#That hurt like a motherfucker and I still have a numb spot on my leg from it

[spreadyourwingsc]

Sy and Saoirse- Chapter 11

Summary: Sy and Saoirse figure their way through their relationship, before, during and after Sy is deployed.

Disclaimer: This is the first story I have ever written and published. Captain Syverson is not my own.  Saoirse is, I don’t intend to offend anyone or anyone's culture with my story, if you feel that this content belongs to you or anyone else, please let me know and I will delete it. This is purely fiction and not an actual representation of things!

TW: This story contains: violence, attempted SA, PTSD,  strong language and mature scenes, please proceed cautiously, you’d been advised. If there’s something I missed, please let me know

AN: I’m open to any suggestions and advice, I don’t know where the story is going yet, but if you want to help me write it, or better it!Please let me know!

TW for his chapter: Recreational drug use, PTSD, Anxiety, war flashbacks. etc

Chapter 11

The sun peeked from the windows curtains, first thing in the morning, the birds were chirping and it was quiet, so quiet, Saoirse was used to waking up like this on the weekends, reaching beside her on the bed only to find the empty spot. she sighed, as usual the early riser that Sy is, it was no surprise for her.  She rolled over, still facing his empty side of bed and let her mind wander, thinking how she had let him in so easily, it just made sense, how her heart and her mind aligned when she saw him. Even when she thought she would never forgive him for what hes done, she’d been scared to get hurt again, not again, because she never actually expected him to come back. 

Then he said all those things about his time abroad, she knew he was hurting, she knew there were things that haunted his thoughts everyday, and he would never let on, she knew he was thinking how to get out of it, but was he really?. The fact that they had fallen into this picket fence fantasy, where he just moved in with her, or well at least he was sleeping there all the time, but none of them were to address that elephant in the room, and there was a herd of elephants to address. But it all felt so good, at least for a moment.

Throwing the covers off herself, she went on to find some coffee after cleaning herself up. The house was eerily quiet, just the sign of the still hot coffee pot, she served herself a cup, and opened her backyard door. 

Sy was scrunched down with his legs crossed in front of him, shirtless, with his back leaning against the wall on the deck, looking at the rows of trees that went past her backyard fence, looking so lost and out of touch. But what surprised her was the joint he was holding in his hand, he turned his face to watch her, eyes bloodshot and the scrubbed beard, he looked terrible, and she felt her heart tug.

“Really Sy, weed?”. She approached him

“Helps me cope, sit”. he demanded, and she did, she sat next to him, took the imposing stick from his hand and took a drag of her own. 

“Naughty girl” he draped an arm around her shoulders.

“Had a guy in college, was his side job”. he raised his eyebrow at This, and that moment he realized how much things have really changed and how much he had missed. 

“Really…” 

“Yeah..I kinda.. went a little too hard on those frat parties, but I guess I was just mad and trying to overcome a broken heart…i guess”. 

“Hmm”. 

“I got shot” -She sat up and turned to look at him quickly. “…on m’ stomach and leg”. He lowered his sweatpants to show her the marks, she moved her hand to touch it, hand hovered over it for a second, he flinched but then put his hand on top of hers, grabbing it and bringing it to his lips for a chaste kiss on the back of it. 

“Sy-” She’d seen the marks, there were too many, but she wouldn't dare ask, not right now, not ever, she knew it must not be easy to relive those memories.

“Was on the end of the line, tis other private, dumb kid…but he saved my life, there was no anesthesia, nor nothing to numb the pain…this motherfuck’ lights one up, and hands it to me the only thing he says is “blow up cap”... starts sewing bullets wound cold blooded". 

“Sy..”

“I don't want to go back Saoirse, I want nothing more, to stay here with you, to share this space, but I have to,  and it's your space and i get it, I cannot ask you to wait for me any longer…it’s it’s not fair”, 

“Sy I want to…i love you” She knew what she was getting into and while seeing those words she wasn't entirely sure if she meant them. Was she really willing to wait?. But what else would she do? 

She found herself comparing every other guy to Sy, even Rick, the junkie from college, he was good, but that's all he ever was, a junkie, and while Saorsie was no crazy ass rebel, she was no church girl either. She needed balance, and that balance always seemed to resemble Sy. 

“I love you too baby”. Kissing her temple.  He said knowing he wouldn’t convince her otherwise. 

No other words were passed that day, they spent the day on the deck, smoking eating and drinking, and at some point they headed inside. but things seemed a little bit easier now.

--

Thanks for reading! 

Also I don't have a posting schedule, I literally just write and post as inspiration hits me!, but if you’d like to be notified when I post, I can make a tag list of some sorts. Again, please bear with me while I figure all this out! thank you so much! 

-BloodyinspiredFuck.

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Hey Len, did you ever think about wrapping some barbed wire around O2's chest and neck? I wonder if he'd still want to take a deep breath then...

honestly? Len is a cruel cruel motherfucker. I like them. Also part of this was inspired by this from @whumpitisthen which is?? SO GOOD??? ughgh delicious i have read it many times lol also aw feck i think i have to make o2 a masterlist

CW: mentioned strangulation, captivity, breaking Whumpee, restraints, cruel whumper, intimate whumper, blink and you'll miss it religious reference (single word), noncon touching (non sexual), partial nudity (nonsexual), blood mention, sleep deprivation

[Masterlist]

Len glanced over to where they had displayed their boy. He was restrained standing, with his back up against one of the decorative pillars. Steel gray barbed wire wrapped around his neck and chest, forcing him to keep his head perfectly upright. It was tight, digging in enough that rivets of red were dripping down his bare chest and staining the black slacks they had put him in.

Little o2 was shaking.

They hummed and went back to their work, happy to leave him just a bit longer.

O2’s chin was trembling, tears itching on his face. He wanted to wipe them away but couldn’t with his hands pressed together like a prayer and wrapped in the wire. It hurt. It all hurt. He didn’t care if he was a pet, didn’t care what his sadist was doing to him - he wanted it to stop hurting. To sleep.

He was so tired.

Usually, with the collars and corsets and straps there was a sense of blankness that would overtake him. Eventually, the corners of his vision would blur just enough, the world would get just dark enough that time would start to slip. “Sleep” was…. Not right word but the only word he would let himself accept.

But the wire kept jabbing under his skin, kept shifting in farther as he swallowed or tried to breathe. The barbs around his chest kept his breath so shallow. He couldn’t fade away like this, couldn’t “sleep”. If he started to drift away, he would twitch or move or breathe normally and get jolted away with a spark of pain.

It was hard to tell how long he’d been left up there, but his feet and legs were numb from standing so long.

He just wanted to sleep.

Unconsciously, his head slowly melted down, only to jostle the wire around his throat. He jerked back up with a pathetic whimper, every point getting upset by the movement. O2 clenched his jaw and dropped his head back against the pillar. He was in hell. He didn’t know what he had done, didn’t understand how he had deserved this, but he was in hell. It was either not being able to breathe for days on end, or not being able to sleep. There was always something, always some kind of deprivation.

He whimpered again, hoping to get his captor’s attention. They, they liked him like this, he knew that. Distantly, he had always understood it. They liked him limp and pliant and weak. They liked being able to move him however they wished and with no fight. O2 had fought against it time and time and time again, but he wasn’t strong enough anymore.

