try and do that. See you soon."

He set his phone on the counter and turned back to you. "Okay, so here's the deal and I know you're not gonna like it." You raised an eyebrow at him, urging him to continue. "Will said that that needs to be wrapped in a clean towel." You pulled your wrist tighter against the fabric of your blanket. "And that is not going to cut it."

You shook your head, no. Your blanket was warm and it made you feel safe and secure when it was wrapped tightly around you. "Y/N, it's got blood on it." He paused, trying to figure out how he could do this. "Tell you what, if you let me wrap your wrist in a clean towel, I'll let you use my weighted blanket while yours is in the wash. Deal?"

Jay offering you his weighted blanket? What kind of fever dream was this?

Will had gotten that blanket for Jay when he got home from Afghanistan for the second time to help ease his nightmares. He kept it in his closet most nights now, but you did see him using it after some particularly rough cases. One of those times being when he had been kidnapped by Keyes the first time.

You nodded, telling him that you had a deal, and out your arm. He pulled a clean hand towel out of the closet and the medical tape from the first aid kit. Then, he wrapped up your wrist, not without you wincing, and taped it.

"Now, do you want to go to your room or the living room to wait for Will?" You pointed to yourself. "Your room it is then. Can I take that blanket? I promise I'll be back with the weighted one in three minutes tops," he promised.

Reluctantly you handed over the blanket, which blood had soaked through in a small spot, and then made your way into your room.

True to his word, Jay came back in holding his gray weighted blanket. He placed it over your shoulders, seeing as you were currently staring off into space, your mind wandering back to the nightmare that caused all of this.

What if Intelligence hadn't gotten Keyes the drugs? Was that what would've happened?

"Y/N," you were pulled out of your thoughts by Jay softly saying your name. You looked up at him. "Whatever you dreamt out there--because I know you were dreaming since I had to wake you up--it isn't real. Keyes is locked up and he won't ever be getting out." He didn't know that for sure, he just knew they had him and his associates in county at the moment, awaiting sentencing. But, he'd say anything to ease your fears.

You nodded half-heartedly at him and he looked at your desk, textbooks still open to where that had been before the kidnapping. "If you want to take a semester off, that's fine. If you want to go back or see if you can finish the semester online, that's fine, too."

You shrugged. In all honesty, you had no idea what you wanted to do. You knew you wanted to finish the semester because you didn't want all of your tuition money to go to waste, you just didn't know how you'd do it, if you even could do it.

"You don't have to make a decision now or even in a week, just keep it in mind." Jay grabbed your laptop off your desk and set it on your bed. "Mind if I sit next to you?"

You moved over, allowing him to sit on your bed and he opened the laptop and passed it to you, silently telling you to put in your password. You did so and handed it back to him. "Figured we could finish the episode you fell asleep watching."

Just as the episode had finished loading, you heard a door open and you pushed yourself back further into the bed. You could jump off and hide in the closet if you needed to. You didn't think you could fit under your bed anymore, but it was worth a try if--

"Jay! It's Will! Where are you two?"

You visibly relaxed as you heard his voice. Jay placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Breathe, it's just Will. It's just Will." He gave you a second to take a deep breath and exhale. "Good. Now, I'm gonna go get him and you're gonna go in the bathroom. We'll meet you there. Is that okay with you?" You nodded. "Good."

You made your way into the bathroom and sat on the counter again, your--well actually Jay's--blanket, still wrapped around you.

"Hey," Jay greeted Will as he stood in the living room, holding his medical bag, a backpack which Jay assumed held clothes since he was going to just spend the rest of the night here, a small whiteboard, and a pack of dry-erase markers. "What are the whiteboard and markers for?" Jay asked, taking Will's medical bag from him.

"Figured if Y/N was up to it, she could write on the board so we know what she's saying."

"Good idea."

"That's why I'm the doctor and you're the cop."

"Shut up. Y/N's in the bathroom waiting for you."

Will and Jay entered the bathroom to be met with you sitting on the floor sobbing. "Whoa, whoa," Jay exclaimed, crouching down next to you. "What happened?"

You shook your head, not wanting to tell your brothers. "It's okay," Will started, crouching down on the other side of you. He handed you the whiteboard and a purple marker, your favorite color.

You stared at it, wondering if you could do it. So, you just scribbled NO.

"Wanna tell us why?" Jay prompted.

You'll laugh at me.

"No we won't. We promise," Will reassured you.

You squeezed your eyes closed, letting more tears fall before you finally decided to tell them. I looked in the mirror for the first time since

You didn't finish writing the sentence, only set the whiteboard down and waited for them to read it.

Neither of them knew how to respond, because how did they respond to their little sister seeing her face covered in faded bruises for the first time? Jay wanted to say that it would all be okay, that he knew how you were feeling because of the number of times he had looked in the mirror and saw bruises on his face and body, whether in the rangers or from being a cop, but he knew it was different. It was different because being a girl came with more insecurities, one of them being your skin. And, even though you didn't wear makeup, this was different than not wearing makeup. You chose to not wear makeup. You didn't choose to have this happen to you.

So, Jay just wrapped one arm around you protectively and Will squeezed your good hand, both reminding you that they were there, even though they had no idea what to say at the moment. And, that was all you needed: comfort from family while you cried out all that you had been holding in.

After staying in that position for about ten minutes, you were finally calm enough to push yourself up onto the counter and let Will do his job. He unzipped his medical bag and pulled out a syringe and a bottle, of what you assumed to be the liquid that would numb the affected area.

"Hey, turn away now because I'm getting the needle out," Will told you. He turned to Jay. "You might want to, too."

You weren't afraid of needles per say, you just didn't like to see how big they were before you got the injection. It always helped to look away when you were getting an injection and to not look at it while the nurse or doctor was prepping.

Surprisingly, Jay was fine. Usually, his hands get all clammy and his face gets a bit pale. You just chalked it up to him not being the one being stuck with the needle this time. "I'm not gonna lie to you, Y/N," Will started, "This is gonna hurt since it's going into an open wound."

"Man, why would you tell her that?" Jay exclaimed as he unwrapped the towel from your wrist.

"Thought she might need to be prepared. Now, I'm just gonna wipe it down with some disinfectant and then give you the local anesthetic, and then I can get the sutures in."

Jay held out his hand for you, silently telling you to squeeze it. Will wiped it down and that didn't feel so bad.

"Hey, hey, look at me," Jay coaxed as he watched Will pick up the syringe. "Squeeze my hand as hard as possible. You won't hurt me, I promise."

Then, you felt the pain of the needle in your skin as you squeezed your eyes shut, gritted your teeth, and squeezed the ever-loving life out of Jay's hand. But, after five seconds, the needle was out and after a minute, you couldn't feel your wrist.

You let go of Jay's hand and Will pulled out a pair of tweezers to remove the splinter. After that, he disinfected the area once more and put in new stitches.

"Good as new," he told you.

Thanks, you wrote on the whiteboard.

"No problem, kid." You stifled a yawn. "Go get some sleep. We'll still be here in the morning. Promise."

You rewrapped the weighted blanket around yourself and looked at Jay, silently asking if you could keep it for the night. "I guess you can keep it just for tonight," he relented as your blanket had just finished in the washing machine and still needed to be dried. "Besides, if I need anything, I've got this knucklehead here to keep me company."

"Who you calling knucklehead, knucklehead?"

You rolled your eyes at their immaturity and walked to your room to go to sleep. But, instead of turning off the lights all the way like you normally did, you dimmed them. You knew you would be using that dimmer for awhile.

***

Will walked into your room the next morning--well, closer to afternoon actually--to see you still wrapped in Jay's weighted blanket, laying on top of your other bed sheets and comforter. The lights were still on and he was shocked that Jay didn't turn them off when he woke up this morning and it started to get light out.

"Y/N. Y/N, wake up." He gently touched your blanket-covered shoulder, making you flutter your eyes open ad look at him. "Morning, sleepyhead. Your head hurt? Any nausea?"

He waited for a beat to see if you would speak and when you didn't, he handed you the whiteboard and the marker.

No, why?

"Because it's 11 o'clock and you don't normally sleep this late and you have a concussion, so I'm worried about post-concussion symptoms."

I'm fine.

"Okay, well I'm gonna go make some food, give you some time to wake up."

You picked up your phone and saw a text from Jay telling you that your blanket should be dry and that he was at the district and would be home later.

You went into the kitchen and were about to go get your blanket from the dryer when you heard the flickering sound of a burner being turned on. Your eyes landed on the flame and you slowly walked backward, afraid that it would somehow burn you even though it was twenty feet away.

You winced as you backed into the table, hitting your low back. Immediately, Will turned off the burner and turned around. "Y/N? You okay?" You stood still and stared at the stove. "Hey, that noise was just the burner turning on. It wasn't anything else, I promise."

You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded. Then, you dropped the blanket and made your way to the bathroom to go take a shower.

"If you're showering, be careful with your stitches!" Will yelled to you. "And, I'll help you re-wrap your burns after, too if you need."

You undressed and gently unwrapped the bandages from your burns.

Keyes did this to you.

Keyes' lighter did this to you.

Fire did this to you.

***

"Hey, man, good to have you back," Adam greeted Jay as he walked into the bullpen.

"Thanks," he replied, taking a seat on the edge of Hailey's desk.

"How are you doing?" Hailey asked. "You look tired."

"I mean, I've been better, obviously," Jay answered, rubbing a hand on his face. "Y/N popped some stitches last night when she had a nightmare, so we had to call Will and deal with that in the middle of the night."

"Halstead, here to make your statement?" Voight asked as he emerged from his office.

"Yeah, you wanna just do it out here? Because I know all of you want to know what happened and it'll save me a lot of talking if I only have to say it once."

"If that's what you wanna do, then we can do that."

Voight grabbed a notepad and a pen. "Start from the beginning."

"We were just going to grab lunch, that's all..."

Once he was done giving his statement, Jay was drained needless to say. He was in the locker room and God, all he could think of were your pleas for help when you were both held captive. He was sitting against the lockers, head in his hands, quiet sobs leaving his lips.

"Jay," Hailey alerted as she walked into the locker room. She slid down the lockers next to him. "Jay, hey, it's okay."

"It's not okay, Hailey!" He yelled. He took a deep breath. "Sorry, it's just, she hasn't said a goddamn word since she was rescued from that house."

Hailey wrapped her arm around Jay, allowing him to lay his head on her chest. "And you're keeping all your emotions in to stay strong for her so she doesn't break any more than she already is, aren't you?"

"How did you know that?" he whispered.

"Because I know you, Jay. You always look out for others but sometimes you forget to look out for yourself. Just remember that I'm here if you need me."

"Thank you."

Hailey ran a comforting hand through his hair. "What if she- what if she doesn't forgive me?"

"She knows it's not your fault. You did everything you could. Hell, you even tried to get her to escape all while knowing it would be worse for you when Keyes came back. You did a good thing, Jay."

"She looked at herself in the mirror for the first time last night," Jay stated.

"What?" Hailey asked, confused.

"She hadn't looked in the mirror since before all this went down. Me and Will walked into the bathroom and she was sobbing. I didn't even know what to say to that. What do I do if she doesn't talk again, Hailey? I didn't know what to say when she broke down last night. If I can't do that, how am I going to handle the rest of this?"

"You just have to remember one thing. Y/N's still in there. It might take a little digging, but underneath all the dirt that Keyes buried her in, she's still there, just underneath it. You and Will just need to dig her out, one shovel-full at a time. And, I'm sure all of us will help with some of that digging."

"Thank you," Jay choked out.

How did I get so lucky? he thought to himself.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, Hailey still running a hand through Jay's hair and giving him the comfort he so desperately needed.

"I better get going," Jay whispered.

"I understand."

Jay stood up first and held out his hand to help Hailey up. He splashed some water in his face and dried it, trying to get rid of the tear stains and Hailey took something out of her locker.

"What's this?" he asked, taking the book, Corrupt, and a bag of pumpkin spice coffee from her.

"I saw the book on Y/N's to-read list on Goodreads and figured she could use the distraction. And, I remember her complaining one day about running out of pumpkin spice coffee."

"Where'd you find it? She looked everywhere for it and she couldn't find it because it's out of season."

"Never underestimate the power of Amazon," Hailey smiled.

"You're the best, Hails, really."

"So I've been told."

Jay rolled his eyes at that comment and the two parted ways, but not before Jay gave her a quick kiss on the cheek when no one was watching.

***

"How's she doing?" Jay whispered to Will as he entered the house.

Will motioned for Jay to follow him since you were sitting on the couch watching tv.

"I turned on the stove and she freaked, man," Will told his brother as soon as they were in Jay's room safely out of earshot of you. "She just like backed into the table and then she went and took a shower and everything was normal after that."

"Still no talking?"

"Not a word."

"Damn."

"She'll come around. She's a Halstead, our stubborn asses don't go down without a fight."

"You're right about that."

"I'm always right, little brother. We just have to wait."

"I don't think I have to tell you that Halsteads don't have a patient bone in their bodies. And, you are not always right. If I recall correctly, you violated a DNR your first year at Med, which was wrong."

"Okay, so I've been wrong sometimes, but I'm right most of the time."

"Shut up. Now get out so I can change."

You were continuing your Survivor binge when you felt the couch dip next to you. You looked up to see Jay.  I didn't even know you were home, you scribbled on your whiteboard.

"Just got home about ten minutes ago. I tried to be quiet in case you were sleeping. Hailey got these for you."

He handed you a book and a bag of coffee. How'd she know?

"Mentioned something about you complaining about being out of that coffee and she looked on that one website you use for your books."

Goodreads?

"Yeah, that."

You better keep her. I approve.

"Shut up," Jay joked. "And you better erase that before Will sees."

You erased it just before Will returned, this time carrying a bowl of popcorn. He sat down on the other side of you.  "Now, what episode are we on?"

And, you picked up the remote started the next episode.

***

4 weeks since kidnapping

"Coffee, kid?" Jay asked as you sat at the table eating a bagel. You had been up for two hours already and it was only seven am. You nodded at him and he pulled out another mug from the cupboard. "How long have been up? You're looking a little tired."

2 hours you wrote on the whiteboard.

Even though it's been a month and the bruises had disappeared, the burns had turned into scars, and the stitches had been removed, one thing hadn't healed: your will to talk. Everyone around you had been waiting for you to utter a single word, but it hadn't come yet. They'd gotten used to you writing in dry erase marker to communicate.

You had resumed all of your classes online so that you didn't have to go to class. At first, some professors were skeptical that you'd be able to pass the class because of how much time you missed, but when you, Will, and Jay showed up to your university's administrators and your  academic advisor to explain the situation accompanied by Voight, they relented. It helped to have the most infamous cop in Chicago on your side.

You put your head in your hands. "Hey, hey." Jay placed a hand on your shoulder and bent down so his eyes were level with yours. You lifed your head. "Everything's gonna be okay. We're gonna get through today and the next and the next. We've made it this far. We've got no choice but to continue," he told you, the last two quotes being something that Mouse had told him when they had both returned from Afghanistan as shells of the men they had previously been.

"And before you question me, I know this because you're coming to the district with me today. And, no, it's not up for discussion."

Okay, but I'm driving myself, you wrote, not in the mood to argue right now.  

"Listen, as long as you go, I could care less how you get there."

***

"Morning mini Halstead," Adam said as you entered the district.

"Damn, Ruz. Not running late for once? I'm shocked," Jay joked.

"I'll have you know that I am very punctual."

"Wow, using big boy words," Jay quipped as he punched in the code and then placed his hand on the palm scanner.

"Morning, Jay," Hailey said, giving Jay a kiss once he was settled at his desk.

"Morning, Hails."

Adam made a gagging sound and you smacked him on the chest. Shut up, they're cute, you wrote on your whiteboard.

"Yeah, Adam! Shut up, we're cute!" Jay yelled.

Yes, now everyone knew that Hailey and Jay were a couple. Yes, they had filled out the proper HR forms. No, neither had been fired. Yes, they were still partners. And, no, Will still hadn't given you your fifty bucks. Yes, he had probably forgotten all about the bet you two had made.

"Alright, everyone listen up!" Voight yelled as he came out of his office. "Seeing as everyone wanted to run out early last weekend, you know what day it is. Everyone's favorite: paperwork."

The unit groaned and you just scribbled on your whiteboard. Haha, you have to do big kid homework.

"Yeah, yeah, it's hilarious," Jay replied. "Now, if I'm not mistaken, you've been complaining about a test."

You rolled your eyes and walked into the breakroom, leaving the door open in case they started messing around and you wanted a break.

***

It was nearing eleven when you heard an unfamiliar voice in the bullpen. "Taser recertification day everyone. To testify in court, you need to be tased at least once every year to know the effects."

Taser. Keyes. Pain. Burns. Terrifying. No, Y/N, you can't think that. He's locked up 23 and one. Now, focus on your damn homework.

Which amendments are also known as the Reconstruction amendments?

Buzz

Buzz

Buzz

13th, 14th, and 15th amendments.

You heard Kevin grunt. "Bigger they are, the harder they fall."

What are the three clauses in the 13th amendment?

"Who's next?"

"Fine, I'll do it. Not like this hasn't happened before. Just, please do my shoulder. Lord knows I've taken more hits to my pecs and abdomen than I can count."

Yelling and groans of pain...from none other than your brother.

Keyes. Keyes had found you guys and he wanted to finish what he started. Somehow he had gotten in here and stolen the taser and now he had Jay. It was just a matter of time before he found you, too.

There weren't any perfect hiding places in here, but if you moved the couch you might be able to crouch behind it and call for help before he found you. You could call Kelly or Will and tell them to call another precinct to get over here and fix it. Because, if Keyes had gotten in here and gotten his hands on a taser, then the cops in the 21st district precinct obviously couldn't do their jobs.

You got off your chair, staying close to the ground to make it harder for Keyes to spot you. You pulled, moving half of the couch away from the wall.

"What was that?"

Shit, he found you.

You could fit behind there, right? Yeah, yeah you could fit behind there.

"Who moved the couch?"

You hugged your knees to your chest, hearing footsteps coming closer and closer to you, and squeezed your eyes shut.

Someone touched your arm and you uncurled yourself and started kicking. You heard someone moan in pain as you felt your boot-clad foot make contact with someone else. You hoped it was Keyes.

"Stop fighting! Stop fighting!" You felt another person coming closer and closer to you and you swung your arm out, palm making contact with what you assumed to be someone's cheek.

"Y/N! Y/N! It's me, Jay! The person you just slapped is Jay. And the person you kicked is Adam. You're in the district, you're safe."

You opened your eyes and slowly blinked a few times. You saw Jay in front of you holding his hands up in surrender, a red mark on his left cheek. Adam was rubbing his shin and Voight, Hailey, Kevin, and Kim were all standing in the doorway with looks of worry spread across their faces.

Tears began to roll down your cheeks. You couldn't believe you just did that.

Jay nodded to everyone and they left the room, Adam closing the door behind him. You looked down; you couldn't even bear to look at Jay.

"You're okay," he whispered. "Do you know where you are?" You nodded. "Good, that's good. That's really good."

You hugged your knees to your chest once more and frantically shook your head back and forth.

"I know you don't think it's okay, Y/N. But, I forgive you. I know it wasn't you who was doing that. Hell, I know better than anyone else in this unit. I know you're showing PTSD symptoms and that's fine. We just gotta take it day by day."

You finally looked up at him. Your lips began to tremble and your body shook with sobs. It had been a month! This should be over by now! You should be back to normal by now! Why the fuck couldn't you just get over it?

"I know it's hard, I know," Jay whispered. "Can I touch you?"

You nodded and he somehow squeezed himself next to you and wrapped you a hug, letting you cry it all out once more.

Ten minutes had passed and you were sure you had run out of tears when Jay said, "Let's go grab some Oreos from the vending machine downstairs, and then we can get out of here. What do you say?"

You nodded and he helped you to your feet. Then, you put everything in your backpack and walked out of the breakroom.

"You're okay little mama," Kevin said and enveloped you in a hug before you got past his desk. "You're good."

You managed to give him a small smile before you turned to Adam and pulled out your whiteboard.

I'm so sorry.

"It's not that bad, really. Beats getting kicked in the balls on a case any day."

You and Jay were walking down the stairs when you saw Voight. "Give that taser certification guy hell for me, will you?" Jay asked.

He nodded and gave you a pat on the back, Voight's version of a hug.

***

6 weeks since kidnapping

Jay put the finishing touches on your cupcake, complete with chocolate frosting and sprinkles, before sticking the candle in the top. Today was your 21st birthday. He had already made the mimosa you said you wanted to have when you woke up (you had mentioned it 3 months before and he had put it in his calendar to remind himself) and it was sitting in the fridge to keep cold. He grabbed his lighter and walked to your room.

Voight was nice enough to give him and Hailey the day off so they could spend it with you, during the day that was. You had mentioned that you wanted to go out with some friends to a bar, but that was before everything had happened six weeks ago, so he assumed it wasn't on. Nevertheless, he, Hailey, and Will were still on a mission to make this birthday memorable...even if your first drinking experience at a bar would happen at Molly's with your brothers and their friends instead of out at a bar or club with your friends.

He flicked on a lamp when he got to your room and then walked to your bedside, gently shaking your shoulder. "Y/N, wake up."

You rolled over and slowly opened your eyes and rubbed the sleep out of them. Seeing Jay with a cupcake in his hand, you gave him a close-lipped smile.

"Happy, happy birthday. Today's your special day. You just got a cupcake, now blow the flame away. Hey!" Jay sang and then pulled out an orange lighter and flicked it open.

Your eyes grew wide as the flame danced from the lighter and onto the candlewick.

"Make a wish." He held the cupcake closer to you.

"I'll be quiet, I promise!" You scrambled backward and into the furthest corner of your bed away from Jay and the fire he was currently holding towards you.

He hadn't heard you speak in a month and a half, no one had.

Quickly, Jay blew out the candle and pocketed the lighter. Holding his hands up in surrender, he just stared at you as you began to shake in fear.

"Y/N," Jay whispered, still holding his hands to show you that the lighter wasn't in his hands. "I'm not going to hurt you."