Len glanced up with a grin and then back to their work.

~~~

O2 fell. More than once. Pain jolted him back awake, but his mind slipped from him slowly. His eyes burned and his head pounded. He was tired and thirsty and hungry. Hunger was usually the easiest to ignore, with the belts wrapped around his stomach so tightly, but there wasn’t any right now and the need was devouring him. Even whimpering pitifully required too much energy. He was drifting, stuck, fading, trapped. All of them - none of them.

The soft hand against his cheek was like ice water over his system. He gasped and twitched weakly, not even strong enough to send new beads of blood across the dried streams.

“Mmmn. My little martyr,” Len mused to themself, admiring how empty and blank his eyes were. It was wonderful, perfect. This had been their own private exhibit, but they would have to repeat it later for their friends. It was beautiful and striking like only the most provocative of art is.

Carefully, they unwound the bloodsoaked wire and caught him as he fell. O2 whined brokenly, grasping onto their shirt with shaking fingers. They smiled and picked him up easily, taking him over to the bed and laying him down. Gently carding through his black hair, Len reminisced about when they first brought their boy home. He was heavier then, harder to control. He broke a guard’s nose. The first time they put the collar on him, the first time they cinched it tight and watched his eyes bulge in fear was something they wouldn’t soon forget.

Now, those green eyes were closed with dark lashes laying against his cheek. With a smirk, Len pressed down cruelly on the half-closed marks. O2 jolted awake with a gasp, eyes only barely able to find him.

“No sleeping, not quite yet. Poor stupid little o2, don’t you realize by now this is how I like you?”

If there had been any water left in him, tears would have spilled from o2’s eyes again. Please, please he just wanted to sleep. He wanted to have them both, he wanted to close his eyes and breathe at the same time. Right now, after hours of pain and exhaustion, after months of suffocation and bruises that request seemed like the world. It seemed impossible, like wishing he could wear the full moon on a chain like a pendant.

“P-Pl-lease?” he whimpered, voice dry and gravelly. He couldn’t keep going like this, not for a moment longer. They smiled down at him.

“No.”

O2 sobbed, curling into himself with his forehead pressed against Len’s knee. He grabbed the sheets in weak fists and pulled them close, just wanting this to be over, to be done.

Len hummed contentedly, gently tapping their fingers along the line of sluggishly bleeding spots along his back.

~

o2 list cause content whooooo @milk-carton-whump @bumpthumpwhump @mysticwhump @whump-it @whump-me-all-night-long @as-a-matter-of-whump

[honestlyfrance]

For one word prompt: Sambucky + aranyhíd! I hope canon give u enough inspo for this! (@enchanted-lightning-aes)

aranyhíd

pairing: sam/bucky

warning: almost drowning, but in a funny context

a/n: honestly, i had much fun with this drabble, and yeah!! its post-fatws!!

masterlist / ask me prompts!

Once you’re up in the air, you have two choices: fly higher, or crash. Sam Wilson made a third option himself because fate is a motherfucker: fly longer, then crash. It’s a selfish option, but the people who love him would rather he live than come home in an empty casket.

If you’re wondering what it means, it’s simple. Fly longer than everyone who died past you, then crash wondering how to fill in the grief that they left. It hurts like a needle to your bone, like a sting that lasts for hours, but that’s grief, and Sam’s been grieving for an inhuman amount of time.

Coming to the docks was always that bandaid on the wound.

The sun glistens upwards into the clouds, golden tinge on white, looking like gold leaves on artwork. Blue eyes, blue sea, beautiful waves lapping against land like a lover’s caress. Sam sits on the deck in his Captain America uniform with spotted bruises like purple lavender, gathered in a stem that goes on forever. All these colors make him blind. All he sees is the horizon, and even then he’s colorblind to it.

He sighs, fiddling with his bruised hands, wondering how come he’s numb to the pain. It’s there, but he feels like laughing at it. Am I crazy? No, Sam, you’re just empty to the bone, like lying on the cold hard ground moaning for pain just because it gives you something to react to.

A figure behind him reveals to be Bucky Barnes carrying two bottles of beer, and he stands way behind the man. He watches the man he’s still confused about. You’d think that Sam is an open book, but he’s not. He’s easy like that, is able to hide his emotions and feelings and only show you what he wants to. It’s kind of manipulative, but Bucky used to be like that. Maybe they can share each other’s secrets that way.

Sam turns around and sees Bucky. “Hey,” he says, and he sounds tired, but he smiled anyway. “How long have you been standing there?”

Bucky switches his weight on the other leg before scoffing, turning his head. “Just looking at the view,” then he sauntered over, handing Sam a bottle before sitting down beside him. “The sunsets here are very pretty. Kinda jealous you grew up here.”

Sam hummed, looking over the horizon, now seeing the colors. It’s pretty. The sky is turning pink faster by the seconds. “Yeah… It’s pretty nice. The mornings are even prettier. Going to school to that kind of view. It wakes you up even faster.” Bucky laughed, and Sam cheered to that.

Bucky looked over to him, and Sam kept looking towards the horizon. They’ve just come home from a mission investigating the bombing of the Flag Smashers, one step closer to the truth, but he’s got his own mission within him. Bucky’s got his own fight inside him, and he’s curious as to what he feels for Sam if it’s true and genuine. It could be adoration, but it always starts with adoration, doesn’t it?”

“Does it hurt?” Bucky asked.

Sam glanced at him. “What is?”

“Your hands,” Bucky spoke, leaning back, setting his beer in between his legs. “When you fly, does the force of the wind hurt your body?”

Sam shrugged. “Sometimes. But I got used to it.”

The sky became bright pink, and Sam’s eyes suddenly became honey-dew orange. And it’s golden, like the golden bridge on the horizon. Bucky would walk that bridge to Sam’s eyes any day.

“I adore you,” Bucky whispered under his breath.

Sam choked mid-sip. “You adore me?” And he saw Bucky attempting to jump into the ocean. “Dude, what? Stop! Hey!” He charged forward to grab Bucky, but the force of it made them stumble in the water anyway.

Under the pink-ish hue of the sea, they got tangled in the waves. Bucky, immediately knowing what to do, grabbed Sam by the armpits and brought them above the water. The water was suddenly deep under them, the cutoff if you will. Bucky didn’t think that would happen, but Sam did because he immediately laughed once they reached the air.

“You dumbass!” Sam laughed, arms around Bucky’s neck as the latter tried to keep them afloat. “I adore you too. Now don’t go jumping docks because of my sweet ass.”

Bucky became dumbstruck, then smiled when he saw those honey-dew eyes once again. This is gorgeous. He was beautiful. “I love you, actually. Recklessly.”

When he heard those words, his heart sank then flew, but he had a choice now. He crashed into the arms of Bucky Barnes, and it was beautiful.

This could be the fill Sam Wilson was looking for.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Nice to Meet You

For @boxboysandotherwhump - Theo chose soft!Jameson, so here he is! @wildfaewhump gave me the three-word prompt “Space, shell, fair” for Jameson.

CW: Recovering pet whumpees, referenced past torture, scars, referenced dubcon/noncon, briefly referenced past dehumanization, consensual angst, fluff

When he opens the closet door, intending to press himself into his safe spot with his back to the corner, blocked by the boxes, he discovers Allyn is already there.

For a moment, his mind goes blank.

They look up at him and wince as the light cuts into the warm, velvet dark they were hiding in. Their long wavy hair hangs over their eyes, impossibly long legs bent until their knees are under their chin in the oversized sweatpants, gray eyes looking up at him, startled.

They’re more afraid of you than you are of them, whispers Nanda’s voice in his mind, soft and sweet as custard, the first owner, the one who took him on hunting trips where he had him sleep with the dogs and cut a line into the back of his thigh for every animal he slaughtered. All his memories of Nanda are grays tinged in blood - the gray of the sky, of Nanda’s eyes, the red of the bloodhounds, the drips that followed him across the floor. 

Nanda also taught him about bears, while they moved through the woods. They’re more afraid of you than you are of them, boy. Vanilla custard, but held on the edge of a sharp knife, metallic under pillowy cloying sweetness. Nanda’s words always felt like blood in his mouth, spoonfed.

Allyn isn’t a bear - but they are definitely afraid.

“Why-” His voice cracks, shock of earthquake through ice on his tongue, and he considers simply closing the door and walking away. Allyn is his roommate, not his friend. He doesn’t have friends, none of them have real friends. Just other people also suffering nearby. Finally, though, he opens the door just a little wider. “Why are you in here?”

Allyn shakes their head, and it’s only then Jameson realizes their hair is uncombed, hanging lank and limp and lifeless, which Allyn’s hair never does. Their lips tremble, no perfect fucking party smile in place like usual, as they cringe back from him. No pretty blouse, no pretty anything. Just pale and shadowed, freckles standing out like someone stuck them on. “I-I’m sorry, I just… just needed-... a, a minute t-to breathe, I’m sorry-”

“This is my fucking space, Allyn. Yours is under the bed, so… go be under the bed.” His voice isn’t as rough and mean as he wants it to be, but it’s maybe mean enough - they sniff, and he sees their eyes glitter with tears.

His anger melts under something he tells himself isn’t guilt, and he exhales, slowly, before he moves to a crouch. He doesn’t like being loomed over, so they probably hate it, too, right? He’s had too many motherfuckers stare down at him in his cages. He stays that way in silence, right at their eye level, cocking his head as they breathe, wondering what color their eyes really are.

“I’m sorry,” They whisper, and he can see the shift of their oversized sweatshirt, three days past needing a wash. This isn’t like Allyn at all. Have they been like this for days, and he didn’t notice?

Well, why he fuck should he notice, they’re not friends, and Allyn is in his space, the only space in his entire life that’s all his and isn’t ringed in bars to put him on display-

No. 

It’s not their fault, they’re upset, and the darkness of the closet is safer than anywhere else. You can hide in closets, he understands why they’re here. He forces down his irritation, and takes in the miserable worry in their eyes.

“Shit. Allyn, it’s... I don’t mean to be an ass, I just-... uh, what made you… need a minute? Exactly?” He should call for the big guy who runs this place, it’s his whole job to handle moments like this, but he can’t quite make it happen. Instead, he finds the voice he wants to be sharp is softer, his words feel like the heat of a kiss he actually wants, taste sweeter than any kiss he’s ever actually had. 

They’re more scared of you than you are of them.

“Um, I-I was-... I was thinking… about… him.” The poison in the love in their voice is all in Jameson’s head, but he feels it seep into all his scars anyway. Acid, that him. Too much pineapple burning his tongue. They’re lucky to have had an owner they could love. Luckier still, to have one who loved them back.

Luckiest of all, to have an owner who wanted them to be happy.

Unluckiest, though, to get chucked out with the fucking garbage when the asshole died and they weren’t in his will. It’s not fair, but it’s fucking life, isn’t it? And in the end, which one of them is luckier? Him, for knowing it was suffering the whole time - or them, for having the chance to believe it was anything else?

“You miss him.” Flat, crash of knives on the ground, the clink and rattle and smack of their handles. Allyn only hears the words. He is starting to realize words feel inside him differently than they do to others. 

Allyn nods, and the glitter of tears spills finally out. 

He wants to touch their face - he doesn’t.

“I-I do,” They whisper. “I know I sh-sh-shouldn’t, but I… I do. I’m sorry, I know that you don’t-... that you weren’t-”

“Yeah, well.” He waves a hand, dismissive. The scars on his back and legs feel stretched, when he crouches like this, balances on the balls of his feet. He can feel the skin pull at itself, numbed but still here. Couldn’t kill me, motherfuckers, how about that? I’m still here, and three of you are gone. You’re just fucking corpses and your little blow-up doll with a heartbeat is still here. “You’re hurting worse than I am now, so I guess we’re sort of even.”

“I just… I can’t-...” Allyn’s voice buckles under the weight of their emotions, it shatters. Jameson tastes blood from the glass and watches Allyn lift their hands to hide behind them. Long fingers, delicate and graceful, even in this. Nails filed to perfect roundness. His own fingers are nothing special, two of them on his right hand broken until they don’t bend quite right anymore. He didn’t have to have perfect hands. He barely escaped Robert getting to keep his hands at all, and that was only because he was pretty fucking good at using them. 

“I can’t live without him,” Allyn whimpers, muffled and thick. “I feel like… like I was made empty for him to fill up, and h-he’s gone, I can’t-... live without him, I can’t-”

He swallows the glass of their grief, buries it inside him. Wonders if he’ll ever know how it feels to give a shit what happened to the assholes who hurt him. What would it be like, to actually feel bad about the deaths? 

“You can,” He says, low-voiced, and shifts forward into the closet, settling himself down and closing the door until only the thinnest crack of light can break up their safer darkness. Barely the width of a wire, the light illuminates nothing, only reminds them it’s there. He listens to the soft inhale, slower exhale, of the person beside him. Their presence is a weight, in his safest places, and his nerves are alight with how fragile it is, to have anywhere at all, how easily ruined by someone intruding. He clears his throat, uncertain, unused to being one to give comfort. More used to ignoring its existence. “You, um. You can live without them, I fucking swear it, Allyn. I lived without all of mine, for a while, ‘fore the next one caught me, or bought me.”

He hears rustling, and tilts his head just slightly to see them looking at him. They’re pale, but he is, too, a duller washed-out color from lack of sunlight for so long. Their freckles look like constellations, the stars he would stare at through Robert’s window in the dark. He notes, absently, that they damn near have a Little Dipper along their left cheekbone. “But-... but you didn’t love them… did you?”

He decides he sort of likes their voice. It slips into his mind, subtle sweetness, maple syrup but thinner. Weaker, but maybe it could be strong. 

With time.

He swallows, speaking gruffly to cover up the strange twist of emotion. “No, I-... no. I didn’t love ‘em, but… but you keep going, you know? You’ll do it, too. I’m not… fuck, I’m not good for this. I wasn’t ever supposed to talk, so I’m not… super good at it now. Being, um. Like, helping… with words.” His voice is thick tar on his tongue, colored by his embarrassment. 

But he tries.

There’s a silence, and he leans over, until his shoulder just touches theirs. Allyn tenses and then relaxes, and they sit like that for a while, listening to each other breathe.

Allyn’s head comes to rest on his shoulder, and he finds he doesn’t mind the weight.

“I’m so tired of being sad,” They whisper. 

“Yeah, I’m-... sorta tired of being pissed off, myself.” He huffs a laugh. Then he feels Allyn’s hand - cold, slender, long-fingered - find his own, warmer and scarred. “Feels like we’re just empty seashells that get filled up with whatever the water brings, huh?”

“That… that sounds really pretty,” Allyn says softly. “Do you think pretty things a lot?”

“No. Most of my thoughts are really fucking ugly.” He manages another humorless laugh. “I guess I can surprise you, huh.”

“In more ways than one.”

“What?”

“I saw what you wrote on the wall,” Allyn murmurs, and they shift their head, breath warm on the side of his neck, where his collar is. Or isn’t. For a second, he can’t remember if he’s wearing it or not. He takes his off, sometimes. When he can. More and more often, as the days turns into weeks here.

“You did?” He closes his eyes, not that it makes much difference. They don’t let go of his hand. There is movement, out in the hall, in the rest of the house, but for the second, he and Allyn are alone. 

“Mmhmm. You can read and write? Did your owner let you?”

It’s a secret he’s kept inside him for so long. It’s so hard to give it away, now. “I… no, none of them knew I could. When they took it from me, it… didn’t work. I never lost it.”

“Oh.” They’re silent for a moment. Their breath is warm, and despite himself, he feels a nervous flip of his stomach, his hair standing on end. It’s something trapped between fear and want, and it’s unlike any fear or want he’s ever felt before. “What did you write, on the wall?”

He could tell them anything. He could lie.

He tells the truth. “I wrote out our names. All of us. Um. The, Jake, and… his people. Eli, Nova, Sarita, um, Allyn…”

“Did you write yours?”

He lets his head gently fall back to rest against the wall. His heart might break out of him, bleed all over the floor. A different kind of bleeding, a kind that he sort of wants, even though he doesn’t. “Um. Yeah, I… yeah.”

“What is it?” They don’t move their head, they don’t let go of his hand. “What’s your name?”

He shouldn’t tell them.

It’s been his secret for so, so long. But… fuck, he’s so tired of secrets.

“Jameson,” He says, and it’s the taste of air just before rain, a chill breeze on a blistering day. His name, the one he gave himself. “I’m-... my name is Jameson.”

They’re quiet for a second, and then say, softly, “Nice to meet you, Jameson.”

It sounds better, in Allyn’s voice.

Everything does.

---

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary @raigash @moose-teeth @orchidscript @astrobly @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @endless-whump

[funkyhanji]

Nuvole Bianche [English | BNHA]

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia (@Horikoshi Kohei) Character(s): Bakugou Katsuki, Midoriya Izuku Pairing(s): BakuDeku Rating: E Word count: 3298 CWs: Fantasy AU, Established Relationship, Snowed In, Fluff and Smut, Sex, Quirks as Magic, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Barebacking, Dorks in Love, Bottom Izuku

Summary: - «Can't help it, Deku,» Katsuki says. There's the hint of a teasing tone in his voice, as if to prove the statement. «You're stupidly cute.» His spouse-to-be blushes yet his lips give way to the small grin he'd been fighting back. «… And you're stupidly handsome, Kacchan,» he whispers like it's a secret he's kept hidden all this time. -

Katsuki wills a shiver down as he steps past the cave's open entrance, tracking snow at his heels. The magic barrier they put up is thankfully holding steady to keep the cold outside; it's a flimsy solace though. His boots, socks and heavy breeches are completely soaked through; his double wool-lined, crimson cloak drags at his shoulders with the added weight of melting water. His hair sags, the blond spikes limp and frosted over.

He fucking hates winter.

He throws a glare at the inky darkness that's crept upon the mountainside in the last hour; it's barely sunset, technically, but it might as well be the dead of night already with how pitch black the world outside is. If only the weather hadn't gotten so bad so quickly, they would've been home by now. In front of a nice hearth — but alas, after so many months away from Musutafu, it seems Katsuki had forgotten how swiftly a cold but pleasant winter day could turn into a nightmarish snowstorm.

Why did we even decide to come up here?! Katsuki gripes internally, fumbling to take off his frozen leather gloves with numb hands. Right. To get away from annoying people.

He shouldn't have sent Zero up ahead to the castle in favor of hiking back down the mountain by foot. He sighs, curses as his grip on the gloves slips. Then again, the cave isn't big enough for a full grown dragon and two people, so maybe it's better this way.

A faint giggle reaches his ears, compelling Katsuki to look up and pause his struggle.

Green eyes, bright with flames gently dancing in their depths, meet his from across the stone floor. Izuku's covering his mouth with his fist, but Katsuki knows he's smiling by the way his cheeks are raised. The smattering of freckles decorating Izuku's face appear and disappear with the flickering of the fire, almost as if they're playing hide and seek — they'd never win: Katsuki has memorized each and every one —.

«How's it looking out there, Kacchan?» Izuku asks, lowering his hand so Katsuki can see the curve of his lips. He waves Katsuki over; a silent offer to help him remove his uncomfortable gear. «The wind is really strong. I can hear it through the barrier...»

Katsuki scoffs. «No shit,» he says, nearing the fire. «A gust of that motherfucking wind almost threw me off the cliff-side.» Izuku gasps, immediately launching into a worried rant; wide-eyed stare flying over Katsuki's form for any possible injury. «'M fine, Deku. Takes more than this to do me in.»

«Oh, I know, Kacchan,» Izuku laughs, at ease when Katsuki smirks his way.

Katsuki takes a seat next to Izuku, their shoulders and knees brushing as they stare into the flames in silence for a heartbeat. Then Izuku shifts, reaching out to take a hold of his hands and carefully pulling on the iced-over gloves. Katsuki turns to face him, letting the other slip the leather off one finger at a time, ever-so mindful of not using too much strength, as though Katsuki would care if he ripped the gloves.

«Whatever,» he mutters under his breath. He doesn't miss the grin on Izuku's face at that. «And the snow blocked the pass, so we're stuck in here 'till tomorrow anyway.»

«That's too bad.» Izuku looks up at him after removing the gloves and placing them near the fire to defrost. «Everyone was so excited about the pre-wedding feast! We're going to miss it...»

«That was the whole point of hiking the mountain, Deku.»

«Oh, come on, Kacchan! They're here for us, you know…!»

Katsuki rolls his eyes, idly rubbing his stiff hands together to rid them of the chill. «Doesn't mean I have to suffer through it-» he flexes his fingers, cringing when his knuckles pop with a loud crack- «not tonight at least. Tomorrow I'll have no goddamn choice.»

Wordlessly, Izuku grasps his left hand in his. He caresses his thumbs along the cold skin, slow and meticulous. He kneads the pads of his fingers into Katsuki's palm, then moves to Katsuki's own digits, massaging them from knuckle to nail; he does it once, twice, three times, over and over, until the numbness is replaced by pins and needles. Until feeling returns and Katsuki's hand is warm again. Izuku repeats the same process with his right hand.

«How's that? Better?» Izuku asks with a smile which looks even softer than usual. It makes Katsuki's heart speed up.

With the regained sensitivity, Katsuki switches now to grasp the wrist of his consort-to-be, tugging him forward. The surprised sound Izuku makes is cut off as their mouths meet in a kiss; the touch is firm but chaste, purely motivated by a simple need, a subconscious call resonating deep within Katsuki's bones telling him to be closer to Izuku. He feels a hand glide up his other arm, up, up to his neck and his jaw before it buries itself into his hair.

Or tries to.

Green eyes blink open, and in the next second Izuku's pulling back with a crease between his brows. His hand flexes a little, where it rests near Katsuki's ear, and a faint crunching can be heard coming from the hair.

«Storm froze it,» Katsuki supplies with a shrug.

«Oh...»

Izuku takes a better look at him then.

Katsuki can see that attentive gaze picking up on the slight tremble in his frame; the hunch to his shoulders and the way he's leaning toward the fire more than he would usually do — with Katsuki's temperature always running higher than most people's due to his fire-related magic, he's not one to crowd in front of direct heat sources —. He can see the furrow deepen when shining emeralds take notice of the layer of frost whitening and weighing down his clothes.

«Oh, Kacchan, sorry!» Izuku says, now concerned. Katsuki's about to retort that he's fine, but the other keeps going. «You walked around in the snow longer than me, you must be freezing! And here I was, warming up in front of the fire…! I should've went with you after all... we need to, ah, get you out of these icy clothes! Yeah!»

Izuku is fussing over Katsuki as soon as he stops talking.

He makes quick work of taking off the soaked boots and socks, placing them behind him in front of the fire pit. He hovers in Katsuki's personal space, un-clasping his cloak and sliding it off, casting a spell to have it float near the flames to dry — it's a simple incantation he'd been taught by his friend, Ochako, a gravity-specialized mage —. Izuku's scarred hands move from Katsuki's shoulders to his arms, struggling to tug the stiff leather braces down. He almost falls back on his ass when the first one dislodges from his elbow; the squeak he makes too endearing for Katsuki to repress a chuckle.

«Mean,» Izuku mutters, retaking his previous position just within the circle of Katsuki's legs.

There's a wee frown wrinkling his dark green eyebrows.

Katsuki lets Izuku take off his heavy woolen shirt, complying to the silent request to lift his arms. He waits for the other to lay it down on the stone next to the boots; he waits for Izuku to face him again. He's stubbornly trying to keep up his upset demeanor, but it's obvious he's failing from the twitch in the corner of his mouth.

«Can't help it, Deku,» Katsuki says. There's the hint of a teasing tone in his voice, as if to prove the statement. «You're stupidly cute.»

His spouse-to-be blushes yet his lips give way to the small grin he'd been fighting back. «… And you're stupidly handsome, Kacchan,» he whispers like it's a secret he's kept hidden all this time.

Katsuki finds warmth creeping onto his ears and high cheekbones. He's by no means unused to such compliments — he's been showered in praise since a young age, whether he worked hard to deserve it or not —, though he's discovered, with the passing of the years, that receiving them from Izuku never stopped his stomach from somersaulting.

He wonders if the Paladin-in-training is aware of the effect he has on him.

Izuku's palm comes to rest on his chest, above his heart, and Katsuki thinks, maybe he does know.

There's a certain reverence in the way Izuku brushes his hand over his skin, in the way he leans forward to place a kiss in that same spot. Soft, gentle. Katsuki pretends for a moment that the shiver running up his spine is the cold seeped into his limbs from his soaked clothes.

He blinks, and it feels like he's five again.

The first time he lay eyes on Izuku, his whole world had tilted on its axis the second those forest-green irises met his, full of wonder and awe. Katsuki remembers the wide-eyed stare and the cautious steps the shorter boy had taken, getting closer to him with a trembling hand extended toward his newly-pierced ears.

«Do they hurt…?» Izuku had asked, not quite touching him but hovering near one of the ruby studs.

Katsuki had been taken aback by the ethereal beauty of the creature before him; had been rendered speechless, forgetting every lecture on etiquette his parents had been trying to drill into his skull.

He'd shaken his head, grumbling. «Of course not, stupid! I'm the future King, this 's nothin'!»

Izuku had «oooh»ed and smiled, bright and full of admiration. «You're really amazing!» he'd said, cheeks flushed. «I'm Izuku! My mom and I will be living here from now on, I hope we'll be friends!»

Katsuki blinks again, coming back to the present to Izuku moving to press a peck a little higher—his green curls tickling Katsuki's chin—and higher still, one over his jaw, one below his ear.

«Kacchan,» he whispers, no more than a breath exhaled by unconscious reflex. «Kacchan.»

He doesn't have to repeat it a third time.

Katsuki's cups Izuku's face in his hands, brushes their noses together, their lips. The contact is lighter than before yet the sparks it creates are stronger, the intent behind it clear. He bridges the non-existent gap a second time, their mouths parting at the same time; tongues sliding together, slow and passionate, the kiss gaining a more intense quality.

The heat between them gradually growing with it.

Katsuki's free arm wraps around Izuku's waist, bringing him flush to his body. His palm skims the warm skin under his consort-to-be's shirt, settling at the hip and starting up a leisurely rocking. Izuku gasps into his mouth, a short moan breathed in and licked up by Katsuki's tongue. Green eyes crack open a slit to stare into crimson ones, the embers of desire coming to life inside both of them.

«Deku,» Katsuki grunts, husky and hungry.

Izuku racks his blunt nails over his nipples, breaking the kiss to bow his head and run his tongue over them, one at a time; he nips and suckles at them, teases the hardened nubs with his teeth. Izuku spurs himself on with his own whines. His hands squeeze and grope Katsuki's biceps, his shoulders, his nape; they successfully bury in blond hair. Izuku's neck bares for Katsuki — a clear invite to claim —, his jugular jumping with the wild rhythm of his heartbeat under Katsuki's kiss-swollen lips. Izuku's sighs reverberating deep within his bones as Katsuki licks a wet strip up the unblemished skin to his ears.

Izuku's hips jerk sharply when he bites the lobe, the movement slotting their erections together just right, both groaning at the friction. The flimsy barrier of their undergarments and breeches doing little to hide the growing need between them.

«Wanna fuck you so bad, Deku,» Katsuki says, voice gravely and fingers digging into the meat of his consort-to-be's rear. He knows they can't; not right now, without the necessary equipment. It doesn't stop him from craving though. «Wanna feel you around my cock.»

«Yes, Kacchan,» Izuku answers. He arches against his broader chest, his scarred hands quiver slightly as they snake down Katsuki's stomach, fumbling blindingly to undo the belt and string of the damp cotton bottoms. «Please.»

Katsuki's about to tell him it won't be doable tonight, then he notices Izuku gesturing vaguely, feels the faint hum of his innate magic at work. From the corner of his vision, he sees a small terracotta vase teetering in the air toward them. A blond eyebrow quirks in question; his stare lifts from where he's been busy playfully gnawing at a collarbone, until it meets Izuku's blushing face and hazy eyes.

He laughs, delighted and cocky.

«Someone was expecting something ta happen tonight, mh?» he teases, slapping an ass-cheek and enjoying the squeak he gets in return. «Didn't look too sad to be snowed-in-» he snatches the pot before Izuku's control slips and makes it crash on the stone floor- «this why?»

Izuku mumbles, embarrassed and unintelligible.

«Hey, I'm not complaining Deku,» Katsuki reassures, planting a chaste kiss on the other's pouting lips.

«Kacchan, please...»

«Yeah...»

Together, they shift, raising on their knees so both Katsuki's breeches and Izuku's shirt can be discarded. Katsuki then guides Izuku backward, to lay onto the dried, forgotten, forest-green cape — a match to his own crimson one, the Bakugou family crest emblazoned on it in gold; a gift he'd given the other two years prior, when he'd officially proposed to him —. He takes care to cushion Izuku's head against the fur collar and crawls into his space.

He kisses him again, tongue slipping past willing lips to wetly glide alongside Izuku's own. Katsuki moves down the pliant body beneath him, nipping and sucking marks into creamy skin dotted with dark chocolate-brown freckles; tugging and flicking dusky-pink nipples.

Izuku's undergarments are slipped off with deft fingers while Katsuki distracts him with his mouth, blowing raspberries into his stomach and grinning as his breathless pants turn into breathless laughter. A shiver runs up Izuku's spine as the colder air hits his heated skin, and Katsuki's warm hands are there to chase it away. He smooths his palms down along toned legs as far as he can reach without moving from his spot, kneads his fingers into Izuku's thighs and sides, and up his torso.

Only when the bewitching body underneath him is quaking in need, does Katsuki finally pay attention to Izuku's cock. He's hard, flushed an inviting shade of dark pink and already leaking.

«Ya look delicious Deku,» he says, smirking as he lowers himself to lewdly lick a strip of saliva over the underside of Izuku's cock. One hand around the base, the other cupping his balls gently.

«Ka— Kacch… aahn…!»

Katsuki hums, lips enclosing the head, the tip of his tongue pressing into the slit and under the foreskin. He sucks lightly, pleased to hear the choked off gasp from Izuku. Katsuki swallows him down painstakingly slow, with almost-lazy bobs of his head and flicks of his tongue, barely-there strokes and caresses with his hands — he loves torturing the other like this, the sounds he can pry out of Izuku music to his ears —. He loves feeling him squirm and cry out.

Katsuki pulls off to take a breath, snatching the vase with the lotion in the meantime, popping the cork off and settling it next to them.

«H-hurry, Kacchan…» Izuku says, staring up at him with glazed eyes, the green overshadowed by dilated pupils.

Katsuki huffs, pretending to be irritated. «Impatient, are we?» He can't blame him though, his own dick is stiff and throbbing in his undergarments, longing to feel the other's heat surround him.

He dips two fingers into the pot; the transparent, viscous lotion coats his hand when he takes them out and spreads it over his palm. Soon after, he's teasing a circle around Izuku's entrance with a slick finger. Izuku whines, writhing on the cape as he tries to make the digit slip inside; when it does, he sighs such a delighted «yesss», it resounds even inside Katsuki's chest.

«Fuck, Izuku...» he groans, leaning in to sloppily kiss him while he works his finger deeper. «'S been a while, huh.»

«Yeah… ah!» Izuku nods, his hips rocking onto the hand between his thighs.

The wedding preparations have kept them both busy for the better part of last month — the constant ebb and flow of people coming in, to teach Izuku to dance; to choose decorations and food and music. Court meetings for foreign dignitaries, training —, leaving too little time and energy to enjoy their hard-earned intimacy with nothing but cuddling and simply sleeping together.

This snowstorm has been a nice opportunity to… catch up on that.

Katsuki is as quick yet thorough as he dares. Neither of them wants to cum without being connected, but they're also coiled too tight after so long; this round isn't going to last.

He's scissoring and spreading and curling three fingers inside Izuku for what feels like hours, rubbing grounding circles on his hip with his free hand. He kisses, sucks and nips at the expanse of skin at his disposal to add sensations at odd times. He brings Izuku to a dry orgasm; he's sobbing and quaking, straining to stroke his dripping cock but Katsuki restrains his wrists with his hand.

Only then does he take out his fingers.

«Ah… haa, Ka… Kacchan— shit, please— need you in-inside...»

Katsuki's answer is a low groan. His undergarments are tossed to the side hastily; he slicks up his cock, lotion mixing with his copious precum, and lines up to Izuku's ass. He drapes the other's legs around his waist, Izuku understanding the implicit prompt to link his ankles behind his back.

Katsuki pushes in, the glide easy and painless after the generous preparation and the slackness from Izuku's previous orgasm. He bottoms out with a rasping breath, his nerves aflame.

«F-fuck,» he stutters, biting his lower lip and scrunching eyes closed in concentration. «Won't last… long, De-Deku… Fuck— ya feel so good...»

«Y-you t-too Ka— nnh!— Kacchan!»

«Shit— 'm movin'...»

Katsuki takes a breath, bracing himself as he pulls out halfway before pressing back in. The pace he sets is swift; thrusts inelegant but precise, the angle good enough for him to brush Izuku's sweet spot just right. His hips snap back and forth. Izuku arches under him, meets his thrusts with his own wild ones, bucking onto the cock pounding into him with shudders and moans and calls of Katsuki's name.

The wet slap of skin on skin is loud and lewd, a perfect counterpoint to their mingled sounds and the crackling of the fire.

«S-shit— Izu… ku— nngh!»

Katsuki's movements falter. He throws his head back with a groan, eyes squeezed tight as he buries himself deep inside Izuku, filling him up spurt after spurt. In the haze of his climax, Katsuki languidly strokes Izuku to orgasm. He grins smugly through the rush of endorphin when the other cums without even trying to take matters into his own hand.

«Kacchan...» Izuku says a minute later, breath almost back to normal and snuggled into Katsuki's chest.

«Mmh?»

«You were really pent up, a lot came out… how am I going to clean up? We don't have enough water for a bath and-and you know it gets, uhm, uncomfortable to have se-semen up there for too long so— waah!»

Katsuki cuts him off by abruptly flipping him over, hands grabbing Izuku's sides and bending down to bite at a round ass cheek.

«I'll just eat my cum and your ass out then.»

«Wha— Kacchan, no! Wait a— ah!— Kacch… oh! Oh!»

Katsuki laughs a little meanly. «You're gonna walk up the throne room and get married with a fucking limp tomorrow, Deku— 'm gonna fuck you so good.»

[katedrakeohd]

The Lake (B)

Author's note:

**Dear Reader, if you have come across this post accidentally on your dashboard out of context I apologize. This is one of two possible endings for The Lake, so feel free to start at the beginning or totally skip this conclusion post and read something else.

If you followed the link to get here then 'keep reading' and enjoy**

...

Kate is startled awake from her nap by the sound of Bartie's cries as he rushes back into the playroom, "Auntie Kate! Auntie Kate! Auntie Kate!"

Wiping her sleepy eyes, Brooklyn snuggles into her Mother's side and pops her thumb into her mouth. She looks at Bartie with wide eyes, wondering what's going on.

Kate pulls her Little Beanie onto her lap and kisses her on the head, "My goodness Bartie! What's wrong?"

Bartie is gasping big gulps of air as he tries to answer amid his mounting hysteria, "The Lake...Uncle M..Max...monster! Un..Uncle Drake in the..w..water! Boat sm..smashed!"

Kate shakes her head trying to make sense of what she's hearing, "Hold on, slow down Honey, explain to me again what you saw."

Bartie climbs into the playcastle and grabs Kate by the hand and tugs to get her to climb out with him, "At the window, Charlie and I watched a monster in the lake knock Uncle Drake and Uncle Max out of their boat!"

Kate's phone buzzes in her pocket.

….

Drake was unprepared for how cold the water was, and managed only a ragged gasp of air before he was dumped into the lake. He was grateful for his lifejacket keeping him afloat as his head popped up above the surface. He floundered through the water amidst the debris from the picnic basket and their fishing supplies until he reached the overturned remains of his boat.  Drake was an excellent swimmer most of the time, but his leg injury and his heavy wet clothes and rubber boot full of water weren't helping. Holding onto the boat he kicked off his boot and searched his surroundings. The shore looked so far away, and Maxwell was missing. Why hadn't he worn the lifejacket that Drake had offered him? What the hell had flipped the boat?

He could feel the water move around his legs as if moved by a current, which didn't feel right. Looking toward the shore again, he contemplated making a run for it, but the idea of leaving Max behind made him feel queasy. Desperately searching the surface of the lake in all directions he shouts out to him,

"Max! Where are you? Max! Can you hear me?"

Something brushes against his bare leg and he yelps with surprise. Kicking furiously at the water, his heart pounding in his chest so fast he could barely breathe, he searches the floating debris around him for a weapon. One of the wooden oars is nearby and he stretches out his arm and grasps for it, but it floats out of his reach. 

"Shit!"

He didn't want to let go of the boat, knowing it was the biggest visible landmark on the lake. But he had a sinking suspicion he was no longer the biggest predator in the water. The water swirled around his legs again, and this time something solid floated up to the surface nearby. Maxwell.

"Oh God! Oh God! No, no, no, no! Max!" Drake chokes out, overwhelmed by the sudden grief and shock constricting the air from his lungs. 

Pushing away from the boat he swims over to his friend's body. Maxwell is facedown and there's a deep gash on the back of his head. Treading water, Drake struggles to roll Maxwell over and pulls his body back with him to the overturned boat. 

"Come on, Buddy. Everything's going to be alright. Help will be here soon." Drake tries to reassure the silent, still body of his friend. 

Maxwell's eyes are closed and his body is limp. His left arm appears to be dislocated at the shoulder, and hangs at an odd angle. Drake chokes back the bile rising in his throat. He hoped the torn arm happened after his head injury, because it looked like it would have hurt like hell. The added weight of Maxwell threatened to drag them both under and Drake searched desperately for something to keep him afloat. He grabs the anchor rope still attached to the boat and tries to loop it around Maxwell's chest, but only manages to loop it through his arm and tie it at his shoulder. 

"I'm so sorry Max. I should have believed you when you said there was something creepy about the lake."

Drake's whole bottom half was quickly growing numb from the cold water and his teeth were starting to chatter. We need to get out of here before I'm a Drakesicle, and we're both fish food.

He really hoped one of Maxwell's help messages went through. Looking at his longtime friend, dangling like a soggy piece of bait, Drake suddenly felt the sting of hot tears.  He grabs Max by the shoulders of his shirt and shakes him. "Come on Max, wake up! Please don't be dead. Don't leave me out here by myself!"

Max wasn't answering, and his skin was going more pale as his body cooled. A breeze rippled the water, making Drake shiver some more. Behind him he hears a splash and the unmistakable sound of something breathing. Drake squeezes his eyes shut, desperately hoping it's his panicked mind fueling his imagination. Then he hears a hissing sound and realizes he has to turn and look. Sucking in a deep breath, and slowly letting it out, he turns around.

Drake had never come face to face with an alligator before, and he never imagined he'd share the water with one. He'd often wondered what had happened to the alligators of Valtoria, and now he knew. It was like a giant floating dinosaur out of Jurassic park, with bulging dark eyes, mouth full of teeth, and a long spiky tail. And it was coming straight for him and Maxwell.

Drake grabbed one of the oars floating nearby and prepared to defend himself. He was hoping to at least get in one hit before it pulled him under. 

But just as he was raising his arms out of the water and readying himself to smash the leviathan across the nose, it sank under the water and lunged for Maxwell's legs.

 "No, no, no, you motherfucker no! Leave my friend alone!" Drake roared, ramming the end of the oar down into the base of the alligator's neck, if it had one. But the monster whipped out with its powerful tail as it grabbed Max, and 

smashed into Drake.  

Rammed up against the side of the boat, Drake felt the crunch of his ribs cracking, followed by searing hot pain before he blacked out.

….

The cold wind whipped against Preston's face as he sped across the water in his rescue boat. He was headed toward the mass of floating debris he saw in the distance, his eyes scanned the water for the Duke and his friend. His heart smashed in his chest painfully, and his stomach felt like cold lead in his gut. Preston had rushed to the boathouse once the S.O.S had been received, but he feared for the worst. 

Cutting the engine as soon as he spotted the body of Drake off by himself, he steered carefully over to him. He was on his back, floating limply in the water. 

"Mr. Walker! Your Grace! Can you hear me?" Preston called out, as he reached for the back of his lifejacket.

Drake didn't stir as Preston scooped him under the arms, hugging him around the chest and dragged him into the boat. But the bodyguard was reassured by the fact that his body was still slightly warm. Laying him down in the boat, he checked for a pulse and leaned in to listen for breathing. He felt the faint tap of his heartbeat against his fingers, and the weak rattle of air escaping his lungs. The Duke was alive, barely, and there was no time to waste.

Preston breathed a quick sigh of relief and then sat back to assess Drake's injuries. His leg was seeping blood, but the rate was very slow. Preston unknotted the strip of denim that Drake had used, and tied it tightly around his leg at the top of his knee as a tourniquet. Leaning in again to check his pulse, and to listen to the slight wheeze of his breathing, Preston grabs a warm blanket to tuck around Drake. 

"You're going to be alright, Your Grace. Let's get you out of here."

"Maxwell.." Drake whispers, and then coughs painfully and moans. His face grimaces and then his eyes open.

Preston sits back on his heels, "Try not to talk, Your Grace. Just focus on moving what little air you can to keep yourself breathing, and alive. Just move your head to answer my questions, OK?"

Drake swallows, dipping his chin in a slight nod.

"Is Lord Maxwell still alive?"

Drake squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head and gasping for air. 

He hears the sound of Preston restarting the motor, and feels the sway of the boat as it's turned around and driven back to shore. As unconsciousness reclaims him, his last thought is of Maxwell's face.

......

//So what did you think of this ending? If you're curious you can try the other. The Lake (A) Or you can go back to the original post to leave your comments. //

Thanks for reading. 😊

[anystalker707]

Hey, sugar

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader Genre: Fluff Word count: 2 782 Summary: Pastel goth reader has a summer love

Coming to the beach during vacation this time was some good idea I came up with. I mean, it's not any beach, it's one far from home so I could really get away from all the problems and get a real break.

It's a relief seeing my room's door - after all the traveling hours, I'll finally be able to get some rest. While unlocking it, something catches my attention by the corner of my eye and I turn to see two guys standing by the doorway of a room two doors ahead of mine, talking with someone who isn't visible to me. One of them has bright red hair, leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest - and let me say, he's extremely handsome -, while the other's hair tips are bleached. The thing is that the latter seems to feel my stare even if it's not directed to him, then pokes the other, muttering something that makes the red haired look at me. What really brings me back to reality is the smirk showing up over his lips as both of them watch me, seeming entertained.

Fuck, what the hell am I doing? Realizing it makes a blush show up over my cheeks, so I don't think twice before walking in my room.

Some hours later I decide I've got enough energies to explore the place - or at least the hotel - and throw some dark clothes on, not forgetting to pull on my kandi cuffs and wrap the colorful band-aids around my fingers to leave. It's not like my fingers are hurt or something similar, but the aesthetic is damn awesome. I check if I've got my cigarettes with me before walking out of the room, walking down the stairs calmly.

Honestly, it's weird. I'm not used to being pulled away from my everyday life like this, being in a place almost completely unknown to me... It makes me feel somewhat numb, in a weirdly good way.

The back part of the hotel has a small restaurant and a really wide garden with tables well distributed around it. It's beautiful, may I say - worth all the money I spent, so far. Some people already crowd the place when I get there, but I prefer to stay away from them, in my own corner as I appreciate the view. Even if it's not long past the lunch, the trip seems to have messed with my appetite.

How is it possible to not notice bright red hair under the afternoon sun? Answer: it's not. My eyes glue over the guy from earlier once I spot him sitting in one of the tables with other three guys. Apparently, I make the same mistake from earlier because, when I realize it, all the four are looking back at me with entertainment and even certain amusement. I click my tongue, annoyed, and turn away, blushing as cursing under my breathe.

Maybe a cigarette will solve it all - I conclude, noticing I'm pretty lightheaded, probably because of the trip. My box of cigarettes and my cigarettes are the best thing ever; the box is pastel pink with some old styled, colorful stickers I glued to it while the sticks themselves have the print of roses on them, in an even lighter pink tone. Yes, they're custom and costed a lot, but it was worth it. The lighter matches them.

"Don't you think you shouldn't do those? Didn't you know they can kill you?" An unfamiliar voice asks from my side, without me noticing any approach. My heart stops for a moment when seeing the red haired standing right there beside me, having a flirty grin on and hazel eyes observing me intently. Thankfully, my surprise isn't reflected physically, so I keep the cool and return the smirk, letting the cigarette hang in the corner of my mouth while I pocket the box and lighter.

"Maybe, but I don't really care." I answer lazily, taking a drag of the cigarette. As the smoke escapes through between my teeth, we just gaze at each other in a silence that's more challenging than uncomfortable. "And who do you think you are to opine about my life like this?"

"I'm sure I'm Gerard Way," He moves his head so the red strands aren't falling over his face anymore, increasing the smug vibe he gives off. "and you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen." A wink is sent in my direction, completing the shameless flirting - I crack a laugh.

"Sorry, but mom didn't decide to name me like this." I joke, watching him carefully - he got my full attention with that attitude. "I'm (y/n) (l/n) and do you want me to call the firefighters now?" Raising my eyebrows questioningly, I resist the urge of letting out another chuckle - but he does do it, releasing a breathy one.

"Of course, you're so hot you're putting us all in risk." Gerard's matter-of-factly voice plus the matching expression almost make me lose it, so I need to bite down on my bottom lip to not overreact while looking away, shaking my head to myself. "So, you're here all by yourself?" Even with it being a normal question, he maintains the flirty tone.

"No." I prefer to lie - like, I don't even know him properly, God knows what he'll do if knowing I'm somewhere I barely know. "Who are your friends?"

"Why the question if your interest is clearly just me?" His smug tone makes me want to punch him hard; I make sure of not showing any sign of that wish.

"To entertain you, dear, of course." Pretending disinterest is an attempt of teasing him and finding out how far will that go - to make it more believable, I winkle my nose lightly, averting my look from again.

"That's kinda incoherent to the fact you've been staring at me since the first time you saw me, hm...?" He hums like if he'd just won our undeclared battle.

"Nah, like," I don't lose the posture. "with that red hair, you let it clear you're the kind of person that begs for attention from everyone." Tables have turned, I think, copying his cocky tone.

"Maybe I did beg for everyone's attention, but just until I saw you. Now I just want yours." His cheerful grin is a mocking contrast to the whole mood, what makes me scoff. "Want to join me for a drink?" Gerard blinks in a false sweetness.

It's difficult to refuse his proposal, so I don't and we're soon sitting on a couple of stools by the bar - after I safely discarded my cigarette - with cold nonalcoholic drinks in hands. "How long have you been here for?" I ask, trying to continue the conversation.

"Arrived yesterday night." He smiles, "Don't worry, sugar, we're going to spend enough time together!" Gerard winks once again and I internally question how the fuck did I manage to get in a situation like this just into almost four hours in a new place.

We spend a good time talking, until he needs to leave with his friends, then I decide to eat before I faint or something. The rest of the day goes by nicely; I get to take a look at the street and memorize the way until the beach, which's unfortunately full of people, so I prefer to head back to the hotel to come back in one of the times recommended by a friend of mine some days ago - he's been here enough times to know when the beach's calmer.

The sun in the early hours of the day is practically harmless, creating the still not so hot weather that doesn't attract most of the people makes it a perfect atmosphere for me. Smiling, I lean back on the chair as watching the waves coming undone when meeting the sand while the sky slowly changes from a light orange, pinkish tone in a dull background, to a bright blue color with now white clouds. Watching it all happening is almost hypnotizing.

Suddenly noticing a guy jumping in the water startles me, but what surprises me mostly is how he doesn't even flinch at the temperature. It earns a few loud laughs and appreciative shouted words coming from who seem to be his friends. Everything is alright until I notice the familiar red hair coming into the scene, almost falling when the first guy throws himself on him, probably to get Gerard in the water since he was just standing there at first - once it happens, Gerard lets out a loud high pitched yell that's impossible to not laugh at.

I keep watching them running around until they're not much far from me - the whole time, they're where the water reaches after the waves break while I'm sitting on my chair, under an umbrella, some good meters away from there - and it's in that exact moment that Gerard notices me there. There's an obvious grin over his lips as he changes his route, now running towards me. His friends don't take long to understand what's happening and start to whistle or say suggestive things.

Gerard doesn't say anything at first once standing next to me, just looking at me while my eyes scan his body. "Y'know," He's got that flirty posture back on. "you're staring."

"It's exposed, of course I'm going to." I shrug, moving my eyes to finally meet his. "Seriously, can't I have a single moment of peace with you around?"

"Wanna figure out, sugar?" He wriggles his eyebrows, transferring his weight to a single leg. A giggle leaves his lips as I roll my eyes. "I'll take that as a yes." And, not even giving me a chance to reply, he continues. "Why don't you come with us? You don't seem to be having any fun, all alone here." I melt inside at the sight of him pressing his lips together in a way both are sticking out, in the cuter way possible - the motherfucker knows really well the effects of this expression, that's exactly why he's using it. "What do you say?" He extends a hand towards me, winking.

Even with me trying to ignore him, Gerard shows no sign of giving up so soon. "Okay, sugar." A breathe leaves my lips and I'm the one to give up, refusing to take his help and rising to my feet by myself; I check if all my things are safe under the chair then walk with him towards where the others seem to resist to the shorter one pulling them towards the water.

"Hey, guys," Gerard gets their attention and I immediately feel uncomfortable under their knowing gazes, but make sure of not letting them know it. "this is (y/n)." He's got kind of a proud tone on, making me roll my eyes.

"All in pastel and black tones..." The one with long hair is the first to speak up, checking me up from head to toes then cracking a side grin. "A softie, how cute!"

"I'm not sure if you'll think the same if you continue talking to me like this." I force a smile watching him raise his eyebrows lightly.

"Don't mind him, he's usually annoying like this." The taller says, slapping the back of the other's head playfully - he receives a sulky face in return. "I'm Ray, that's Mikey," He says extending an arm to the guy who told Gerard I was staring at him yesterday, moving to the short guy right after. "and the annoying one is Frank."

Alright, I admit it that spending the day with them is damn nice. We headed back to the hotel not long after lunch, when the quantity of people in the beach started being far too much, but we didn't spent much time there and went to explore the city. I love how there's never an awkward silence between us and we're most of the time laughing, like if I knew them for a long time already.

My night, on the other hand, isn't so nice since frantic knocks on my door wake me up. My eyes hurt when I turn the lights on, but I soon get used to it. The red glowing numbers show 4:27, another reason for me to look at Gerard like if he was crazy once I open the door. "What the fuck do you want?"

"You're pastel and punk the whole time, how cute!" He says teasingly while his eyes scan my pajamas - I just roll my eyes, rushing him into saying what he wants already. "I was wondering if you don't want to watch the sunrise with me." And, for the first time, he fucking shows me a true smile and his voice doesn't carry any sarcastic or mocking tone.

Biting down on my bottom lip, I sigh, tilting my head. "Just give me a moment." A couple of minutes later, I walk out of the room and shoot him a playfully suspicious glance as linking my arm to his; we proceed to leave the building then walk through the still dark streets, making the short way until the beach.

The waves are rather calm while the water sounds louder now that the city is silent, not to mention the breeze feels colder, lifting our strands of hair now and then. I don't say anything when Gerard drops his hand to hold mine, just continue to admire the view - maybe I'll never admit, but as soon as his fingers and mine intertwine, it feels... awesome; I don't really know how to explain, it's like everything is supposed to be this way.

We don't walk for long, just doing it until he pulls me to sit down on the sand with him in a place that looks like the one I was sitting on yesterday. I don't know how to explain, but it's like calmness takes over me and nothing else in the universe matters, apart from us and the sea.

No way I'm having a summer love - the thought makes me laugh, getting Gerard's attention. He raises an eyebrow at me, "What's so funny, sugar?" It tickles lightly when he nuzzles the side of my face, still, I limit myself to just smiling in response, muttering it's nothing. "It better not be at my attempt of doing something romantic and all." His eyes narrow in playful anger.

"Of course not, it's amazing, sugar." I crack a side grin, winking back at him. "Probably the best thing I've ever been to. Dates and friendly hanging out included." Raising my eyebrows, I nod approvingly at him, receiving a sweet smile in response. "You just put on that smug posture when you're around other people or what?" I wrinkle my nose lightly as leaning closer to him, pressing my forehead to his. Gerard seems to appreciate my gesture.

"It was kind of a test." He says obviously teasingly, "If you can endure my annoying self, you deserve my sweet, true one." His cocky mode is back on as he lazily says the words, almost almost imperceptibly leaning in to the point our lips are brushing against each other. All the comes from me in response is a hum, seconds before I close the gap between us, finally getting to know what's it to have his soft lips against mine.

The kiss is... well, probably one of the best ones I've ever experienced, like if it reached my soul, as stupid as it sounds. There's nothing similar to lust, anger or any fake love involved, just us at our rawness - it's not like we know each other enough to keep up to some stupid reputation or whatever. It's just us. Gerard, (y/n), the coincidence of coming to the same place to spend our vacations in and the fortune of feeling something for each other. Maybe it was the fate getting us together? We'll never know, at least for now.