You didn't look up. You didn't stop shaking.

He was lying. It was a ploy to get you to talk so that he could burn you longer.

He took a risk and touched your arm and you yanked it away, expecting it to burn. "I'll be quiet, I promise!" you repeated.

"Y/N, it's Jay. Do you know where you are?" He flicked on the light, hoping that would help.

No answer.

"You're in Chicago. You're at home. It's your birthday. Keyes isn't going to burn you, I promise."

At the mention of Keyes and burns, you swatted at the air, hoping that you could knock the lighter out of Keyes' hand when he didn't have it flicked open.

"Okay, noted," Jay muttered to himself. He had never seen you this bad before, not right after the attack, not after the nightmare, hell not even after the taser recertification incident. You had never shaken in fear during any of those occurrences when your triggers made a surprise appearance.

But then, he put two and two together: him being taken away from you, you never being burned when he was there and then having burns when they rescued you, jumping when anyone turned on the stove, and now freaking out when he pulled out a lighter and lit a candle for you on your birthday, you not talking and promising to be quiet after he pulled out a lighter and moved the cupcake towards you. It all made sense now.

"Hey, I'll be right back, okay?" he told you, even though he knew you weren't able to hear him.

Jay made his way to his room and pulled out his gray weighted blanket. Then, he walked back into your room. You were only in your bra and underwear when you were with Keyes, so maybe having something else covering your body, despite the fact that you were currently fully clothed right now, would help.

Something soft and heavy landed on your legs. It didn't feel like Keyes was on top of you. It felt more comforting, calming, warm like you had more clothes on. Maybe Jay had somehow gotten his shirt back and had given it to you to keep you warm in this basement.

Wait, where did that lamp come from? There was only one lightbulb in here the last time you checked. And, why did it feel like you were sitting on something comfortable like a couch or a bed instead of on a cold, hard concrete floor?

Why was Jay standing up and not chained or tied to the wall? How did his face heal from the bruising so fast? Why was he wearing his pajamas?

Wait a minute, was that Jay's weighted blanket in your lap? And, was that your desk in the corner?

Jay noticed you looking around the room. "Do you know where you are now?" You nodded. "You know you're safe and in your room, right?" You nodded again, then took a deep breath and stretched out your legs, and moved forward, removing yourself from the corner and moving closer to Jay. "Do you still want your cupcake?"

You nodded and he handed it to you. "Are you okay going to see Dr. Charles today? I know you already had an appointment this week, but I think it might be good if you saw him again after what just happened." You nodded, agreeing with him. "You mind if Hailey comes over and stays with you? I gotta get ready and take care of something."

You gave him a thumbs up and he went to call Hailey while you sat in bed and tried to forget about the episode you just had by enjoying your cupcake.

***

"Halstead, what are you doing here?" Casey asked as Jay entered the firehouse after Hailey came over to stay with you.

"Oh thank God you guys are on shift. Severide here?" Jay asked.

"Yeah, in his office. Anything going on that I should know about?"

"Not really, I think I know why Y/N doesn't like fire though and I need the evidence pictures from the arson from when we were kidnapped to make sure I got it all straight."

Jay knocked on the door to Kelly's office and he looked up and waved him in.

"Jay, what are you doing here? Isn't it Y/N's birthday?" he asked, turning his chair around so he was now facing Jay instead of his desk.

"That's kinda why I'm here. She had an episode this morning when I gave her a cupcake. I tried to light the candle and then she flipped out and yelled I'll be quiet, I promise."

"She's talking?"

"All she did was repeat that sentence. The minute she saw the lighter and when the flame got close to her face, she freaked. So, I know this going to sound crazy, but is there any chance you found a small handheld lighter when you investigated the arson?"

"Let me see..." Kelly unlocked his filing cabinet and flipped through it, looking for the evidence file Jay had requested. "Here it is."

He laid the folder on the desk and Jay leaned over. He clenched his teeth as Kelly opened the folder, seeing the basement he was held captive in once more, even if it was covered in ash.

"Wait a minute, it's barely in the frame, but there's the end of the lighter. Let me friend the file on my computer and I can zoom in on it," Kelly suggested.

The clacking of keys could be heard as Kelly found the file and opened it, quickly finding the correct picture and pressing a few keys to zoom in on it.

"Oh, God," Jay whispered.

"What? What is it?"

"That lighter, it's the same color as the one I used to light Y/N's candle this morning. No wonder she freaked out."

"But why would she keep saying she'd be quiet?"

Jay nodded, pulling up a chair and sitting next to him. His eyes widened. He hadn't seen you get burned when he was with you, but what if that's what happened to you when they did the drop?

"Any way you can print that zoomed-in image out for me? I gotta get to Med."

"I can do that."

Kelly printed the picture and handed it to Jay. "Thanks, man. I'll get you a round at Molly's." Then, he quickly left and sped off to med, putting the pieces together.

***

Will was just walking out a treatment room, rubbing hand sanitizer in his hands, when a very determined Jay walked through the ED doors. "April, you mind charting the next patient? Jay's here and with that look on his face, well he's not gonna leave until he gets what he wants."

"Yeah, no problem. Good luck."

"Thanks." Will rolled his eyes.

"Will! Will I need to ask you something and you can't blow me off about this or claim patient confidentiality or some other legal bullshit."

"Legal bullshit? You're the cop here buddy, I'd expect you to care about the law more."

"Whatever, just is there some place we can talk?"

"Jay, I'm working. Can't this--"

"It's about Y/N," Jay blurted, knowing that that would most definitely get his older brother's attention.

"Okay, c'mon."

Will led the way to his office and once inside closed the door. "What's going on? What's so important about Y/N that you came to talk to me during my shift, not about a case, and left Y/N home alone on her birthday?"

"One, she's not home alone. Hailey's with her. And two, it's because I think I know how she got those burns."

"Fire, Jay. She got those burns from fire."

"I know that, smart ass. I mean, I think I know exactly how she got the burns." He laid the photo down on the desk. "That, that's a lighter. Now, if I remember correctly, first-degree burns are the worst because the fire directly hit the skin. Could that lighter have been the cause of her burns?"

Will typed away on his computer, pulling up the pictures of your burns, and looked closely at them, switching his attention from the picture of your burns to the evidence picture with the lighter. "But that's impossible," Will muttered. If the fire started at the floor and went to the walls, you'd either have burns on your feet and legs and/or on the left side of your body. But, you had them on both arms, your stomach, and your collarbone. And, the fire hadn't gotten high enough to be able to burn your upper body. "Unless..."

"Unless what, Will?"

"It's impossible to get these burns just from a burning building from the trajectory of the fire and the location of the burns. But, judging by the location and the severity of her burns, these most likely were made by Keyes holding the lighter to her, for longer than a few seconds. He had to have the lighter to her collarbone and stomach the longest, just by how bad those two are."

"You're sure?"

"I'm pretty damn sure, Jay. But, the only person who can tell if us if we're actually right, is Y/N. And, I don't think she's gonna wanna talk about this."

"Can you make her an emergency appointment with Dr. Charles?" Jay asked. "And, can you make sure you're there during the appointment, too?"

"What, why?"

"She had an episode this morning when I gave her a cupcake to wake up. I went to light the candle, she saw my lighter and the flame and flipped out. Then, she said that she promises to be quiet. You don't think- you don't think she burned her for talking do you?"

Will closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. It all made sense: the not talking, the jumping when he turned on the stove, freaking out when Jay lit a candle.

"Based on what she's done, it makes sense. But, I'll consult with Dr. Charles before the appointment to tell him what's going on."

"Thanks, man. Bring those pictures to him, too."

Then, Jay left the office, thinking that between two of them and Kelly, that they had solved the mystery of why you hadn't talked in a month and a half.

***

You walked into Dr. Charles' office very confused to say the least. Hailey was waiting outside, but Jay and Will insisted on coming with you to this appointment; you just chalked it up to them being more worried about you than usual.

But, as you sat between your brothers on the long couch with Dr. Charles seated in the chair in front of you, you got a pit in your stomach. This felt more like an intervention.

"Y/N," Dr. Charles started, "Are you okay if your brothers sit in on this one? Or do you want them to leave?"

You pulled out your whiteboard. I'm just wondering why they're here with me in the first place. I know this morning was bad, but I didn't think it was that bad.

"You know, that's a very good question and I'm really glad you asked that. Jay, would you like to tell Y/N where you went earlier today?"

You turned to Jay expectantly. "I went to see Kelly and I asked him to show me the crime scene photos from Keyes' place."

At the mention of Keyes, you tensed up. Will squeezed your shoulder. "Y/N, remember those relaxation techniques I taught you?" Dr. Charles asked. You nodded. "How about you try one right now."

You closed your eyes and pictured a beach, the waves crashing against the shore, the feeling of sand between your toes. You walked closer to the water's edge and felt the coolness of the freshwater, whisking the sand from between your toes away. You felt the sun on your face and squinted your eyes against the brightness of the day.

"Better?" Dr. Charles asked as he noticed your breathing had become slower and most of the tension had left your body. You nodded. "Go to the beach again?" You nodded in confirmation again. "Good, I can tell it's a place that really relaxes you. Are you okay for Jay to continue?"

You turned to Jay, hoping that was answer enough. And it was because he continued explaining why he needed the crime scene photos. "I knew that there was a possibility that Keyes' could've been the one to burn you, but I didn't know. So, I went to Kelly to see if there was a lighter in any of the crime scene photos. There was, an orange one to be exact."

Keyes flicked the orange lighter open, playing with the flame and letting it move in between his fingers.

"Y/N, the beach, remember the beach," Dr. Charles prompted, bringing you back to the present moment after you took a few deep breaths while thinking of the fresh smell of the water and the sand.

Jay looked at you, silently asking if it was okay to continue. When you nodded, he started once more. "So, I saw that and I remembered that you'd promised to be quiet this morning. I came to Med to talk to Will, and between the two of us, well we figured out that he'd burned you, Y/N."

Your eyes filled with tears at the memories of how terrified you had been. You were so sure you were going to die that day.

"Did he play some sort of sick, twisted game with you, Y/N?" Will asked.

You looked down as your lip began to quiver. He had, you wanted to say, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. He told me that if I talked he'd hold the lighter there longer and that's why the ones on my stomach and my collarbone are the worst and the one on my thigh isn't as bad because he said I was learning the game. That was what you wanted to say at least, but you couldn't even part your lips.

Dr. Charles handed you a bottle of water and you took it from him, feeling the coolness in your hands, a reminder that fire was nowhere near you at the moment. "Y/N I think he burned you if you talked, is that it? Just nod your head yes or no, you don't have to talk or write if you don't want to. You are the one in control here. And, if you don't want to tell us if he burned you for talking or what the game was, that's fine, too."

You moved your head up and down once, confirming both of your brothers' worst fear: Keyes had burned you for talking.

Jay wanted to speed all the way to Stateville Prison and burn that son of a bitch Derek Keyes for what he did to you. But, somehow, he kept his cool and just looked at you with soft eyes and grabbed your hand.

"Y/N, I have something I want to try," Dr. Charles started, "I've already told Jay and Will about it just so that they won't freak out, but whether or not you actually want to try it, that's all up to you. We do whatever you want to do."

You looked up at Dr. Charles with glassy eyes.

"There's this therapy called in vivo exposure therapy, nicknamed flooding. What happens is, we take the patient's biggest fear, in your case that would be fire and talking, and we bring it out in the open, exposing you to your biggest fear in a safe and secure environment. The logic behind this is that the anxiety and adrenaline only last for a certain amount of time and once those drop, you realize that your fear of this was unwarranted."

What would it entail? you wrote.

"What would happen is that either Jay, Will, or I would hold an open lighter near you."

You frantically shook your head no and leaned more into Will.

"Okay, then we won't--"

"Listen, Y/N," Will started. "You are in a safe environment. We will not let anything happen to you. Ever. You gotta believe us on that. We just wanna hear you talk again. Let us help you. Let me help you. You will be safe the entire time and if you want me and Jay to sit on either side of you, like we're doing now, while Dr. Charles holds the lighter, we can do that. Isn't that right, Jay?"

"He's absolutely right, kid. We'll be right here the entire time."

You grabbed your whiteboard and took a deep breath. And you promise this will work? You promise there will be a drop in my anxiety at some point?

"I think that there's a very high chance that will work. And, I can promise you that there will be a drop in your anxiety during this because there always is a drop. If we got anxiety and then that fight or flight instinct didn't leave, well life would be scary all the time. And that's just not how life works," Dr. Charles answered.

Okay, you wrote. We can do it.

"Do you want me or one of them to hold it?"

You pointed to Dr. Charles.

What relaxation technique should I use to calm myself down?

"I'd recommend using the body scan because it takes the longest, but you can use whatever technique you want."

You nodded and closed your eyes.

"You ready?"

You nodded once again and Will wrapped his arm around your shoulder in the protective-oldest-brother-way he always had and Jay gave your hand a squeeze, silently reassuring you that everything would be okay.

"Start by relaxing your feet now, so that you're that you're in the right headspace."

You clenched and unclenched your toes, taking slow deep breaths in through your nose and out through your mouth, relaxing your toes one by one and focusing only on those sensations.

You heard the lighter flick open before you felt it. But when you felt it, it was near your face.

The smell of blood pierced your nostrils, whether it was yours or Jay's you had no idea. You were being held by one of Keyes' associates, his arm strongly wrapped around your shoulder. This time, you weren't hanging from the ceiling, but your arms were chained to the sides of you. Part of the chain laid in your right hand and it felt so heavy that you thought your hand was going to fall off.

He was saving the best for last, he was going to burn your face and let you burn from top-down. The fire would start at your cheek, move up to your nose, and then your eyes. You didn't want to even think about how much pain you'd feel when it hit your eyes. But, maybe you'll have passed out from shock, fear, or exhaustion by that point. You hoped you would.

Salty tears made your way down your face as you realized that this was it. You'd never see your brothers or your best friend again. You'd never graduate college. You'd never get to pick out the perfect wedding dress and walk down the aisle to marry the love of your life. Your last moments would be spent being burned alive in a basement, hoping against hope that someone would get here fast enough to rescue you. And, even though you knew Jay's unit was fast and wouldn't stop until you were safe, your hope was quickly fading.

"Any last words?"

"Please, please, no! I'll do anything! Anything!" you yelled, tugging on the chains.

But, he didn't burn your cheek for talking. Keyes broke the rules of his own game.

This was bad. It was just going to be worse for you. Your chest started moving up and down, trying to pass out from hyperventilation as fast as possible.

"Focus on your feet. Move the relaxation to your feet."

Who was that? It sounded like Dr. Charles.

"Relax, relax, relax."

Will was here, too?

But, whatever the reason, you focused on relaxing your feet. Maybe it would make dying easier.

The lighter hadn't moved closer to face as you made your way up your legs and relaxed your knees. Was Keyes going to burn you? Or, was he going to let you go?

"If you're gonna kill me, Keyes, then just do it!"

No answer.

You slowed your breath even more.

If Keyes didn't answer, that meant that he wasn't here. That meant, it was only fire. And, without Keyes to hold the fire. Fire couldn't hurt you. It couldn't hurt you.

"It can't hurt me. It can't hurt me," you whispered to yourself.

You dropped your head and shoulders and started to pant as the adrenaline wore off. Slowly you opened your eyes. "It can't hurt me," you said so that everyone in the room could hear.

Dr. Charles flicked the lighter closed.

You looked at each of your brothers. The person who you thought was Keyes' associate was just Will with his arm around you. And, what you had thought was part of the chain in your hand, was just Jay squeezing your hand.

"Thank you," you said to all three of them.

You turned to Will, to see him crying. "Why are you crying?" You turned and saw that Jay had tears in his eyes, too.

"I know the statistics of coming back from something like that, Y/N, of talking again. And I was scared- I was scared that you wouldn't come back from it."

"Hey, you're okay. We're okay," you repeated something that everyone has been telling you the past weeks.

You turned to Jay, knowing that this needed to be said. "And, Jay?" He looked you directly in the eyes. "I forgive you."

And that was all it took for a stray tear to roll down his cheek and for him to pull you into a hug. "I love you kid, you know that?"

"I love you, too. Both of you. Thanks for not giving up on me."

"Not a chance in hell," Will told you.

"Now, what do you say we go grab that mimosa?" Jay suggested.

"Yeah, let's do that."

The three of you said goodbye to Dr. Charles and left his office, meeting Hailey in the hallway. "I never got a chance to properly thank you for the book and coffee, Hailey, so thank you."

A smile grew on Hailey's face. "You're welcome." Then, she turned to Jay. "I told you she'd come around."

"You were right, babe...as always." Jay grabbed Hailey's hand in his and interlocked their fingers. "Think you can get someone to cover your shift, Will? Come out with us for some good old-fashioned brunch and day-drinking?"

"I think I might be able to manage that. Text me the place and I'll meet you there."

He started to walk away, on a mission to get someone to cover for him, when you remembered something. "Will, you owe me fifty bucks!"

[dekuskacchan]

the brightest light is you

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28681833

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff, tooth rotting fluff

A/N: Hi friends!! This fic is a secret santa gift for my love @lonely-rabbit (you should totally follow her) and our lovely fambly. The prompts were “First Christmas,” and “Proposals.” I hope you like it! <3

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

December 10th

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

Katsuki saw the sign to the pet store before Izuku did, and immediately knew he was in trouble. Why is there a pet store inside a fucking strip mall?

“Kacchan, look!” Izuku pointed at a baby, chocolate colored bunny, sleeping in an enclosure on display in the front window.

“Absolutely not.”

“But look how cute she is!” Izuku pouted.

“Deku, we already have a cat.”

“Yeah, so she’d have a friend!”

“No, she’d get fucking eaten.”

“Chip would never, she’s too polite.”

“She’s a fucking demon!” Katsuki snapped.

“Pleeeease, Kacchan? She needs a home, and it’s just in time for Christmas,” Izuku wrapped his arms around Katsuki’s middle, staring up at him.

Katsuki averted his gaze and gritted his teeth, knowing he couldn't resist Izuku's pleading eyes.

“No. Don’t give me that fucking look.”

To Katsuki’s surprise, Izuku just laughed and released his hold on him.

“Fine, fine, you’re right,” Izuku sighed dramatically, “let’s go before I get too attached. I’m hungry, anyway.”

Katsuki watched as he walked away, considering for a moment.

“God fucking dammit,” Katsuki muttered, pulling out his phone to snap a picture before Izuku noticed.

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

December 18th

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

“Look at these, Kacchan!” Katsuki looked up from an outrageously priced scarf to see Izuku holding the most hideous sweaters he had ever seen. They were bright red, each decorated with a matching design that, when held together, formed a Christmas tree that was adorned with real tinsel, glitter, and colored pom-pom ornaments.

“Fuck no,” Katsuki spat, and Izuku burst into laughter.

“Why not? They’re perfect,”

“No way in hell you’re getting me to wear that shit,” Katsuki snapped.

“I can think of a few ways,” Izuku winked. Katsuki sputtered, pink dusting his cheeks.

“C’mon, Kacchan, it’s Christmas! We have to get ugly sweaters.”

It was their first Christmas together since buying their new house, and Izuku had insisted on decorating accordingly. Apparently that also included embarrassing the hell out of Katsuki.

“I don’t have to do shit.”

“Please?” Izuku pouted his lip.

Katsuki pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned.

“Fine,” he growled, while Izuku cheered and tossed the sweaters into the shopping cart.

“Oh, we could get matching Santa h-”

“Don’t even fucking think about it, Deku,” Katsuki pushed the cart forward, swiftly exiting the clothing section of the store as Izuku giggled behind him.

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

It had been at least 30 minutes since Katsuki had seen Izuku. Where the fuck had he gone? This shop was too small to get lost in. He had checked all the aisles twice, but Izuku was nowhere to be found.

“Goddammit, every time,” Katsuki muttered, pulling out his phone to call again.

“Oh, Kacchan! There you are!” Katsuki jumped as a mop of green curls popped up from behind a giant red bin. How had he missed that?

“Jesus, Deku! You scared the shit out of me. How long have you fucking been there?,” Katsuki grumbled.

“Way too long. I’m trying to pick out lights, come help me,”

Katsuki sighed as he approached and took in the sight before him.

Izuku was muttering incomprehensibly to himself as he knelt amongst a messy pile of packages, each containing string lights of different sizes, shapes and colors.

“Those white ones in the big box,” Katsuki pointed, interrupting Izuku’s train of thought, “they’ll match the walls and the trim on the house."

Izuku looked up at Katsuki and beamed.

“You’re so smart.”

“Damn right,” Katsuki grinned, “and we’re getting a shit ton. We’re gonna have the best fucking house in the neighborhood," he pulled five boxes of lights from the bin, tossing them into the cart.

“Okay, Kacchan,” Izuku laughed as he cleaned up his mess.

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

Their shopping cart was practically overflowing with decorations now, but Izuku didn’t seem to notice, excitedly pulling Katsuki all over the store.

“We already have three of these, nerd,” Katsuki watched as Izuku pondered over a vast selection of snowglobes.

“Yes, but not little ones! We could put these all over the house,” Izuku turned to face Katsuki, holding up a miniature globe with Dynamight’s signature gauntlets inside. Katsuki sighed and draped an arm around Izuku’s shoulder, knowing his mind was already made up.

“Could give this one to your mom,” Katsuki pointed to one that was large, green and orange, with “Wonder Duo” engraved on the front. Inside were little statues of Dynamight and Deku, posed dramatically in battle.

“She likes-,” Katsuki paused, abruptly letting go of Izuku and all but sprinting away, disappearing behind a shelving unit.

“Kacchan what’s-,” Izuku called, startled. He gasped when Katsuki returned with a box three times his size.

It was a giant, twelve foot tall statue of a Yeti wielding a staff. Katsuki poked his head around the side, grinning wickedly in delight.

“Kacchan, where would we even put that?” Izuku stared in disbelief.

“We’ll make room,” Katsuki grunted.

“Make room where?”

“We can put it next to the fireplace.”

“Kacchan, that’s where the stairs are.”

“Fuck the stairs.”

“That thing is taller than our ceiling,” Izuku stifled a laugh as Katsuki struggled to balance the weight of the box.

“Then we’ll put it outside,” Katsuki huffed in frustration.

“I don’t think our neighbors would like that, it’s scary.”

“Fuck the neighbors, this is badass.”

Izuku was laughing in earnest now, tears coming into his eyes.

“I can’t get a bunny, but you can get a giant monster?”

“This is way cooler than a fucking bunny.”

“I’m blaming you if we get in trouble with the landlord.”

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

December 20th

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

“That’s not food, Chip!” Izuku cried. “Let go!”

Katsuki snickered, slicing vegetables to add to a pot of bubbling curry while Izuku struggled to protect the tree from their cat.

“Shit!”

A resounding thud came from the living room, and Katsuki sighed as he dumped the ingredients into the pot.

“I need help here!” Izuku called desperately as Katsuki entered the room.

Izuku was on the floor, becoming increasingly tangled in ropes of tinsel as Chip rolled in it like she’d struck gold.

“I give up Kacchan, she won’t let- stop laughing! Can you grab her please? She keeps nibbling me” Izuku scowled.

Struggling not to choke on laughter, Katsuki whistled, quickly catching Chip’s attention.

“C’mere, you little shit, I’ve got something that tastes better than Deku,” Katsuki kneeled, dangling a piece of chicken in front of him. The tabby sprinted to him and happily devoured her prize.

“Dumb fucking cat,” he muttered under his breath.

“She likes you more than me,” Izuku chuckled, untangling himself from his tinsel prison to finish wrapping it around the tree.

“Course she does. She only likes the best,” Katsuki grinned, scratching Chip's chin as she purred and rubbed against his knee.

“There,” Izuku stood back to admire his handiwork, “I think it just needs the star now.”

“Can you even reach, shortstack?” Katsuki teased, watching Izuku struggle on his tiptoes.

“Of-” Izuku grunted,” of course I can.”

Wordlessly, Katsuki wrapped his arms around Izuku’s middle, lifting him up with ease to place the silver star atop the tree.

“It looks good, right?” Izuku grinned as Katsuki lowered him back down, still hugging him from behind.

“Yeah. Nice work, nerd,”

“Thanks, Kacchan.”

“Hm.”

“Christmas is gonna be great,” Izuku whispered.

“Be more fun if we just stayed home,” Katsuki grumbled into Izuku’s neck.

“That could be fun,” Izuku laughed, turning in Katsuki’s arm to hug him properly, “but it’ll be good to see our parents. It’s been over a month.”

“Tch. I guess,”

“Thanks for making dinner, Kacchan,” Izuku squeezed him tight and tilted his head up for a kiss.

“It’s gonna fucking burn if you don’t let go of me,” Katsuki murmured against his lips, but kissed him back.

“Hmm. That’s fine,”

Katsuki snorted.

“Hey, I think the demon spawn is ready for round two,” he nodded at the sneaky cat, who was quietly approaching the tree again.

“Dammit,” Izuku whipped around, tearing out of Katsuki’s arms, “Chip, stay out of there!”

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

December 25th

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

Katsuki woke to soft lips on his forehead

“Good morning, Kacchan,” Izuku whispered in his ear.

“ ‘S too fuckin early, Deku,” Katsuki groaned, eyes still closed.

“It’s almost 10.”

“I said what I said.”

Izuku yelped in surprise as Katsuki grabbed his waist and unceremoniously tugged him down onto the bed.

“Kacchan, it’s Christmas,” Izuku laughed, snuggling into his side, despite himself, “we’re supposed to be at your parents house in three hours.”

“Mmm, fuck’m,” Katsuki grumbled.

“I have coffee brewing,”

Katsuki’s ears perked up, the scent suddenly filling his nose. Sighing, he stretched his free arm above his head and cracked his eyes open to see Izuku smiling at him, wearing that atrocious sweater he’d picked out. Katsuki tucked a stray curl behind his ear.

Too cute for his own damn good.

“Come on, Kacchan, I made breakfast too,” Izuku pulled Katsuki by the arm as he sat up.

“You made breakfast?” Katsuki was dubious as he slid his glasses up his nose.

“Yep. My specialty,”

“Canned cinnamon rolls?”

“Canned cinnamon rolls.”

“....fuck yeah.”

Katsuki had long since accepted his role as the chef in their relationship, because Izuku couldn’t cook to save his fucking life, but canned pastries were a guilty pleasure he knew he’d never shake.

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

It was a peaceful morning. The sun peeked through the curtains, bathing the room in warm, golden hues as they sat by the fire, Chip asleep on the couch between them.

“Hey, nerd, go open your present,” Katsuki nudged Izuku, who had begun to doze on his shoulder.

“Hm?” Izuku yawned, stretching his arms, “oh, okay!"

“It’s that red one,” Katsuki pointed to the largest package under the tree. Izuku eyed him curiously before crawling to open the gift, excitedly ripping through the paper and tape to reveal...

Another box, wrapped in different paper.

Izuku raised both eyebrows at him in confusion and Katsuki grinned.

“What, you don’t like it?” he mocked offense, as Izuku narrowed his eyes, “I’m just fucking with you. Keep going.”

Katsuki chuckled and quietly slipped out of the room while Izuku’s attention was occupied.

“Kacchan, this is so unnecessary,” Izuku groaned, as he pulled out yet a third box.

“Maybe I’ll just take it back, then,” Katsuki declared loudly as he re-entered the room, startling an oblivious Izuku.

“Kacchan, when did-” Izuku gasped. Katsuki was leaning against the wall with a smirk, holding a familiar small, chocolate brown bunny in his arms.

“I had Shitty Hair get her after we left the mall,”

“She’s been here for two weeks?!” Izuku cried in disbelief.

“You think I took care of her on my own? Fuck no,” Katsuki grumbled, meeting Izuku halfway and carefully passing him the rabbit, “had your mom keep her. Picked her up last night while you were asleep.”

“I love her,” Izuku smiled, burying his face in Katsuki's chest, “thank you, Kacchan."

Katsuki sighed, wrapping his arms around him and kissing his hair.

“I just knew you’d never shut the fuck up about it."

“Did you introduce her to Chip yet?”

“Yeah. She couldn’t fucking care less.”

Izuku laughed, kissing the bunny's soft head.

“I told you they’d be friends,”

“Yeah. Friends," Katsuki rolled his eyes, "go sit, there's one more,"

Izuku smirked as he watched Katsuki stumble over the ruins of his prank to retrieve the gift.

“There’d better not be another box in there, Kacchan,” Izuku warned, warily taking the package.

“Just open it, dumbass,” Katsuki barked a laugh and joined him on the couch.

Izuku pulled the lid off the long box and stared. Inside was a tall, holographic photo frame filled with drawings Izuku and Katsuki made as children. When tilted to the side, the images changed to reveal photographs of the pair as Pro Heroes.

“Kacchan, you- you kept these?”

Katsuki shrugged.

“They were too badass to throw away,”

“Kacchan-” tears welled up in Izuku’s eyes again, “it’s perfect. You big softie.”

“Tch. I’m not the one crying,” Katsuki wiped the tears as they rolled down his cheeks.

Izuku laughed again.

“But you know I’m right. My turn now?”

Izuku didn't wait for his response, clambering over the sea of boxes for the present without putting his furry new friend down.

“Here!”

It was surprisingly heavy, and topped with a comically large bow.

“Shit, Deku, you put bricks in here?”

“Just open it, Kacchan,” Izuku watched him with excitement in his eyes.

Katsuki ripped the package open to reveal a thick, leather bound scrapbook, with Dynamight’s signature X on the front. The inside cover read, in handwriting Katsuki immediately recognized as Izuku’s,“The Legacy of Dynamight.”

His eyes widened as he flipped through the book of memories.

There were journal articles of him in action. Newspaper headings; “Pro Hero Dynamight makes his big debut!” and “Pro hero Dynamight saves Musutafu Children’s Hospital!

Then came the letters glued to the parchment paper, comprising the majority of the book. Katsuki’s mouth fell open as he read words, handwritten, that he’d never seen before.

There were letters from citizens that had watched him take down terrifying enemies, praising him for his good deeds. Letters from people he’d saved, grateful for the chance to see their families again.

Letters from sick children he’d visited in the hospital telling him how awesome he was, several thanking him for giving them the encouragement to keep fighting.

And finally, there were multiple pages filled with artwork. Most were children’s doodles of Dynamight in action and Dynamight saving the day, but there were also several beautifully drawn and painted portraits.

The remaining pages were blank, waiting to be filled.

Izuku had written on the inside back cover:

This is a book of memories, of growth, of victory, and salvation.

If you are so fortunate to see this, know you are reading a testament to the strongest person this world has ever known.

The fiercest hero and most loyal partner, who always wins and always saves.

The legacy of Katsuki Bakugou, Pro Hero Dynamight.

At the bottom, Izuku had doodled several explosions and grenades, and Katsuki grinned.

“I sent a letter to the World Hero Association Journals, asking people to send in their thoughts about Pro Hero Dynamight. There were so many! Those kids were full of stories. They think you’re really cool. And we can fill the rest of it with new memories, too," Izuku said softly, smiling at him.

Katsuki tried to speak, but nothing came out. He was speechless as he stared at Izuku.

“I just want you to know how proud of you I am. How proud everyone is. You’re amazing, Kacchan," Izuku was looking at him with those big, knowing eyes, and picked up an envelope Katsuki hadn't noticed at the bottom of the box.

“Open the last one.”

It was a page full of more doodles from when they were kids, and potential hero names they’d created. At the bottom read “Dynamight” in uneven, capital letters.

“We had the same idea,” Izuku laughed.

“Deku, I-” Katsuki stuttered, still unable to find the right words.

“I know.”

Did he know? Could he possibly know how much this fucking meant? How much he meant?

They both startled as Chip dove into the pile of wrapping paper on the ground, ripping it to shreds.

“Oh-wait, come back!” Izuku reached for his bunny as she leapt from his lap to explore the wreckage, but Katsuki grabbed his chin and pulled him back.

“I love you,” Katsuki said firmly, capturing his lips in a searing kiss.

It felt like hours, but Katsuki knew it had only been minutes when Izuku pulled back.

“Kacchan,” he was breathless as Katsuki’s lips trailed down his chin, “I don’t know where she went.”

“She’s fine,”

“But-”

“She’s fine.” Katsuki growled, silencing Izuku’s burst of laughter with another kiss.

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

“It’s fuckin’ cold, Deku, let’s just take the car,” Katsuki complained, rubbing his hands together to warm them.

“It’s not that cold, Kacchan. And look how pretty it is!” Izuku insisted.

Thin flecks of snow fell from the sky, disappearing into the fluff that already coated the neighborhood. Water dripped slowly from the tree branches as the snow began to melt in the sunlight. The air smelled of evergreen, crisp and cold enough that they could see their own breath.

“Besides, it’s not that far of a walk. Come on, we’re already running late,” Izuku hauled a bag of gifts over one arm, reaching for Katsuki’s hand with the other.

“Our house is the most badass,” Katsuki grinned, looking up at his prized statue. The giant took up half of their front yard, it's long shadow peering over their roof.

“Kacchan, that thing is an eyesore,” Izuku grimaced.

“Shut up. It’s cool as fuck as you know it."

Izuku laughed and shook his head.

“Do you think they’ll be alright without us?” Izuku worried as they walked, thinking of the animals they’d left at home.

“Who knows. Maybe the demon spawn will have eaten that fluff ball by the time we get home,” Katsuki teased.

“Kacchan! That’s not reassuring,”

“You asked,” Katsuki smirked, interlacing his fingers with Izuku’s, “they’ll be fine. They’re fucking animals. And she’s in her pen.”

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

The walk was short, but still longer than Katsuki cared for in the cold.

“Oh, mom’s already here!” Izuku pointed to the small, blue car parked in front of the Bakugou household.

The house was huge, decked top to bottom in red and green lights that matched the trees in the yard.

“Hope the old hag hasn’t eaten her alive yet,” Katsuki mused.

“Kacchan, that’s not very nice,” Izuku playful shoved him, “we’d better not keep them waiting,”

They were greeted at the door by Inko Midoriya’s warm, smiling face.

“Merry Christmas boys!” She squealed, pulling them both in for a tight hug.

“Merry Christmas, mom,” Izuku grinned, wrapping his arms around her. Katsuki hummed, loosely returning the embrace.

It was pleasantly warm inside, and smelled of cinnamon and vanilla.

“Oh, those are so cute!” Inko exclaimed as they discarded their coats, pointing to the abhorrent sweaters Izuku had insisted they wear, much to Katsuki’s chagrin.

Katsuki groaned as Inko poked at the ridiculous pom poms on his chest.

Deku’s lucky he’s so fucking cute.

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

Katsuki had just finished bickering with Mitsuki when he overheard Izuku and Inko talking in the next room. He paused, leaning against the wall to listen unnoticed.

“I can’t believe you kept Nibbles a secret!”

Nibbles? Where the fuck did that name come from?

“It wasn’t easy, I was so excited! But I was more than happy to help. She’s very well behaved,”

“She is,” Izuku laughed, “thank you for taking care of her, mom.”

“Of course, dear. Katsuki came to check on us almost every day.”

Katsuki flushed as the pair laughed.

“What did he think of the scrapbook?” Inko asked excitedly.

“He liked it, I think. He was quiet, which is Kacchan for “thank you."

Inko was laughing again.

“I think it was a great idea, honey, it's very thoughtful."

“I’m just...really proud of him, y’know? He’s come so far. I don’t think words are enough,” Izuku was sniffling now, “gah, I'm sorry mom, I don’t mean to be so mushy.”

“Don’t apologize. You get it from me,” Inko chuckled, the emotion clear in her voice too, “did you like your other gift?”

“I love it, it’s so perfect. Did you know about that, too?”

“He asked me if I thought you’d like it. I said yes, of course,” Inko paused, “he really loves you, honey.”

“I know. “

Katsuki flushed deeper, leaning quietly against the wall.

Did he know?

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

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Inko cried in appreciation for the snowglobe Katsuki had picked out, and locket they’d customized with a photo of the three of them. Mitsuki and Masaru enjoyed the cheesy as fuck digital photo frame Izuku had insisted on, with less teasing from Mitsuki than Katsuki had expected.

Everyone was delighted to see All Might when he stopped by to visit in the afternoon, but Katsuki barely even noticed him. In the crowded room, all he saw was Izuku.

Izuku, who had saved him so many times, in more than one sense of the word. Izuku, who had rooted for him his whole life, the only person who had never stopped truly believing in him, who had reminded him of his true purpose.

Izuku, who had never expected more of him than he had to give, but encouraged him endlessly to reach new heights.

Izuku, who was currently asleep in his lap, wrapped in his new blanket hoodie.

Izuku.

“Can i sit with you, dear?”

Katsuki was interrupted from his reverie by Inko’s soft voice.

“Sure,” he murmured, scooting over as best he could without waking the sleeping lump.

“Thank you for the gifts, they were very thoughtful.”

“Was Deku’s idea,” Katsuki lied. Inko laughed.

“Sure."

They sat together in a calming silence for a while, watching the flames crackle in the fireplace.

Katsuki was frequently comforted by Inko’s presence. She was a beacon of light, always warm and wise. He thought she was about to speak, but she was interrupted by Izuku’s sudden snores.

“He’s loud even in his fucking sleep,” Katsuki rolled his eyes.

Inko chuckled, running a hand through her son’s hair.

“It adds to his natural charm,”

“Yeah, it’s real charming waking up to the sound of a fog horn in the middle of the night,” Katsuki grumbled, earning another musical laugh.

“You know, I don’t think I ever congratulated you on your new home,” Inko hummed.

“ S’just a house."

“Of course it is,” Inko smiled knowingly and patted his arm, “I’m very proud of you both.”

Katsuki was silent for a moment, before squeezing her hand.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

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

It was dark when they finally bid their farewells, and considerably colder outside.

“Drive safe, mom!” Izuku waved as Katsuki helped her into her car and shut the door.

“Let’s cut through the plaza on the way home, Kacchan, I want to see the lights,"

“That’s ten fucking minutes out of the way, Deku,” Katsuki growled.

“It’s our last chance to see before it gets taken down! It’ll be fun,” Izuku pleaded, hugging Katsuki’s arm.

“Tch. You’d better fucking walk fast."

Izuku grinned in victory as they left.

“Today was a nice day. I didn’t expect All Might to actually come by, since he’s so busy. It was good to see him,” Izuku thought aloud.

“Woulda been pissed if he didn’t,” Katsuki grumbled.

“Did you invite him, too?” Izuku looked at him in surprise as he shrugged, “that’s really nice, Kacchan,” he smiled, leaning his head on Katsuki’s shoulder.

“I guess.”

They hadn’t been walking long when the light show came into view. Izuku gasped, releasing Katsuki’s arm as he stared.

Silver and gold arches stretched across the narrow street, wrapped in bright, white lights. The roofs of the buildings were covered in brightly colored stars that illuminated the sparkling snow, and the lamp posts were decorated like candy canes. A large statue of silver bells sat in the green field at the center of the plaza.

Katsuki had to admit, it wasn’t all that unpleasant to look at.

Izuku was fucking loving it. Katsuki watched as he stood under an arch, beaming in delight as he admired the view.

Does he know? Katsuki thought back on the events of the day. Does he really know?

“Kacchan, come look,” Izuku called to him.

Katsuki was still lost in thought as he approached, and Izuku paused, eyebrows furrowing in concern.

“Are you o-,” Izuku startled as Katsuki’s hands came to cradle his face.

There were so many things left unsaid, things he’d wanted to say but didn’t know how. Katsuki had always been better with actions than words, and Izuku had always accepted that. He accepted and loved him as he was without a second fucking thought.

“The strongest person this world has ever known.”

Izuku made him stronger.

“The legacy of Dynamight.”

Staring into eyes that were as soft as the falling snow, Katsuki decided he knew.

“Izuku,” Katsuki murmured, looking him straight in the eyes.

Every moment had led to this.

“Kacchan?” Izuku breathed.

The legacy he cared for most was the one he’d forged with Izuku.

“Marry me.”

Izuku’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Listen, I’m- I’m not good at this sappy shit. I don’t know what to fucking say. But-” Katsuki released he didn’t realize he’d been holding as Izuku’s palm brushed his cheek, “the world is a fucking shitty place. But it’s less shitty with you. And I don’t want anyone else by my side. So marry me,” Katsuki voice softened, “Please."

It wasn’t exactly the most romantic of proposals, and there wasn’t a ring, but Izuku didn’t seem to mind.

“Okay,” he whispered. A breathtaking smile spread across his face that put all the fucking lights in the world to shame.

Katsuki met Izuku halfway, lips colliding in a passionate kiss.

The world could be ending for all Katsuki knew, and he couldn’t fucking care less.

Izuku wrapped his arms around Katsuki’s neck, murmuring I love you against his lips, over and over again as he deepened the kiss, and nothing else mattered. Nothing mattered except for this fucking moment as they melted into each other, ignoring the world around them.

Just as their tongues brushed, Izuku pulled back, resting their foreheads together.

“We should-,” Izuku breathed with swollen lips, “should we go home?”

Reluctantly, Katsuki lifted his head and nodded.

“Yeah.”

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

It was past midnight when Katsuki woke. They had fallen asleep on the couch, Izuku curled into his side with Nibbles, with Chip resting at their feet. He watched the shadows from the fireplace dancing on the wall, the room gradually becoming dimmer as the flames died out.

Izuku stirred in his sleep, tilting his head up to look at Katsuki with a blissful smile on his face.

“Merry Christmas, Kacchan.”

Katsuki pulled him closer.

“Merry Christmas, Deku.”

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

A/N: thank you for reading!!!!! this is the first fic i’ve ever posted so im super nervous lmao. 

also: the italic lines are supposed to be Katsuki’s thoughts, I wasn’t sure if that was totally clear lmao

also!! big shoutout to @jekacatrina and @thatpinkbetch who helped me with the idea for kacchan’s present and also for the encouragement!!! (best parents ever)

[platypanthewriter]

At the End of his Rope

Day Three of Harringrove AUgust, prompt:  Kink AU.  Billy thinks he's not welcome at the Harrington house for anything but sex, until Steve ties him to the damn couch and convinces him otherwise.

Billy had lingered, after they fucked, and Steve wasn’t used to that. 

He sat cross legged on the foot of the bed, studying Billy’s sleeping face, and watching his fingers curl, and his eyelids twitch.  

There were bruises on Billy’s forearms—fingermarks—and Steve didn’t know when they were from, or where, but he kept thinking he’d have seen them in the showers if they’d been there in school, and he knew Billy’d driven straight home.  

Billy’d given Max a ride straight home, Steve told himself, clenching his fingers in the blanket, and then he’d called from the gas station to ask if he could come over.  The gas station by Steve’s house.  Steve bit his lips hard, imagining Billy dialling, afraid Steve would say no.  

The bed creaked as Billy’s feet twitched again—he’d put his clothes and shoes back on before he’d sat down, glancing at Steve’s face.  He’d said he was going, and then slept through the night, shivering on top of the blankets.  Steve got up and pulled the comforter over him, and sat in the desk chair, wondering whether he dared go out and get them some bagels, or something, something that wasn’t canned chili for breakfast.  

He suspected Billy would be gone before he got back. 

Billy rolled over, kicking a leg out, and nearly fell on the floor as Steve muffled a snicker and pushed his legs further onto the bed.  

Steve had tucked Billy in again, and he was leaning on his desk, watching Billy’s eyebrows knit as he mumbled, when his hand brushed the boot laces he’d bought to replace the ones in his ski boots.  Steve considered, a grin creeping across his face, and then tied one of the bootlaces in a bow around Billy’s wrist and the bedpost.

When Steve returned with coffee and bagels, Billy was yelling from upstairs.  

“What the hell, Harrington,” he shouted, and Steve ran up the stairs with breakfast, grinning.

“Good,” he said proudly, “—you’re still here.”

Billy was still under the covers, holding his arm so the bow hung loose, and frowning at it.  “What is this.”