I'd describe what's happening between us exactly like the sunrise - just natural. It's all darkness, a sky full of stars, when another one comes up and it's enough to make the shine of the others insignificant. While it's coming up, everything seems magical, with the sky and clouds gaining intense colors that quickly give place to the usual blue and white. Or not; we don't really know what'll happen during the day. Will the clouds cover the sun or will it shine to the point it's boring and annoying? Perhaps, none of it. We need to live and find out.

[unsettledink]

Getting Started - Kinktober Day 27 (Deep End 5)

Getting Started

Prompt: Needles

Word Count: 2787

Summary: Quentin should have run the second Tony asked him how he felt about needles.

(edgeplay, blood, corset piercings, sadism, exhibitionism, dirty pictures, consent issues in spades, bad bdsm practices, tony being a jerk, quentin in so deep he’s drowning, needles, seriously needles, NEEDLES NEEDLES NEEDLES, it’s the spiders all over again folks)

*

Tony: can you make yourself free tonight? 

Tony: all night

Quentin stares at the text. There’s a presentation coming up, there’s reviews to finish, there’s always some sort of experiment he can run; it’d be easy to come up with an excuse why he can’t. 

Tony already knows all those things.

Quentin: I’m free.

Tony: set things up to have tomorrow off too 

Shit. What the fuck is he planning now? 

Quentin hesitates before he sends anything else. Types and erases several attempts— last time, he’d made the mistake of demanding dinner and not phrasing it well. He had not meant but i demand to be fed first to mean literally being fed. 

In the end he just sends an acknowledgement and nothing more.

*

“So,” Tony says almost the instant Quentin’s in the door. “How do you feel about needles?”

“How do I feel?” Quentin says. “I… don’t feel? Am I supposed to have feelings about needles?”

“Are you one of those people that faint when you poke them?” Tony says. “Or have some phobia of them?”

Quentin does not like the sound of this. “Why do I have a feeling it’s not going to matter if I say yes?”

Tony grins, quick and bright and distressingly cheerful— he’s excited about this, Quentin realizes. Shit.

“Only in that I might change things a bit if you are,” Tony says. 

“I’m not.” 

“Great!” Tony says. “Now shoo, go lie on the bed. Naked, obviously,” like Quentin needed that pointed out. He doesn't like this at all. He likes it even less when Tony comes back with a whole tray of crap. 

“What—” Quentin starts, staring at the pile of needles on the tray.

“The plan,” Tony says, “is that I’m going to… decorate you. You’ll look exceptionally pretty, I’m sure.”

“And what do I get out of this?” He does not want to be fucking decorated, not if it’s with needles. Not if it’s going to hurt, and since it’s Tony— it’s going to hurt. 

Tony’s expression goes smug, darker. “You like people looking at you,” he says. “Like being shown off. When I’m done, I’m going to take some pictures and post them on a few particular sites. I bet you’ll break my record.”

Quentin stares at him, and he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what to feel. “Don’t show my face,” he says, and it comes out hoarser than he meant. 

“Of course not,” Tony says. “Kind of a shame not to, but I’m not a complete asshole. I promise, no one will ever know it’s you. Well, except me.”

Why is he stalling? It’s not like he can stop this, can really change how it goes. “I don’t like pain,” he says. “Not like that, you know that.”

“Eh,” Tony says. “I don’t know how true that is— but it’s not going to hurt as much as you’re thinking. It’ll hurt, but you’re probably overestimating. And you’ll still get that little endorphin rush. I think you’re getting a lot out of this, actually.”

How is he supposed to argue with that? “Alright,” he says, and his stomach twists. 

Tony leans over him, flatten a hand on Quentin’s chest. “You’re going to have to be still,” he says. “Very still while I’m working. I don’t want to actually damage you. Can you, or do I need to tie you down?”

Quentin twitches at the thought; fuck no, he doesn’t want to be tied down for this. He already feels helpless enough. Can he be still enough? He has no idea, but he’s going to try. “You don’t have to tie me,” he tells Tony.

“Mmm, you’re going to be good?” Quentin closes his eyes. He hates that tone of voice, hates what it does to him. 

“Maybe,” he says. Tony likes that. 

Tony turns back to his tray and picks up something, probably a needle.”Tip your head back,” he says, tapping under Quentin’s chin. He runs a finger down the length of Quentin’s throat once it’s bared, and Quentin shivers. “I don’t want you to see what I’m doing,” Tony tells him. “It spoils the surprise if you can just look down and see what’s next.” Fuck, Quentin really does not like the sound of this. 

There’s a pinch at the top of his throat, just below his chin, and Quentin freezes. He feels like he can’t get in even half a breath, knows his eyes are wide, knows he’s staring at Tony and probably looks as terrified as he feels. Why did he agree to this, why didn’t he—

There’s another… not quite a pinch, or one that goes on, sharper and more painful and oh god, he can feel it as the needle slides under his skin, it’s awful. It hurts, but the hurt is almost second to the sick feeling of in his skin. 

“Perfect,” Tony says, running his fingers over where it’s buried in Quentin’s skin. “Want to see?”

“No,” Quentin whispers. 

“Your loss,” and Tony pinches another spot below the first. Quentin makes this— almost a whimper, this embarrassing sound that has Tony smirking. “Now now,” he says. “It didn’t hurt that bad, did it. I told you so.” 

There’s nothing he can do, Quentin tells himself, again. He closes his eyes and focuses on not moving as Tony works his way down his neck. There’s six of them by the time he slides the last in at the base of Quentin’s neck, resting on his collarbones. Tony was right about one thing; even if he can, Quentin does not want to look down at all. 

He swallows, and the sudden sharp pain of that pulling against each needle has him crying out, startled and hurting. His eyes fly open and Tony— Tony is grinning, is looking perfectly pleased with how this is turning out. He runs his finger down that same line as before, slowly dragging it over each bump, each needle buried in him. “I wasn’t sure you’d be able to stay still,” he says. “But I should have known better. Looks great, sweetheart. I’d say we’re off to a good start.”

No, no, no.

Quentin’s not even going to try and look down, so Tony gets exactly what he wants; Quentin overreacting to every touch, wondering if this one is going to be a needle, or this one, or this one— god, it’s awful. He can’t help the way he starts when Tony pinches his nipple, because if Tony puts a needle through that he’s going to scream. 

He doesn’t.

What he does do is almost worse, though Quentin can’t really compare and doesn’t want to be able to. Tony pinches a spot maybe an inch or so out from it and slides a needle in there, the tip almost touching it. “Goddammit,” Quentin hisses. “You’re an asshole.”

Tony just laughs. Sets another in his skin a little lower; Quentin barely suppresses his twitch and groans instead. “Bastard!”

“What, am I going to get called something for each one?” Tony says, and he sounds happy about it, fucking sadist. “I like this game,” and he sticks another in. 

“Motherfucker,” Quentin snaps. 

There’s… six? Seven? Too many, and it feels like a whole palm sized part of his chest is numb and on fire at the same time. Stinging and aching and then Tony— Tony goes around and fucking taps each one, pushing them further in little by little until the tip of each is pressing into his nipple. Not piercing it, no, just enough to feel but fuck, he knows that is going to get him eventually. 

Quentin should have known Tony would go and do the same damn thing to his other nipple. “I hate you,” Quentin tells him, and he means it.

“I bet you do,” Tony says. “Does that count as name calling?”

By the time the last one is stuck in him, Quentin’s run out of things to call Tony that aren’t repeats. He can’t think. He’s breathing hard, the effort of not moving getting to him. It’s harder and harder with each needle, the pain multiplying, sure, but the anticipation, knowing where each one is going to go— that’s what makes it the worst because he’s not just trying to stop the flinch of pain, he’s trying to stop the flinch before it happens. 

Tony brushes his thumb across each nipple, gently, just a barely there touch. Even that much moves it though, pressing it harder into those needle tips just waiting to hurt. Quentin swallows, groans at that too. 

Groans louder when Tony leans down and puts his mouth over the tip of one, sucking on it and pulling it up, every point stabbing into Quentin and the skin pulling tight where the needles lie. “Oh god,” Quentin gasps. “Fuck, Tony— Tony!”

He can’t stay completely still at that, one hand coming up and grabbing Tony’s arm hard, his legs jerking and almost kicking Tony. Tony pulls away, but it doesn’t help at all; the way things are arranged, the tips of the needles have caught, are keeping his nipple pulled tight, pierced all around it. Quentin closes his eyes, starts shaking as he waits for Tony to turn to the other. 

“Fuck,” Tony says, his voice rough. “Look at you, already all fucked up. I’m going to ruin you.”

Quentin opens his eyes, looking up at him, thinking maybe he’ll beg, maybe he’ll argue, maybe something he can do will sway Tony— but there’s blood on Tony’s lip. “Shit,” Quentin whispers, and he doesn’t know for sure if it’s Tony’s or his. Or both. “Tony— there’s blood.”

Tony wipes his thumb over his lip, smearing it as he wipes most of it away. “I know,” he says. “Don’t worry, I already had you tested; you’re fine.”

When the fuck did he do that, Quentin wonders, because he sure doesn’t remember getting a blood draw. “Yeah,” he says, “well what about you?”

“It’s fine,” Tony says again, dismissively. Flicks that same nipple and Quentin loses track of whatever he was going to say entirely. 

There’s some small mercy that Tony doesn’t go for his other nipple, but that probably just means he has something worse planned for it. Instead, he draws his hands down Quentin’s sides, too lightly, Quentin’s stomach tensing as he tries not to move; it fucking tickles. “Mmm,” Tony says, “not there. What about—” and he moves his hands a little higher, repeating the movements until he hits a spot that doesn’t make Quentin shiver. Why would Quentin’s body betray him like that? All of it should be off limits if the opposite means needles.

They actually don’t hurt nearly as much, the needles that Tony stacks down his abdomen and stomach, almost to the top of his thigh. They sting, and they do hurt, but nothing like the others. Maybe he’s desensitized to it already? 

Or maybe not, because he groans and has to grit his teeth when Tony runs his fingers over them, runs them back up along the plastic ends, tugging at all of them. He toys with them, pushing and pulling at some, flicking others, twisting a couple. Quentin hates the noises coming out of him at every torment, how they’ve risen into whines and whimpers, sharp, desperate. 

They hurt even more when he starts trying to calm himself by taking deeper breaths, slower breaths; the extra movement tugs his skin tight around them, sending lines of pain radiating out from the full length of his torso. “Fuck,” he whispers. 

And then; “Tony,” barely a sound, small and shocked, as Tony gets a grip on Quentin’s cock and Quentin hears him pick up a needle. “Tony!”

“Shhh,” Tony says, stoking across the tip of his cock, like that’s supposed to make anything better. “It’s not as bad as you think.”

“It’s my fucking cock,” Quentin chokes out. 

“Yeah it is,” Tony says, smug as hell. “Oh, it’s going to hurt, baby. But it’s not going to be the worst thing you’ve ever felt, and after— you’ll look so good and I’ll be so pleased with you.”

Quentin does not fucking care. “Tony,” he repeats, because he can’t think of anything else, can’t think of something that might stop him. “Please, I can’t—”

“You always say that,” Tony says, dragging his fingers down Quentin’s cock, and it’s barely hard now. “But it always turns out that you can. Haven’t I been right so far?”

“Please,” Quentin whispers.

“You have to be very, very still for this,” Tony says. “Even more so. Okay?”

No, not okay, not okay, please— 

Oh god, it hurts. 

He finds he’s keening without even realizing it, tears springing instantly to his eyes. It hurts, it hurts it hurt it hurts—

There’s more than one, more than two, more than he count, lines of agony down either side of his cock, Tony handling it carefully as he pushes each one in, slowly, and Quentin doesn’t know if that’s supposed to make it better or worse. He has to stop, he has to, it’s going to stop, please—

“There you go,” Tony says softly. “Perfect; you didn’t move a bit. Well, not where it mattered,” because yeah, Quentin’s hands have been clenching in the sheets, but does that really fucking count? “Fuck, I can’t wait to get you hard again. You think it hurts now—” he laughs. Why does he think that will make Quentin want to get hard? If he even can, how could he possibly. 

“Now, one more spot,” Tony says, reaching down and pulling Quentin’s balls up. Quentin just squeezes his eyes shut, tears dripping down the sides of his face. Those don’t hurt near as much as the ones in his cock, but he doesn’t know if anything will ever hurt as much as them. 

Tony tugs at them, very gently and still too much by far. Keeps tugging, moving up, and Quentin realizes there’s something else there, something brushing against his skin that he can’t make sense of. Something that’s— that catching the needles in his cock and the needles on his sides, pulling them towards each other and keeping them like that, holding tension. 

“God,” Tony whispers once it feels like he’s done. He leans down, pressing a kiss against Quentin’s stomach. “You look incredible. I could get off just looking at you like this. Kinda want to just pull you back over the side of the bed and fuck your throat so I can get the best of both.” 

He moves, and Quentin fucking whimpers at the thought that he’s going to do it, going to choke Quentin on his cock while he looks at Quentin spread out like this— fuck, what is it going to feel like with those needles in his neck?

It doesn’t come though; he hears Tony moving around, doing something. Coming back and pulling at Quentin’s legs, shifting him around a little. What— 

There’s a faint noise, muffled. A familiar noise. 

He’s taking the pictures. 

There’s something— something wrong with Quentin. Something seriously wrong. Something that might start to explain why he keeps saying yes to Tony, because the thought of that—that there are pictures of this, of him, that they’re going to be seen by other people—it has something flipping in his stomach. Is making him flush, is making him— well, not hard, but his body is at least considering it. 

“Quentin,” Tony says. “Open your eyes.” 

When he does, the phone is right in front of them. The picture of himself is right in front of them. “Jesus,” he whispers. 

The needles at his neck are perfectly aligned, perfectly spaced out, untipped silver piercing through his skin. Clean, almost unreal like they’re just decoration, not needles at all. The ones at his nipples aren’t clean at all; they’re still spaced out just right, a wheel of black plastic tips around the dark red of his nipples, but—the one Tony had abused, at least—there’s blood staining the needles, spread out on his skin. Messy. A blot on the canvas. 

But the ones— the— the something Tony had been messing with was cord, thin red satiny cord that’s wrapped around the base of needles along his sides and on his cock. Crisscrossing between them, lacing them together and trapping his dick underneath those red lines. 

It kind of is pretty. Not nearly pretty enough to justify how much he’s hurting right now, but—

“They are going to love you,” Tony murmurs. “Should I post some now? See how many reactions you get by the time I’m done with you?”

“You’re not done with me?” Quentin says. 

“Oh no,” Tony says. “I’m just getting started.”  

[naturepointstheway]

of joints, sleep paralysis, and australia

It’s fucking 3am and Chloe can’t fucking sleep again. She leans back on her elbows outside, her ashtray with its stubs of joints next to her. It’s the middle of the night, it’s still hot as balls, and she still sees the storm and the remains of Arcadia, ghost-like in the moonlight. In the middle of nowhere, somewhere between ruined Arcadia Bay and Seattle, somewhere between there and somewhere out there, and somewhere between then and future, she still sees the ruined diner like it’s right in front of her. Feels that stab of indignation like she should have died so her mother wouldn’t have died in a fucking diner, but then there’s that twinge of guilt, shame, like she knows she’s blaming Max for her mother’s death, for the ruins of Arcadia Bay. But what else did she know but to blame everyone for everything that went wrong in her life

But Max. Her Max, Max Caulfield, Super Max, Batmax, why-the-fuck-did-you-never-call-for-five-years Max, her otter in her water, ‘you are my number one priority, now Chloe’, Max. She is still here, and she gave up Arcadia Bay for her. Her number one priority. 

God, Max. How can one goddamn woman give her so much when she, Chloe Price, school dropout, rebel, punk, didn’t deserve so much of it? Chloe might always have been Captain Bluebeard, but Max was always the captain of her heart and soul. 

Chloe drags on her joint, thinks of Max still asleep in the back of the truck, wrapped up in an old blanket dug up from somewhere, her face younger and so much more peaceful in sleep than it had been since that whole godforsaken week. God, the girl was eighteen, what fucked up universe decided to put all of fucking hell on her shoulders? And then forced her to choose between Arcadia Bay and Chloe? Shit. Chloe marvelled that Max hadn’t been driven to booze or getting high to forget all that shit, at least for a while. Yet, when Chloe had offered her a drink one night, Supermax had recoiled with a ‘ugh, yuck.’ 

Never change, Maxine Caulfield. 

Chloe draws her knees up to her chest, squinting up at the stars; she’s sure she sees a planet just above the horizon, unblinking and really bright. Probably Jupiter. She hates that universe, or whoever was up there among the stars, who thought an eighteen year old girl needed to have all that shit put on her shoulders, so that now, when Chloe catches Max’s eye, she sees not an eighteen year old on the verge of adulthood, of pursuing her one passion, but someone twice that age, who has seen more ills and fucked-up shit in life than many in all their lifetimes. What she wouldn’t give for her not to have the bags under her eyes, the faint lines that appear on her forehead, the way she looks at her like someone who has been through a lifetime of trials and tribulations. Fuck. It’s messed up, and what she wouldn’t give to be in Max’s place, just so she didn’t have to go through that. 

After a few minutes, Chloe stubs out what remains of her joint in the ashtray, picking it up in her hand as she stands up, walking back to the truck with its still-open driver’s seat. Dumping the ashtray back on the dashboard, she lifts herself into the seat, leaning back as she shuts the door, shutting it louder than she had intended, and she quickly looks over her shoulder to check Max is still sleeping, and flinches to see her with eyes wide open, her mouth working as if in a silent plead. 

Jesus. 

Chloe turns in her seat, reaches over to shake Max’s shoulder, to draw her from whatever fucked up nightmare she is in now. Even in the faint light, Chloe can tell Max’s body is stiff as a board, unmoving as though paralysed by whatever terror swam through her brain right now. Max has woken up nearly every night at least once, eyes open, but unable to move her body. Sleep paralysis--Chloe’s heard about it before, but never actually seen anyone affected by it, and she’s glad she never experienced it. 

‘Max!  Max, wake up for God’s sake!’ 

And, by some miracle, Max’s body jolts sharply, her eyes clenching shut as her hands fly up to cover her face, her breathing loud and ragged in the confines of the truck. Chloe keeps her hand on Max’s shoulder, gripping it tight. 

‘Hey, Super Max, I’m here, okay? I’m never leaving you.’ 

‘I saw him again, Chloe,’ Max rasps, her hands still over her face, ‘Felt his needle.’ 

Chloe’s other hand balls into a fist against the driver’s seat, her jaw clenching so hard she’s sure she’s going to strain a muscle. She should have killed Mr Jefferson herself. That son of a motherfucker better be burning in hell right now. She never believed in a hell--much less some magical, unicorn-fantasy heaven--but fuck, if hell exists, Mr Jefferson should be burning in its most fiery bowels. 

‘He’s never touching you again. Never.’ 

‘Chloe...’ the hands drop, limp, back down to Max’s blanket. ‘That doesn’t stop...stop him in my dreams.’ 

‘He’s dead, Max.’ 

‘It doesn’t stop him okay?!’ Max snaps, and immediately follows it up with a little gasp, a wince of guilt. ‘I’m sorry, Chloe.’ 

‘Hey, you’re allowed your rage. You can scream and swear and rage in my face, you deserve to after all this fucked up bullshit. You’re fucked up, I’m fucked up, we’re gonna get through this together.’ 

‘I can’t stop feeling it on my neck. His needle...’ Max whispers, a hand moving to rub her neck, right over where the scab from the syringe in the dark room was still healing. Chloe has kissed that spot on Max’s neck many times, and it sickens her to know that not all the tenderest neck kisses in the world could take away the ghost of that sicko’s needle. 

‘You want me to come in the backseat with you?’ Chloe’s used to having spent a night in an awkward position sitting up in the backseat being there for Max after a PTSD-ridden nightmare, and if it means a leg and possibly an arm having gone numb from a cramped position all night, so be it, as long as she was there for Max. 

‘Yeah...’ Max’s voice is no more than a sigh, and Chloe immediately kicks the driver’s seat open, jumps out, and opens the backseat door, waiting as Max carefully sits upright, the blanket falling off her shoulders. Max’s bob is a tangled mess, and she looks paler than usual, and Chloe is sure she can see even darker bags under her eyes. Chloe doesn’t bother to ask if she’s alright, because the fuck she is. Dumb question to ask, when she knows full well the answer. And anyway, how the hell could either be ‘alright’ after all the shit that’s happened. 

Chloe is no sooner settled in the backseat then Max leans into her body, her head on Chloe’s shoulder, her eyes closed. Chloe takes Max’s hands in hers, interlinks their fingers as she drops a kiss in Max’s hair, letting it linger as the brunette readjusts her legs into a slightly more comfortable position. Her breaths are still shallow, but seems to be calming down already. She lets a minute or so of silence pass as Max rests against her, fingers clinging on to hers, her breath tickling Chloe’s bare arm. Her lips move imperceptibly, as though reciting some silent mantra to try to pull together whatever remained of her mind, shattered forever from everything. 

‘Max? How’re you feeling?’ 

‘Urrgh, fucked up as usual,’ she mumbles against Chloe, ‘but better now you’re here.’ 

‘Same,’ Chloe concurs, and she knows Max gets what she means. ‘Pretty fucked up.’ 

There’s a short silence, followed by a sigh from Max. 

‘Chloe, do you ever get scared of falling asleep?’ 

‘All the time.’ 

‘Really?’ Chloe notes the tone of surprise in Max’s voice. 

‘My brain thinks it’s a great idea making me dream of us finding Rachel over and over..’ Chloe shudders, feeling Maxs hands clutch tightly on to hers in response.  

‘Shit.’ Max sounds like she might throw up. ‘That’s fucked up.’ 

‘Or being trapped in Nathan’s creepy drawing. You know the one.’ 

‘The one we saw in the principal’s office?’ 

‘That one.’ 

‘God, Chloe.’ 

‘Bleeding out on the floor of the bathroom as Nathan stands over me, and--Jesus, Max, I don’t want to start giving you even more nightmares than you already have.’ 

‘Like what we’ve been through wasn’t already a long endless nightmare?’ 

‘My nightmares never have you there with me, Max, and you were always there for me during all that shit.’ 

‘Mine too. That’s how I know I’m awake again, when I see you here.’ 

‘Ugh, we’re getting mushy again, Max.’ 

‘Love you too, Chloe.’ 

‘Stop it, I mean it. You know I hate getting all teary and mushy.’ Chloe feels Max shift around, moving her head back to meet Chloe’s smile with a weak one of her own, though her eyes stay dark and world-weary, many years beyond eighteen. 

‘I think the last time I was scared of falling asleep was after we looked into your attic, Chloe, when we were ten and saw that huge spider. Isn’t it messed up that’s what kept me up all night not even ten years ago, and it seems laughable now?’ 

‘i ridiculed you for it. Shit move of me.’

‘That hurt, but...now it doesn’t seem like such a big deal to lose sleep over. Spiders are nothing compared to...I mean spiders don’t seem so bad after all of this shit.’ A pause. ‘Okay, maybe not the ones in Australia. I refuse to go there.’ 

‘Damn it, I was just about to suggest Australia as our next big trip.’ 

Max glares at her, but this only makes her look adorable rather than properly mad. ‘Shut up.’ 

Chloe can’t resist any longer and leans forward to kiss Max, but a quick one that is no less full of love for it. Even Chloe can tell that neither are in the mood for any frisky times in the back seat of the truck. To be honest, neither had been ever since they’d first driven out of the remains of Arcadia Bay. Shit only knew when they would feel mentally ready for moving on to that stage of their relationship. 

‘You’re being chickenshit again, Maxine Caulfield. It’s not that bad over there.’ 

‘Australia terrifies me. You ever heard about cassowaries?’ 

‘It’s not that bad.’ 

‘How would you know, Steve Irwin.’ 

‘Stick to the big cities like Sydney. Don’t go hitch-hiking into the wilderness. Look before you sit on the loo. Watch out for dropbears in trees, and you’ll survive.’ 

Max sighs, leans her forehead in to the crook of Chloe’s neck, right where Chloe loves it best. ‘Sydney...a photographer’s dream.’ 

Never change.

‘Dream of Sydney, okay, and I better be there too.’ 

‘Chloe, I’m...’ 

‘Never leaving you,’ both finish the sentence in a whisper.

‘You sure you’re okay, Max?’ Chloe asks, even as drowsiness washes over her. ‘You recovered bloody quick.’ 

‘Helps when you’re here. I...love you.’ 

‘Hey, I’m no therapist, but don’t be afraid to scream at me about anything, got it?’ 

‘Gotcha, Chloe.’

Chloe marvels how fast Max can fall asleep, even after a nightmare, her face relaxing from its aged-beyond-years look, the kind that scares Chloe, all of nineteen years old. She studies Max’s face in sleep, noting how the lines between her eyebrows fades away, and the corners of her lips relax, her breathing deep and regular against Chloe, who herself falls into a slumber just as the bright planet sinks below the horizon, the stars moving overhead in a silent procession of ever-moving time. 

[smallcrystals]

The Little Things | FlashSpruce

there will probably be a lot of mistakes in here, such as errors about PE as well as some typos if I’m really that dumb, but y’know, just ignore them lmao

This is (shamelessly) inspired by a Taehyung & Jimin video (or better know as Vmin) that went around Twitter (I’ll post a picture below of the specific scene that sparked this) and I have no idea where this sudden thought of FlashSpruce doing this came from but here we are.

This won’t be part of the Shields & Leaves fic on AO3, though you can consider this in the same universe?? But yeah, this is a drabble, not a one-shot, keep that in mind haha.

Without any further ado, I hope you enjoy this! ♡

P.S. This is the picture I was talking about with Vmin, Taehyung is the black haired and Jimin is the blond :D

You’d think being outdoors for most of your life, you’d get used to the running around on hard and slippery surfaces, or that your muscles would’ve grown stronger. And it seems that way when you take a good look at Timber’s physique but apparently that’s not the case when he’s trying to fucking stretch his limbs.

Coach Spitfire demanded everyone go and warm up, do some stretches before going into basketball. After sprinting across one end of the field to the other three times, Timber took a couple of lunges and stretched his arms. The first few were pretty simple to do, nothing really to complain about. But that wasn’t until he sat himself on the grass to stretch his leg and hip muscles.

There are quite a few things Timber will never admit to unless he’s held at knife point. And the fact he is not very flexible is one of those. (Another is that he doesn’t know batshit about basketball but he’s gonna pretend like he does. He’s totally not doing to impress someone else.) He strains his right calf over his left thigh, while keeping his left leg straight and a sting pierces his knee-pit.

Timber winces at the pain. This’ll be easy, she said, we’ll be fine, she said, he silently scowls. The tip of his right trainer is barely touching his inner left thigh and he immediately pulls back. It relaxes the sharp pain in his left leg, leaving a numb throb. He allows his upper body’s urge to collapse against the grass and he groans internally. Once he’s lying, still breathless from the sprinting and battling his lack of flexibility, he turns his head left and spots a certain blue haired eighteen-year-old from the very corner.

Flash is standing, legs more than shoulder width apart, and he’s gazing aimlessly up and around him as he lunges side to side. And Timber really shouldn’t be staring because he needs to get his ass up and finish stretching but, he can’t—okay, he can help it, he keeps telling himself that he can’t just so he can stare at his boyfriend.

It’s no surprise that Flash has always been a fucking gorgeous work of art to him. Even when he was focused on Twilight at the camp, he couldn’t help but let his eyes follow Flash every now and then. Sometimes he feels dumb that he didn’t go straight to Flash instead of waiting two fucking years to say something.

From that face of a model to those curves of his waist and hips, not to mention thighs of a motherfucking dancer. With those grey shorts that are half his thighs – and knowing Flash intentionally wore those this PE double period simply to spite him – he has to make sure his mind doesn’t drop somewhere it shouldn’t.

(And Timber fails that every single day. But Flash’s also as horny as Timber, so you can’t really blame him.)

Timber blinks out of his daydream when he hears another one of Spitfire’s raging rants from across the field – probably yelling at Snips and Snails for messing around again – and that’s when he realises how long he’s been staring. He pushes himself up, instantly crossing his legs and leaning against one arm. Timber sighs against his palm and huffs a few strands of hair that fell on his face out the way.