“I was hoping you’d still be here when I got back,” Steve told him, holding out a coffee.  To his amusement, instead of untying the shoelace, Billy pulled his other hand from under the covers to accept the coffee, smirking.

“I’m still here.  Is that ‘cause I’m a good, good boy?”

“You could just untie it,” Steve told him, laughing.  

“I dunno, does that mean I have to leave?” Billy asked.

“I could tie you up downstairs,” Steve offered, his face reddening at the bizarre conversation.  “Tie you up so you stay.”

“You’ll have to untie me first,” Billy said, tugging lightly at his wrist, and Steve grinned wider, because even one-handed, it would have been so easy for Billy to yank the lace loose.  

“Don’t run off, now,” Steve told him, reaching over to untie it.  “I got you a bagel.  Poppy seed.”

“...you’re gonna leave my hands free to eat the bagel, huh?” Billy asked, his ears as red as Steve’s felt.

“Yeah, you’re free until you’re done eating,” Steve declared, thinking as he chewed.  “After that I’ll tie you to the couch,” he said, daringly, and Billy snorted a laugh, grinning around his bite of bagel.  

 As soon as they were done eating, Steve crawled up the bed and kissed him, yanking at his clothes until he had Billy naked, sprawled across his bed, jacking himself with a smug grin.  

Steve yanked his own jeans off and scrambled on top of him.  

 When they finally rolled apart, sweating and panting for air, Billy swung his legs off the bed and started gathering his things.  He pulled his button-down off from where it had caught on the thumbtack holding the car poster on the wall, and raised his eyebrows at Steve.  

“Mind if I grab a shower?” he asked, and Steve waved him towards it, barely awake.  He rolled to watch Billy’s ass as he walked towards the bathroom, cataloging things he’d noticed, like how Billy’s grin was wider before sex than after, and how when Steve tried slowing his hand on Billy’s cock, drawing it out, Billy squirmed and swore, but didn’t complain.  

“Don’t you want me to hurry?” Steve had asked, but Billy had shaken his head, gasping for breath.

“Take your...time,” he panted, like no teenager ever, Steve was fairly sure.  “I can...last.”

 “You should stay,” Steve shouted into the bathroom.  “It’s the weekend, you can just stay.”

“You don’t want me around forever,” Billy laughed, and Steve firmed his jaw, rolling over to swing his legs off the bed.  He wiped the jizz off himself fast in the bathroom sink while Billy asked whether Steve was gonna get pissy if Billy stole some shampoo.

“It says you’re supposed to shampoo twice and then condition,” Steve told him, buying some time, and Billy laughed.  “Do it right,” Steve commanded, and Billy waved over the top of the shower stall.

“Yeah, yeah, as you wish, shithead.”

 While that kept Billy busy, Steve ran down the stairs to rifle the garage for the bright white rope he used to tie things to the roof of his car.  It was pretty soft, he thought, rubbing his thumb on it, and flushing as he imagined Billy squirming to test his knots.

When Billy wandered down, Steve grabbed his shirt by the collar, and kissed him.  “D’you really have to go,” Steve asked, and Billy shook his head, panting.  

“I just,” he said breathlessly, biting his lips.  “There’s probably shit I should do around the house—”

“Do you…” Steve pulled his other hand from behind his back, with the rope in it, and threw a loose loop over Billy’s head, pulling it tight around his shoulders.  “Do you want to go,” he asked, and Billy’s ears reddened as he stared back.

“No,” he whispered, grimacing, and Steve tugged him into the front room, and pushed him down on the couch.  

“I was serious, before,” he said, and Billy laughed, grinning disbelievingly up at him.  

“What, you want me here?  All damn day?”

“Longer than that,” Steve told him, rolling his eyes as he tossed the rope end around the back of the couch, and crawled to grab it and pull it under.  

“I bet your neighbors wouldn’t even hear me if I screamed,” Billy said, squirming, with a considering look on his face.  “Nothing I can do.  Gee.”

“You don’t wanna scream,” Steve snorted, wrapping another loop around Billy’s wrists, and grinning as Billy took a shaky breath.  “You didn’t even untie the shoelace.”

“And you didn’t even praise me,” Billy told him, rolling his eyes.  

“You got a treat,” Steve told him, unable to keep from snickering.  He leaned in for a kiss, and got lost in kissing Billy’s grin, and feeling the heat in his cheeks.  

The rope around Billy’s upper arms and chest was against bare skin where his shirt was open.  Steve ran his finger along it, feeling it for roughness, and watching Billy flush clear down to his waist.  Billy’s arms worked against the loop around his wrists, testing the strength of Steve’s knots, but Steve had tied many a mailbox and street sign on the roof of his car in a hurry, and he just waited as Billy’s muscles flexed.  

“You want out, tell me,” Steve said, and Billy snorted a laugh, shivering.  “Until then, you’re right where I want you,” Steve told him, pulling him down so his head was lying in Steve’s lap. 

“...wait, you aren’t gonna fuck me?” Billy asked, raising his eyebrows.

“I know you’ll stay for that,” Steve told him.  “It’s after that I need to tie you to the damn furniture.”

“...okay,” Billy said, watching him, and Steve ran a finger over his eyebrows, exploring his face, since they had the time.  

“Maybe later I’ll fuck you like this,” Steve suggested, grinning, and Billy groaned, rolling to bury his head against Steve’s stomach. 

“If I’m a very good boy,” he muttered, laughing.

“I mean,” Steve said awkwardly, feeling like he was talking to a dog, “—you always are.”

Billy laughed shakily, his breath warm through Steve’s shirt.  He was heavy, but he was getting more comfortable as he slowly relaxed.  

“You’re doing good,” Steve told him, his mouth on cruise control as he stroked his fingers through the soft curls around Billy’s bright red ears.  “You’re so good for me.”

 Once Billy was dead asleep, Steve untied him, because it looked uncomfortable, but when Billy awoke, he felt for the ropes.  

“You done, I guess?” he muttered, and Steve grabbed his head and kissed him.

“Dumbass,” Steve told him, and Billy snorted a laugh.  Steve sighed.  “What, I gotta keep you tied up forever, or you’re gonna run?  Fuck you too.”

“No,” Billy said, grinning kinda softly.  “I just…”

“Gonna have to learn to lasso you I guess,” Steve groaned.  “Like a cow.”

“Shit, yeah,” Billy breathed, and Steve burst out snickering, yanking him closer.  Billy laughed too, shaking his head, and Steve rolled them against the back of the couch so their legs flailed.  Billy was warm and heavy, shaking with laughter, and his ears were hot against Steve’s cheek.

 He didn’t come back for nearly two weeks, until he banged on the door at nearly midnight, and Steve opened it to see bruises, again, more than one, all up the side of Billy’s face.  

“What the hell,” he breathed, yanking his boyfriend inside.  

“Fuck,” Billy said, panting.  His eyes were shiny with angry tears, and Steve pulled him close, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend.

“What happened,” Steve whispered.

“Not your problem,” Billy said flatly, and Steve set his jaw.

“Okay,” he said.  “You...you hungry, or anything?”

“No,” Billy snorted.  

“You gotta piss?” Steve asked, raising his eyebrows, and Billy cocked his head, frowning.

“I’m not a fucking toddler—”

“Good,” Steve said, grabbing Billy’s wrist and hauling him upstairs.  He pushed him down on the bed—Billy laughed, startled—and then knotted the rope around his wrists and the bedframe.  “Okay,” Steve said, trying to sound sure of himself, as Billy stared at him, his face starting to flush.  “You’re gonna do as you’re told in that, right?”

Billy yanked at the ropes, reddening further, and nodded.  “Yeah, I’ll be good,” he said hoarsely.  “You got some punishment for me, Harrington?”

“Tell me how you got the bruises,” Steve ordered, and Billy tensed.  “You said you’d be good,” Steve reminded him, and Billy squirmed, his eyes going red and wet again.  He was also hard as a rock, Steve could see where his jeans bulged, but so was Steve.  He told himself to ignore it, and ignore the way the muscles were working in Billy’s arms, and the way Billy’s back arched as he yanked harder at the ropes.  

“I’m just disappointing,” Billy gritted out.  “Indiana was supposed to be a new start.  New Billy Hargrove.  I can’t...make it stick, I guess.  I’m still Billy fucking Hargrove,” he said, with a forced laugh.

“What happened,” Steve pressed, reaching out to squeeze Billy’s hand, and he stopped yanking at the rope, taking a shaky breath.

“I’m rude, and disrespectful, and dumb as—” he started, watching Steve’s face, and Steve lunged closer and clapped a hand over his mouth, before he could say anything else.

“Billy,” he tried again, “—what happened to your face.”

“I’m telling you,” Billy hissed around Steve’s fingers, pulling his knees up and curling more on his side.

Steve shook his head.  “Tell me how your face got banged up,” he said, and then, tentatively, “Be good and tell me what happened.”  Billy watched his face, swallowing.  “Somebody hit you,” Steve prompted.  “Who?  Was it...your dad?” Steve asked, unable to imagine the faded woman who answered the door raising a hand to Billy, or Billy letting Max smack him around.

Billy glared back at him, and Steve sighed.

“Stay here,” he said.  “Just—just stay.  Bring your shit.  All of it,” he said, as Billy stared at him, his breaths coming faster.  Steve scooted closer, and kissed him.  “Come on.”

“You want me to...move in here,” Billy said, flatly.

“Move in here,” Steve repeated, nodding, and Billy took a long shuddery breath, watching his face.

“Are you serious,” he hissed.  “Are—are you—you don’t fucking want me here, Harrington—”

“I do fucking want you here,” Steve growled back.  “Get your shit, dipshit.”

“Jesus,” Billy whispered, staring at him.

“Not gonna change my mind,” Steve said.

“I’m not eighteen,” Billy breathed.  “I’ve got a month—”

“Bring your shit here,” Steve told him.  “If he pitches a fit, we’ll work it out.”

“...gonna just...order me around now, huh,” Billy said, shifting against the ropes, and licking his lips.

“You gonna do it?” Steve pressed, and Billy laughed shakily, nodding.  

“You gonna tell me I’m a good, good boy?” he asked, trying to smirk, even though he had tear tracks on his cheeks.  

“Yeah,” Steve said, leaning in for a kiss.  “Yeah, yeah, I sure will.”

My other Harringrove stuff!

[loversandantiheroes]

Hotel Hobbies - Interlude

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x f!Reader Author’s Note: Sorry for the delay, fic brain shorted out a little bit and I started thinking about this story a little too hard to let it go where it wanted to.  But we’re back now, hey ho, with a little interlude before chapter 2 kicks in. Summary:   Wake up calls and morning-after ruminations. Warnings: Nudity, grumpy!Reader, Whiskey is a menace even from a distance, more swearing. Rating: Mature  Word Count: 1801 Previous: Prelude / Part 1 Taglist: @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @oloreaa @the-feckless-wonder

It's still dark when a faint buzzing wakes you, followed almost immediately by a muffled curse against your back.  

"What the hell-?"

Whiskey gives an irritated grunt.  "My phone.  Shit."

He gets up, still stark naked, and stumbles across to where his jacket had been discarded, digging through the inside pockets.  He punches through whatever message he just received and gives an annoyed little huff.  By the blue light of the screen you can see his eyes are far clearer than they should be for a man who just rolled out of bed before the sunrise.

"Time is it?" you groan.

"Quarter-to-five," Whiskey answers.

"Jesus." You bury your face back in your pillow, muffling your next words. "Can't the spy shit wait for daylight?"

He chuckles.  "Not according to Ginger, it can't."

"Whoozat?"

"Colleague," he says simply.  He bends down over you, nuzzling your ear.  "Duty calls, honeybee.  I gotta go."

He presses himself down against you, his morning wood warming your hip.  It's an invitation, maybe even a challenge.  Make me late. If it weren't so fucking early and you weren't so goddamn tired, you might actually take him up on it.

You fumble your hand down, find his hip, and smack a little halfheartedly at his ass.  "Lock the door on your way out."

A chuckle in your ear.  "Yes ma'am.  If you've got the inclination, I'll catch you at the bar tonight."

He kisses the smooth patch of skin behind your ear, raising goosebumps. The impulse hits to swat at him.  It's too early for phone calls and conversations, and it's certainly too early for this man you barely know to give you any desire to drag him back into bed.  

Instead you reach back, ruffling your hand through his hair.  "Hmph. See you, cowboy."

The hairs of his mustache tickle your ear as he smiles, humming.  "I hope so."

There's a rustling as he pulls his clothes on.  You will yourself to close your eyes and drift back off before he gets to the door.  It doesn't work.  He's in your line of sight and you can't quite help but watch him dress, even if it is so dark that it doesn't make for as nice of a show as it would be otherwise.  There's a light jingling as he hitches his jeans up and does up his belt.  He stops for a moment before dropping down to the floor, rummaging around as though he's lost something.  You could help, but early wake up calls have never done much for your disposition, and you bury yourself a little further into your pillow instead.  Sounds filter through as you doze. The rustling of cloth, the whisper of soft rope being pulled free and coiled up.  

The door opens and Whiskey stands there for a moment, an outline in black against the lit hallway.  A disheveled version of those black painted plywood silhouettes that always seem to lean up against flea markets and roadside stands in the middle of nowhere.  His face is shadowed, but you can feel his eyes on you.

Squinting against the light, you prop yourself up on your elbow. "What is it?"

Whiskey shakes his head.  "Nothin' at all.  Just admiring the view before I go."

The words don't have the teasing edge you expect.  You tell yourself that's just a byproduct of being woken up so goddamned early, but somehow you're still glad you can't quite see his face.

"You're blinding me, cowboy," you tell him, unable to put as much annoyance behind the words as you'd like.  "And you're not the only one who's got to work today."

Whiskey half-turns, light spilling down the front of him. His shirt, divested of more than a few buttons, hangs open and rumpled under his jacket, the white of it a stark contrast against the tan of his skin. His head dips. You can almost see the corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile. "'Course.  Sweet dreams, honeybee."

You slump back down into your pillow.  "Don't die out there."

"I will do my level best."

The door clicks shut, leaving you in darkness with the outline of his frame against the doorway stamped in fading colors on your vision.

                                                           ⁂

The next time you open your eyes it's considerably lighter, sunlight peeking through the edges of the curtains, and someone is knocking at your door.

Groaning, you roll yourself off the bed, snatching the covers and wrapping them around you.  "Who is it?" you call out with the irritation only the suddenly and involuntarily conscious can muster.

The answer comes muffled through the door: "Room service."

The wall clock gives the time as 8:15.  A marked improvement from the last time, at least.  But, Jesus, couldn't anybody let you sleep?

Scowling rather spectacularly you unlock the door and throw it open.  Standing in the hall is a young man barely out of his teens in a hotel uniform with a white-covered cart.  When he gets a look at you he blanches, though only a little. It wouldn't surprise you if this poor kid had seen people answer their doors wearing far less.  

"R-room service," he says again, trying not to look anywhere that might be considered uncouth.

It's an effort, but you try to soften the thunderous expression you know is on your face.  You cross your arms over your chest, pinning the covers in place. When you shake your head you can feel the rough tangle of your hair bob and weave.  God, you must look a wreck.

"Wrong room, hon, I didn't order anything."

Nor could you afford it anyway, though you don't bother to add that thought.  And what a pity, too.  The plates on the cart are covered, but the unmistakable smell of bacon comes wafting up and your stomach growls to life immediately. The conference's usual spread of danishes and coffee aren't going to be nearly enough to keep you going this morning.

"Oh, uh..." the young man pulls an envelope from the cart and thrusts it towards you.  "It was ordered for you, ma'am. Already paid for."

Frowning, you take the envelope.  It's hotel stationary, heavy and cream colored.  The card inside marked with a heavy, looping scrawl.

Breakfast is on me, honeybee.  You earned it.

"Oh you asshole," you mutter through a begrudging smile.

The kid blanches, and you flap the card at him.  "No, not you, not you, you're fine.  Jesus, come on in."  You shuffle to the side, tossing the edge of the blanket behind you to keep from tripping as you make your way over to your purse to fish out a tip. The spread is generous but not obscene, laid out on the little table near the window.  Bacon and eggs, toast, a bowl of fresh fruit, and a decanter of coffee.  Your stomach gives another even more insistent growl, and you push a ten dollar bill into the kid's hand.  Job done, he hurries out, pushing the cart into the hall with a speed that rather exceeds what you'd call professional.  

Closing the door behind him, you comb a hand through the disaster of your hair and head directly toward the overwhelmingly appealing smell of bacon and coffee.  Something digs into your heel and you wince, fighting with the coverlet to find what on earth you've stepped on. Dropping down to the floor, you find it – a small, pearl-white button.  A little smile curls the corner of your mouth as you remember the immensely satisfying sound of buttons popping from the night before.  There's another one nearby, glinting in the light. Two more at the edge of the bed.  You gather them up, justifying it as a service to housekeeping.  Small objects could damage vacuum cleaners, couldn't they?  

As your fingers close on the last button, you catch sight of another glint under the bed.  This one much too large to be a button. You might've missed it if you hadn't taken the bedding for a cover-up.  You stretch your arm underneath the bed, reaching so far your shoulder begins to twinge in protest before your fingers close around the object. You know what you've found even before you pull the thing up, recognizing the feel of cold stainless steel.  Whiskey's utterly ridiculous belt buckle flask.   The front is engraved, something you hadn't noted last nigh. Statesman – Kentucky – Straight Bourbon Whiskey.

You briefly consider dropping the thing off at the front desk.  It'd be an easy enough way to close the door on this brief little affair.  But even though you never actually accepted Whiskey's invitation for tonight, you already know you're going to turn up.  You'd hoped last night's encounter would've broken whatever spell of intrigue he possessed. That once the mystery had been dispelled and he'd proved himself to be every bit the boring shit-kicker you'd expected him to be, you could let housekeeping wash him out of your sheets and be done with it.

But then he'd turned out to be a decent lay. And then he had the audacity to buy you breakfast. The less repugnant he turned out to be, the more it irritated you. Sure, he was still sticking to that ridiculous Redneck James Bond story to cover up whatever he actually did, but it's not as if you'd bought that anyway.

"Asshole," you mutter again, knowing full-well how fucking ridiculous it is to be mad at the man for not being a complete piece of shit. And, even more damning, for leaving you actually wanting to see him again.

You stack the flask and the handful of loose buttons on the nightstand. "Only going to return this," you mutter.  "Not to see him.  Not to fuck him. Just to return this."  

The lie doesn't sound any more convincing out loud than it did in your head.  Especially when you can still feel that pleasant, well-used ache that makes your legs tingle when you walk. Even acknowledging its presence is enough to make that lingering heat kindle up into something much more pressing, and part of you wants nothing more than to throw yourself on the bed and sink your fingers into your cunt until it eases again.  

In protest of this, your stomach gives another growl, loud enough to make you jump. Like it or not, you do have to work today – libido be damned – and like hell you're going to do it on an empty stomach.  

It's only as you're slathering butter onto your toast that you pick up on the one thing you haven't noticed this morning, and a little grin quirks the corner of your mouth. Your dress, shoes, and bra are all still lying on the floor where you left them.  Your panties on the other hand, are nowhere to be seen.

[willadisastercry]

Holding out for hope you don’t even have: ‘When the Dust Clears’ pt.3

tw: threat of drowning gets very real. kinda emotionally heavy. nothing graphic or gory, p much just shiro accepting that he’s about to die.

The clock is running. And so is the water. In buckets—no, probably more like gallons—enough that Shiro needs a miracle. But he’s pretty much maxed out several lifetimes worth of those and the water is getting too close for comfort. Shit’s bleak. Pidge has zero patience. And Lance still wants to go to sleep.

LOL this update had to be split up but it won’t be on ao3. part 4 coming soon ;)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

Waiting for death is infinitely easier to process and accept when the timer of the ticking clock comes in the form of filthy water lapping at your chest. Or at least one as slow and final as Shiro’s, that is.

And it’s funny because Takashi Shirogane has been prepared to die slowly for as long as he can remember. His illness made certain of it.

The reality that he wouldn’t get to grow old has always been there, the knowledge that he had a sooner expiration date than most was as innate to him as walking and breathing. He’d been resigned to this fate for a long time.

But then there was the wrench in absolutely everything that was Kerberos. And when it went wrong his mental timeline cataloguing just how many borrowed breaths remained got all screwy.

For a while he was certain the twenty or so years he might’ve been able to steal with a strict regimen of physical therapy and trial drugs was as good as gone. Because even if he did manage to escape captivity, the trauma on his body, the damage to his immune system, would have surely cut it clean in half.

But then Keith was there. And he keeps being there, he keeps saving him. It’s like clockwork at this point. The universe places a new target on his back and Keith pries it off. Again and again. As many times as it takes, he keeps telling him.

The stubborn idiot never was fazed by all the odds that loomed over Shiro’s head. They were never in his favor either, after all.

He can’t help but wonder if that kind of promise has an expiration date too, the kind that no one can help, like the ones Shiro has been sidestepping for years.

A promise of life, a promise of death. You can promise all you want, but words are still words and burning energy on hope just docked numbers from whatever time remained on Shiro’s life anyway.

He wasn’t opposed to letting others hope for him, though. Like Keith. And Adam. People have this sad habit of believing they can hope things into fruition, of maintaining that they had a choice in matters so very out of their hands.

It was fruitless, but if it helped them face his diagnosis, he wasn’t about to deprive them of that small mercy. Not when he was already asking so much by roping them in to see it through with him.

He decides that this is why he was incomprehensibly calm now. He isn’t sure he even has the capacity for hope with how fucked he was, with how fucked he always has been. And asides from being pissed that this was how the clock would finally run out—a few inches shy of air, a couple dozen feet below help, while Pidge and Lance watched—he wasn’t even that angry.

How can you be when you have the luxury of knowing exactly when you’d breathe your last breath? Of not having to guess anymore. Of getting to watch the progress of the rising water muddied with non-earth and debris without experiencing the terror you totally should be when it reaches your navel, your sternum, your chin.

Pidge felt it for all three of them.

He couldn’t prop himself up any farther. His arm was shaking violently under the weight of his upper body as it was, as he strained for another inch, for another minute.

“Take the damn pipe, or I’l kill you myself.”

But he was tiring and the time on his clock was swindling.

“Listen... t’Pidge, Sh’ro—“

“Lance? Stop talking,” Pidge gritted without dragging her eyes away from Shiro for even a second to scold a hardly compressible, hell hardly even conscious Lance.

“I am approximately ten ticks away from unhinging your jaw and shoving this down your throat.”

The edge in her tone was severe, her nerve unflinching.

“So I suggest you comply before we get to that point, I’d imagine it’d be pretty unpleasant.”

A flurry of conflicting emotions bubbled up hearing her speak like that, hearing Katie Gunderson speak like that, and to him no less.

God, he was so fucking proud of them. At how courageous they all were. It was quiet, subtle. Always downplayed and always unique to each of them. To each of their fears and weaknesses. It was always miraculous.

But it also always gutted him that they even had to be.

“Taskashi.”

“You have to keep his head up,” he sputtered, determined on getting out the last of his two sense before his mouth was fully submerged.

“His height will help him out for a while, but you have to make sure he stays on his back when the—“

“Shiro,” she leveled again, punctuating her disdain for his goddamned suggestions by shoving the pipe to his chest.

He was certain she would’ve clocked him over the head with it if she had the wingspan. That and a free hand, but she was already taking her good arm back to keep Lance from falling over.

“Stop. Talking.”

He didn’t have a choice whether or not to listen anymore. The water was too high and his flesh and blood arm was cramping.

The water tasted as filthy as it looked and so did the pipe. There was a faint copperiness to it, probably rust, or maybe blood from the jagged edges shredding his lips to shit where they wrapped around the base. He couldn’t be sure. It wouldn’t matter in a couple of minutes anyway.

They were all out of miracles, it seemed. The pipe was only a couple of feet long. It would buy him some time, sure, but it wasn’t a solution. It was just another extension with a fast approaching expiration date.

But he would hold out for Pidge, he would let her hope for him even though there was no point. He owed her that much.

Breathing through the stupid pipe was difficult for the first couple of breaths. He had to focus intently on not accidentally breathing through his nose, but the desperate straining of his lungs accelerated his learning curve and he soon fell into an even rhythm.

His helmet was still on but his visor was down. There wasn’t a need for even the topmost bit to be up when his chassis being as heavily compromised as it was meant the seal of his armor was no longer air tight. Not that he really needed to worry about being able to see anyway.

The viscosity of the water was more grain than sludge so visibility was almost nonexistent and keeping his eyes open for long hurt, the blue glow of their suits cutting through only enough to illuminate the vague silhouettes of Pidge and Lance with all the muck floating around in it.

He also couldn’t hear anything. There was the occasional whoosh of running water and gurgle as it poured, but everything was further muffled by the cover of his helmet.

Shiro was in the dark and he didn’t have a lot of time left. He’d never had a surplus of it, but he’d always had some sort of out. Something to stretch what was left. Someone to save him when the clock suddenly reset.

But now he had none of that.

Pidge could hope for him. She could be scared for him. She had been so strong for the three of them already. But it was futile in the end. It always was.

[thiswasinevitableid]

for the meet ugly prompts, 38 indruck nsfw ;)

Here you go!

38: I overhear you ordering your coffee in a coffee shop and I’m trying to place your voice when I realize that you’re the phone sex operator I’ve been calling on and off for the last few months but the realization startles me so much that I accidentally spill my drink on you and you’re pissed

Indrid thought he was having a normal day. He’s treating himself to a post work iced vanilla mocha, then he’ll go home, watch T.V and draw, maybe jerk off, then go to bed and get up in time for his eight a.m appointment tomorrow.

He’s messing around on his phone when the person placing their order catches his ear. There’s something in the drawl, polite and friendly, that feels weirdly familiar. It’s not a regular at the shop, and a glance at the mans face offers no useful information; he’s a complete stranger.

The barista asks something about the second drink, and the man replies, “as sweet as can be, please.”

“Ahnngod, please, please, please say I can cum?” Indrid’s been edging himself with the fleshlight so long his wrist is sore.

“Hmmm” the voice on the phone takes his sweet time answering, “dunno, not sure I punished you enough for teasin me in the bar.”

Indrid whimpers, hoping the neighbors can’t hear (even if he’d like them too, they haven’t consented to it).

This is how his calls to the 1-800-Hot-Guys line have gone ever since his first time. He asks for “Ryan,” gets a sweet, southern greeting before the other man asks what he’s in the mood for tonight. See, Indrid’s only recently begun exploring his interest in men, and is discovering that a better sense of his sexuality makes it much easier to get in touch with his other desires. Like being fucked in a bathroom stall where lots of people can hear what’s happening to him.

Ryan always takes the ideas generated by Indrid’s desire-addled brain and runs with them. Tonight, virginal Indrid Cold went to a leather bar and found a bear waiting for him (he suspects Ryan might be one in the real world, because when Indrid first revealed that preference his moans sounded a touch more genuine). The bear made him blow him in front of everyone to make sure he was worth taking home, then told him not to cum until he was done fucking him.

“Please?”

A chuckle, “Okay darlin, you can cum.”

Indrid’s certain he hurts Ryan's ear with the noise he makes as he spurts into the toy, but all the other man says is , “Good boy.”

After a moment, he adds, “aw fuck, meant to bring some spankin or somethin into the scene because I know you like it.”

“That’s, that’s quite alright. I’m not sure you could ever disappoint me.”

“Thanks, sugar.”

Indrid whines, hoping it sounds horny and not like the noise a man who’s just realized he’ll be sleeping alone makes.

“You like when I call you that? Because it’s true; you’re as sweet as can be”

As he’s been having its slow-motion realization, Indrid’s body has been going on autopilot, picking up his cup when the young woman behind the counter calls his name. Which means that--when Indrid startles at his revelation-- the cup is in perfect position to send its contents flying straight onto the man who caused it.

“AHfuck, jesus man be careful!”

“I, I’m so sorry, here, let me-” he slips in the puddle of coffee and hits the floor, kicking the other man in the shin on his way down.

“Owfuck, fuck, okay, don’t fuckin try to help again.” The man snaps.

“Nono, right, I’m sorry, goodbye” he scrambles up, sticky with shame and vanilla syrup, and hurries out of the shop.

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

Duck keeps an eye on his burner phone while playing Plants vs Bom-Boms on his real one. It’s shaping up to be another night with only two calls.

He took up the phone sex thing during the last government shutdown; the park had to furlough them, and he needed money. The extra cash was nice enough that he kept at it even after work started back up. He isn’t the most in-demand operator; he can’t lie, laughs a little too easily, so lots of callers don’t come to him a second time.

One of the few who does is Indrid. He’s Duck’s favorite because their fantasies align well enough that he actually jerks off while on the phone with him. But the guy hasn’t called in two weeks; this is a bummer, in part, because Duck came up with a scenario involving a pool table and a biker gang he thinks Indrid would really be into.

More than that, he’s worried about him.

He worries about him so much that even a half a day later he’s wondering if he should figure out how to have someone check on him. The coffee shop is conducive to thinking. Right up until the dipshit who spilled coffee on him a few weeks back plops down in the seat across from him.

“You here to ruin another shirt?”

The man, all silver hair and angular features, shakes his head, “Nono, I, I really am very sorry about that. I came to offer to buy you another.”

Duck points at his cup.

“Some other time?”

“You come here often?’

“Since I moved to the city, yes. I was out in the suburbs up until a few months ago.”

“Fine. Next time we see each other, you owe me a drink.”

He nods, nearly sliding his red glasses off his nose in his eagerness. Then he taps on the table, “There’s, ah, something else you should know. We already know each other. In a way.”

Duck frowns; he’s never seen this guy before, he’d remember his face.

“We talk on the phone. Often.”

Oh fuck.

“My name is, ah, it’s, it’s Indrid.”

“Jesus, glad you’re ok--hold the fuck on. How the fuck do you know who I am?”

“I recognized your voice the last time we were both here. I, I wanted to get to know you more but I felt it was only right to do so if you knew I knew who you were so you wouldn’t be uncomfortable, but you clearly are, I’m so sorry” he stands up, banging his knee in the process, “I promise I won’t call any more, I didn’t mean to be creepy, I’m sorry, goodbye.”

He’s out the door in a flash of long limbs before Duck has a chance to respond.

Duck sighs, downs the rest of his coffee, and decides not to dwell on the fact he’s going to miss Indrid’s calls.

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

Indrid’s excited. He really is.

It’s just that the sex club is even more overstimulating than he anticipated.

It was alright at first; when he replied that yes, this was his first time, the guy working the counter ushered him over to a set of blue velvet seats and told him to wait. Soon, Indrid and ten others were being given a rundown of the rules, risks, and etiquette of the space, their understanding of which they signed in a neatly typed contract.

Then they turned them loose into three stories of sexual exploration and Indrid froze, totally unable to process it all. Lucky for him Lucy, there with her girlfriend Willow, helped him navigate the edge of the first floor until they came to one of the “chill out” rooms; rooms for people for whom the club was as much a place to chat with friends as it was a place to get spanked or suspended. They even have juice.

After three separate people check to be sure he’s alright, he asks the trio on a nearby couch where he should go to if he’s interested in bondage and impact play. They all agree the second floor is his best bet, and that there’s a shibari demonstration starting soon.

To reach the demo room, Indrid passes though a portion of the space that reminds him of a hotel. The nice dominatrix explained the rules for their use as: doors and windows closed, leave us alone. Curtains open but door shut? You’re free to watch, but don’t come in. And if the door is open, you’re welcome to join whatever is happening. He pauses at some open windows, but nothing really catches his attention.

The demo room is already packed, so he stays at the back. A perk of being tall is he can see the couple on the little platform easily without blocking anyone else’s view. The dom is explaining why she chose the rope she did and what ties she’s going to show everyone. Indrid listens, but his eyes wander in hopes of finding someone checking him out.

Someone is. But Indrid isn’t sure it’s a good thing.

Duck stands a few bodies to his left, looking him up and down with a slight smile. Well, at least that means he doesn’t think he’s stalking him or something.

The other man meets his eyes, tips his head towards the nearby green room and raises an eyebrow. Indrid nods, picks his way through the crowd to find Duck has beaten him there.

“Y’know, if you’d told me you were into this scene, I coulda worked with that.” He polishes off his water and tosses the cup in the trash.

“I...this is my first time. Is, ah, is it yours?”

“Nah. Came some when I was younger, decided to come out tonight because I was bored and itchin’ to get someone cute in my lap.” The casual way he says it is a hundred times hotter than the practice voice he used on the phone.

“Ah. In, ah, in that case, would you mind if I asked you a question?”

“Shoot.” Duck leans against the wall, grinning.

“Am I dressed alright for this?” He gestures to his pink and yellow tank top and black jeans.

He watches Duck catch his laugh before it starts, which he appreciates.

“You’re dressed just fine, Indrid. I mean, just look at me.”

“I am” Indrid is having such a difficult time tearing his eyes from the way Duck’s white t-shirt fits his chest or how the bluejeans show off his ass. Duck catches him mid-ogle, which is all it takes to drop his gaze to the floor.

“C’mon, sit down with me a sec.” Duck settles on a grey couch, leaving Indrid space to join him, “feel like you and I got off on the wrong foot. You know I ain’t angry with you for tellin me you were a customer, right?”

Indrid shakes his head but sits down all the same.

“Indrid, you startled the hell outta me when you admitted that. For a second, I was sure you were gonna try to get somethin outta me by threatenin to tell my boss at my regular job. But then it was so fuckin clear all you were tryin to do was be straight with me and try to be polite about the drink thing, I wasn’t mad at all. You just up and bolted before I could say as much.”

“Ah. Yes. I, ah, I can be a bit of a walking disaster so I try to get out of situations before I make them even worse.”

Duck touches his hand, “I get bein’ spooked. Happens to everyone. But, uh, guess what I’m also gettin at is, uh, if you wanna actually get to know each other, I ain’t gonna complain.”

“I’d like that.”

“Okay” Duck scoots closer, “let’s start easy; what do you do when you ain’t callin me?”

Indrid tells him about the tattoo shop, which leads to them comparing ink, which in turn leads to Duck getting on a ten minute digression about native plants. They’re debating the best Cramps album (Duck votes for “Date With Elvis,” Indrid for “Off the Bone”) when they decide to stretch their legs, Duck holding Indrid’s hand as he weaves them through rooms and clumps of people.

They end up doing laps of the second floor, people watching, during which Duck nudges Indrid playfully, “Knew you were kiddin me with the never been fucked stuff.”

“Ah, well…”

“Holy fuck, you’ve never had sex and you picked here as the place to try? You got guts, sugar.”

Indrid blushes, “Well, yes and no. I’ve never had sex with another guy, but I feel confident in what kinds of things I want to try. You helped a lot with that; you made me feel safe enough to express and explore my more intense desires.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“I came here out of curiosity, and because I thought my chances were good of finding someone who shared my interests without running the gamut of dating.”

“So all that stuff about bein watched, bein roughed up and used, you, uh, you really like it?”

“Indeed. Do you like it too? I, ah, I assume you pretend to like everything when you work on a sex line.”

“You’re supposed to yeah. But I’ll let you in on a little secret” Duck leans close, whispers in his ear, “I never was much good at pretendin.”

“Oh. Oh my.” He leans against Duck, excitement making his legs unreliable.

“You want me to show you just how much I like it?”

“Please.”

Duck kisses his cheek, “Missed hearin you beg, sugar. C’mon.” He pulls Indrid two doors down to a room dedicated to impact play. People are sprawled and tied to crosses, benches, chairs, all of which look exciting. Duck doesn’t stop to consider them, doesn’t even hesitate on their trip. He stops at a table, one bolted to the floor, and digs through a nearby basket.

“Here it is” he pulls out a red blanket, holds it out for Indrid to test the texture.

“It’s lovely.”

“Good” Duck spreads it on the table, “you’ll be comfier this way. How naked do you wanna be?”

“Is just my underwear alright?”

Duck points to the completely nude person being spanked on his right and the fully clothed one being hit with a crop to his left.

“I meant with you.”

Duck sets his hands on Indrid’s hips, “as long as I get to see this cute ass in the air for me, I’ll be just fine.”

Indrid quickly strips to his boxer briefs, opts to leave them on for now. Duck licks his lips, pats the table. Indrid bends over it, feet planted on the floor.

“Gonna use just my hand tonight. Easier for me to feel how hard I’m hittin, and I wanna be able to grope you while I turn your ass red.”

He moans, tenses as Duck rubs soothing circles on his ass. The first few slaps are mild, Duck checking on him after each one. Then one comes, hard and sharp, and he gasps, hips momentarily twitching away from Duck.

“Still good?”

“So very good, more, pleaseAHgod” He clings to the far end of the table as Duck brings ten slaps down on each side before giving him a rest.

“Let’s see...how many times would you say you called me?”

“At, at least fifteen.”

“Fifteen times two, add a few extra for ghostin me…” Duck pets his lower back, “You’re gonna get forty on each side as punishment for not lettin me see you cum all those times you called. Think you can handle that?”

Indrid nods.

“Count.”

“AHone, two, th-three, Aaaah,god, fourfive…”

Indrid loses himself somewhere around “ten” on the second side; all his focus is on being good, on counting out each strike, on taking whatever Duck wants to give him. His heartbeat is loud in his ears and his skin stings from ass to thigh. Dimly, he hears spectators complimenting Duck on having such a well-trained sub.

“He is, ain’t he?” Duck lands the final blow with a grunt, keeps his hand there and squeezes. Indrid whimpers, the pain going straight to his already aching dick. Duck shifts his stance, still mercilessly groping the bruise but pressing his fly against the cleft of Indrid’s ass, making it abundantly clear Indrid isn’t alone in his arousal, “he fuckin knows who he belongs too.”

Indrid moans, tears pricking his eyes; Duck is wonderful, Duck is handsome, Duck is perfect, and Duck is claiming him instead of someone twice as attractive or experienced.

“I know, sugar, you like it when people see how good you are for me.” Duck crouches down, petting Indrid’s hair as he studies his face, “you wanna regroup and finish this at home? Or do you need me now?”

“Now?” Indrid raises his head hopefully. His voice is odd in his throat, vulnerable but not afraid in the slightest. Duck nods, helps him up, thanks the person who offers to clean-up the station since Indrid, “looks like he’ll hit the ground if you let go” and grabs Indrid’s clothes.

“No point in putting these back on. Not with what I’m gonna do to you.”

They find an unoccupied, cleaned room, Indrid flopping on the bed as Duck closes the door.

“You wanna prep yourself or do you want me to?”

“I, I can do it. And could we, ah, leave the curtains closed for this bit?”

“Course.” Duck draws the red fabric tight as Indrid fishes complimentary condoms and lube from the bowl on the table. He’s so wound up he starts with two, the stretch uncomfortable for a few instants before he gets himself to relax.

“You look so fuckin good doin that.” Duck is undressing, only taking his eyes off Indrid when his belt buckle resists him.

“I’ve had a lot of practice fingering myself while listening to you. I, I’d picture whatever person you told me to but I, none of it compares to you.”

Duck blushes as he pulls his pants off.

“I mean it. You, you’re so handsome I” he tenses, pushing the third finger in and fucking himself fast, “I can’t believe it. I,I want to be so good for you, Duck, please,” he’s babbling, decides to quit while he’s ahead, “is three enough?”

“You tell me.” Duck gestures to his dick with a flourish; it’s average length, he thinks, but combined with the dark hair on Duck’s belly and the strong curve of his thighs, it is the most glorious dick in all of creation.

“Yes, yesyes, please come over here now oh, wait, the curtains please?”

Duck whisks them open on his way to the bed, settles with his back against the wall before rolling the condom on with ease. He points to his lap, “You wanna face me?”

“Yes. I...I like the idea of people watching but I don’t think I can handle seeing their scrutiny just yet.” He straddles Duck, let’s the shorter grope his sore ass before guiding it down.

“You sure you wanna do this now?” Duck murmurs into his chest, “you don’t owe me your first time with a fella.”

Indrid kisses his forehead and sinks down in reply.

‘Fuck!” Duck grips his hips, laughs, “that’s a hell of an answer, sugar.”

“Nngh” Indrid’s whole brain goes offline at the feeling of Duck inside him.

“Dick drunk already?” Duck teases.

“YesAHGOD, god, ohmygoodness.” He clings to Duck’s shoulders as the other man fucks up into him with abandon.

“That’s just fine, ‘Drid. Got enough brains for the two of us; all you gotta do is be my cute, fucked-out toy.”

“Nffph” Indrid hides his face in Duck’s neck. His legs and ass, still sore from earlier, are reluctant to obey his mind, so all he can do is let Duck bounce him on his cock or hold him down on it to thrust up in short, demanding jerks of his body.

“We got an audience.”

Indrid tries to moan. It comes out a whimper.

“You want me to tell you what they’re doin?”

“Mmhhmm”

“Two of ‘em are makin out with one eye on you. The other three…” he nibbles Indrid’s ear, “they’re jerkin off to us. Don’t blame ‘em, you look so fuckin good on my dick they all wish they were me.”

“Duck” his cock keeps rubbing on Duck’s belly, threatening to spill before he’s ready.

“One of ‘em asks how you feel on my dick. You want me to tell him?”

“Please.”

“Fuckin’ great!” Duck yells, “it’s his first time and he’s” Duck grunts, bucks his hips, “so fuckin tight but takes it like a fucking champ. Gettin in this ass is a fuckin privilege.”

Indrid smiles into his skin at the pride in Duck’s voice and the responding whoops from outside.

“Fuck” Duck kisses his cheek, “fuck, shoulda grabbed a cock ring, I’m gonna cum way too fuckin fast.”

“Me, me too.”

“Just like a fuckin virgin.” Duck quickens their pace.

“I’m not a--Aaaahn” the noise cuts off as he cums between them, cock pulsing onto Duck’s skin.

“Fuck, fuck that’s hot, fuck, c’mon sugar, lemme cum, lemme cum right in this fuckin perfect assfuck, fuck, ‘Drid.” He holds Indrid down, groaning as he pumps his hips. Then he tips them forward, crashing their mouths together and pressing Indrid into the bed.

When they surface for air, the spectators are gone. Duck pulls out, cleans them both up as Indrid tries to remember how words work.

“So good.” Is what comes out.

“Glad you think so.” Duck gathers him into a hug, “you want me to do all the aftercare here?”

Indrid blinks, “what’s the other option?”

“We could, uh, go back to my place?”

“That...I’d like that. Wait.” Indrid cocks his head, “do you...would it really be okay if I stayed the night?”

“Yep. Kinda hopin you’d stay over plenty in the future.”

“You want to date me?’

“Damn right” Duck kisses him, “besides you, still owe me a drink.”

Indrid kisses back, grinning, “So I do.”

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Just Swimmingly ch.4 (BAON)

Summary:  Jeff doesn't know where they are or where they're going, but he knows one thing. It's probably not good.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Established Relationships,  Hurt/Comfort, Additional Tags To Come

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

By the time the van came to a stop, Stretch still hadn’t woken up. Not that it mattered very much, there wasn’t a thing Jeff could have done to change their situation. At the moment, they were very much outnumbered, overpowered, and even if he’d had a clue where they were, it wouldn’t have done them any good. Before they dragged him out of the van, one of the thugs yanked a bag over his head. Blinded, he struggled to stumble along as two guys pulled him out, trying not to cry out as they led him barefoot across crumbling asphalt into a building with rough carpet.

He kept as quiet as he could, trying to not only listen in case they said anything useful, but also for Stretch, praying to a God he hadn’t spoken to since he was fifteen and his father threw him out that they didn't hurt Stretch. Jeff could survive a few bumps and bruises, but he didn't know how much Stretch could withstand. Intent was key when it came to Monsters, he knew that much, and these guys seemed to have plenty.

At first, he tried to keep track of where he was being led. An impossible effort when the twists and turns of being dragged along left him too disoriented to know his way up or down. They seemed to walk forever until his captors suddenly stopped and Jeff was shoved down into a chair. Rough hands grabbed at him, rope suddenly binding his wrists and ankles. He didn’t struggle as he was tied, only tried to tense his muscles as much as possible, some shitty internet meme he vaguely remembered reading said that it could help slip free later.