He feels a finger poke lightly at the back of his head and he jolts, instantly looking up at the boy. Flash looked down at him with that cute smile, that cute smile saved for him and him only. His hands slide down to Timber’s shoulders, massaging his thumbs tenderly into his back.

“What’s up?” Flash tilts his head, his hair a little disheveled from Rainbow Dash ruffling it against his will, and it just made him all the more cute. Which shouldn’t be possible but it is, and Timber isn’t complaining.

He smirks. “You.”

Flash rolls his eyes, slapping Timber’s exposed neck lightly. It causes little giggles to spill out of his mouth, and he knows Flash is biting his lip to prevent calling Timber adorable. Babe, just gimme the compliment, feed my praise kink. He watches Flash’s shadow squat down to his level, one hundred percent ignoring the feeling of Flash's muscular and thick thighs hugging his sides, and his arms slither around Timber’s middle.

“Aren’t you gonna stretch?” Flash asks.

Timber pulls the corner of his mouth into his cheek. “I was trying to but...” He cuts himself off, his shoulders tensing. He’s not gonna admit that he isn’t flexible out loud, nope, nada, never. Maybe in the bedroom, sure. But in front of the others, especially AJ who is only three feet away, I think fucking not.

“But...?” He teases in that tone.

“Nothing—I was gonna continue until you came along.”

“Really? I could’ve sworn I saw you lying down and ogling me a second ago.” Flash’s chin snuggles into the crook of Timber’s neck, the coolness of his head touching the blushing heat of his neck, and he feels Flash’s mouth twitch into a smile.

“I was taking a rest. And I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Flash stays silent for a bit after letting out a little chuckle at Timber’s antics, shifting his legs so he’s kneeling on the grass. A faint buzz of conversation around him tells him his classmates are still warming up, and that they hopefully won’t notice how touchy they’re being. Or he hopes they keep quiet if they do.

“Do you want me to help you?” Flash says, voice almost too low, the one that sends tingles down his spine. His strong hands are rubbing softly over Timber’s bare arms and, honestly, he really adores how well Flash managed to pick up all the small touches that make Timber feel more at ease. Just the little things he loves about him.

“Um…” Timber fiddles with his fingers that lay in the middle of his crossed legs. He thinks about it for a couple of seconds, weighing out the chances of bruising his big ass ego by his boyfriend to help him stretch his legs. It really doesn’t matter at this point, he concludes, so he hums a yes.

He’s not gonna lie, Timber could’ve just skipped this exercise and pretend he did it but he’s seen how obvious it is when someone hasn’t stretched their leg muscles. Either that or Timber’s been focusing way too much on his peers. Eh, doing the stretches is better than getting another scolding from Spitfire again.

He uncrosses his legs, pulling them back to the same position they were before, his hands pressing his left leg down by the knee. Flash’s arms come and wrap him, feeling Flash’s arm muscles against his.

“We’ll do it for five seconds, okay baby?” Flash whispers, leaning in to give him a kiss on his jaw.

The tips of Timber’s ears and his cheeks feel warm, almost burning if he’s being real. But it seems to cool down a little when Flash presses his cheek against his.

He reaches for Timber’s right leg, bringing it back and then Timber pulls his calf over his thigh. It only starts to sting at his knee but when Flash pushes his calf further over his thigh, the right side of his hip starts aching too. It’s easier to control when Flash is holding his calf from his right knee and his ankle instead of himself, because he knew the second his sensitive ass body started hurting, he’d give up. Timber holds his head down, squeezing his eyes a bit as Flash helps him hold the stretch for five seconds.

Once they’re over, Timber lets out a heavy sigh of relief. And it soon washes off when he realises he needs to do his other leg too. He huffs and mumbles curses under his breath. Flash giggles quietly at Timber’s childish behaviour and he sweetly takes the time to massage his thighs to rid the pain.

While his hands are there, Timber glances over at his own as well. They both have big hands, Timber’s being a little larger than Flash’s, yet if there’s one thing he envies about his boyfriend is that Flash’s hands are perfect. No arguments had. From the neatly cut fingernails to the soft and defined knuckles—yes, he may also have a hand kink for Flash, leave him alone.

They get onto the other leg relatively quickly, the pain on the opposite side of him weighs out the previous once he’s actually stretching. A whine spills out of Timber’s lips when the sting grows harsher and Flash immediately lets go. He managed to see the look of concern on Flash’s face, because Timber let out that whine, and he leaps up to peck his lips, letting him know it’s okay.

Flash helps him up and the boy uses a little too much strength for his own good, causing Timber to tip over him. They giggle, hands too touchy for decency’s sake, and Timber leans in to nudge his nose against Flash’s.

It’s when they share one open-mouth kiss when Spitfire calls on them.

“Sentry!” The boys jump at the raspy voice of their coach, fingers still intertwined with the other’s. “You and your boyfriend are cute and all but can you stop being a couple and get over here?”

Timber tsks under his breath so only Flash can hear him. “Homophobe.” He rolls his eyes and receives a playful smack on the chest. With now one hand holding onto his, Flash drags him along to the crowd of students.

“And Spruce, I better not see you gawking at your boyfriend’s ass,” Spitfire says and a few knowingly laughs arise from their classmates.

“But it’s not my fault my boyfriend is the only one who doesn’t have a flat—”

Flash shoves him hard before he has a chance to finish that sentence.

[sugar-petals]

bleeding hearts and happy days [m.]

❖ pairing. | dom!reader x sub!taehyung x sub!baekhyun

❖ summary. | you meet up with two escorts in an abandoned hotel room. 

❖ a/n. | tumblr doesn’t like my sad horny shakespearean fic right here, this is a reupload. random parts of the story disappeared without a trace, so here we go again. 

❖ word count. | 7.1k

❖ genre. | smut, angst, prostitution au, drama — starcrossed lovers

❖ warnings. | major character death implied, polyamory, threesome, bdsm, bondage, femdom, noona kink, cigarettes on skin, smoking kink, harnesses, ball gags, riding, pregnancy kink, crying, slapping, bruises, lace & mesh, tattoos, bj with teeth, lactation kink, aftercare, tae doms baekhyun briefly, hair-pulling, neck pain, spanking, unhealthy relationships, infertility, medication, alcohol, mentioned abuse, jealousy/rivalry, motorcycle accident

❖ masterlist

It’s so late that the reception is long closed. Nobody in this hotel bothers with anything, really. But he has Room 31′s rusty key and a little note with your name on it.

Determined to find the right corridor fast since his watch says he’s running late. Fifteen minutes past the usual time.

The client earlier had simply been a pain, but that’s just life. He moves on, takes the money. One bruise more or less won’t make him any more shattered at this point.

Finding the floor isn’t so difficult. As he suspected, the Incheon Royal is a small hotel indeed despite its big name.

Everyone knows the Royal's heyday has already passed.

It’s harder to tell from the outside because of the neighboring houses that blend into the building complex. All of them are ugly as shit. So Baekhyun would not spend too much time looking at them. He would rather rummage in his red bag to see if he didn’t forget anything.

He’d rather look at you, no matter how bitter-sweet the feeling in his chest is.

That’s why he agreed to do all of this in the first place.

31 is halfway posh judging by the door, but still quite a tiny spot in the very last corner of the house, first floor. Most of the lighting here is defunct, so he uses the brightness of his phone screen boasting a holiday picture from Osaka. He’s glad he got the keys. Knocking would feel so weird, you’ve never done this before.

Fucking each other in a hotel, that is.

You usually meet Baekhyun at his place, or the place as he always says. Which is cozy because he knows how to decorate it with lights and fabric. Who knows who taught him all that. His little space there is great. Unlike the shabby wall that welcomes him here in Room 31′s little hell. The door’s appearance has been deceptive enough. There’s no stench coming from somewhere dodgy in this apartment, gladly. But that’s a very low standard, isn’t it?

And who had the idea to rent this — Kim Taehyung, that handsome motherfucker.

Baekhyun promises himself to smoke five cigarettes later.

He turns to find you in the bathroom trying to detangle your hair after a busy day. The sixth album of The Doors is on repeat in the living room. It makes him hum to the beat, he’s heard it so often. You’re rolling down your stockings when he enters, laughing.

“Are you alright? I’m sorry, this is—”

“Quite perfect, pretty messed up.”

And you’re certain about this. No other spot in the outskirts of Incheon City would be better. Taehyung is not as naïve as literally anyone at the place thinks.

“He booked it with good reason.”

“You sure?”

Baekhyun puts down the key, his bag, and joins you at the sink. He apologizes with three, four, five kisses that it took so long. His lips are chapped.

Every minute stolen hurts each time.

You tousle your hair a bit more.

He strips down and steps into the shower with only his lacy top on — because he knows you like it. It hides some scars, too, ones that he still feels shameful of. There are little roses and thorns embellishing the areas, it’s a lace pattern you haven’t seen on him yet. It’s new.

You’re glad that your money does find its way even if his debt eats it all up. He got himself a new motorcycle as well. Not the fanciest one, but it does the job. It’s parked behind the hotel, he says.

The shower is quick and shallow as not to smudge his makeup. There's already a silent arrangement, it’s your job to do that. He does sing, proud that he gets the more difficult notes right, and says that you don't have to bother with the brushes and combs. You know he'd have your head between your legs by now, but today's different.

Baekhyun continues to belt out more, whatever comes to his mind, and you can almost forget that it's Room 31 you're in.

You want to show him the towels when there’s a hastened knock on the door. He's huffing.

“The sucker's here!”

Baekhyun hurries outside the bathroom, leaving wet blotches all over the carpet on his way. Not that anybody in this hotel would care. Who knows when this carpet has been inspected for the last time.

You hear Taehyung’s agitated, happy voice alternate with Baekhyun’s scolding in the entrance room after the door creaks open. You think your hair won’t get any better no matter what you try anyways, and peek out of the bathroom door grinning.

“I like it here. It’s got antiques, they’re just really dusty.”

“See!” says Taehyung who currently leans an umbrella against the wall. “Knew she likes places like these.”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. But he won’t say anything now. Taehyung pulls off his trenchcoat smiling. You point at his umbrella.

“It really rained?”

“Was just a quick shower, the weather isn’t bad. Did he have it worse?”

Taehyung cocks a brow up at still-wet Baekhyun.

“Washed up, you just interrupted. The question is, are you clean?”

“Cleaner than a senior getting naked for a client faster than it’s normal.”

Baekhyun bites down hard on his bottom lip. You pull both of them into the living room where the TV is on, showing Cher’s greatest hits or something. It’s just the music channel. Taehyung instantly starts swaying to the beat while Baekhyun remains stiff.

In any other case, he’d probably swallow it up and act like it’s nothing. Clients pay more for a threeway than when he just shows up solo.

But it’s you.

He has learned that he can be himself. Good and bad sides. The latter he has many of. Maybe more of. Taehyung would agree.

To be fair, Baekhyun bears the brunt of questionable clients at his place so you don’t resent him for it. You don’t know about Taehyung. He’s probably not seen the dark side of the business yet. It’s his second time with you and Baekhyun is joining.

In fact, Baekhyun first recommended him to you for an individual session.

Cher keeps on singing, almost taunting while Taehyung flings his mesh jacket to the side and gets into position. You’ve thought a long time about how you’d do all of this, but you got the details down. And everyone agreed. Baekhyun never hesitated.

“Baek, can you pass me the bag?” Taehyung wriggles on the tacky sofa.

“Hey, uppity. It’s not yours. I’ll do that.”

And Baekhyun goes to get the bag and a towel to dry up a bit. The lace top sticks to his chest like a second skin. You can see how he moves his torso differently because he wants to show it off to you.

He returns with two ropes, two polished red ball gags.

Taehyung actually does stay perfectly still when Baekhyun starts making his usual chest harness. Loop here, strap there. It’s astounding how much more serious he is when Taehyung is with him.

You’d pay the world for them, even if Baekhyun once said he’d do it for free because he loves you. He had one bottle too much back then.

Cher switches to Barbra Streisand.

Taehyung grins weirdly once the gag is in place, provoking your smile. He knows he fucked you so good last time that you figured two times the bliss was a good idea. He still has a bruise that's rather colorful.

You proceed to fixate Baekhyun in a similar bondage style. It only takes a bit longer. His hair has dried up a fair bit; the spikes of his bangs almost get into his eyes.

He whispers once you have to bend down closely next to his head.

“Missed it too much. Y/N. They fucked me up.”

You suppress an urge to cry by pulling the rope tighter than usual where you would keep it deliberately loose. All the frustration in the world goes into this one rope. Maybe if you knot him up extra hard, he’ll forget about the days when it’s not you screwing him at the place but another oily, bearded scumbag peeing on him or some priss with gnawed off nails.

“No condoms, as usual?”

He always asks without failure, no matter how often he’s said it. It must have been a hundred times. Your answer is always the same, too.

“Wish something could actually grow in there.”

It’s never easy to say. But the look that follows in Baekhyun’s eyes has never ceased to gleam.

“Don’t you ever worry about it, Noona.”

You can’t reply for long.

“And him?” is all that comes out.

“Taehyung’s tested as well, doc came in on Friday. Seokjin can be strict on us if he really wants it. He can’t risk losing another regular.”

Seokjin, head of the place. You do like him, much more than the majority of other boys that Baekhyun sometimes has to recruit. Taehyung being one of them was a stroke of luck. You still prefer to ride Baekhyun for the night, and have the rope do its job.

But Taehyung does look beautiful tonight with his glossy lips and shiny red pants. When he peels them off, even failing to get it right once or twice, the feeling in your chest is less numb.

Baekhyun's tense, but hard enough for you to slip down on. It’s less than graceful, but you do manage somehow, fingers intertwined with the harness. The pace is raw. You're not wet enough, and he can't get it upright completely. Today’s different.

It's too much effort. Taehyung mires with big eyes and groans away when you bring Baekhyun alive with a couple thrusts. Harder than usual. Little goosebumps loom under the cover of his lace top. Taehyung’s still moaning and grinding, trying to get some friction from the rope that would lend the pleasure he is longing for. But it only hurts. That’ll do, too.

Whatever body spritz Baekhyun is always using, now that it’s gone you can smell the real him. Any shower in the world could not clean him from the way people have treated him for a few dimes, but he’s happy knowing you like his scent as it is.

It’s very sweet naturally, not rich and balmy like any perfume in his collection, nor dusty and rosy and all sandalwood, whatever they use to make it smell really thick. He’s just Baekhyun how you adore him. Vulnerable. Bound underneath you, breath so heavy, inside of you at the mercy of your hips.

A slap to the cheek only makes him harder. Taehyung struggles next to you trying to touch himself.

“Selfish boys get two.”

And you slap Taehyung twice. Three times for good measure. So strong, your own palm hurts. Even if he shakes from the impact, he still scrambles for more and tries to reach his cock. You spit on his face and turn to focus on Baekhyun again, leaving Taehyung red and sulking, even more eager.

You know exactly who taught him how to be so insatiable.

It’s easy to peel off the lacey hem at Baekhyun’s abdomen. You didn’t use too much rope to cover the area. It’s deliberate. Between your fingers blooms the tattoo that he got for your anniversary. The day has been kept secret, although people knew Baekhyun went to the parlor in a more lofty part of town.

It's a fragile stem with a row of bleeding hearts. Some opened, some still buds.

The ink’s crimson color is more vibrant than ever. How he smells like could very well be the scent of flowers, or at least you imagine it to be like that.

The tattoo marks the spot where Baekhyun is the most sensitive. It’s not enough to bounce hard on his cock until he thinks you’ll rip his foreskin right off, it’s not enough to tighten around him, making feel he suffocates just by that.

No, only the bleeding hearts make a difference.

“Who are you to me?” you say, and face the truth looking into his eyes.

“I’m your, your bitch.”

“And what does a bitch do?”

“Give you the best seed I have.”

“Then breed me good, bitch!”

Your thumbs circle in to stroke the tattoo. Not much is needed until he chews on his lip again. Baekhyun's skin is so soft in that spot, you think he went out of the way not shaving it to keep a few of his thin little hairs there.

The blood pressure pops a vein or two in his eyes when you shove your fingers into his mouth and half down his throat. He’s coughing. You keep your hips still for Baekhyun to shoot you up with his dripping release, and continue to bounce taking all the hot cum deeper.

Whenever he stopped counting the positions you tried, you gave up wanting to make it all stay inside.

Taehyung’s gonna sneer over how everyone knows it anyways.

That you’re creaming Baekhyun’s dick without protection every time, and probably have fifteen of his samples in your gyno’s basement freezer. Or your own. He once joked that you’re probably mixing it with a milkshake every morning just to be sure. He knows it tastes good.

When Baekhyun’s semen comes dripping out, you free Taehyung from his ball gag hoping something good and uplifting would come out of his mouth.

“Ever tried using his tears instead, Y/N?”

You were wrong.

The ball gag goes back. You cover the tattoo while Baekhyun’s chest finds its normal rhythm again. As an only solace, the moldy air in the hotel room is now tinted with Baekhyun’s sweat through and through. You say the words as you always do without exception.

“You’ll be my baby father so soon. We’ll be lucky this time.”

“Am all yours.”

Taehyung just sighs, wriggling more again.

"Cheesy fucks can't help it."

Click. Click, click. The lighter has been used so often, you need to give it a go three times until the flame remains standing.

They don’t bother. The hotel. Who knows if they have ever seen the day that the smoking ban was announced back in, well. Many, many years ago. Baekhyun’s jacket had left you with a vast variety to pick from.

And so, he smokes. No hands, you’re the one to tap off the ashes on Taehyung’s chest. In the hopes that it will leave some painful traces. Taehyung hates being a rookie. If there’s something that brings in cash, it’s that he’s experienced and it shows.

Even if he winces every time, or a tear comes from the corner of his eye, he doesn’t make a single noise. His cock stays down, what else would it do, he’s getting burned alive. Baekhyun smiles with the cigarette between his teeth, inhaling a bit deeper each time. The smoke mingles at the ceiling where a broken chandelier dangles back and forth.

He knows how much it hurts, you’ve done it to him twice. Or maybe three times because you’ve asked to do it again. Of course, Taehyung has seen what refused to heal on Baekhyun’s arms and shoulders for weeks. Maybe in the showers. He got jealous, that’s all you know.

“Thighs? Looks empty on there.”

You flick the cigarette from Baekhyun’s mouth again. Taehyung nods, but regrets the decision when you stub the glowing end right in the middle of the curved leg. It’s the spot where he takes care to wax the most. He’s crying, and Baekhyun laughs again.

“Now you’ve got what you wanted. That’ll stay,” he says.

Taehyung opens his mouth for the first time to speak through the tears. The gag leaves its place. The glossy lips part, more demure than ever.

“Thank you, N— noona!”

You reply pinching at Taehyung's loins. The cigarette is back between Baekhyun’s teeth.

“That's what got your dick up, didn’t it.”

Taehyung can only mouth a little Yes. He exhales, averts his gaze. No more eye contact. Just a whimper. You know it's Baekhyun who taught him that.

The cigarette smoke is denser now that you dedicate all of your attention to Taehyung. The grip on his shaft is harder than the first time he came to you. When you thought he'd be so fragile, being new to the game. But you found out he can take a whole lot. Much more than Baekhyun if you’re being honest about it.

Your clit is where the tip of his cock belongs, and where it is abused. Rubbing it, poking it, sliding it back and forth reckless abandon. Smearing Baekhyun’s cum all over the place until it feels all grimy and cold, making its way down your inner thighs. They both observe it drip, and things get hazy in the smoke.

Your fingers give Taehyung tough love in another tight seize so no pre-cum dares to peak out. It’s only until you shake him back and forth that it gets to a level where you feel at least some stimulation. Pressing him against your clit feeling how he trembles from the friction. His little noises amuse you each time.

More whimpers. You continue with a firm hold on his shaft, hoping to find out how far he can please you. He’s getting a taste of what it’s like when you grow your nails out. And shake him more. The feeling becomes stronger. Maybe he can satisfy you today. Work’s been tough, it's deeply needed.

You take a deep breath to inhale the cloud of nicotine that’s been building all around, and ride the wave it brings. Baekhyun will get you hooked on these, fuck him. But you’re breathing it with Taehyung’s dick grazing between your legs.

It's providing at least a bit of heat now that you've gone cold. Making you feel something Baekhyun increasingly won’t manage to fulfill. Well, unless he keeps whispering “I’ll knock you up, mommy” with his cock balls deep up your ass. Because by now, you both believe it’s likelier that you get pregnant this way. Taehyung on the other hand just has to mumble anything to turn you on. His voice is so raspy and deep. Everything about his body feels vital, and voluptuous, so pretty, so fertile.

Baekhyun knows that.

And if that’s what will get you going, he’ll watch like this.

With you cumming all over Taehyung’s cock. It’s such a beautiful icing. The relief is not only physical, but mental. You still chafe him across your labia with no end in sight, because those are the seconds you pay for that Baekhyun can’t give you. Taehyung is glad to be so hard, otherwise he’d break like a straw. You love how thick his girth grows, it likes your hands and their pressure, and you coating him with a fresh creamy glaze.

If Baekhyun is your bitch, Taehyung is your personal joystick to drip on.

You don’t pay him as well as you would like to, but he’s ridiculously cheap. Seokjin won’t let him take tips unless he fucked his way up, it’s how it is. He’s not made a name for himself yet, but the orgasms he gives you leave a special feeling for countless minutes after. It’s probably how much cash Baekhyun makes that causes Taehyung to work so much harder. You can see it in his eyes. But if all goes well, he won’t get money to clear a dozen figures debt like Baekhyun does. That’s what keeps him going. Or maybe he just has a magic dick.

Baekhyun knows the answer. He’d pay Taehyung to get you off himself if only Seokjin allowed it. But, as far as you know, the place has plenty of rules.

Baekhyun can’t stop grinning, but you don’t. Your high faded when he ogled the pack of cigarettes again. There are only few of them left inside, all in shambles.

“Your lungs are tar black already. Before your heart is...”

A few last puffs swirl to the ceiling when you take the cigarette to the center glass table where it fades out. The smell still lingers. You return to flip him around on the spot. A series of firm slaps find their way to Baekhyun’s ass. Every strike buries him deeper in the pillows face down.

“That’s for laughing. If someone laughs, it’s me. Did you get that, babe?”

“I apologize!”

“Don’t do it again.”

“I won’t!”

“His pain is mine to enjoy. Not yours.”

Another smack.

“I promise, I won’t do it again, Noona, please! I won't!”

“Taehyung even said thank you. When will you ever say that, bitch?”

“You know I’ll never be ungrateful, you know it.”

"Mean it, baby?"

"Really do."

Baekhyun is crying. With a bright red ass and makeup completely smudged into the pillow. These are possibly the only two things he has not given up being vain about, and you love ruining them. At the end of the day, it’s what he finds enjoyable about his profession. You’re the only one who is allowed to do it, after all.

“Been a while since I could see you blush. Not just in the face,” you poke his left buttcheek, eliciting a little sniff. “Pity that you cake it on, you always have to cry for me to get that shit off.”

You get to loosen up Taehyung’s rope now. It left deep traces, but it looks good on him.

“The day he wears no makeup is the day he dies,” Taehyung twirls at Baekhyun’s hair, and they both have to smile through the tears.

“At least he’s self-aware,” you drag up the lithe body from the pillow to cry at your chest. You’ve got a white shirt on, but who cares. “Why not cry a bit more for me, baby?”

And maybe Taehyung was right with tears.

Baekhyun has a hard time swallowing up Taehyung’s cock the way you want it. Every tug and shove at the back of his head makes him want to throw up more. All over the place like a decoration for Taehyung’s abdomen, but there’s nothing in his stomach that could possibly come up beside some bitter pulp and a pill. But he keeps on shoving himself down to the rhythm dictated by your hand in his hair, and hopes for the best.

Don’t puke, don’t puke, don’t puke today.

Who knows how often he’s done that. Maybe it’s the only thing his throat is ever useful for. If he's fucked up, he's vivid. Talk's worthless, there is no sense in it. Throwing up on someone's balls at least makes him feel that there's still a bit of life somewhere in his gut. But he'd rather keep it down for the sake of the other.

Food he’s given up on. But if he’s fed cock by you, maybe he feels better about himself. With a little practice, Taehyung is good breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He’ll consider blowing him some other time, maybe with a camera and client involved for some extra cash. Nothing’s for free. Gagging and taking it on the face gets him a bonus, too. Deepthroat is where the money is.

The pain at the back of his neck won’t be getting any better, but his tongue can’t complain. Taehyung did clean himself up just like he said. He could make it far, further than Baekhyun himself, with a huge waiting list at the place. But one thing he can’t do is choke so violently like this. One day, Taehyung might learn even that. A fast learner, isn't he? Yet as long as he gets a cock big enough rammed into his skull on the daily, Baekhyun's the best out there, and the worst in its best sense. If his brain comes out one day, he won't complain either. One less thing to worry about.

Bitches are dumb, that's what they are. Dumb as fuck. They give their mistress good semen instead. And get over neck pain.

The pace is vile. He knows that your arm won’t give up thrusting him down anytime soon. Baekhyun imagines how it must be like having your eyes. How it would be like to see it. Him trying to handle Taehyung’s dick with just a small mouth, good cheeks, no teeth, and a little courage. Gagging and drooling spit all over the place and half unconscious because it’s so good. You love his glossy eyes. They’re always so gorgeous. Baekhyun must be the most beautiful boy in the whole world when he does that. But he's too fast stuffing himself.

Of course, he throws up. Who wouldn’t, you have both of your index fingers hooked inside the corners of his mouth to keep him open wide, and Taehyung just keeps on thrusting his hips upward. The bitter taste alone makes Baekhyun vomit again, this time on the carpet. He’s so dizzy. He needs more cock to feel full and healthy again. You want to give him a minute, but he’s faster than that. Though less swift than Taehyung who knows that once Baekhyun’s stomach is already empty, he can pound away and fully destroy him. But both of them have to obey your pacing.

And this time, your tugging at Baekhyun’s hair is slow and gentle. So Taehyung follows that, too. Baekhyun’s lips look blurry, so crimson all around, and you make sure to hold his head down entirely to swallow Taehyung’s balls. Fucking his neck up entirely so his next client will be desperate in trying to use it, and failing. It's the only way he'll ever be yours. Taehyung's balls inside of him or not.

As far as he can judge with the bitterness in his mouth, they do taste good. Hallelujah, what a day. It’s just that his throat can only handle so many, and cracked lips are hell on earth. Gladly Taehyung has brittle stamina, especially because it’s Mister tightest throat alive sucking him off. At least that’s how the other boys call Baekhyun at the place. He keeps on sucking with that in mind, but the tug at his hair leaves no room for contemplation, nor does Taehyung's growling.

You've heard it before. It's so needy, but deeply hurt. Baekhyun bites down on him at the tap of your finger on his little wrist. The signal.  