Turned out memes weren’t the best source for escape plans. When they were done, Jeff subtly tried to move and the best he could manage was a painful rope burn. The ropes felt like they were wound through the slats in the chair and unless Houdini decided to make good on his possible return from the other side, Jeff was going nowhere fast.

He could hear their captors moving around, muttering too low to be understood and the other sounds might have been more rope. Tying up Stretch, maybe, he hoped that’s what it was; at least if they were together, that was something, hell, that was everything right now.

The bag suddenly getting ripped off his head made him gasp, flinching from the glaring light pointed directly into his face. Squinting, he could barely see the shadowy figures standing behind it, but he was sure he could see a cell phone pointed in his direction.

“Say your name,” a rough voice demanded.

“Andy—” he began automatically. “No, Jeff, I’m sorry, Jeff! My name is Jeff!” There was nothing else and Jeff shifted, grimacing as the ropes dug in. It was on the tip of his tongue to go on, to blurt that he worked in public relations, that he was nobody important and not worth ransoming. He bit the inside of his lip to keep those rambles from pouring out. Partly because it was probably stupid to tell kidnappers your value or lack thereof, and partly because of Edge. He’d always told them to never offer more information than was necessary and yeah, he’d been talking about board games at the time, but Jeff doubted that Clue was where Edge learned that particular rule. If these assholes wanted more info, they could damn well ask.

Either his name was all they wanted or they already had whatever other info they needed. Jeff didn’t even have a chance to try squinting through the too-bright light when one of them came towards him and yanked the bag back over his head. He sat there, sweat beading on his face and his own breath threatening to smother him as he listened to their captors moving around next to him.

“He can’t talk,” one of them said disgustedly. “He’s still wasted.”

Stretch. That meant he was right next to him, thank fucking god.

The rough sound of a slap made Jeff tense, protests bitten off when the same voice cursed and there came the sound of someone rubbing their head, “What the fuck, man!”

“That’s exactly how we want him, dumbass! He doesn’t need to talk, all they need is a good look at him. Come on, they’re waiting.”

Footsteps and then the sound of a door closing. Jeff strained to hear if anyone was still in there with them around his own breathing loud in his ears, his pulse thundering. There was nothing, no shuffle of feet against the floor or the creak of a chair. Jeff waited a little longer, curling his chilly toes against the rough carpet.

Nothing. Jeff took a long, slow breathing, trying to calm his racing pulse. He needed to be cool right now so he could try to think of something. Even if the Embassy was willing to give these assholes whatever they wanted, they sure as hell couldn’t count on that saving their lives. He was no strategist, his degree was in sociology, for fuck’s sake, but. Stretch always called him Handy Andy and it made him feel like someone different, someone braver who could stand up to a violent asshole on a bus and help Stretch with crazy experiments involving swinging bottles of Diet Coke rigged with automatic mentos dispensers. Jeff might not be the best for this situation, but Andy was sure as hell gonna try.

“Stretch,” Jeff said softly. He waited for someone to shout or a slap followed by a demand that he shut up. When none came, he went on, soft and urgent, “I know you can't hear me, but, just in case you can. It's gonna be okay. I know you're big on promises and I'm promising you right now we're getting out of this. I promise you." If he could glean anything of what Jeff was saying, he hoped he could hear that much. At least maybe he wouldn't be afraid.

"i sure hope so, i didn't get this far in life to get dusted by a low rent group of third rate scooby doo level villains. seriously, they tied us up with rope, were they out of packing tape at ‘kidnappers ‘r’ us’ or were they just eager to try the knots they learned in boy scouts before they got kicked out."

Okay, that wasn’t quite the last thing he’d expected, but it was close.

"Stretch?" Jeff gasped out. He couldn’t see a damn thing through the bag, but he could hear a muted popping sound. Suddenly, the bag was gone, far gentler than before and then he was blinking up into Stretch’s smirking face.

Jeff looked around a little wildly and next to him was another chair, the still-tied ropes hanging from the rungs in loose coils.

“yeah, sorry. i woke up back in the van, didn’t want to tip them off. wherever they buy their roofies must not have given them a dosage chart.” Stretch settled his hands on Jeff’s shoulders. “hold still, this is a lot easier than fighting with knots.”

It was the gentlest and shortest teleport he’d ever felt. Only a brief disorientation and when his vision cleared, he was sitting on top of the ropes that had just been binding him.

Jeff scrambled to his feet, swiping his sleeve across his sweaty forehead. Holy shit, maybe he should take up praying again more regularly, this was the fastest service he’d ever gotten. “Can you get us outside?”

His heart sank as Stretch shook his head. “that's gonna be a no. with the bags on our heads, i couldn't see where we are. shortcutting is tricky, it's dangerous to teleport blind. that's how you end up stuck in walls or halfway inside a table or some shit.” Stretch waved a slender hand at the chairs. “dangerous, not impossible. a few inches above where i was sitting was a pretty safe bet to get out of the ropes, but anything else is more likely to get us dead than on the street.” He frowned, glancing around the room thoughtfully. “plus, i'm not going anywhere without a little intel. they’re fucking idiots, but they knew enough to drug me and how to do it. that's not information you can just look up on a wiki-how.”

“Okay,” Jeff took a deep, steadying breath. "So, what do we do, then?” He glanced at the door. “Can you pick locks?"

"sure,” Stretch said absently. He was looking around the room. It was a storage room of some sort, there was more dusty furniture aside from the chairs, including a rickety desk, and metal cabinets lined the walls. “but i can't do much about the door being barred. i heard something get braced against it when they went out.

"Oh. Right."

“yeah,” Stretch agreed, “at least one of them has a brain cell or two rolling around up top, enough to get them this far. but the road trip is over and it’s time to pay the tolls.” Stretch shook his head disgustedly. "first rule of kidnapping is never leave the kidnappees alone. seriously, i'm getting my cues from netflix and even i know that.”

His eye lights paused in their survey of the room, brightening. Jeff followed his gaze and saw in one corner there was an honest to god old-fashioned rotary telephone pushed into the far corner of the desk, nearly buried under the clutter.

"can't be that easy, can it?” Stretch marveled. He picked it up the handset and held to his skull, then sighed unhappily. “nope. no dial tone, no surprise there, no one has a landline anymore. don’t you worry though, little phone.” Stretch gave it a soft pat. “you’re gonna be real useful in just a minute. seriously, this is just embarrassing. my first kidnapping attempt and they locked us in a room with an entire arsenal.”

“I must be missing the vendor in the corner willing to hand over gear if we do a mission for them,” Jeff joked weakly.

“everything is an arsenal if you’ve got the skills.” Stretch rummaged through the desk and came up triumphantly with…a paperclip? He set it on the desk, adding a pencil, some scotch tape, and what looked to Jeff like an old tube of superglue. “kidnapped by the ebott equivalent of the america’s dumbest criminals, fuck me. edge is going to be up my ass for a month.”

“I don’t think you’re giving him enough credit.” It was easier to be calm in the face of Stretch’s ease. “I think six months is the bare minimum.”

“i really wish you weren’t right.” Stretch glanced around the room again, this time directing his gaze upward. “hm, that’ll work.” Tall as he was, the ceiling was still out of reach even for him. Stretch pulled one of the chairs over, ropes trailing behind it like tentacles, and stood on it, reaching for the smoke detector. Jeff could only blink in confusion as he yanked it right off the ceiling.

"You're going to burn down the building?” Jeff asked. Not that he didn’t trust Stretch, but, uh, that seemed extreme for a first escape attempt. “That’d get us out, but I don't think we'll be any more alive."

"nah, just need some parts,” Stretch jerked his head towards the door. “keep an ear on the hallway, will ya, in case they remember that leaving us alone is probably stupid."

“Got it.” Jeff went to the door but before he could press his ear to it, Stretch called his name.

"hey, kiddo, i'm gonna get us out of this." Stretch offered him a familiar, lopsided smile. "i know i don't look like much, but i've been known to keep my head in a bad situation."

"You already saved me once,” Jeff said honestly, "why wouldn't I believe you now?"

Stretch’s pale eye lights flickered with memory, his expression briefly tightening. How did he remember that horrible night in that parking lot, Jeff wondered, what nightmares haunted Stretch’s sleep? He knew something happened after the ambulance took him away, but he’d never heard the entire story. After he’d been released from the hospital, he’d been wrapped up in healing enough to start his new job at the Embassy and as time passed, he hated to ask, didn’t want to dredge it all up again, not when everyone was slowly getting past it. Besides, the others had their own shit to deal with, what with the attack in California and everything happening in Ebott. His trauma was his to handle and that was the end of it.

At the desk, Stretch got to work, humming the ‘mission impossible’ theme under his breath as he dissected the phone and smoke detector with a makeshift screwdriver made from a bent paperclip taped to a pencil. His hands were as deft and easy as any demonstration he’d done for the local kids and Jeff could only marvel at his ease.

“How can you be so calm?” Jeff blurted, wincing even as the words escaped. He hadn’t meant to say it, didn’t want to distract him. Stretch only flicked a glance his way, both browbones raised.

“me?” Stretch snorted, “i am not calm. beneath this gorgeous cookie crust exterior is a honey pie of a person who would start shitting themselves if i could grow the prerequisite equipment. but we're gonna be okay.”

“How do you know?” Jeff hated the faint pleading in his own voice, he shouldn’t be distracting; Stretch was as stuck here as he was and with his HP, it was even worse. He was supposed to be the one helping Stretch, he’d promised, and the best he could do was lookout.

“you seriously think red isn't already on it?” Stretch asked and as terrifying as Red could be, thinking about him right now eased some of the aching fear that was settled in Jeff’s stomach. “all he needs is a clue and we’re gonna get him one. i only hope he can keep edge from razing the city and salting the earth beneath it until then. people might be a little tetchy about that and i’m not even sure you can come up with a press release that’d cover ‘sorry about starting city-wide armageddon, my bad.’”

Before Jeff could think of a reply to that, either an agreement, or a protest that a little chaos could be excused considering the circumstances, he heard footsteps coming from down the hallway. Panicked, he hissed out, “They're coming!”

“fuck, okay, okay.” Stretch scrambled over and set some kind of contraption on the floor near the door that was all waggling wires and circuit boards. He grabbed Jeff by the wrist and dragged him along. “over here, come on, this a harder trick, but you can do it. i need you to hold as still as you can. if you move, they might see you, you get me?"

Jeff managed a hasty nod as Stretch shoved him into a corner, cramming them both in tight, out of the way. "don't move, don't talk,” Stretch reminded him, a low murmur close to his ear. The slim, bony arms around him were comforting and even knowing that Stretch couldn’t physically protect him, having him towering overhead as he caged Jeff against the wall felt oddly safe.

Then something happened. He didn’t know how to describe it. It felt like a heavy curtain fell over the world, everything going distant and muffled, even his vision greying like he was about to faint, only he’d never felt so awake. There was a sudden popping explosion as the door swung open and collided with Stretch’s contraption, but it sounded miles away, the kidnappers’ curses as muffled as if they were speaking from another world.

He didn’t move, held perfectly still even as that curtain slowly grew claustrophobic, nausea starting to churn. Jeff closed his eyes, swallowing convulsively and just went he thought he couldn’t stand it a moment longer, that he either needed to move or he’d start screaming, it was suddenly gone and Stretch was stepping back.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Stretch was pale, sweat showing visibly on his skull. "are you okay?" Stretch asked.

“Me?” Jeff blurted. He caught hold of Stretch’s arms to brace him as he wobbled on his feet. “I’m fine, what about you!”

"i’ll be okay.” Stretch wiped his face on the sleeve of the crummy shirt he’d been forced into with a grimace. “i pulled us halfway into the void. it works, but it burns a lot of juice. the assholes booked it out of here, but more importantly, they left the door open."

The door was opened, they could leave, and yet, Jeff found himself blurting out, “They’ll get away!”

“no,” Stretch said grimly. “they’ll look for us first, thinking we couldn’t have gotten too far. these guys aren’t gonna ditch and run that fast, they know too much. think about it. drugs work on monsters but how do they know what kind and how much? lucky for me, skeleton monsters are different. our systems are finicky, we’re hard to drug. whoever tipped them off about how to roofie me didn’t know that.”

His sockets narrowed suddenly, Stretch turning away to look in the rusty cabinet next to them. “oh, honey,” he said gleefully, “jackpot.”

Jeff joined him, peering into the cabinet as Stretch cautiously wrenched it open. “What did you find?”

He held up a bottle of bleach and said, smugly, “just some nice, normal household chemicals. they can be lots of fun if you know how to mix 'em up and i'm a one hell of a bartender. but first.”

On the desk was another little contraption that was mostly wires and tape. Stretch picked it up and walked over to squat next to a wall outlet. Carefully, he pushed it into the socket. There was a sputtering spark and a tiny red light blinked to life.

“there we go.” Stretch stood, dusting off his hands. “i don’t even want to think about how pants-shittingly angry edge probably is right now, but we can’t let them get the ransom that asgore is probably going to pay and we sure as hell can’t let them get away.”

He grinned then, wickedly sharp for all that his teeth were blunt. “so, how’s about we have some fun, yeah?”

Jeff nodded determinedly. Fuck, yes. If he was going to add to his repertoire of nightmares, he was damn well going to make sure someone else paid for it, in spades.

tbc

[smol-and-grumpy]

Light My Fire - CH15

Pairing: CEO!Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: She always thought her boss was an ill-tempered man, but when he presents her with a proposition she can’t quite deny, she gets to know him better. It’s not bad, right? Because all she has to do is being fake married to him for six months, sounds do-able, right? Right.

Warnings: NSFW, Fluff

WC: 4290

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

Beta’d by @deanwanddamons​​​​​​​​​ <3

SERIES MATSTERLIST

BECOME A PATRON ~ BUY ME A COFFEE

Dean left her to splash around because he had a business call coming in. Y/N was surprised, she never knew that he works on weekends. 

When she climbs up the stairs from the sea, she washes herself free from the salt water under the spray of the shower on the balcony, and slips into the pool. 

She can see Dean sitting on their bed with a laptop on his lap and a headset in his ears. He already changed into his swimming trunks so no video call, then. 

He’s laughing at a joke someone made and looks up. Their eyes meet. 

Getting out of the pool, she lies down on the sun lounger, letting her skin catch some rays. Her skin burns, but not necessarily from the sun. No, the burning feeling definitely comes from Dean’s gaze that followed her from the pool to the lounger. 

After a while she turns from her back onto her stomach. She closes her eyes, feels the ray of sun warming up her whole body. 

“Jesus, Y/N,”

She hears Dean’s voice from behind her, and blinks her eyes open. He sits down next to her. From this view she can see the creases his stomach makes when he sits. It doesn’t make him look less sexy, and that is totally not fair.

“You’re going to look like a lobster tonight and not a living one!” He sits down and she hears a squirt of a bottle before she feels his hands rubbing at her back, applying sunscreen all over.

“Mmh,” She sighs. It really does feel good.

Dean moves lower, works his hands over her lower back and then he moves her bottoms, pushing them into the crack of her ass to apply sunscreen on her ass cheeks. He takes more time there, kneads them roughly before jiggling them in his hands.

“Hey!” She laughs.

“What? That’s how I apply sunscreen,” 

“Sure,” 

He works down her thighs, getting his fingers between them and brushes against her clothed pussy. My god, she’s turned on by a simple touch. 

She hears a groan as he works his hand there, rubbing at her clit through her bikini bottoms, “Dean,”

“Right,” He clears his throat, and works down her legs to her toes.

When he finishes that area, he comes up again, applies more sunscreen onto her shoulders. He pulls at her bikini top, making it come loose. 

“Dean!”

“Relax, nobody will see,” He rubs his hands along the base of her neck, “Turn around,” 

He’s right. They overlook the big blue sea, there’s nobody close by. She turns herself around and lets him apply sunscreen to her chest. He pulls the bikini top over her head and drops it next to the sun lounger only to cup her tits in his hands.

Leaning down, he captures one of her nipples in his mouth and sucks at it. She arches her back at the sensation and a soft moan rolls off her tongue.

Dean takes his time with her other nipple too, while his other hand kneads and pinches her other breast and nipple. 

After what seems like forever, Dean comes up again and smirks, her nipples are hard and perky, “Right, gotta finish what I started,” He says, works some more sunscreen down her stomach and her thighs. To her surprise he didn’t touch her where she wants him most but she thinks it’s just a stupid game he plays. 

When Dean screws the sunscreen bottle shut and stands up, she can see the tent in his swimming trunks. He’s definitely not able to hide that. 

Smirking, she asks, “You are not going to enjoy paradise with me?” 

He lets out a soft chuckle before he sits down again, his hands stroking her cheek, “I got another conference call. I should be finished in about two hours, okay? Gotta wait til then,”

“Okay,” She pouts and he thumbs at her lips before he bends down, kissing her soft and sweet. 

“Maybe you should go into the shade, or at least out of my fucking sight.” Dean growls a little and smacks her thigh. 

“Why?” She turns around on her stomach and he can’t help but smack her ass, too. 

“You’re fucking distracting when I’m trying to close a deal.” 

She giggles at that and wriggles with her ass some more. Dean spanks her one more time before he leaves to go inside.

*

Two hours came and went and Dean’s still not finished. Deciding that she’s had enough of the sun for the time being, Y/N goes inside to take a shower. It’s slowly getting darker, so she closes the door to their bungalow because she hates to have mosquitoes inside. Although, she guesses that there won’t be a lot of them because they’re so far out from the beach and there’s a steady breeze going all the time.

Dean didn’t seem to notice her because he had moved to sit at the desk to face the wall with his laptop. Apparently, she really did distract him. He had ordered room service in the afternoon and made a reservation at a restaurant here in the resort for the first night, but if he doesn’t finish soon, she doesn’t know if they can make it there on time.

After her shower, she walks out in a comfy bathrobe. Dean’s still chatting away at the screen and typing up an email simultaneously. She takes a book out of her suitcase and plants herself on the bed, her back  rests against the headboard. The mattress feels comfy, and honestly, she can’t wait to sleep in it. She feels a little tired from the travel and the sun kissed her skin enough to make it glow after she moisturized it.

Just when she was about to open up the book to where she left off, her phone pings. She takes it from the charger. 

 R: [picture]

R: Guess you’re a celebrity now, huh? Don’t ever forget me, alright?

 Y/N thumbs the message open. It’s a picture of her and Dean at the airport, not really a paparazzi picture because the resolution of the picture is not that high and she can see that someone took it sneakily.

 Y/N: I am shocked they recognized Dean. It was so fucking early in the morning.

R: Everyone would recognize Dean.

 Ruby’s probably not wrong. 

 R: How’s Jamaica? 

Y/N: Great. I’ve been in the sea already and Dean spent his afternoon on conference calls. 

R: Sam said something about the deadline of closing a deal, poor you. He’s got to make up for it.

Y/N: Yeah, maybe he will.

R: [picture] 

R: I’m at his apartment, still. 

 The picture shows Ruby’s face and in the back, Sam’s sitting lazily on his couch. She grins, is truly happy about their progress. 

When she’s about to type something back, Dean stands up to take his headset off, and he rubs at his ear. It’s probably itching like hell. She has the same problem when she wears a headset for too long. 

Dean stretches himself. He’s still in only his swimming trunks. She can see every muscle moving and twitching. It’s kind of a turn on, not going to lie about it. 

He lets out a loud groan before he looks over to the bed and notices her. His lips curve into a smile as he slumps his shoulders down and walks over to the bed. He crawls over to where she is lying and lays his head into her lap. 

“I’m so exhausted,” He mumbles into the fluffy bathrobe and she chuckles, her hand strokes at his head. 

“I hope it was worth missing out on a swim for,” 

He looks up from her lap, grins the boyish grin of his that she has come to like, “We have a reason for celebration,” 

“Is that so?” She lifts one of her eyebrows. 

“Yeah,” He nuzzles his head deeper into her lap, “Finally I can invest in that company I was after. Their chairman didn’t agree on the conditions on Friday but it seems like I could convince him.”

“How did you do that?”

He smiles again, “I’m just that good.”

She rolls her eyes at his cockiness. 

Dean turns in her lap, looks up to her, “What were you doing?” 

“I took a shower,”

His eyes widen, and he gasps all fake and adorably, “You took a shower without me?” 

“Well, you were busy, sir.” 

“And why were you grinning before?” He turns to his side, buries his face into her stomach and she strokes his hair once more.

“You didn’t notice when I was showering but you notice me grinning?”

He laughs into her bathrobe, it feels warm where his breathing hits, “Yeah, I always notice you grinning, or smiling, or laughing for that matter.”

“Ruby sent a text. There was a picture of us at the airport.”

Dean stills and looks up, “Already?”

Y/N thumbs over her phone to show it to him. Dean’s expression is unreadable. 

“I don’t like it,” He mumbles, “I mean, it helps the case but I don't like people snapping private pictures behind my back.”

“We’re not exactly private, Dean. I’m your fake wife for a reason.”

He doesn’t answer, he sits up instead and he’s thinking about something, she can tell by the way he looks at her. She decides to change the subject, and shows him another picture. The one of Ruby and Sam in the background. 

Dean snorts, “Tell her that Sam better fucking check his emails. He’s got work to do since I worked all day to close this deal.”

She types away, wants to send Ruby Dean’s exact words but before she could hit the send button, he takes the phone from her hand and places it on to her night stand, “Hey!”

“I didn’t mean now,” He grins and slots himself between her legs, still on his knees, and pulls at her legs until she’s lying flat on her back.

“No?” She asks, it’s her turn to grin cockily. 

“Nuh-uh,” Dean mumbles, his fingers working on the rope of her bathrobe. It’s barely held together so he has no problem opening it up. Dean swallows when he sees that she’s naked.

He gets back on his knees and leans over her, his hand cradling her face as he kisses her. And again, it grows from soft and tender to rough and hard, no other man has ever kissed her like Dean does. He kisses her as if he wants to claim her, as if he wants to dominate her, to make her his. And honestly, that’s all she wants at this very moment. 

Her mind doesn’t agree though because she realizes that they have a dinner reservation and they’re not going to make it when he keeps on kissing her the way he does. 

She breaks the kiss, and Dean can’t quite stop, sprays little kisses on her face, down her throat, “Dean, we’ll be late for dinner.”

Dean chuckles, pulls at the skin of her throat with his teeth, “I don’t know about you, but I’m about to have dinner.”

“Oh my god,” He’s so full of himself. Of course she likes it, but still…

“Baby, it’s the first time that I get to have you horizontal, you think I care about dinner?” He cocks an eyebrow before his mouth latches at her throat and kisses down a path to her chest. 

He flicks his tongue against one of her nipples, kneads the other tit in his big fucking hand and she writhes below him. Her hands fly to his head, fists themselves in his hair. Dean seals his whole mouth around her nipple, tickling it on the inside with his tongue and he uses his teeth too, making her moan out at the sensation and there’s something pulsing between her thighs but she can’t quite reach there because Dean’s blocking her fucking way. 

“Dean,” She whimpers, doesn’t care that it sounds needy because that’s all she fucking is. She squirms some more to make him notice. 

Dean chuckles and sucks in her nipple, only to let it out with a wet popping sound before his lips connect back to her body, and he licks his way down her stomach. He slots himself further between her thighs, and spreads little kisses along her pelvis, down to the apex of her thighs, leaving out her center on purpose and it’s fucking killing her. He’s such a tease. 

“Dean!” She’s louder, but she can’t help it. She’s dying here and he thinks it’s funny. 

“What?”

“Would you just—”

Dean licks his lips and grins at her before he thumbs along her center, parting her folds with both of his thumbs. He stares at her pussy and she feels a little uncomfortable. He lets out a low growl when he sees her glistening. She knows that she’s awfully wet. Has been since this fucking morning actually. 

“Tell me what you want,” Dean’s face is so close to her cunt, she can feel his breath hot against her center. 

“God, can you touch me there?”

“You’re too cute,” He chuckles but instead of teasing her some more, he gives in, licks a broad stripe up her center and seals his lips around the hood of her clit. 

Y/N fists her hands in the sheets, “Fuck,” 

“That’s the plan,” Dean mumbles against her slick folds, french kisses her cunt and groans when he feels her getting even wetter. 

They haven’t had that kind of sex before. It was passionate too, but mostly real quick and never horizontal. She can feel that Dean wants to take his time and that in turn, drives her fucking crazy. She also never had someone eating her out like Dean does. Her ex Kevin was okay with foreplay but he doesn’t really like it. He mostly licked her to get her wet enough to plunge his dick into her but that’s not the only point on Dean’s agenda. She can feel that he really, truly loves to eat her out, and he’s determined to make her come on his tongue. He doesn’t seem to mind if he would be down there for hours on end. It blows her mind. He is blowing her mind. 

Dean hums against her cunt, his scruff rubs against her thighs and she’s close because Dean sucks and his humming sends the right vibration against the nub of her clit. She pushes herself off the bed with her feet, driving her cunt deeper into Dean’s face and holds him steady with her hands in his hair. He doesn’t seem to mind, hums along, licks and slurps up his own drool and her juice. God, it sounds so fucking obscene and it turns her on even more. 

“Fuck, yes, yes, oh god, don’t stop,” She moans out and Dean shakes his head, hums some more. He changes between nibbling and sucking and it feels so fucking good. 

“Oh god,” Here it comes, she feels her thighs cramp up, feels her insides trembling, her walls convulsing and she can’t help but push herself harder against his face. Dean’s hands are around her thighs, holding on for dear life as she locks her thighs around his face, caging him in, when she comes. 

She pants hard when the moment’s finally over, laughing loudly and Dean taps at her thighs, asking for her to release her grip around his head. 

When she releases him, Dean looks up from below, his nose and lips are shiny from her slick. He smacks his lips loudly, swallows hard, “Good?” 

“Oh my god, yes,” She says, clasps her hand over her face. She probably looks like she just ran a marathon. 

Dean places one more kiss on her clit before he pushes himself away and stands at the foot of the bed. With one swipe, he gets rid of his trunks and climbs back to bed, walks on his knees up to where she is. 

He strokes himself, jerks off his impressive dick and he bends down, kisses her hard. She can taste herself off his tongue.

“Fuck— I—,” Dean’s breathing hard.

She grins up at him, takes his dick in her hand and begins to stroke him up and down. She gets on her elbows, and sticks her tongue out to lick at his balls, sucking them in one by one while her fists are tight around his tip, stroking up and down. Dean spits on the head of his dick, helps slicking his cock up while she worries at his sac, “Fuck, your mouth feels amazing,”

He lowers himself a little when he notices that she wants to take him further into her mouth, his hands stroking along her legs and thighs. She takes him in, tongue licking up along his shaft before she seals her lips around his tip. Dean lets out a groan when she takes him deeper, his hand rubs circles on her clit before he toys at her entrance, slipping in one finger and then two. He moves faster inside of her, making her hum and sucking him off harder.

“Baby, as much as I would love you to suck me dry, fuck, I— your mouths feels too good,” Dean pulls his dick away from her, takes his wet fingers out from her cunt and flips her over with no problem at all. 

Dean helps her get rid of her bathrobe, throws it somewhere in the room, “On your elbows and knees,” He says, his voice is low and it sounds strained. 

Y/N can’t lie, she likes when he tells her what to do.

Propping herself on her elbows and knees, she waits. Dean’s one hand is jerking himself off while his other one kneads at the flesh of her ass. He spanks down on one of them, she’s sure that her skin turns red immediately. Leaving his hand there, he jiggles her ass, “Fucking beautiful,” He whispers and then he lowers himself, she can feel his face between her asscrack. Dean tongues at her clit, licks up her rim to her asshole and she moans out shamelessly. 

“Like that?” His voice is cocky.

“Y-yes,” She admits and Dean takes the cue to lick some more. God, she fucking loves it. Never felt anything like it before. 

“Fuck,” Dean curses, “You’re so tasty, but I really gotta—” He holds his cock out, threads the head through her slick and rubs it against her cunt, teasing her. 

“Dean, please!” She’s damn near exploding. She wants him inside right the fuck now. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m—” Dean mumbles and pushes his tip into her waiting and slick cunt. He rests the tip there before he places his hands around her hips and pushes in, groaning louder the deeper he gets. 

“Oh fuck,” She bites down on her lip, lowers her forehead to the mattress, “You’re so fucking deep,”

“Jesus, you feel so good,” Dean groans, his hands kneads her ass, pulling them apart to watch his dick go in and out of hot and wet heat, “Looks so fucking great,” 

He goes slow, before he picks up speed and while it’s perfect, she can’t help but want even more. 

“Dean, please, harder,” Y/N’s body is filled with want, and she fucks back into him. 

“Christ, look at you, so fucking perfect,” He spreads her ass cheeks wider, “Yeah, fuck yourself on my cock, baby, take what you want, good girl,”

She shakes her ass while moving back and forth, and she can hear him chuckle before he spanks down on her ass. The pain is sharp, it soars through her body. Not going to lie, it is painful but it fucking turns her on.

“You like that? Like to be spanked?” 

“Fuck,” She’s glad he can’t see how she turns red, “Yes!”

Dean lets out a groan at her answer, spanks her twice more, for good measure, “Jesus,” He pants and then he starts to set a fast pace, fucking in to her with wild abandon. 

At one point, he leans forward, grabs her by her arms and pulls her up against his chest, his one hand yanking at her hair while his other hand goes down to rub at her clit. He never stops fucking her hard, like she wants him to. 

“Oh god,” She moans out upon feeling her second orgasm approaching.

Dean licks up the shell of her ear and whispers, “Come, baby, be a good girl, come for me,” 

And that, she does, comes hard around him, her cunt pushes him out and Dean has to let go of her and pushes her down on her elbow again to be able to slip inside once more. 

“Fuck, you’re still coming, so fucking tight,” He has to bite down on his bottom lip at the tight squeeze. It needed only a couple more thrusts for him to come deep inside her and he leans down, sinks his teeth into her back before he sucks and licks at the mark he left behind. 

His legs gave out and he collapsed on top of her, and he turned them around in his grip so that he was spooning her from behind. They’re still connected. Dean has his arms around her middle, kisses along the nape of her neck to her shoulder, “You’re something else,” 

“Am I?” She strokes along his forearm. 

“Yeah,” He breathes out a chuckle, “I came so hard I think I blacked out.”

They stay connected for a while longer until Dean slips out with a squelching sound. He carries her into the shower and she finds herself showering for the second time. 

He dries himself off before he goes out to get the robe for her and comes back holding it out for her to step into, “How about we don’t go out tonight? We can order room service.”

Y/N agrees because her legs are too wobbly to walk anywhere right now. 

They’re cozy in bed with her lying on her stomach on the other end from Dean who has the cover pulled to protect his modesty while typing away on his laptop. They’re both still naked and she’s well aware that Dean has a clear view of her cunt and ass, but she didn’t mind very much. It seems like the most natural thing to be when they are around each other. 

Finally she gets to send out the text to Ruby and there’s immediately a reply back.

 R: [picture]

R: Sam’s working right now.

 It’s a picture of Ruby’s face and Sam’s in the background, staring grumpily into the camera. 

She has to laugh which prompts Dean to look at her with one raised eyebrow. She looks back and holds out the phone to show him the picture, “Sam’s working.”

“As he should,” Dean says sternly and she turns back, her thumb hovers over her screen. 

Y/N starts to type a reply when Dean closes his laptop and gets out from under the covers to come crouching on top of her. He’s already half hard again, she can feel the tip of his dick brushing over her ass. 

“You want to send her a picture back?” 

She frowns, she’s actually never thought about it but now Dean makes her second guess it, “I don’t know,”

“Come on, do it,” He nuzzles his nose against her temple. 

“What?”

“I know you’re good friends and she always sends you pictures. So maybe if you really want, you can send one too, I’m okay with it.”

Tilting her head to her side, she meets his green eyes. He’s smiling, the crinkles deep around the corner. 

“Really?”

“Yeah,” 

“I don’t know,” She is having doubts. It’s not like they have something going on like Sam and Ruby do. Their arrangement is purely business. 

“C’mon,” Dean takes her phone out of her hands, and holds it out to snap a picture, doesn’t even mind if they’re still naked.

His hands are longer than hers, it can snap up a picture from a wider angle. She sees herself on the screen, sees Dean behind her, his chin on her shoulder. Her hair covers her boobs.

Dean lowers his face, kisses and sucks at her shoulder while he looks up at the screen, the wrinkles on his forehead showing. She bites her lip because his warm tongue and sharp teeth feel great on her skin. He quickly snaps a couple of pictures. 

He gives her back her phone, urges her to send one out again when he nibbles and sucks at her throat. 

God, this man is doing things to her.

She quickly sends it out. Doesn’t even write anything else and abandons her phone because Dean turns her around, kisses her lazily soft. 

“Come on, we should get some sleep,” He whispers against her lips. 

“Why?” 

“Because I don’t think I wanna wake up to a cranky you again tomorrow.” He chuckles lightly, and gets off the bed to pick her up before he pulls the cover away with one hand and lets her fall back into the bed with the other. He climbs in after her, spreads his arms for her to crawl in. 

He kisses her again, all soft and tender. It’s a contrast to how he just fucked her. She likes both sides of him. Likes how he can go all rough and demanding on her but shows her his softer side as well. And it’s easy, she thinks, they are comfortable around each other, at least as far as she can tell. She just wishes that the circumstances around whatever they have right now would have been different. 

CH16

[psych0midget]

Music Soulmate AU

I basically just rewrote this from Andrew’s POV

The first time Andrew hears what is soulmate is listening to he is in juvie.

In juvie they encourage troubled youths to listen to music. He has a radio and “free” access to a computer. But the music radios pass on is not exactly of his liking. And it’s not like he can surf the internet however he likes, not when the internet is controlled and censored.

To be honest, he’d never even thought he might enjoy music before his soulmate. His soulmate has good music taste.

Thanks to Pig Higgs he has landed in a juvie with plenty of rehabilitation programmes. He’d gladly avoid joining any of them, but his counsellor made it compulsory.

And so Andrew choses the music programme. That’s how he larns to play the guitar- just so he can play the songs his soulmate listens to.

It’s only when he gets out of juvie that he finally finds out the names of the bands and musicians his soulmate listens to. He buys their cds, downloads their songs, goes to their concerts and listens to them 24/7.

Out of juvie he also finds out that he has a twin brother who plays the drums and a cousin who plays the piano. And what is he even supposed to do with a brother he knows nothing about but start playing music together?

At first it’s mainly covers. Aaron sets the rhythm and Andrew strums his guitar. It’s quiet and slow, like their uneasy friendship. The more they get comfortable with each other the better they play together.

It’s only when their cousin Nicky walks into them playing an instrumental cover of The Ghost of You by MCR that he decides to join them. Nicky ditches his piano, buys a keybord and becomes an official member of their unofficial band. 

The first time Andrew does the vocals of one of their covers, both Nicky and Aaron hit the wrong notes and then stop playing altogether, staring at Andrew with their mouths wide open.

It’s Aaron who breaks the silence with a screeched “you’ve always known how to sing LIKE THAT and you’ve never done it before?”. Andrew just shrugs, but from that moment on he becomes the designated singer.

Their unofficial band becomes official when Kevin Day joins the line up. He plays the bass, but most importantly he writes songs. And good damn songs. Plus his father Wymack owns an independent music label and he signs them.

Even with a contract in their pocket, Andrew and his band (now called The Foxhole, who even knows why, it was Nicky’s idea) have to cut their teeth. They slowly work up the ladder one little concert after the other. It is exhausting.

Andrew hadn’t signed up for crazied fans when he’d started playing the guitar with his brother in the attempt of making up for 14 years of being convinced they both were alone in this world. But at least the fans are growing the more and more numerous.

Last week they filled a small arena with 5 thousand people in LA. The posters outside the venue said “The Foxhole, SOLD OUT.” After the show Wymack had smiled proudly and told them that the recording studio would be booked for them all month long.

And that. That is one hell of a month. Andrew loses count of how many times he thinks about breaking Kevin’s hand.

But through the caos, the deadlines, and the mind-numbing recording sessions, Andrew has - well Andrew doesn’t have his soulmate. Not with him anyway. But he has a good playlist to come back to when he gets home.

He knows at what time his soulmate turns on his mp3 player. And every evening at 8pm Andrew takes one hour just for himself, sits on the sofa and religiously listens to the playlist his soulmate is playing. It’s a habit he took up in juvie, a habit he would never give up to.

The Foxhole’s first album jumps straight to the first position of the Alternative Music chart. Right on the day it comes out.

When they get the news Nicky is so ecstatic he jumps on the sofa like a child. Aaron hugs his girlfriend, lifts her up and makes her spin in the kitchen as they laugh and laugh and laugh. Kevin just smiles, which is quite shocking per se.

Andrew’s heart skips a beat only when at 8pm he hears his soulmate listening to The Foxhole’s album. And at that, just at that, his lips slowly curl up into a smile.

After that, Andrew’s life gets the more and more chaotic. It’s shows and interviews and world tours. It’s trying to set an alarm at 8pm even when he barely has time to breathe just to listen to a couple of songs from his soulmate’s evening music session.

It’s waking up at 5am when in Paris and cursing the European tour. And then it’s missing it. Missing it when he crashes on the couch and his meds take too much out of him. It’s having The Foxhole’s concerts set at 8pm.

It’s Andrew secretly hoping his soulmate listens to his concerts because Andrew can’t listen to his playlists. It’s Andrew wishing he’d stop hoping his soulmate would come find him after a concert.

Andrew is taken off his court-mandated meds during the pause between their last tour and the new album. The drug-induced mania wears off, leaving Andrew alone, parsing through the white noise in his brain and the thoughts that won’t leave him alone. Never never never.

One night he’s so drained out by the effort of overcoming his addiction and getting used to the new way is brain is wired, he falls asleep on the sofa before 8pm.

He wakes up at 2am, angry and frustrated and pissed off he’s missed his soulmate’s daily playlist. And if Andrew, frustrated beyond words, picks up his guitar and starts trying to put his thoughts into notes nobody has to know.

It’s not like Kevin will judge if he finds out. Kevin himself started composing to fight his own alcoholism.

But nobody really has to know. Not even when Andrew makes a habit of it. Picking up his guitar and humming along with the music he plays- trying to figure out what sounds right and what doesn’t. What eases the pressure on his skull, what makes his head hurt even more.

Nobody has to know, but he kinds of forgets that his soulmate *does* know. And Andrew tries so hard not to react. But when in the morning he hears his soulmate singing along to his new song, Andrew finds himself smiling. Andrew is sooo fucked.

Let’s not even talk about the somersaults his stomach makes when his soulmate starts playing awful upbeat songs whenever Andrew stops composing. He hates those songs, thanks but no thanks.

But his soulmate annoyingly persists pestering him with happy songs. And Andrew gets what his soulmate is doing, he knows his soulmate is doing his best to show him he likes what he’s doing, he gets it, he’s just not ready to admit it to himself.

He ends up telling Aaron. And it’s just because he needs to have someone else play with him. Just to test out a few things. Not because it’s Aaron.

Aaron who disgustingly smiles at him when Andrew shows him what he has composed. Aaron who knows he has a soulmate. Aaron who asks “it’s him isn’t it?” when Andrew puts his hands in his hair because his soulmate is listening to one of his sickening upbeat songs.

Aaron who tells Kevin. Fuck you Aaron.

Andrew knows Kevin would happily crack his head open if he didn’t need a singer and guitarist. He hears him mutter something like “that fucker knew how to compose and he never said anything before”.

They end up rehearsing the song together. First it’s just Aaron and Andrew showing Kevin and Nicky the ropes, then it’s the whole band. And if the smile on Kevin’s lips is any indication, the song is good. Damn good.

They end up including it in the new album. And Andrew is okay with it. But then Wymack hears it and decides it’s going to be the single paving the way for the album. Andrew doesn’t want to, it’s *his* song, it’s something he’d come to share with his soulmate and his soulmate alone.

He was happy with it becoming part of the album. He had anticipated how it’d feel like to hear his soulmate listening to their album and recognising the song. He had not anticipated the song becoming mainstream.

But he says yes to Wymack. He owes him that much. He still decides to do things his own way.

The Foxhole are supposed to debut the song during the first concert of their promotional tour. It’s Kevin who usually does the talking, but before he can start presenting the new single Andrew snatches the mic.

He feels Kevin’s eyes drill holes in his head when he says why he wrote the song, why he recorded it and- and that’s all because he has an annoying soulmate who supports him. And when he finishes Aaron is smiling (fuck you Aaron) and Nicky is staring at him with his mouth open.

If the screams and the yells and the choruses asking for an encore are any indication, the crowd loves the song. Andrew doesn’t care. His head is screaming “now he knows now he know now he knows”. And who would ever want to have anything to do with him. He’s fucked up. Oh he’s fucked it all up.

He grits his teeth through the concert, trying to prevent the walls in his head from crumbling down right in front of thousands of people. He regrets saying it but he misses his meds. They made this part easier, they didn’t let him dwell and spiral down into chaos.

When the show finishes he knows what’s waiting for him. A wall of fans screaming to his face that they are his soulmate- Aaron had warned him about it when Andrew had told him what he’d planned on doing.

He locks the door of his changing room and tires to breathe through the panic choking him. Just a few more minutes and then he’ll get out, face the fans and the media and the mess. He did this to himself. Just a few more minutes. Just a few more minutes- but the door of his changing room is thrown wide open. The intruder closes it back behind his back and presses his body against it to keep the door shut.

Andrew barely manages to say “What the fuck?”

“Lock picks!” the guy throws them a him. Andrew effortlessly catches them one-handed. The intruder flashes him a smile so bright it can’t be real. Just like the red curls and the blue eyes and everything else about him. Who the fuck is this man?

As if he’s reading into his mind, he says “Don’t worry your bodyguards will be here in a sec.” Another smile.

Andrew barely has time to open his mouth and reply when the bodyguards come crashing into Andrew’s changing room. And right then the stranger says: “By the way, I’m Neil and in the morning you always listen to Welcome to the Black Parade. Nice to meet you soulmate.”

[blue-angel-wings]

Ez Drabble - Bruised feet and phone numbers.

Warnings: cursing, butchers( I guess idk some people could be vegetarian 🤷‍♀️), injuries.

Characters: Ez Reyes x Reader (Y/N), Felipe Reyes

Summary: reader is a regular at Felipe’s shop and during a visit meets Ez and ends up with an injured foot. Accidentally.

Author notes: Thank you to all the feedback and likes and reblogs and what not on my last fic. I’m so glad it was so well received, so I’ve given it another go hehe. Also I didn’t really proofread so sorry for any spelling mistakes.

When you first moved from LA to Santo Padre you found the change difficult. LA was busy and there were people everywhere and you grow used to the constant company of strangers. Santo Padre was the complete opposite, quiet and somewhat small. Everybody knew everybody and there wasn’t a town centre full of the same shops. It had cute little shops that sold useless but fun items. There was only one well known drugstore, grocery store, 2 clothing stores maximum and most prominent was the singular butcher.

Felipe Reyes had owned the only butcher shop in town for decades and he had a known clientele. You soon became part of that, despite being a picky eater and quite fussy with your cut of meat, you adored the cute old man that never said much but looked i n a constant state of thought.

It was a Friday night, meaning steak night at the home you shared with your Nana and Cousin. You only worked at the salon across the street from Felipe’s shop so you were tasked with buying the meat for tonight. Not that you minded, you and Felipe had grown close due to your frequent trips after work and during your lunch break. It started as a harmless trip to buy meat but then you got roped into a game of chess one Wednesday evening and then the trips became less about food and more about chatting and losing at chess.

“Good afternoon, Felipe my love.” You called out cheekily to the man behind the counter. He returned the comment with a eye roll and kiss of his teeth but you saw the slight smile that graced his wrinkled face.

“Well if it isn’t Santo Padre’s worst chess player. The usual sweetheart?”