Taehyung blows up all messy and sticky until it drops out of Baekhyun’s nose. It's less bitter. How long did he have blue balls? It must have been more than an hour. You do the signal again for Baekhyun to unclench his jaw and bob his head again, to get at least a bit of Taehyung’s semen down. Because ultimately, the more you make him move, the more he has to cough and swallow. Breathing is hard now, but he’ll manage for the remaining seconds until you let go of his hair. He gags down the rest, even with vomit. His eyes are empty, but his cheeks glow.

“My baby did amazing.”

You wipe your sleeve at his nose. It wets almost immediately. Baekhyun sniffs and declines the sleeve, which you retreat. He's exhausted.

At least he doesn't do coke. He does cum.

Baekhyun pops off scrambling at your t-shirt almost immediately, and you curse yourself for not getting rid of it earlier. Even if Taehyung and literally anybody else at the place thinks it’s a little bit silly despite it being so standard, Baekhyun loves to suck your tits to calm himself down. For half an hour, well if he can, attaching to one breast at a time with both hands and his rosebud mouth. If they’d give him even one drop of milk, he would swim the entirety of the Pacific and back to drink it.

Taehyung giggles along while you pull off your shirt and have a clumsy go at it — Baekhyun’s too dizzy still, so he misses the mark as it usually happens. Although Taehyung is easily shushed, it still feels awkward. So you ask him to join. They alternate between sucking and kissing each other, having Taehyung taste his own cum and lubricating Baekhyun’s lips with it. What’s all over the carpet doesn’t really matter. It’s just the smell that makes you want to switch rooms. It’s all over Taehyung, too. So you decide to have the boys finish quite early into today's new fourty minute goal, suavely parting from your breast. The side where Baekhyun had led feels like it was about to tinge, but then again, just leaves a tense aureola for once. Next time, you ponder, would be a good time to admonish him. It's not like sucking dick where you get more for the heavier sucks. It's like love where there is a fine line between trying too hard and doing it just right.

The cubicle of the shower is calcified and rustier than the key to the apartment itself, nor do three people really fit inside the entire construction to begin with. But the showerhead works, so you use that one to get at least a bit of water rain down, and manage to get the grime off the boys and your breasts. Taehyung looks happy when you use too much soap on him, and tries to mess with Baekhyun’s hair so it’ll stand up vertically. With limited success, but Baekhyun is at least trying to retaliate getting Taehyung’s bubbly hair in a mess.

He’s not as sleepy as he usually is, which turns out to be a good sign as you think of it. Baekhyun has probably been rejecting one or two late-night clients recently. He never used to do that. For the sake of his rep, his wallet, his peace of mind because his perfectionism wouldn’t let him off the hook to have a good night’s sleep instead. But he’s not been busy so often in the last three weeks, you can tell by his social media updates and his texts. It’s rare that he gets a break or has the financial backing for it. Then again, it’s only been two clients or so. The ones who’d rather make him unable to go on working, so it would be counterproductive to spread his legs for them. Or maybe it was just Seokjin who made him take a day off out of necessity.

“You stole three of my clients!” Baekhyun goes on shoving water into Taehyung’s direction. “This is what you get for it!”

And there it is. You were wrong again.

“Can’t help being popular,” Taehyung replies ever so nonchalantly by taking the showerhead from you and spritzing Baehyun down head to toe until all the soapy mess is gone. “Clients aren’t deaf to house gossip, they pick new favorites each week.”

You snatch the showerhead back from the braggart and turn it in his direction at full blast. He ends up squealing and dancing in circles to avoid the water where it goes, but soon falls into Baekhyun’s arms because the shower floor is too slippery. Baekhyun flinches a bit when Taehyung rubs against him by accident.

"The tattoo?" Taehyung asks. You rummage with the soap again.

"Never had a day where it didn't feel sensitive," Baekhyun says.

"I want something like that, too, Noona!"

"Tae, you don't have a weak spot as far as I know."

"Really?"

"At least to this degree."

"What was getting it done like?"

"He fainted outside the parlor."

"No way!"

"He didn't drink and eat enough that day and it was boiling hot. The pain was only pulling the trigger on him."

You turn off the showerhead and towel down Baekhyun — save his face of course. He clings to the rest of what’s on there come fire or high water.

Before you can dry up Taehyung, the power is down in the hotel. Only the street lights illuminate the bathroom where you go by their silhouettes to finish up. You can’t tell whether it’s Taehyung, Baekhyun, or both kissing you quick in the dark. It's wet, it's cold, everything spins. A bad feeling in your gut lingers past their sloppy mouths that the night is over, and you're nowhere near the same as before. None of you is.

By the time Taehyung gets his phone to lighten up the hallway, power is back.

“I put some beetroot in the fridge. Go get yourself a slice or two, baby.”

Baekhyun shuffles into the corner, takes a tablecloth to open the fridge because the handle is crusty and yellow. The inside it halfway clean, especially since you put some plates in there earlier. And beetroot. It’s one of the few things he actually likes. It tastes disgusting, leaves red and violet blotches everywhere, and won’t ever make him full. That’s precisely why he likes it. You buy it because of whatever vitamins it has. Taehyung just thinks its weird and sometimes leaves cookies in the hallway for Baekhyun to chew on after he took two clients or so.

“There’s noodles, too. From Mr. Kim’s delivery. If you eat half of it, maybe mommy gives you a kiss on the forehead.”

You’re half joking. Or maybe not. Baekhyun considers the plate at least, removes the wrap, and smells at it. He picks up a fork wordlessly and stirs the meal. Since he doesn’t like being watched while eating, you and Taehyung sit down in the other room to have some chicken. The door in between is shut not to distract him with the smell. You do hear the fridge open and close two times while eating with Taehyung.

He says you did a good job. His chest still hurts. And Baekhyun really bit down hard blowing him so he can still feel it. His Friday clients will appreciate how it'll look like. He’s gonna have his asshole ravaged so hard, some unnerved doc has to stitch it back in. But now’s not the time to think about it. The chicken is delicious and you look so beautiful. He could get used to this. One day he might even have enough money to buy you some elaborate seafood dish from the luxury restaurant opposite to Mr. Kim. Be a good boy to you, get a big tip and a nice fuck. Life could be a dream and chicken is a splendid glimpse of it.

After more rummaging noises in the kitchen, Baekhyun returns with a little soy sauce showing around his mouth. He looks so downcast. You ask how he feels.

"You already know," he mumbles.

"Baby, sometimes even I can't read your mind."

"Hm."

"If you don't want to say it, that's okay."

"Noona..."

"Yes?"

He slumps down next to you, having the corners of his mouth wiped by Taehyung, who also wants to poke his cheeks but retreats his hands when Baekhyun doesn't react.

“Am just an A-class whore," he rubs his neck. "With nowhere to belong. Not worth a dick or dime.”

His voice is hoarse. You kiss his shoulders where the rope wasn't too tense.

“No, you’re mine. Don’t forget that.”

“I—”

“You belong here,” you lay your palm flat on your lap. Then below your chest where the heart is, “here. And here.” You finally place Baekhyun’s little hand at your forehead. “You already know you’re in there all the time, fucker. I'm thinking of you.”

“Some days I...”

“Hush, no more. Off with you to get some sleep.”

"Are you satisfied, Noona?"

"More than words can say. Now, come."

Taehyung guides Baekhyun into the corridor by the hand, checking his own rope marks before covering up. They have half faded, but the ones at his hip remain prominent and still burn a bit too much. Taehyung mumbles something about "cream later" and stuffs his top into the hem of his trousers. Baekhyun says that there's some stuff in his bag to mend it, but Taehyung declines.

“Well look at your makeup,” he coos and wipes down Baekhyun’s cheeks as if he didn’t see him cry.

It’s mostly sweat, isn’t it.

“Hotel Room service got a job tomorrow,” Baekhyun fastens his belt.

“It would be a surprise if that’s even a thing here. I thought you looked around?” you twinkle at him.

“I only see you.”

Taehyung huffs at that with an eye roll, phone out to text Seokjin. He gets a fast reply. He does watch out for his darlings every way, doesn’t he. You’ve met him countless times, he always does your bookings, too. You're sure he'll take care of Baekhyun tonight so he can sleep well.

“You don’t go home?” Taehyung blinks at you.

“I’m staying overnight, it’s convenient. Namjoon arranged a meeting with the team in the city centre tomorrow, just a five-minute walk so I don’t have to commute.”

“At least don’t sleep close to one of these dusty moldy things, Noona,” Baekhyun mumbles.

He nods his head in the direction of the almost decomposing stereo where The Doors are still playing.

“Says my baby hypocrite who’s gonna chain-smoke two packs when he’s out the door.”

You kiss him on the nose. It’s tender.

“Three if I can,” he smiles.

“Ugh, just go and pull a Shakespeare,” Taehyung snorts. He takes his umbrella and shakes it dry. “He’d spew some better jizz without the cigs anyway. That's why your eggs are done for, too. Fucking passive smokers complaining.”

But Baekhyun already picks up the red bag. He’s got the little note with your name on it tucked in at the side. It’s still from the first time you came to him. He did his best to keep any crease out of it. Taehyung looks down realizing that neither of you will talk about it, closing his trench coat. You kiss his forehead and make a silent promise to yourself to invite him again sometime, in a better hotel than this one.

A less pretty messed up place.

Wet drops from the umbrella are the last thing lingering on the carpet when you hear their voices blur in the distance of the corridor. Baekhyun pops a pill before turning the key in at the reception by placing it on its little bronze hook between Room 30 and 32.

Taehyung says he’ll take the car to pick up some groceries at the other end of the main street, and going to Mr. Kim’s to stock up. In the dim light of the backyard, they say goodbye and Baekhyun fastens his leather jacket. He gets out his gloves climbing the motorcycle parked in the corner with a deep exhale. Everything hurts. His ass feels like it could fall apart any second just sitting. All the dirty makeup has come off entirely by now judging by the tired reflection of the side mirror. His lace top is sticky against his chest underneath the jacket already. It’s cold sweat dripping down to his abdomen. The hearts are truly bleeding now.

Epilogue: Osaka

All of the streets are empty like his mind. He’ll get fucked up with another bottle later while Taehyung appeases some late-night clients. Probably by charming the bouncer a bit more than usual and telling him that Baekhyun took a lot of pills. Which won't be a lie. Your next time is already scheduled. Until then, Baekhyun hopes nobody finds drugs in the wrong spot or they let minors in by chance and the press picks up on it. The place is just too corrupt to prevail for a long time either way. Maybe he can move in with you next year if he isn’t done for by then. Enjoy a July afternoon in Seoul downtown, an iced coffee, an evening on the terrace opposite Mr. Kim's where there's live music. Pay the bills because it’s romantic. Pay the taxes because it's what a good citizen does. Quit smoking, retire from the place and earn money elsewhere. Eat healthy and get a proper sample for the fridge. Prepare to be a good father if you’re lucky that time. Be less deadbeat and more alive. Forget about everything. Maybe one day you’ll have fucked him so much, you pretty much bought him whole and he’s free. No debt left, no memories. That's why he hates to eat, it puts him as far away from that state of mind as possible: An everlasting blank slate. The final solace that never really came.

Recently, he has been wondering if that time ever comes. He coughs up blood, he can’t sleep, his lungs are so tense when breathing. Only more smoking can ease the pain, right? He’s so stupid. A bright red Friday circle brightens up his calendar in three weeks, that’s good news. Around the hours when you plan coming home from work. You’ll be meeting in your flat for the first time. There will be coffee, not iced, but not any more bottles and power down every two hours. Seokjin agreed he can go there as long as he does what he’s supposed to do, and brings back the money he’s supposed to get. But three weeks are a long time. Those are many clients out the door with his dignity on the line, and how many missed meals just to have a waist more lithe, how many hours of being wide awake? He doesn’t care. Been there, done that.

It’s almost spring, which means you’ll travel back to Osaka together. Watch the cherry blossoms, visit the temples. Send Taehyung cute postcards the old-fashioned way even if the stamps are expensive. Kiss and pose for selfies because it’s a better life together. And never touch nicotine again before his insides fade to black. Blot and blur. Much like the road, the street lights. They're on the brink of day, but melting past his eyes like a spiraling void. Baekhyun's so cold, it's not just the lace top. Nothing feels meaningful anymore when he imagines the future, and he's content. There's nothing of importance in this moment except that. The road of life carries on whether he follows it or not. The street lights warp into a pulsating vortex, it's a heartbeat. Everything he likes about you passes before his eye. The way you carry yourself. How you put a little heart at the bottom of the note, and told him he's handsome. The habit you have, getting up at 5:30 am to send him a text if the shift was okay. How you smile and make everything a little better. Everything feels liberated when he thinks about it. It's a feeling taking over each and every limb, the sweetest anesthesia. Maybe you can be his blank slate. Close the vortex once and for all. He doesn't hit the breaks for the turn the alley ahead, he just falls. It doesn't matter. Baekhyun is sure about it, and that's the only bit of peace he can ever have. You would have been happy one day. So, so happy.

© 2017-2018 submissive-bangtan. All rights reserved.  Reposts, modifications, and translations are not permitted. 

[komowah-blog]

Tied | Borusara Fic~

ahhhh, nights out series will come out soon, tmr or today. just wanted to make this fic. ill use this as a prompt.

Summary: The girls capture Boruto Uzumaki, questioning him to see if he’s perfect for Sarada Uchiha. Sarada doesn’t know about this... Oh boy, how will this end?

Genre: Fluff and a lil of angst.

Rating: T+ 

Word count: 1,599

Character count:9,101

Quick ad that you don’t have to read: My ask is open, and remember to like and follow if you like my fics! if you like this maybe you’ll like, Girl’s Night/The Nights series! ^^

Warnings: Language

I don’t do beta-reads so please reply if I made any mistakes!~

It was a new day, Sarada Uchiha, the heir of the Uchiha clan. She was hanging out with the girls; Sumire Kakei, Namida Suzumeno, Wasabi Izuno, and  ChouChou Akimichi. They all were close to the Uchiha. And there was also, Boruto Uzumaki’s group. Shikadai Nara, Inojin Yamanaka, Mitsuki, Iwabe Yuino, Denki Kaminarimon. Both of these groups had mostly someone who lead it, and inspired everyone of them. For the boys, it was the Uzumaki. For the girls, it was the Uchiha. They all just had.. like a quirk. Everyone around them just felt almost connected to them, y’know? 

“ ‘And then, he grabbed my hand..’ Sumire, what the hell is this?“ ChouChou furrowed her eyebrows to her with a glare. 

“N-Nothing! It’s just...Imagine Kagura if he would do that to one of us! He’d glazed to us, with the sun behind us...! And then, lean one of us to a kiss, and then get a good grip, and hug him tig-” 

Namida scratched her back and throwed a comment at her,”Sumire... you’re obsessed with him.”

“Kya! I’m n-n-not!” Her face was totally wrong for what she said, it countered her statement physically. Poor Sumire. ChouChou noticed Sarada, she was lost in her own thoughts. She kept on looking at her, and poking at her.

“You keep on saying that Sumire!” Wasabi also joined the argument between those two. Her headband threw a shine before she looked at those two. The conversation kept on going on, and Sarada still no response of her saying to the rest that Sumire is fine. This usually happens, but not today? What’s going on with that little Uchiha? ChouChou couldn’t handle it anymore and kept on glaring at her. Her eyebrows changed into a irritated expression. She DESPISED when Sarada was like this. ChouChou then roared,”Sarada!” Sarada blinked twice and then looked at ChouChou. The others stood quiet, the scream that ChouChou frightened them. Sarada just looked at the sight of a furious Akimichi. And boy, when they were mad, they can one-shot you and destroy millions of buildings. Especially when someone said the f word... (fat)

“Uh...ChouChou? Is there a problem?” her glasses released a shine, one side going to another. It fogged up her glasses by how embarrased she was, releasing a tear of sweat. 

“I-Is there a problem?” Sarada was feeling sheepish, and ChouChou the opposite. She was unhinged and upset. 

“Bitch, what do you mean if there’s a problem? You’re supposed to tell us, what the hell was that expression you just had?” ChouChou was boiling, she was like a red pepper.

“ChouChou..! Calm down!” Wasabi had the courage to say something.She put her arm around ChouChou’s to signal that she’s overreacting. Sumire and Namida were in shock, they’ve never actually seen ChouChou this mad. They see her swear all the time, but not have an expression or tone of voice. 

“How the hell can I calm down when my friends are gloomy?” Namida was to say something, but her mouth closed immediately. Wasabi released her hand, and Sarada was petrified. She then fixed her glasses, and brushed her hair off the sides.

“So? What is it Sarada? Is there something you wanna tell us?” ChouChou leaned in closer, and cracked her knuckles. “Do you wanna pick a fight with her? Friends are supposed to comfort them, right?” a smile from the shadows appeared on a rooftop. ChouChou’s mouth opened, and her expression went into a frown. “No! I’m not trying to do that at all! But friends are supposed to tell them what’s going on right?” ChouChou then furrowed her eybrows,”Wait...Who the hell are you?” She crossed her arms and looked down. Sumire was worrying and shouting all over the place,”Uwawah! What’s going on..?!!!” because now, ChouChou isn’t acting like she’s crazy. “I think you know me, I’m pretty friendly. The name’s Boruto Uzumaki!” He finally walked out of the shadows, with a big smile. “You little motherfucker! You’re the reason Sarada’s acting like this, huh?!” ChouChou started to crack her neck. Sarada felt bad, and gave ChouChou a note, then flashed away. 

“Huh?” Boruto was confused, why didn’t she give him a note. He was a bit jealous.  “Bratty Sarada, only caring about girls..hmph.” Boruto looked away in disgust. 

“The reason why I was spaced out was because my father isn’t coming home for about a year. He says it’s just him protecting us...” ChouChou gasped, and so did the girls. “Some dad she has!” ChouChou was mad again, jesus. but not that mad, because this isn’t her family. So she understood. But she also saw a picture fall off of Sarada when she flashed. Boruto’s eyes widened when she read that. He went closer to the Akimichi, and telling her to see it. She passes it off to him, and he furrowed his eyebrows. ChouChou went closer to the photo and grasped it. It was a photo of team 7. She started laughing, and the rest were confused. Sumire ran off somewhere with Namida and Wasabi when they weren’t looking, so she can calm herself. 

“Look, Boruto! It’s a photo of you when you were younger!”, she had an evil grin on. “Huh? Lemme see!” He ran in closer and until ChouChou went even more closer, her hand went in a flash and hit Boruto’s head with some what big hands, not partial expansion jutsu. He collapsed and ChouChou was dragging him on the floor with his jacket. She released an evil laugh when they went to the forest of Konoha. She tied him up with a rope onto the tree. “Sarada would kill for a guy like you, huh?” She was talking to herself at that time. She reached in her pockets and grabbed her phone. She dialed class rep, Namida and Wasabi.

“Time for a mission, girls. It’s called Sarada Uzumaki.”

“Sarada Uzumaki?! Eh? isn’t that Boruto’s last name?! Kyah!” 

ChouChou released a sigh,”Yeah, she’ll be an Uzumaki soon.”

“Give us your location!” Namida said with excitement.

“On it.” ChouChou pressed home and texted all of them where she was located. 

“I’ll see you there in 2 minutes?” Wasabi informed them, then she hung up.

“Uwah!!! I’ll go there in a sec!” 

“Same.”

They all hung up. ChouChou opened a bag of her favorite, chips. The salted ones, just regular. Soon after, Sumire and all of them appeared. Boruto just started to open his eyes. 

“So what’s the details?” Wasabi then stretched her arms.

“Interrogate him. Let’s see if he’s perfect for her.”

“What? For who?” Boruto eavesdropped and closed one eye.

“Sarada Uchiha.” They all released giggles and it made them look super scary.

“Oh god..” Boruto released a sigh.

“You know ‘ttebassa, could you at least try to be nice?” he left a grin for them. 

“You’re still breathing, that’s me being fucking nice, asshole.” ChouChou then cracked her neck in a threatening way.

“Jeesh. If Sarada hears this, she’d just be in love with me after all, I need to deal with you guys.” 

“Shut it, Uzumaki!” the Akimichi was pointing to him.

“I’m sorry...!” Sumire whispered out to him.

Boruto left out a wink. And the rest were signaling that they can hear her...

“So, do you like Sarada Uchiha?” ChouChou sat down infront of him. Brushing her hair aside, in a diva mode.

“Hmm... I dunno. That’s tough. She nags me alot, though.” Boruto was actually cooperating? ChouChou and the rest widened their eyes. “Huh. You’re not that tough to talk. I envy you for that” Wasabi added. “If I had the chance, I would ask her out. Too bad she’s into Kawaki.” Boruto was blushing, and had a tone showing some sorrow. He looked away, and later added,”Just let me go ‘ttebassa..” ChouChou was suprised and giggling. “She’s not into Kawaki! Oh Kaguya, Wasabi is into Kawaki, not her. She actually likes you, but she also gets sad about you. Like when you get hurt, or sometimes when you make fun of her. She’s tough, but she has her weak spots, y’know?” ChouChou closed her eyes, and poked Boruto’s face who was super flustered. “Really? I have a chance?!” Boruto started to dance in the rope, like a little worm. His eyes brightened. “Just like a child... goddamn it Uzumaki.” Sumire, Namida and Wasabi flashed away in a second, just like usual... ChouChou released out a deep, she brought out a kunai and cut the rope. “Just go to her...” “She in her house, she’d be more than happy, Sakura isn’t home, either.” 

“Thanks, Chubbs.” 

“Uh-huh..whatever..” She was waving bye to him while facing the other way. he flashed away, and she left a smile. “Lady Uzumaki..”

Boruto randomly got flower, he probably stole them from the Yamanaka flower shop. Oh well, he’s friends with the owner, after all. He’ll pay sooner. He hid the flowers behind his back, and rang her doorbell. He could her the footsteps coming from upstairs to downstairs. His eyes brightened. The Uchiha opened the door, suprised that it was Boruto.

“B-Boruto?” She had her glasses off, she was resting. He looked away, and said,”Mrs.Uchiha... will you be my girlfriend?” He had the color of bright red all over his face. Sarada’s eyes widened, she then got embarrassed.. And grabbed his hand to pull him inside. He closed the door with his leg, and placed the flowers on the table. She then pulled him close, smashing their lips together. They were kissing for about 10 minutes, their mouths numb and on the couch now. 

“I’m guessing that’s a yes?” Boruto grinned.

Sarada sighed ,”Yeah..” 

In the window of all of that, Mitsuki and ChouChou were recording everything.

Thank you all for reading! Sorry if this didn’t have proper development.. It’s kinda late, but oh well! 

[letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked]

Words On My Skin (Part 12)

Bucky Barnes x Reader Soulmate AU

A/N: Thank you all for the wonderful feedback (even if the last part shocked a lot of you)! I love comments, replies, asks, messages, etc. They make me want to write so much more! I posted this early, since I’m going up north this weekend! (I go every weekend, basically. LOL)

Warnings: Unedited and angsty.

Main Masterlist // WOMS Masterlist

 Tears streamed down your face, dripping off your nose while you scrubbed. The smell of green apple dish soap permeated the air as you furiously scrubbed the – already clean – shelf of the fridge that you’d ripped out. The food was in large coolers, so they wouldn’t go bad while you stress cleaned the entire kitchen.

Your hands trembled, stress causing your heart to race and heat your face. You quickly rinsed off the suds to lay the shelf on the drying rack, thoughts in hyperdrive. You grabbed the second shelf, shoving your hands in the scalding water to wet your scrubber and harshly scrub at a small spot where some yogurt had leaked out onto the glass. The pressure of your grip nearly snapped the glass shelf as the memories of what had just happened replayed over and over in your head.

After Bucky had stormed from the kitchen, leaving you with your mother, while you stared at where he’d rounded the corner.

Oh… god.

“I cannot believe the nerve of that man!” Your mother huffed out incredulously, breaking you from your despair. Replacing it with anger. “He should’ve never been allowed back into society. I knew he’d be nothing but trouble when he was allowed to join this team. He’s nothing but a menace.”

You stopped, ears ringing while your jaw tensed hard enough to hear a small pop. “What?” Your voice was laced with venom as you whipped around, fists clenched in fury. “Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME?”

“Excuse me? Watch your tone with me.” She snapped, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow at you. “That man yelled at your mother, and you didn’t even defend me. You just watched, whining like a toddler, while he got in my face.”

Is she for real? Is she fucking delusional?

“While he… Are you kidding me? You got in his face and accused him of domestic violence!” You cried, voice cracking at the end. “He’s been nothing but kind to me! He’s the kindest, gentlest, and most caring person I’ve ever met in my life!”

“He has you brainwashed, darling.” She scoffed, shaking her head. Her face was soft with condescending sweetness. “You’re too naive. I knew I should’ve raised you to be more like me.”

“Thank fucking god you didn’t!” You scrubbed at your face with your hands, trying to remove all traces of tears. “You’ve done nothing but beat me down, force me on a path I didn’t want, ruin any relationship I ever had, force me into a diet I didn’t want… I never want to be like you.” You couldn’t even think. You wanted to give her a list of all the awful things she’d ever done to you, but your mind was reeling so bad that you couldn’t even comprehend what you wanted to say to her. “I had to be in fucking therapy because of how you raised me!”

“Oh, here we go!” She threw her hands up, rolling her eyes. She crossed her arms over her chest, face flushing with anger. “You’re always the victim, aren’t you? God, darling, you’re so dramatic. I raised you a million times better than I was raised. You think you had it bad? I don’t ever remember you complaining when I was giving you money, a home, and proper schooling. You’re so ungrateful! I’ve done nothing but teach you-”

“Teach me?” You screamed, taking a step towards her. You’d finally snapped. Holy shit. You’d never spoken to your mother like that, before. “I knew nothing when I left! I had no money, no place to live, no knowledge of the real world… I couldn’t even fucking support myself! You made me dependent on you!” You felt the tears welling up, again, as twenty six years of anger finally bubbled over the metaphorical pot. “You were so concerned about having the perfect daughter, that you made me hate you! I fucking hate you!”

You took a breath, trying to steady your voice. “Bucky is one of the best things to ever happen to me, and you fucked it up. You had to know that there was a reason I didn’t tell you I’d met my soulmate. It’s because I knew. I fucking knew! I knew you’d ruin it, just like you ruined me!”

“You-”

“No! You’re going to shut the fuck up and let me fucking speak, now.” You cut her off, taking another step forward and pointing a finger at her. You could still feel Bucky’s residual hurt and anger, powering your own. “He’s my soulmate. He’s always going to be my soulmate, and you hurt him. I won’t fucking stand for that. You can terrorize me with your condescending tone and rude comments, but I will not let you accuse my soulmate - the man that I fucking love - of abuse!”

You watched her eyebrows raise, but you continued on. “He has tried so hard to become a better man and fight the soldier in himself. I’ve seen people stare at him, judge him, call him names… But you know what I’ve seen him do? I’ve seen him talk to children, I’ve seen him hold doors for people, donate to charities, give his food to homeless people, fight for peace… I’ve seen him do more of an effort to be good than any other human being on the planet. You think I deserve better? Well, you’re wrong. He deserves better. He has always deserved better than he got.”

She closed her eyes, pinching her nose in frustration. “I’m trying to protect you. You don’t see-”

“No, mother. You don’t see.” The tears spilled over, again. Leaving trails down your cheeks as you gulped down the lump in your throat. “You aren’t protecting me. You’re protecting your image. Just as you’ve always done. Even if it pushed me away.”

“I’ve done everything for you.” She sighed, removing her hand from her face and standing straighter, “You’ll never understand how much I’ve done for you. I am the way I am to make you better than I could ever be.”

“I don’t want you to make me better.” You wiped under your face, pain starting to numb you. “I want you to be my mom.”

She shook her head, turning to grab her purse from the table, a long exhale from her nose being the only noise in the kitchen. After a moment, she replied: “I’ll see myself out.”

“Mom.” You sagged in defeat, sliding down to the floor and leaning your back against the kitchen island. “Mom, please.”

She ignored you, heels clicking against the hard floors as she made her way around the corner – where Bucky had taken his exit minutes prior.

Fuck…

After sitting on the floor for a few moments, the stupid kettle started screaming, and sent you into ‘clean the kitchen from top to bottom’ mode.

Your life might be a mess… but at least the kitchen wouldn’t be.

You finished scrubbing the stupid shelf, attempting to transfer it to the other basin of the sink where you were rinsing, but the damn thing slipped from your fingers. A number of expletives flew from your mouth, loudly, as it fell to the tiled floor – crashing upon impact. The shards spread like droplets of water in a splash, tinkling against the stupid floor and looking impossible to clean up.

Big pieces first, then use a piece of bread to get the small shards.

You bent down, trembling hand moving too fast as you went to pick up the largest shard.

“Motherfucker.” You hissed, a sharp sting starting from the palm of your hand and radiating up your arm. “Fuck me.” You – stupidly – brought your hand up to cradle near your chest, staining your tee shirt with blood.

You slid to the floor, slipper-clad feet scraping the glass away as you fall to the tiled floor. A sob escaped before you could control yourself. Your breath came out in short gasps, as you drew your knees to your chest and cradled your hand between your thighs and chest.

Fuck… was this a breakdown?

Why the hell were you so upset? Bucky was the one who deserved to be upset. Your mother was the one who had insulted him, called him a monster, and completely rejected him… You could still feel him through the bond. Do you really want him to feel you through the bond? You need to calm the hell down.

You started working on your breathing, trying to count your inhales and exhales like you usually did. Inhale for five seconds through your nose, and out through your mouth for five seconds. Slowly. Your palm was throbbing in pain, so you decided to focus on that while steadying your breathing.

You heard the water shut off in the sink, and footsteps crunching through the glass slowly.

You ignored whoever was there, continuing your breathing and pressing your thumb against the small slash in your palm. You heard a small huff, as the person attempts to slowly lower themselves down next to you and sit.

“‘Being above the threshold of perception of a stimulus.’”

Tony?

“What?” You croaked, lifting your head slightly to wipe your face with the neck of your tee shirt. “Tony?”

“That’s my next vocab word.” He shrugged, crisscrossing his legs while avoiding glass. He held out a dark red handkerchief with a monogram of his initials in the corner. “Want to help a guy out?”

“Oh…” You take the cloth with a trembling, bloody hand. You pressed it to your hand with a sharp hiss, closing your eyes until the sting lessened. “Supraliminal.”

“Subliminal?”

“No,” You shook your head, leaning your head back against the counter. “That’s when you’re not aware of something affecting your brain. Like coloring in a movie. You don’t realize the impact of dark colors affecting your mood during a sad scene.” You sniffed, feeling much calmer than you did minutes before. “It’s unconscious.”

“Oh… makes sense.” He nodded, typing on his watch for a moment.

“Why are you on the floor?” You asked, eyebrows pulling together. “There’s glass.”

“Why are you on the floor?”

“I dropped the stupid fucking shelf from the fridge while washing it.”

He snorted, flicking a small piece of glass of his leather shoe. “Well, Natasha told me she heard the argument from the living room.” He gestured to the hall on the other side of the kitchen, “She heard the meltdown, too. She came to get me when she saw you sobbing over the sink.” He grabbed your injured hand to assess it, removing the small cloth. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened.” You lied, looking down to where his fingers were prodding at your cut. “It’s nothing.”

“That’s the biggest crock of shit I’ve heard come from your mouth.”

“I technically work for you guys.” You sighed, shaking your head and leaning your head back to stare at the ceiling. “This is completely unprofessional.”

“You also live here.” He pointed out, not looking up at you but wrapping your hand back up with the blood-stained cloth. “Plus… I’d like to think we’re all friends. You’re a huge part of our team. You kind of made us dependent on you. You’re too good at your job.”

“Bucky said that, too.” You chuckled, the feeling of anger dissipating the longer you talked to him. “He told me that I could come to you guys with anything. That you guys would be there for me, just like I’m there for you.”

“I hate to agree with him, but I agree with him.” Tony replied, letting your hand go. “You don’t have to be worried about talking to us.” He suddenly snorted, turning to you with a small smile. “Never thought I’d be telling somebody with a bachelor’s in counseling to talk to somebody.”

“I’ve developed the bad habit of wanting to help other people face their issues, versus facing my own.” You sighed, chewing on your lip for a moment. “It’s pretty common, actually.”

“I would know.” He mimicked your position, head back against the cupboards and fingers tapping on his knees to a random rhythm. “I do it all the time.” He turned, looking at you closely, “Do you want to talk about your nightmares?”

“How do you-”

“Oh, please.” He waved you off, rolling his eyes. “We all have nightmares. We know the signs.” He bit his lip for a moment, thinking hard for a moment before continuing. “Did you know that, before my house was destroyed in L.A, I had a nightmare so vivid that one of my suits tried to attack Pepper?” He let out a long exhale, ceasing his tapping. “I wasn’t talking to anybody about my nightmares. I wasn’t letting anybody help me, even though everyone knew I needed it.”

“Accepting the fact that you need the help is the hardest part.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, headache coming on from all the previous crying. Just… tell him. He understands. “They started after the attack.”

He nodded, waiting for you to continue.

So, you did. You told him about the nightmares, and about your meltdown in the gun range. You told him about how the monster in your dream changed to the face of your father. The change had scared you, because you never hated your father. Not like your mother… You told him about how your father just… stopped being there for you. How he stopped acting like a dad, and more as a person who was just… there.

He talked about his relationship with his parents, as well, and how he reacted when his parents had died in the car accident. You knew a little about what really happened, from what Bucky had admitted once you had both started opening up to each other, but you never heard Tony talk about his parents. Ever. He would make silly little jokes – or jabs about his father’s personality – but he never actually talked about them.

It made you realize that you both had more in common than you’d initially thought.

You’d both had rough childhoods.

When you recapped the fight, you watched as Tony’s face shifted from empathetic to stony.

“She thinks he’s abusing you?” He finally asked, after you finished talking, butt starting to hurt from sitting on the hard floor, “I’ll admit that Bucky and I have our… problems… but I don’t believe that he would ever intentionally hurt you. Ever. I think that man would rather me blow off both of his arms, than ever see you hurt.” He shook his head in disappointment, exhaling slowly through his nose. “You weren’t here before, so you wouldn’t know, but he’s changed. A lot.”

“I don’t doubt that.” You agreed, hurt still lingering through the bond as you traced the intricate lettering of your tattoo. “Though he hasn’t told me everything… He’s told me about how he was after you guys found him. He told me how closed-off he was, and he blames himself for a lot of the shit that has happened.”

“It was a big fight.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Those were complicated times. The government was trying to pass The Accords, Steve found him in Bucharest, everyone was gunning for arrests and trying to take control… it was a lot of high emotions for every party involved.”

“I’m just happy that it’s all in the past and everyone was able to come to an agreement.” Your lips lifted into a small smile, “Though… it makes paperwork a bitch.”

“Why do you think we hired an assistant?” He snorted, tapping away on the screen of his watch. “We hate paperwork.”

“Believe me, I know.”

“Well,” He grunted, starting to stand from the floor, “I need to get off this hard floor. My back is killing me. We should’ve had this little pow-wow in the living room, so we could sit comfortably.”

You grasped his hands as he pulled you off the floor, your back cracking in response, “I agree… though, I didn’t exactly know that I was going to be on the floor for-” You looked down at your watch, eyebrows raising in shock, “Three hours.”

“Time flies when you’re having a heart to heart.”

“Don’t I know it.” You groaned, hips screaming in protest as you stretched out. You glanced at the floor, grimacing at all the shards of glass littering the tiles. “I have to clean this up.”

“Go clean yourself up.” He gestured to your hand, which had stopped bleeding but was covered in crusted blood. “I’ll call the cleaners to fix this up and order a new shelf for the fridge.”

“Are you sure? I can do that.” You insisted, stepping away from the glass to go find a broom. “I made the mess.”

“What happened to letting people help you?”

Fuck. He was right.

“Thank you, Tony.” You smiled, clean hand grasping his forearm in thanks. “I feel a lot better.”

“No problem, kid.” He patted your hand, before tapping away on his watch, again, and heading towards the elevator. “Now, go talk to your soulmate.”

God, you needed to see him.

Part 13

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DON’T FORGET: Sunday is the last day to submit your masterlist/fic for my 2K Follower Celebration! 

For those who don’t know what I’m talking about: for my 2K follower celebration, I am celebrating you guys! So send me your masterlist and/or fics via message or ask, and I will add them to the list! Also, read them! 

If you’re an avid reader, like me, you can submit your favorite fics to me, too! Anything to help other writers!

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[kxrn7knxck]

AePete angst for @earthpodd ~~ This is long af and contains many bad words so have fun with that

“Isn’t it great?!! You get to practice your English and everything!” Gushed Pete’s Mum happily between mouthfuls of dinner. She had called Pete downstairs with a special announcement but the news had been far more “special” than Pete had been imagining.

An apprenticeship in America. She had already confirmed it. He was leaving in two days. And there was nothing he could do about it.

His appetite had never depleted so quickly. With his heart in his throat Pete nodded slowly, excusing himself from the table and putting his almost entirely full plate on the counter before all by crawling up the stairs. When he was finally in his room, he broke.

Two years without Ae by his side. Two years without being able to hold his hand, two years without being able to kiss him, two years of not being able to ride his bike, two years of not being able to hug him.

The tears wouldn’t stop falling. This can’t be real.

But it was.

-

The next day at school Ae greeted him with a smile, and Pete tried so hard to send one back, but his exhausted, bloodshot eyes from a night of crying were anything but happy as he climbed onto the back of Ae’s bike, his heart heavy enough to make it hard to muster up the courage to move his legs.

“Hold on to me, come on! We don’t want you falling off, eh?” Ae laughed. “Did you not sleep well, babe?”

Pete could only manage a soft noise in agreement as Ae grabbed his hand and guided it to his waist before setting off.

- There might as well have been a zombie in class instead of Pete, he was just a shell of his normal self, opting to sit in the back of the room with his head in his hands rather than front and center like he normally would. The options of what he could do were spinning around in his head and he spent the majority of his limited energy on just focusing on not bursting into tears.

He knew what he had to do. And it broke his goddamn heart.

- Pete: Ae, can you meet me at the soccer fields at lunch? His shaking fingers made so many spelling mistakes that it took him a good three minutes to even type that out, and another three trying to force himself to hit send. When he finally was able to, he wished he hadn’t but sure enough a response popped up in a matter of seconds.

Ae <3: Sure thing. Why though? Miss me? :D

“God, I do,” thought Pete but he decided it would be best not to respond, to just get going.

The journey to the field couldn’t have been more than five minutes but it felt like he was walking for hours. He just had to keep telling himself that he was being kind.

That this is for the best. That his mum tried so hard to get him this apprenticeship. That his mum matters more than any stupid little crush could. That it wouldn’t even matter in a month.

And then Ae was in front of him and he forced the words out and oh my god nothing could have prepared him for how much Ae's expression hurt.

“Let’s break up.”

“What??? Why?? What happened?? What did I do wrong?? Pete, what- I don’t-... Why?”

“I just…” Pete took a deep breath. This is for the best. He knew Ae wouldn’t agree to it if he told the truth, he knew Ae would say all the right things, knew Ae would make it better and that he wouldn’t go through it. But he also knew that Ae deserved better than a boyfriend he can’t touch. Knew he deserved better than one he can’t go on dates with. Knew he deserved to be able to move on and knew he wouldn’t be able to if Pete told the truth. So he lied.

“I just… Don’t love you anymore. I’m sorry, Ae. I just can’t do this anymore.”

God, he wasn’t prepared for Ae to cry, to whisper why… what happened… did someone make you say that? I’ll get them, i’ll protect you, I’ll- I’ll… until he broke down sobbing, burying his head in Pete’s shoulder, his shoulders heaving.

"I just… I don’t love you. You didn’t do anything wrong. No ones making me say this. I just don’t want to be with you anymore. I’m sorry, Ae.” And with the last of his strength, Pete pulled away from him and headed back to his car, trying to ignore the way Ae called out to him.

When he got to his car he sobbed. He cried so hard that he couldn’t see, he kept sobbing even long after lunch break was over and kept going even when he ran out of tears. It took at least a solid hour of tears before he was able to force himself to wipe his eyes, turn the key in the ignition and get going. He went home, thankful that his mum was out for the day.

When he checked his phone he saw that he had 16 notifications from Ae, two from Pond and a handful of missed phone calls. He dismissed them, a strange numbness settling over his heart as he washed his face, the feeling staying with him as he curled up in bed, unmoving, for the next few hours.

What the fuck has he done? — After a very long while, Pete opened the notifications from Pond. There were 6 now, and all 6 of them broke his heart.

Pond: Dude, what the hell happened????

Pond: Ae’s just crying and won’t stop saying your name and apologizing. What the fuck happened??

Pond: He’s just told me. What the fuck is wrong with you?? Why would you lead him on like that? You seemed so happy with him yesterday, was that a lie too?

Pond: Answer your fucking phone, asshole. You have no idea how much hell Ae is raising. I bought him lunch and everything and he’s still crying.

Pond: Oh I forgot, you don’t care, do you? Rich little IC kid just wants to play with whoever he wants and just throws them away when you’re done, right? You fucker.

Pond: I best not ever see you again, asshole. If I do, you can be assured that I, the entire soccer team and every single other person we know won’t let you go until you’re dead. Try me, motherfucker.

With shaking hands, Pete typed out that it wasn’t true. That he loved Ae with all of his heart. That he was doing this to help him. That he had to go away, that Ae deserves better than him anyway.

He deleted it. Can’t tell Pond. Pond will tell Ae. Ae will come back. Ae will forgive him. Ae will be hurt over and over again every day for the next two years. Ae deserves better. Ae deserves better. Ae deserves better.

- And thats how it ended. Pete vanished away without a trace, off to America. Every now and then he would get messages from Ae, or from Pond, or Can, even Tin, wondering what happened. He didn’t respond.

He tried so hard. He tried so hard to be kind to Ae.

SIKE I COULDN’T LEAVE IT LIKE THAT - The two years came and went and he was back in Thailand, eating lunch with his mum in a cafe when a familiar face walked through the door. In an instant he stood up, tears immediately spilling down his cheeks.

“Ae…” He called out softly.

The face turned to find the source of the voice, looking around the room for a second until their eyes met.

In a second Pete was across the room, spilling all the secrets he had been holding so close to his heart for the past two years. He flung himself into Ae’s arms, sobbing and hiccuping so loudly that people stopped what they were doing and stared.

Ae was frozen in shock. The boy he had tried so hard to get over for the past two years was begging for his forgiveness in the middle of a coffee shop on a Thursday afternoon and it took everything he had not to just accept his apology immediately. Instead, he looked around, spotting Pete’s Mum watching them and guided Pete back to his seat, sitting at the table with them.

Pete remained clinging on to Ae even once they sat down, not willing to let him go for even a second, holding him around the waist and sobbing apologies into his shoulder.

Pete’s Mum explained. She hadn’t realized what Pete had done until four months in, how he had broken down sobbing during one of their video chats, saying how he thought he had made the biggest mistake of his life. Pete just cried even harder, nearly screaming how sorry he was, only calming down slightly when Ae put an arm around his shoulders, rubbing his back. He was still holding on to him for dear life but it was better. Ae was here.

Pete’s mum finished her story with saying that she didn’t ever mean to harm them or their relationship, that she hadn’t even thought this would happen, before leaving them on their own while she went to explain to the owner of the cafe who had been side-eyeing them the entire time.

Pete slowly lifted his head, shaking like a leaf, tears still wet on his cheeks as he made eye contact with Ae.

“I’m so sorry. it was a lie. it was all a lie. I love you. I love you. I love you so damn much and I thought I could handle it but I can’t and I know you’ve moved on and I know you hate me and I know that I ruined everything but I don’t want you to hate me but I understand why you would and i-“

He was cut off when Ae pressed a finger to his lips, shushing him gently. Carefully, Ae brushed the tears off his cheeks and smiled softly. Pete noted the tears on his cheeks too, and how even after two years, he was still the most handsome person Pete had ever seen.

“I knew you weren’t telling the truth…” Ae muttered, more to himself than to Pete. “You have no idea how hard I tried to get over you.”

“Did you succeed?”

“No. Not even for a second. I spent every day waiting for you to come back. I just didn’t expect it to be like this.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s all ok now, right?” Ae’s voice rapidly lost confidence as he asked: "You’re here to stay, right?”. The smile on his face when Pete nodded was worth it.

It was worth it all, just to be together again at the end of it.

Then they got married or something idk

[moodring89]

CH.3 Down the Rabbit Hole

Pairing: Jeongguk x Reader / Side Yoonseok Chapter Rated: M Genre: Fantasy, Hybrid AU (Prince Bunkook. Sue me.), Royal AU, Cinderella / Labyrinth feels Summary: Yoongi’s sister buys two tickets to the Autumn ball held at the Meadows, a notorious city known for its hybrid inhabitants, where she hopes to meet a certain bunny princeling. Previous Chapters: 01, 02

He whispered the words, low, and intimate across her lips. “Beg for your prince.”

A/N: Hello! Sorry for the long wait, but my friend ended up staying a bit longer, and then all of those performances happened, and I had to record some stuff. I did work on it every night. Extra: I’ll be giving away some mediheal facemasks and photocards on my YT channel for reaching 100 subscribers in the next upcoming days. I’ll also be unboxing BTS albums in order and raffling off the photocard for each one (granted, if I don’t need it, although I have most of them already). International participants welcomed.   Chapter Three: House of Rabbits The room whirled on her, as though she were being swept across the floor still. She’d yet to physically move, a panic keeping her rooted to the spot. A new song had begun, couples dancing through the tension filled space between them – her, as well as the hybrid she’d assumed to be the prince. The fact that he didn’t even try to deny it, his expression steeled into one of easy composure, it made her believe it all the more. It was in the smallest of details; the description of his dark, yet charming doe-eyed stare written from one of her favorite articles, the warm smell of chai that still clung to her skin, with all of those terrible fucking facts that had never been brought to light. He tilted his head at her then, a faint smile touching the curve of his lips. Why though? Why even share all of those intimate details? He took a graceful step into the crowd, disappearing from her line of sight, there and gone like a goddamn phantom.   Soon the tip of a shiny dress shoe was nudging her. It was Yoongi, who appeared to look perplexed by her position, “So like, are you waiting to be dubbed? Why are you there on the ground?” She grabbed onto his hand when he’d offered it, “I met the prince.” “That was him…? He had too much leg if you ask me. Tall guys, they uh, just don’t add up. Maybe he’d be willing to donate some inches to charity?” She sighed, “Doubt it.” The moment Yoongi wanted to protect her from ended up happening anyway. That’s just wonderful, isn’t it? He frowned deeply in annoyance, “Was he not the generous prince you thought him to be? Short or not, I’ll knock him on his royal, pampered ass. Tell me what he said to you.” Oh, how she’d love to accuse the hybrid of popping every single one of her last bubbles, but there would be no justification for saying it. It was her fault for assuming his intentions from the start. “Nothing he said was wrong, really. It was just disappointing.” “See, that’s enough to piss me off, especially since I knew that this would happen. I knew it and yet I still played dumb. I allowed you to drag us here, thus going against our father’s wishes, which bee-tee-dub, not fucking cool. I’m going to be arranging fucking sunflowers and daisies for the rest of my life if he ever found out about this…” Yoongi paused, giving her a look of genuine concern. “Serious talk though, do you think I have a quiet rage problem?” She refused to answer his ridiculous question, asking, “Where did Jimin and Taehyung go?” “They left me, muttering something about being on time. That fairy is a pr-et-ty weird character. He told me to go save you from your curtsey, before the dance even ended, and then there you were, looking like a child who’d just had their chocolate milk slapped out of their hand.” The music stopped, followed by a sharp, loud chime of a bell. It drew everyone’s attention towards the back of the room, where all but one royal had remained seated. It was the hybrid she’d danced with, standing there in his fitted black three piece suit, infuriatingly handsome – she tried not dwell on it too much, however Yoongi’s comment about his long legs hadn’t helped. She was now appreciating how thick his thighs were in those tight slacks. Ridiculous. “I’d like to thank you all for attending my Coming of Age party,” Jeongguk started, bringing a hand up to untie the knot of his mask. “I could say that I’ve gathered you all here to celebrate you and me, us – humans and hybrids, but there was another reason.” Yoongi scoffed, not at all impressed, “This should be good.” She inched closer to her brother, “This guy is a real piece of work, cryptic until the very end.” All the times the scantily clad rabbit hybrids walked by, tall and slender – encompassing model-esque beauty with their arms poised to hold up trays of wine she’d kept rejecting. This next time around, she’d made sure to grab two glasses for herself, ignoring Yoongi when he reached for one. “Get your own.” Jeongguk lowered his head, removing his mask in one fluid motion. The dark, silky strands of his hair fell forward into his face. “The underlining reason, which I am hoping that you will all understand, and forgive me for, was to find my wife.” Gasps of surprise filled the room, hushing into a similar whisper of, ‘who is she?’ High from dancing with the prince, disappointed once she’d learned the truth, and she was hurt now, because of course. Of course Prince Jeongguk had himself a princess. Nothing felt true for her anymore, even the present reality, once so tangible, and absolute felt far from her reach.     “This kid is fucking married? He looks two,” Yoongi mused, voice practically dripping with sarcasm, doing his best to lighten the mood, because he knew. He knew that it must be a whole new level of suck for her. It was easy to tell how affected she was by the tense line of her back, the way her chest fell with every short, quick breath. Instead of reacting like everyone else was doing, she remained oddly silent. The prince exposed the rest of his handsome, royal hybrid features, as he lifted his face towards his guests. A set of rabbit ears the color of snow pointed upwards, ticking periodically. She could see the pale scar curved along his cheek, the straight bridge of his nose, the freckles marking his smooth, golden skin. Pieces fell into place, as she matched his eyes and lips with the rest of him, determining that Jeongguk was a daydream turned dark – a daydream personified. She was forced to look away, focusing on literally anything but Jeongguk, when Taehyung caught her attention, stepping out from the autumn gold tapestry that was hanging like a backdrop behind the royal family. Jimin followed him closely with a smudge in the glitter that had been brushed on his cheek. There was a glow to the fae’s skin that she’d rather not think too much about, instead wondering why the hell they were allowed to stand there all casually – so comfortably, and familiar. “When I was a child, I received a gift from the fae realm, one of their own, a fae-born who was blessed with the sight, capable of seeing into my future. In fact, he saw this very night. A night of which, we could not so readily believe in at first.” Jeongguk surveyed the crowd, assessing them with a long, critical stare. “He said that I would meet my princess at a ball that united the two major kingdoms, on a night where humans and hybrids joined in the Dance of the Meadows.” Yoongi rolled his eyes, closing his thumb to his fingers in mock-talk. “Blah, blah, blah, pre-destined fate, blah! I don’t believe in this shit. Let’s just go.” She slowly shook her head, “Not yet. Please.” Jeongguk placed his mask down in front of his father, before returning to the countless eyes on him. “I was told that my intended was to be human.” Yoongi nudged her, “Wife, princess, his intended, what, is he gonna say betrothed next?” The prince’s eyes flashed darkly, meeting the exquisite look of desperation on her face, watching as she grabbed hold of her brother’s sleeve. There was a moment between herself and Jeongguk that was severe in contrast, so completely opposite. Her deeply horrified moment of, ‘oh, no’ to his smug, unyielding, ‘oh, yes’. The rabbit hybrid’s body language exuded confidence, tongue shoved to the side of his cheek, feeling heated, and challenged. He dared her to prevent this, to stop this...   She shook her head at him, pleading, but he remained resolute in his decision. “The fae told me that I would receive a gift from my betrothed. He said…” Yoongi took a moment to pat himself on the back, “Nailed it.” “…that she would give me her first dance.” “Bitch probably didn’t know that it would be her last,” her brother snorted from beside her, when he noticed how quickly her skin had paled. Wait. He followed the heavy, meaningful stare that the prince was currently casting – the creepy motherfucker. He’d lined it up and traced it back to the person standing beside him, his sister who had gone very still. A human girl with zero dance experience – oh, sweet heavenly fuck, he was going to be a florist with a fox fetish. Her fingers felt numb, she couldn’t feel anything, “Yoongi, I…” The guests parted for the royal guards, their heavy boots scuffing the floors, heavy armor clinking with every bit of movement. The room had yet to stop its awful spin and she found herself falling backwards, her hand slipping from Yoongi’s jacket. The blonde turned with the motion, grappling for her when she was caught in a pair of steady arms. Yoongi blinked up, an eyebrow twitching at the familiar fox, overcome with worry, and fear. Hoseok spoke into the small, clear microphone by his mouth, maintaining eye-contact with the cat-like human. “The princess has been secured.” --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “You don’t have to be so angry,” Jimin started, watching as Yoongi paced from one end of the hallway to the other. Angry? He was fucking livid. His sister collapsed right before him and there was nothing that he could do, other than to watch as Hoseok carried her away like some goddamn hero – the only thing missing was the white horse, and a silky half-unbuttoned shirt. Yoongi had followed after the fox, inwardly panicking all the way to the infirmary, where the door was promptly shut in his face. Jimin tried to reason with him, “At least I was able to see it before it happened. I was the one who asked Hoseok to catch her. You should be thanking me, human.” “Oh, don’t…” Yoongi stopped short to glare daggers over at the orange haired fae. Even with all the soft, warm mochi vibes that Jimin fully encompassed, nothing and no one was safe from the brother’s wrath. “Don’t pull that ‘human’ shit with me.” The hand on Jimin’s thigh twitched, Taehyung’s canines setting firmly. The wolf hybrid tried to search his sanity for a, ‘how to not growl in a human’s face, before biting it off 101’ guide, and was coming up short.   