“Oh watch it, I’m getting better just you wait I’ll be rinsing you dry before you know it old man. And yes the usual.” You quipped with a hand placed jokingly on your hip. He chuckled, rounding the counter to give you a hug and kiss to the cheek.

“You would take money from an old man, do you have now manners?”

“Not when it comes to gambling” you shrugged. It was true if money was involved all class your mother forced on you went out the window, you were competitive what could you say?

“The cuts you want is out back, I’ll go get it and don’t steal from the register I may be old but I will hunt you down.” He jokingly threatened whilst turning to head towards the back of the shop. You ignored his comment and turned to look at the stacks of books, none jumping out at you. It wasn’t until you heard a secondary voice at the back of store did you raise your head to see the Adonis of a man enter. He was calling back to Felipe about changing parts in the grinder and didn’t see you, therefore giving you time to check out the body he was seemingly gifted with.

“Yeah pops I’ll flip the sign in the door on my way out, you go home early tonight and I’ll fix it when I-.” Stopping mid sentence to look at the girl at the front of store. Shocked to see anybody there this late in the evening, let alone someone so beautiful.

“Oh.” He fumbled with his words, the box of parts in his hands becoming heavy and his palms starting to sweat. Ez tended to be quiet and reserved but he always had words to say incase spoken to. But in this situation he was rendered speechless. Lost in a trance he didn’t spot that you had waved slightly, then extended a hand to shake as an introduction.

“Hi, I’m Y/N, Felipe is just getting my cuts of meat then I’ll be out of your hair-“

“No don’t- I mean you can go when he gives you the meat, we won’t trap you here.” He chuckled nervously towards the end of his sentence unsure of what to say.

You were kinda taken aback not knowing what to say to that, you quickly moved on asking his name, to which he replied and explained that he was Felipe’s son.

Interesting.

He extended a hand to shake, momentarily forgetting of the box that sat in his hands. Due to its loss of balance, it fell and landed on your foot. Hard.

“Oh shit.” You yelped grasping your foot and pressing down to soothe the searing pain you felt.

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry. What the fuck have I done!?!”

He apologised kicking the box to the side to guide you to the table and chair a few steps away. You grabbed his outstretched arm and felt the veins and muscle rippling under his skin. Once again. Interesting.

“It’s okay it’s not too bad.” You said inspecting the foot, it wasn’t a total lie. Although it hurt like hell, the bruising was only faint right now. Tomorrow is gonna be a whole different story.

“I am sorry, I was distracted by your fa- and next thing I know I’ve dropped the box.” He cut himself off when he noticed he was gonna say something creepy, you didn’t notice to engrossed in looking at the damage to your appendage. He continued to apologise, worried you would freak out and leave before he got to know you slightly. What a cutie. This Greek god looked genuinely concerned. Attractive and kind.

For a third time today. Interesting

“Truly it’s okay, it looks heavy. Did you want help carrying it somewhere?” You asked, moving to start to gather the objects that were once in the box. Ez looked at you quizzically.

“I just dropped this on your foot now your asking if I need help. Your foot could be seriously injured- wait here I’ll get some ice.”

You chuckled and grabbed arm to stop him and to kind of feel is muscle again.

“I’m hoping by helping you, you won’t drop it on my other foot.” You laughed and although he didn’t find it funny, he released a breath he didn’t know he was holding, knowing that you didn’t hate him.

Just as Ez stood to get the ice pack, Felipe returned with the cuts all wrapped up and ready for you. He took one look at you sat at the table with a rapidly bruising foot whilst a guilty looking Ezekiel stood next to you staring at the floor. From an outsiders view it was suspicious but to you it was funny.

“Y/N, what happened?” Felipe’s asked placing the meat on the table next to you to inspect your foot. You giggled when Ez sucked in a breath, waiting for you to tell his father about his ridiculous reaction to seeing a beautiful girl in the shop.

“Felipe it’s fine, Ez just dropped a box accidentally on my foot and it’s a little sore. I’ll take some pain killers when I get home and rest it. By the morning it will be fine.” You reassured the Reyes men, who both shared a look of worry.

“I’m sorry for my sons actions.” He said shaking his head and standing once again, you made a move to stand also, but didn’t get far before Ez stepped in to help you.

Once upright, after a momentary struggle with the pain. You were partially leaning against the counter paying for the meat, after much haggling on your part for you to actually pay, insisting that the accident didn’t warrant you free meat. Ez still had his hands firmly grasping you, however they had moved from your hands to your waist, not that you were complaining. After paying and bidding farewell to Felipe with the promise of you returning tomorrow to check in with him and play chess probably, you walked to your car, or should you say limped. Thank god your was automatic and the you didn’t need to use the inured foot to drive. Ez opened the door for you and placed you delicately inside, making sure not to knock the foot on the side of the centre console. He leant through the window to talk to you.

“When you get home make sure to elevate it and ice it. Probably take something for the pain and rest. Understood?”

“Yes Dr. I’ll do just that.” You rolled your eyes at Ez’s remark but agreed internally.

“I am still so sor-“ you cut him off by placing a hand over his mouth.

“Will you stop apologising, I know your sorry. Don’t worry your pretty head, okay?” You replied, moving your hand to tap lightly against his cheek in a faux patronising manner.

He chuckled and turned his head to place a kiss to the palm of your hand, causing a blush to rise to you cheeks, undoubtedly being noticed by the culprit.

“Well how about you give me your number, just so I know how it is in the morning?” He asked whilst fiddling with the tips of your fingers almost like he was afraid to look you in the face. You chuckled and leant across the car to open up the glove box, revealing a pen and paper. He watched as you neatly scribbled down your number and drew a little heart next to it just for fun.

“There, you can text me in the morning. Not too early though, it’s my day off and I don’t want to be woken by a guy who breaks feet in his free time.” You said as he took the paper with a smile on his face. You said your goodbyes and you drive off, looking forward to the text you would be receiving. Back at the shop, Felipe watched as his son looked longingly at his future wives number written neatly next to a little heart just for him.

[doctordiscord123]

My Way or the Highway -- Whumptober 2020

Illinois stumbles upon something big but quickly learns to regret it.

Commission Info | Buy me a ko-fi

@whumptober2020

Tags: @demon-dark-666 @devon-rever-860 @smash-ash26 @bender-of-life @verse2wo @vociferous-chaos @itsjustkyss @takethepainawaybae @the-pan-anon @ts-famderartist @rottingmolars @revolutionbastard @toothfairy2298 @sororia04s @sirkawaiipotato @darkest-shade-of-light @bitchbyebibye @posts-random-art @xoskeletonkid @lulu-chaos-incarnation @regalrain02 @parental-tendencies @tried-my-best @mirrored-calamity  If you want to be added to the list, just let me know!

 Warnings: Blood, Kidnapping  Pairings: None  Characters: Illinois  Word Count: 1511 words

Illinois panted, wiping the sweat from his brow as he hacked at the jungle foliage, constantly readjusting his grip on his machete with the heat and humidity making his hands sweaty. He’d been out here for a good few weeks now -- first scouring the foothills of the Andes in Colombia, before turning his attention to the Amazon. Sure, El Dorado most likely didn’t exist, but that didn’t mean Illinois wasn’t going to try. He’d done his research, learning from the mistakes of those before him. 

Besides, even if he didn’t find anything, it was still a Hell of an adventure.

Grinning despite himself, despite the unbearable heat and bugs and sweat, Illinois continued to push his way through the jungle, making sure to watch every step in fear of snakes or other creatures that could kill him easily. There was nothing quite as terrifying as being at the mercy of nature, and it was a fear Illinois knew well, and he’d learned to obey and use that fear to avoid winding up dead where no one will ever find his body. Not before the animals got to it. 

Hacking once more at the vines foliage blocking his path, he winced as his machete seemed to hit something thicker. Probably a tree. He pulled the vines aside to allow him through, and -- well he wasn’t really sure what it was. It -- didn’t look right to be a tree, so heavily covered in plant life that he couldn’t see the trunk. He couldn’t even see where his machete had hit it. Looking up wasn’t any better, since the the roof of branches and leaves all seemed interconnected anyway. Illinois squinted up at the jungle ceiling, before back to the suspicious probably-not-a-tree, and rubbed at his eyes. How long had he been walking now? He could probably afford a bit of a rest before trying to decipher what this was.

With a heavy sigh, Illinois dropped his machete and his backpack, and sat down on the forest floor, leaning against the maybe-not-a-tree.

And immediately, the area flooded with golden light.

Illinois’ eyes snapped open, and he tried to scramble to his feet, but he was so used to accounting for the weight of his backpack he just fell back down. And then he was frozen in awe, watching as rows of men, soldiers, packed into the jungle, seemingly from nowhere. He assumed they were soldiers, anyway, going by the face paint, shields, and spears. In fact, they looked -- like they were straight out of murals of Aztec warfare. Ancient soldiers, stuck in time.

Illinois swallowed nervously as he realized he might’ve stumbled upon what he was looking for.

...He didn’t account for it still being populated.

One of the men in front -- Illinois could tell he was important from the way his outfit was gaudier, bigger, and the way he carried himself -- slammed his spear into the ground, glaring down at Illinois. He said something in a language Illinois didn’t understand, raising an eyebrow. When Illinois didn’t reply, he repeated himself, definitely angrier, slamming the butt of his spear into the ground, glaring pointedly at Illinois.

Illinois swallowed again, moving slowly back to his feet. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t --”

The second he tried to move, the man in charge slammed his spear again, shouting something in that other language, and two other soldiers rushed forward. Illinois didn’t have time to even think about running before they were grabbing him roughly under his arms and hoisting him to his feet, dragging him along. Illinois cried out in protest, trying to dig his heels into the jungle floor, but the soldiers were strong, and it did little to slow them down. Still, Illinois’ struggled, trying to wrest himself free of the soldiers’ grasps. “Wait! Wait wait wait, hold on, I --”

Illinois cut his own words off with a sharp jolt of fear rushing down his spine as the tip of a very sharp spear suddenly found itself at his throat. The next soldier in the strict, military line glared him down, and Illinois obediently stopped moving, relaxing as much as he could force his body to, eyes locked on the shaft of that spear. Only the steady, trained beat of their march kept him from injury, but if they stopped short -- Illinois could only imagine what it would feel like to have that spear in his throat.

Illinois was dragged through what he now realized were gates, and into the commotion of the lost city. In nearly any other scenario, Illinois would take his time fawning over how well it was hidden, the city built around the forest itself, using the great canopy as cover. He would’ve admired the beautiful gold the building were accented with, the sun glinting of of the streets themselves and the buildings’ valuable designs. Now, he was only concerned with the public display he was becoming, people exiting their homes to watch him be paraded through the streets, Illinois’ pulse pounding in his ears in time with their footsteps, and that spear so fucking close to his throat.

The soldiers stopped dead, and Illinois could help his desperate cry and impulsive jerk to get free -- but the spear stayed at his throat, only nicking his skin a little. His heart was racing, he was hyperventilating, and he cried out again as he was spun around and shoved forcefully to his knees. Disoriented, he tried to lift his head, but then what definitely felt like a foot was being braced against the back of his neck, forcing him to bend completely, his forehead pressed to the golden street beneath him.

He heard the voice from earlier, the soldier in charge, and the foot moved away from his neck. Illinois didn’t move regardless, swallowing hard. But -- then there was a different voice, one that sounded like a woman, but Illinois didn’t have time to try and process it further before there was the sound of things being thrown down beside him, and he flinched, gasping a little. A quick glance out of the corner of his revealed it was his stuff being thrown down -- his backpack, hat and machete. The woman spoke again, and she sounded -- surprised? Confused? -- followed by the angry tone of who Illinois was going to dub a general.

There footsteps, slowly approaching.

Illinois lifted his head in a panic, opening his mouth to explain himself -- or at least try to --

Only for the foot to press back against his neck, and his head was slammed back into the ground with a force Illinois wasn’t expecting. His forehead cracked against the ground loudly, his nose smashing against the stone, and Illinois cried out sharply. Distantly he could feel his wrists being yanked behind him, rough rope being wound around them, but he was a bit more preoccupied with the increased pounding in his skull and the blood he could feel pooling beneath his face.

The footsteps halted, and Illinois felt something hooking beneath his chin, forcing his head back up. 

Blood and tears were smeared across his face, terror bright in his eyes. The woman only raised an eyebrow as she lorded above him, her foot the thing forcing his attention. Her black hair was cut short, to chin level, her dress golden, simple, but regal all the same. Golden bracelets decorated her arms, heavy hoops dangling from ears, necklaces draped around her, but perhaps the most elaborate and eye-catching thing she wore was her headdress: made of a leopard’s pelts, various bird feathers, with uncut jade decorating the brim.

If Illinois thought the general held power, this woman radiated it.

She hummed softly, eyebrow arching further, and she tilted her head to speak to one of the men standing on either side of her -- guards, Illinois assumed -- though she never broke eye contact. She said something in some sort of amused tone, and, judging by the way the guards and soldiers snickered, it was probably something at Illinois’ expense. He couldn’t find it in himself to care if he was being made fun of, not when she smirked, and lifted her foot a little more, forcing Illinois to tilt his head back further.

She said something else to her guards, her smirk growing a little.

And suddenly everything was moving again as Illinois was dragged away.

He tried to fight again, tried to wrestle free of the grip on his bound wrists, but that only earned him lost footing and being dragged across the stone ground, struggling to get his footing back as his knees scraped across the road. He was dragged off to what looked like a temple, elaborate and grand -- no doubt where that woman lived. He was dragged inside, dragged through what felt like endless hallways until --

He was tossed into an elaborate bedroom, forced to his knees once more, and his wrist bound to the wooden post of the bed.

The solider left.

The door was closed.

...And Illinois was left alone to wonder what the Hell his fate was going to be.

[unholyhelbig]

Hosie where Hope finds out that Josie is dealing... Oregano?

A/N: I wish I had some oregano to get me through this quarantine... 

Title: Searching for a Deal 

Ship: Hope Mikaelson/ Josie Saltzman 

Request prompts here | Read on AO3 

Magic had a scent to it that reminded Hope of home. She could never pinpoint the exact smell, it was more of a feeling than anything, a memory that pulled at the very back edges of her mind until it felt familiar.

Her aunt carried a dark mahogany box; its wood was soft and finished and hot like sage. And that’s exactly what magic reminded her of. Of course, she kept weed in that box and hid it behind the books she knew her family wouldn’t reach for. But not everyone was as cunning as Rebekah. Hope was.

She would reach her hands past the spell books, feeling that cold energy along the way, and pull out the box. It didn’t take much convincing to get one of the witches in the quarter to teach her how to roll the paper around the herb, she would sit on top of the toilet in her bathroom near the small window and blow the smoke through there. Hope probably inhaled more off-brand air freshener than the actual weed.

There were parties at the Boarding School, kids who had a handle on where to get drugs, but part of her always felt horrible about drawing smoke into her lungs and passing it back to the person who had paid for it. She was used to doing things herself, and she had gotten to the itchy point in time where she wanted it on her own.

She couldn’t call her Aunt Rebekah, she had gotten away with too much as a young teenager and she was nice enough not to say anything. And going into Mystic Falls to con Maya out of her supply wasn’t an option either. She needed to find a hook-up within the walls of the school.

Hope tried Lizzie first.

“Oh come on,” she whispered harshly, sandwiched between romance novels and a shelf of non-fiction Norse magic. The blonde let her eyes flick from the finely printed spines to Hope before going back to her task. “I know you have some.”

“And what makes you think I do?”

Hope shrugged and tested her luck “There’s no way in hell that therapy is the only thing that has mellowed you out this much, Lizzie. Just give me a name.”

The blonde blinked slowly at her, fingers running against the nearest textbook. She swiped it from the metal shelf and piled it on top of the other one in her arms before letting out a small breath. “Even if I was about to tell you, which I’m not, insulting me isn’t the way to get answers, Hope.”

“Then what is?” She arched a brow.

“Simple. Ask someone else.”

Hope let out a groan of frustration and the taller Saltzman twin went back to her book report. The library was mostly empty at this time of day, golden strings of light bouncing from the shelves. She wouldn’t be able to find an answer with the librarian behind the counter or the young vampire lounging in one of the leather chairs with oversized headphones.

She was agitated, and albeit, desperate.

That very desperation leads her to the gym; it was vastly different than the study. Its floors gleamed and the sound of rubber against glossed wood pounding against her already existing headache. She lingered by the doors for a few moments, watching a few of the wolves pull themselves effortlessly up the ropes.

As soon as Rafael met her gaze, she beaconed him over.

“Not a chance, Hope.” He said, breath caught in his throat. A fine layer of sweat dripped through his shirt. “Dr. Saltzman is strict about that stuff. You think I would be caught with that in my system?”

It hadn’t stopped him before, not at the same parties that Hope had gone to. He was often sitting right next to her, blunt between his teeth and smoke clouding his lungs. “Fair point, but you know who sells it?”

He stalled for a moment, clenching his jaw and glancing back at his teammates. “No. But I know who might.”

Penelope Park.

Hope was growing exhausted of this game of telephone, and even more wary of rushing around the Salvatore school. It wouldn’t be hard to track down Satan herself, she stuck to the dark corners of the school and often camped out under the bleachers, letting the coolness of her perch soak through her jeans as she breathed in the sharp smoke. She reeked of it, and Hope lingered at the entrance. She kicked a metallic can of off-brand beer to get the woman’s attention.

Two other witches lingered, one with his arms stretched above his head, he clung to the bars like a vice and narrowed his glowing eyes at her. The other witch grabbed the rolled paper that Penelope jutted out to her. Hope despised the smug look on her face and the sloppy grin that followed.

“You have a moment?” Hope asked, shoving her hands into her pockets.

Penelope stood from the cinderblock with little hesitation. With the nod of her head, the blunt was handed back to her and the two witches exited from their position at her flanks. They never took their eyes away from her. Hope hated being alone with Penelope.

“You want a hit?” Penelope asked, stretching out her hand.

Yes, she did, more than anything. She nodded and took the rolled cigarette before taking a deep breath in. The toxic taste coated her lungs and instantly made the tension release from her shoulders. “Thanks. I actually… Raf said that you know where to get this?”

“mm, try in town.” She grabbed the blunt back and then dropped it into the wet soil, using the tip of her toe to ground it into nothing. “The humans at Mystic High thrive on it.”

Hope shook her head “I know someone here supplies it. Just not who.”

Penelope laughed and she hated the sound of it. It was something that mocked her and kept her up on certain nights when she was forced into the same social situations as the girl, which wasn’t often. It made Hope cross her arms over her chest defensively.

“Relax, dude. I just think it’s funny that you’re just now hunting this kind of thing down. Even funnier that you have no clue who sells it. It pays to have friends around here, you know?”

Hope glared at her. “I just need a name, Park.”

“Fine, fine.” She shrugged her shoulders in defeat “Josie.”

She wanted to tell Penelope Park to crawl back into whatever hole she had dug herself last. To lay down and cover herself in dirt because there was no way in hell she had spent this long talking to the girl for a bullshit answer like that one. Josie Saltzman. Yeah right.

Penelope must have read the expression on her face. “You asked for a name, Red. I gave you one. She doesn’t’ sell the best stuff, but it’s high quality for Mystic Falls. And even better, you don’t have to travel into town for it.”

Hope waved her off and walked out from under the bleachers, back into the sunlight. She was instantly washed with an easier scent of freshly mowed grass and off-brand sports drink. Maybe she would find Josie, because if Penelope lied, at least it was about Josie. Soft lipped and kind-hearted Josie. She might get scoffed at, but that was the extent.

She found the girl in her dorm room, the door cracked open as she drew little swirls in her notebook.  Ukulele was on her right side. She had been scrawling notes and lyrics but took a creative break, it seemed. The girl glanced up with a stunningly potent stare, setting everything aside as the tribrid knocked sheepishly on the doorframe.

“Can we talk?” Hope had asked, and she knew the answer before she even parted her lips. Josie had a certain vulnerability to her eyes that spelled everything out. Of course, they could talk. Hope could speak for hours without a breath and Josie would listen.

Josie scooted over at the base of her bed and patted the spot on the carpet with a slight nod. Hope was feeling the few breaths she pulled in under the bleachers, the taste still thick on her tongue. Her mouth was dry and she would kill for one sip of water, but this seemed like the most important place to be right now.

“I’ve been asking around the school,” She started. Josie nodded, her slight curls bouncing “and Penelope Park of all people told me that I could… buy something off of you?”

“Like what?”

Josie got this adorable little crinkle in her nose when she was miffed, or when she was lying. Hope never noticed it at first, but she did after once too many dinners with the family. Josie didn’t like lemon and she didn’t like fish either but she would eat it if they were in a fancy enough restaurant because that was the polite thing to do. Her nose crinkled now.

“weed Jo. I’ve been searching through this entire school, and so help me God if Penelope is fucking with me,” She stilled and sighed “I’m stressed. I need something.”

“I don’t even smoke weed.”

“Christ,”

Hope pinched the bridge of her nose, because she knew this meant having to go into town. She didn’t like Lizzie Saltzman much, but she disliked Dana even more. All the townies had something against each and every one of them, and she wasn’t prepared to drop a good amount of money on something so small.

Josie shifted as she turned towards the bed and pressed her shoulder against the floor. She was reaching blindly under her bed for something, letting out little grunts of exasperation. She said something, but it was muffled by the carpet. Finally, she pulled a small mahogany box from the darkness.

“I asked if you could close the door,” Josie emerged, breathless.

Hope just nodded dumbly and got to her feet before following the order. She remained there, her back against the mahogany as she rose both of her eyebrows. Josie hummed in gratitude before unlatching the container.

“I hide it in my sage because people like you can’t smell it otherwise.”

“I thought you said you didn’t’ smoke.”

“Oh I don’t, but I can recognize a good business venture when I see one. There’s not a dealer within fifty miles of this place. Simply no competition so my margins are great.” She stopped rooting around and pulled out a little baggie, a portioned clump of browns and greens.

“I never would have figured.” Hope laughed.

“That’s kind of the point,” Josie beamed “First ones free.”