Jimin tried again, “Your sister is going to be fine. Please, I…” The blonde snapped, “Why? Because you can see it? Did you also see the part where I shove your wigs up your sparkly ass –” Taehyung barked out a humorless laugh, “If he did, I’m sure he would have also seen my rebuttal, followed by your funeral.” ‘Hyung, baby, angel, sweetie, my precious faeling…’ Jimin looked over at his hybrid, listening to his loud, clear thoughts.   ‘I promised you that I would not harm humans. I might break that promise.’ The fairy held Taehyung’s hand, smoothing his thumb over the top of it. “I know you’re upset, Yoongi and I wished that you were able to see what I can, because then you’d realize that we’re your friends. Close friends at that and your sister will be happy. You’ll both be…” Yoongi merely scoffed at his words, continuing on with his routine. Jimin carefully added, “You never do become a florist, by the way.” He paused at that, turning to regard the fairy, “Well, why the fuck not? It’s my father’s dream, therefore it’s my burden.” “Because that is not your fate. You are brother to the Princess of the Meadows. There is no turning back from here, there never was…” Not that Hoseok would have allowed such a ridiculous thing. Jimin tried to think of a scenario where Yoongi would leave and choose to never return. Or a situation where Hoseok would be okay with it, but both seemed highly unlikely. Maybe Jimin had shared too much, overestimated what kind of information humans could handle.   The doors to the infirmary hissed when they parted, the doctor from earlier stepping out into the hall, hands tucked inside his lab coat. He nodded towards Jimin and Taehyung, somewhat lazily, “Tae, Jiminie.” “Seokjin-hyung,” the wolf hybrid greeted back, a bright, boxy smile beaming up at him. The elder didn’t know what to do with it, to be honest.   The physician then looked over at Yoongi, who was visibly incensed and worn, pale hands clenched into tight fists. It was like the kid was ready to throw down. Seokjin adjusted his glasses, “You’re the girl’s brother I take it? Your sister is going to be alright. She woke up a few moments ago asking for you. You should go in and see her.” Yoongi didn’t need to be told twice, as he walked briskly through the doors without so much as a thank you.   “He looked ready to hit me. Glasses and all,” Seokjin said, finding that he was amused, despite the rather violent scenario. “I probably would have let him. My life needs the excitement. No one ever gets sick or injured around here.” Jimin hit the doctor’s arm, playfully, “That’s kinda dark, hyung-nim.” “What is my life, really? I could be on Lunar or at Star’s End, saving people.” Seokjin grew animated, throwing his hands about, practically shouting. “But, no! Instead, I’m stuck here, taking care of young maidens with fainting spells.” “Happily married to Namjoon,” the king’s admiral reminded him, raising an inquisitive brow at his husband. Oh, how Seokjin loved to loathe him. The deep timbre of Namjoon’s voice surrounded the royal physician, when he teased, “So excitable this evening. Care to extend the same amount of enthusiasm in the bedroom?” Taehyung covered his eyes with both his hands, not that it would at all save him from what his ears were currently hearing. The sight was somehow worse to him, than the words. Jimin’s skin glowed prettily, especially whenever he saw Namjoon and Seokjin in the same room together. It was a form of energy for him. He slipped his fingers through Taehyung’s and felt as the wolf’s heat engulfed the cool temperature of the fairy’s skin. “You conceited prick.” Seokjin lowered his voice, as he stepped closer towards the admiral. “Do you really think I’m that easy?” “I don’t think it, baby,” Namjoon said, dimples on full display, and eyes alit with a familiar hunger. “I know it.” Taehyung groaned loudly, as he hid himself into the crook of Jimin’s neck and shoulder, placing small bites there, one bite in particular causing the fairy to squeak. He couldn’t resist.   ‘Do they have to fucking do this right here? Right now?’ Seokjin crossed his arms, thoroughly annoyed then, “Why the hell are you even here? Shouldn’t you be scrubbing the king’s boots to a shine or ironing the prince’s royal uniform?” The admiral’s long, fluffy tail swished, patiently, “The prince is inquiring about the state of his bride.” Seokjin practically snorted, finding the reasoning weak, and offensive towards the girl in the other room. “Well, if he’s that pressed about it, maybe he should come and see her for himself.” The physician went to turn away, when the cat hybrid grabbed his arm, preventing him from leaving. Namjoon gave a slow shake of his head, “You know that’s not an answer I can return with, sweetheart.” He removed his husband’s hand, fixing him with a heated glare. “Sounds like you’re shit out of luck, then, pumpkin.” The side of Namjoon’s mouth twitched into a smirk, the short puff of laughter he emitted was close enough to reach the doctor’s skin. So close, too close. Namjoon and Seokjin, the cat and dog hybrids, opposites who attract, married for three long, confusing years – night and day, yet complimented each other so well, stuck somewhere between overwhelming love, and hate. “What a nuisance,” Seokjin sighed. He was finally able to breathe once the cat hybrid was gone, having taken the hint. “That’s Jeongguk’s princess?” Jimin nodded, happily, “She’s pretty, isn’t she?” The physician shrugged, “She seemed nice enough. Not that it’ll do her any favors. The prince doesn’t play well with anything soft or nice. At least, maybe now I can look forward to a pregnancy.” “Christ, you’re a bitter biscuit this evening,” Taehyung muttered, distastefully, as he uncurled himself from Jimin, to instead take the fairy’s hand, and pulled him up. They helped each other stand with most of Taehyung’s weight settling against the small fae. “I’m taking Jimin away from you people.” “You people?” Seokjin laughed. “Like you’ve never had a bad day.” Taehyung nodded, agreeing with him, “Sure I have, hyung, but you’re having a bad life.” Seokjin didn’t feel that it was necessary to argue against the truth. “Isn’t it nice being in love, Seokjin-hyung?” Jimin smiled, eyes arched into two crescents of happiness. In was during the couple’s haste to leave, that the fae-born left behind traces of his magic, sparkling particles gleaming back like diamonds behind each step. Yoongi stepped inside the room to see that his sister was already up on her feet, folding the blankets that she’d been resting on. It was a nervous habit of hers. “Look at you all conscious and whatnot,” he said, taking in bold décor of white, wild alpaca with gold trimmings. It was a bit too elaborate, even for the royal medical wing. “You’ve always had bouts of anxiety, but you’ve never passed out before. Are you alright?” She shrugged, unwillingly to look at him, “I don’t know, really. The ridiculously handsome doctor said that I’d be fine, but I just found out that I’m the uh, the thing, the princess thing.” “You’re not though,” Yoongi insisted, not wanting her to be afraid, or stressed out over it. At least, not more than she already was. “You’re not getting married. You’re not a princess. You don’t have to do anything, just because that asshole said that it was meant to be. Haven’t you watched the recent Disney movies? Princes aren’t even the male leads anymore. The second leads triumph these days.” “I kinda felt this way since the moment I heard about the prince. Like, on the radio, on TV, or reading those stupid articles. I always felt drawn to him, like I’d end up here somehow, and now I am. Drifting, not going anywhere, doing anything, almost like I was waiting for it this entire time.” She took note that even though Yoongi was shaking his head, he also wasn’t denying it. “Tonight he told me things that should make me hate him and all of the good things I thought about him were reversed, yet I can’t be too angry with him. The moment he started talking about his princess, I knew. I knew that it was me.” The doors suddenly opened, Seokjin stepping back inside his office. He picked up his medical pad, scribbling something down, before he asked, “Reunited, have you?” A short brown tail wagged beneath his lab coat, matching the smooth dog ears atop his head. The dog hybrid punched at a sore muscle in his back, wincing. He’d ask Namjoon to use him as a scratching post later, maybe get a massage out of it. He continued when the siblings didn’t respond, having broken up a tense moment, “Hoseok should be here to escort you to your chambers or so I’ve been informed, though honestly,” Seokjin walked closer to them. “I feel like they should let you go home, let you think on it a bit, so that you can formally accept or decline Prince Jeongguk’s…” Yoongi raised a brow at him, “Decline what, exactly? He didn’t even ask for her permission. No, he’d practically announced to both kingdoms that she already belonged to him, as though it were fact, like she’d accepted it. Done deal.” Believe it or not, Seokjin sympathized, “That’s because of Jimin’s gift, I’m afraid. So, even if she wasn’t prepared for it her whole life, the prince was, and has been for a long, long time now.” It gave her the fucking chills – hearing that last bit, trying to digest it. All that she could think about were those set of dark eyes and Jeongguk’s glossed, red lips. The way he stared her down, confessing, and informing her that she was his, all hot and accusatory. There was no way she’d be able to engage in more ‘conversations’ with him. Hoseok knocked before entering, deciding not to skimp out on his manners, despite several long years of friendship. The fox hybrid bowed to the physician, again to Yoongi, and once more to the princess. “Oh, stop bowing to me, goddamn it,” Seokjin cursed, tossing his pad onto his desk. “We’ve been over this!”   Hoseok gave a slow blink, lips falling into a visible frown. “Holy fuck, you’re testy, hyung.” Seokjin cocked his hip, irritably, “Yeah, well, what else is new?” Yoongi felt as his entire world shifted off its axis, he was a fucking mess, a mess – because Hoseok was wearing a mask the first and second time they’d met, but now he wasn’t. The fox hybrid looked even more ethereal at the present, as Yoongi dared to trace the line of Hoseok’s petite nose, the crease of his eyes, the smallest hint of double-lids. Hoseok’s face was honestly exceeding Yoongi’s expectations, especially when – fuck – he smiled, two dimples awaiting him. The human was convinced that the fox wouldn’t think twice about eating him whole, with his too big teeth, sharp and pristine. Yoongi would allow it. “Yoongi…” The blonde’s name rolled off Hoseok’s tongue in such a way, that both men found it mutually enjoyable, but for two separate reasons. “I wanted to apologize to you for earlier.” It was time for petty Yoongi, which was something that could not be helped, even if he’d actively tried. “Oh, you mean for running off with my sister without saying a word to me? Or how about when you left me in the hallway, lost, and sick with worry?” Hoseok narrowed his eyes a fraction, invested in the way Yoongi’s slick, pink mouth formed into a pout whenever he spoke. It was a goddamn distraction. “Are you trying to upset me?” The blonde was taken aback for a moment. He swallowed, thickly, “Uhm…maybe?”   “I’ll show you to your rooms,” Hoseok tone was glacial, as he dismissed their conversation. This time the fox had made it a point not to bow to Seokjin, leading the siblings down the vast, wide hallway. He filled them in along the way, “The princess will sleep in the Queen’s quarters. Yoongi, you’ll be expected to sleep in the King’s quarters.” “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but I don’t fucking know you,” Yoongi said, as he tried keeping up pace with the hybrid, who’d even made walking look graceful, even in all of his armor. “I’d rather not be separated from my sister, in a place that is unfamiliar.” “Brother or not, no man is allowed to enter the Queen’s quarters, unless he is one of my guards or a royal, which you are not.” Hoseok stopped for a moment, doing a rather obvious sweep down the length of Yoongi’s body, before resting upon the blonde’s newly flushed skin. The fox offered, “Unless you would like to join me on my patrol this evening? I’ve been tasked to stand outside the princess’s chambers.” “Doesn’t sound like I have much of a choice,” Yoongi said, as though it wasn’t something he utterly yearned for. The shameful things he’d do just for two more seconds with Hoseok.       Beside him, his sister took in the art that lined the walls, “All these pieces are beautiful. Is it from the same artist?” “Taehyung has painted dozens for her majesty,” Hoseok said, bringing them down another corridor. The lights were becoming warmer, a woodsy and floral scent hitting their noses in pleasant wafts. “Every year for her birthday, he paints her something new. That’s why the art fluctuates in skill. Taehyung was a mere boy when he started the tradition.” The blonde pointed to the framed art, skeptical, “The wolf hybrid drew these?” She nudged her brother with her elbow, teasing him, “Wolves or foxes, Yoongi? You and Taehyung talked about it forever. What did you decide on?”   Hoseok tilted his head at him, curiously. “Wolves or foxes?” Yoongi tried not to look completely mortified, as he was rudely put on the spot, “I only wished to know the difference between the two.” The fox stared, expectantly, “And what did you learn?” “Uhm, nothing really. I mean, foxes like to eat fruits and meats. Wolves are bigger and foxes have smaller snouts and uhm,” Yoongi felt his skin becoming increasingly hot, flustered by his lack of informational intake, and ashamed by the purpose of it in the first place. He’d wanted to learn more about Hoseok. If he’d known the hybrid’s horoscope or blood type, he would have dug into that shit, too. “I forgot all of what Taehyung said, honestly. He was too busy nibbling on his fairy and my sister turned into a curtsey statue, so...” Hoseok grinned broadly at him, which unsettled the blonde – greatly, not knowing what the hell it was for, or why it was the sexiest thing – ever. It made his head feel all dizzy. They stopped in front of the two guards that were currently stationed in front of one of the many bedrooms. Both hybrids greeted the fox their highest respects. “Here we are…” Hoseok said, gesturing towards Yoongi’s sister. “We’ve expanded the general duties of the Queen’s ladies in waiting. You only need ask and we will send them to assist you. Sleep garments, as well as bath preparations have all been prepared for your stay.” She shyly looked at him. “Thank you…” Hoseok bowed his head, wild red hair falling with it, “Princess.” She didn’t have it in her to be rude and tell Hoseok to shove off with the formalities (much like Seokjin had), that she wasn’t, in fact a princess. There was a terrible look of concern written on Yoongi’s face. It was a look that she’d probably never stop receiving, for as long as she was alive. And even though it warmed her heart, she didn’t want him to worry. “Stop looking so glum, chum. I’m fine, really, like, I’m kinda digging this.” She spoke the next bit quietly. “Seriously, tug on that tail. Do you see how fluffy and cute it is?” He squinted at her. “What in the fuck are you on about?” “Good night,” she said, sending a wink Hoseok’s way. The fox wasn’t as nearly rude to her as her brother, as he sent one back. Once the door closed behind her, Yoongi felt the heat returning to his face again, stifled by fox’s obvious attention, “When is your birthday?” Hoseok relieved the two guards with a flick of his wrist, waiting until they left to answer Yoongi’s question, “I’m younger than you. So, do you mind if I call you, ‘hyung’?” The tops of Yoongi’s cheeks were practically the color of rogue, deep and noticeable given his pale complexion. He nodded, “How do you know that I’m older?” Hoseok brought his hand up, stopping just out of reach of the human’s face, intending to touch – to feel if Yoongi was as warm as he looked right then. But then the blonde had closed his eyes shut, preparing himself for it. It was fucking adorable, so the fox dropped his arm down, “Jimin told me.” Yoongi grit his teeth, “That fucking fairy, with his stupid sight.” “Mm,” Hoseok hummed, utterly enamored, “That fucking fairy, hyung.” Jimin had told him to beware of the human with the cat-like eyes, pouty mouth, and shitty attitude. Beware he did, but he wasn’t prepared for Min Yoongi.       --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The room was brighter than she was expecting, since the décor had reflected nature thus far, dark woods, and autumn. Now she was confronted by pastel purple and white oak furnishings. The light switch had a dial, which she’d lowered for the sake of her eyes. She approached the queen sized bed, unsure of what to do with all of its space. She’d never had a bed this big before, still using the twin mattress from when she and Yoongi had bunk beds. There were outfits strewn across the quilt, all of which were dresses. They were far too delicate, too rich in the material, certain colors picked out to compliment the season. She was almost afraid to touch them. Would they all fit? Were they seriously, like seriously all for her? She doubted the likeliness that they were hand-me-downs. These people were royals – she was in a freakin’ castle, but nothing felt real to her yet. There was a nightgown at the very end of the bed. It was made up of a sheer, silky fabric. These were pajamas? The hell… What the hell was she doing here? Her heart seemed to have already accepted what her mind couldn’t, apparently. All of these things felt right, yet undeserved; Jimin’s friendship, Taehyung’s art, Seokjin’s underlining, albeit bitter concern, the awkward, yet strong flirtation between Yoongi and Hoseok, but most importantly, the dark stare that followed her every movement – the implication that she belonged to Prince Jeongguk. She picked up the pair of satin panties spread neatly atop the gown, frowning at them. The style would be the only difficult part about this, probably. She brought the sleepwear to the adjoined bathroom, once again visually assaulted by how spacious, bright, and gorgeous – white rabbits against purple pasley patterns, white marbled floors, and a porcelain clawfoot tub that could accommodate five, easy – what in the fuck. She was half-tempted to step outside her room and demand her brother go get the measuring tape. He should have chosen to rest for the night, since he was clearly missing out. It took awhile for the bath to fill up, so she decided to look through the bath oils, immediately snatching up the lavender, and pouring it into the running water. Turning off the faucet, she removed her clothes, and sank down into the tub. Her toes poked out from above the warm water and she could already see the blisters beginning to form. Taking off those heels was the smartest thing she’d done all day. Everything else had been off. She’d thought of other possible responses that she could have, should have said to the prince. Or maybe she shouldn’t have passed out in the middle of having a staring contest? She also should have known that it was him sooner, the way he’d looked at her, the way he spoke, and carried himself. It always seemed like the articles exposed so much, but they didn’t do Jeongguk any justice. It was safe to assume that the articles were false anyway, given the information he’d supplied her with earlier. After dwelling on it for a bit more, she went through the ritual of drying off, and changed into set of the silk and satin nightmares, wanting to cringe at her reflection. She stepped out into her bedroom, where it was freezing cold upon her damp skin. The wick of an old lantern faded dully, as its fire burned out. It’d been set down by the twin doors to the balcony, the same doors that had been left ajar, although she couldn’t recall opening them in the first place. Despite her better judgment, she chose to walk closer towards the open draft. There was a soft hum flowing through the wind, and she knew it was him, had felt him there, before confirming it with her own eyes. A long, white bunny ear twitched when he picked up on her steps coming closer, turning away from the sky to face her. The prince was dressed in a white silk button up, the fabric much like her own sleepwear. Perhaps the intention was to match one another. She took in the hard, exposed lines of his chest, sinking her teeth into her lower lip. There was a thick choker wrapped around his neck, the white material standing out against the beautiful golden color of his skin. “Princess.” “I’m not a princess,” she said, deciding that it would be wise not to step any closer to him. He shook his head, “No, not yet.” ‘Soon,’ he thought.   “Maybe not ever, your highness.” He smirked at her then, eyes dancing with amusement, all red cherry lips and precious bunny teeth. “Jeongguk is fine behind closed doors.” She tucked a strand of wet hair behind her ear, “How about, ‘lying scumbag’? Does that work for you, too?” “That mouth of yours,” he breathed, indulging himself with the thought of destroying her. He’d make her beg for it. “Runs in the family,” she said, hating how much she enjoyed the banter, and how it excited her. “I also love this whole, gonna sneak into her chambers while she’s taking a bath thing you have going on. Not creepy at all. Quality husband material right there.” “That – well, I wasn’t particularly interested in having a confrontation with your brother right at the moment.” Not that Yoongi would be able to take him on, physically, anyway.  “Good. You should be afraid of him.” The hybrid took slow, presaging steps towards her, “Do you have any idea how difficult it was, waiting over a decade for you, knowing who you were the moment I first saw you.” It was with each word that the distance between them continued to dwindle. “Being so close, finally able to touch you?” She shook her head, backing away at the same steady pace that he was coming forward. “You know that I don’t know what that’s like. Who would?” He waved a finger at her, insisting, “But you do to some extent, though. You wanted to see me tonight, did you not? You’ve read all the articles on me, enough to form quite the biased opinion. You even went as far as to defend me.” “Yeah and it was against yourself, which is just ridiculous,” she said, jumping when her back met the bedpost. He was already there in her space, curling his hand around the wooden pole behind her head, and using it as leverage. “See, I’ve lived as though I belonged to someone, and I’ve had so many opportunities to misbehave myself...” Jeongguk pressed the length of his body against her own. “Now that you’re finally here, I can stop feeling so guilty, and I can’t stop waiting.” He cupped the side of her face into his palm, dragging his thumb across her plush bottom lip. The prince paused, until their eyes were leveled, and spoke the next sentence very seriously, “I’m going to ruin you.” “Yoongi is…” she murmured, intending to call for her brother, but her voice was so faint, like her heart wasn’t in it. In truth, she didn’t want them to be interrupted. The prince was intriguing. He was a goddamn enigma, so beautiful, and enchanting – so very fucking wrong, in so many ways. This was fate working its hand, twisting her from the inside out, and tying them together in some neat, fucked up bow. “This mouth never knows the right things to say, now does it?” It was more of a statement, than a question. Jeongguk closed his thumb and pointer finger down on her lip, pulling gently. “You need a lesson in basic manners.”   “Me? What about you. I’ve never been touched so freely in my life and that’s coming from a commoner. This is a very direct, indecent way of going about things between us. Besides, I hardly know you, or at least, the real you. And just because we’re destined to be together, does not mean that it’s going to absolutely happen.” There it was. It was that spark – that beautiful, wonderful spark that had Jeongguk so fixated and smitten with her earlier. There was much for her to learn, especially about fae-borns, and the sight. Her naivety and innocence was a charm all of its own, but that fire was something else. It was a potent dose of eroticism, igniting every dominant impulse the hybrid possessed. “You’re mine, human. You already know it,” he said, releasing her lip to press the full weight of his body against her, heavy, yet comfortable. The prince was so close now, that she could smell a pleasant mixture of the cologne he’d bought from Star’s End and the mint from his breath. She could see the scar upon his cheek, pale against his golden skin, a dark freckle here and there along the opposite side of his face, and beneath his lower lip. The tip of his nose was a soft pink, the same flushed hue around his darkening eyes. And it was positively daunting, to be so wound up on the inside, to want, and crave the touch of another being so badly. The smug look on his face made it obvious that he knew of her dilemma, that it was only a matter of time. “Yes,” she agreed with a sense of finality, releasing a shuddering breath, “But I’m also old fashioned.” “There were too many people hovering around you tonight. If I don’t scent you, I’m going to lose it.” Jeongguk sniffed at her audibly, filling his lungs with the more prominent smells still lingering on her skin. “It’s muddled any traces of me.” He leaned back to look her in the eye, “Give me your permission. Tell me that I can do it.” “And here I thought you were going to be a complete monster, taking whatever you wanted,” she said, a small smile touching her lips. “What if I say no?” “Then you’ll get to witness one of the rare luxuries of seeing me do the begging.” “And if I still say no?” “I’d rather you didn’t, princess.” She grew still, shoulders tense, “Don’t call me that. I don’t like it.” He decided against advising her to get used to it. “Now say the words.” “You have my consent.” “Good human,” he’d practically purred out, voice becoming thick. Before she even had the chance to reply, he was pressing her more firmly against the bedpost, the wood digging into her skin. The hybrid’s fingers were in her hair, moving it all to one side with the strands curled between his knuckles. He used the tight grip to tilt her head back and to the side, exposing the soft line of her throat. There were only a couple of times Jeongguk could remember being this territorial. One of which, was when he’d received his precious fae-born. His childhood friend, Taehyung had taken a liking to his fae, leaving kisses on the fairy’s cheek, smudging up the glitter. The same glitter that would end up stuck to Taehyung’s face. The prince had spent long afternoons cuddled up with the both of them, visibly pouting, and nosing at their necks. Then there was now, this very moment, making him feel so stilted and broken. Jeongguk wasn’t used to needing anything, from anyone. The faint smell of lavender and Hoseok, even Seokjin was on her skin, even after she’d washed for the evening. It made him feel possessive on a level that was out-of-fucking-control, and foreign. He wasn’t used to feeling so unhinged by someone, his fingertips burning until he’d been allowed to properly touch her.   He let go – curling himself into her, bending her with the shape of his body, ready to claim and suffocate her in a manner that only hybrids would truly know and comprehend. He buried his nose behind her ear. The reaction was immediate, a startled gasp, followed by her small fists closing into his shirt. He traced over her skin, lips slowly dragging whenever he inhaled, becoming familiar. Intimacy was different for humans and she would need more reassurance, than he would. He brought a hand to her waist, kneading the skin there none too gently. The moment she tensed up was when he’d made a noise deep from within his chest, so pleased by her complacency, the way she tasted on his tongue, felt beneath his fingers. Her thighs closed tightly together, the action painfully obvious given the fact that they were flush against one another. The heady scent of her arousal saturated his senses, pupils dilating. He pulled them away from the bedpost, the back of her legs meeting the side of the mattress, until she fell against it. The firm, full press of his body had her pinned to the surface, his arms caging her in. He watched her with a quiet calm, eyes darker than they were before – if possible. It was like staring into pools of black, depthless, and intimidating. Her hands slipped away from his back, resting them beside her head in an act of submission. “But I’m also old fashioned,” Jeongguk mocked, using her words on her, in the same tone. She turned her face to the side in an attempt to escape the heat that was currently swallowing her whole. What an asshole. The satin panties were well on their way to being ruined, her lower stomach aching the moment he resumed teasing his mouth along the side of her neck. The sharp graze of his teeth against her skin made her sigh out a sweet, blissful sound that went straight to his hardening cock. It made him more eager, more desperate for her, as he slowly left bruises along her neck, marking her carelessly. Her legs fell apart when he pushed a thick, strong thigh between them, one of her own captured – he could feel it, nestled against his length – and heard her gasp, as though she’d just discovered it. He gave an experimental rock of his hips. The rough fabric of his slacks could still be felt beneath the layers of her gown, her eyelashes fluttering. “You’re perfect,” he breathed, teasing his lips along the line of her jaw, out of reach from what the hybrid wanted to consume next. She gained chills when he curled his hand around the front of her throat, a gentle pressure pulling her closer to him, bringing her mouth inches away from his own. “I’ll give you the stars if you beg me for them. All you have to say is, ‘please’.” He whispered the words, low, and intimate across her lips. “Beg for your prince.” She raised her head a fraction, pressing her neck further into his grip. It caused their mouths to brush, hot and purposeful, eyes watching one another. She released a shaky exhale, “No.” He thumbed over the soft skin of her cheek, pulling her in for a kiss – keeping their mouths firmly sealed. She reached up, hands tangled in his hair, traveling upward to something much, much softer, and velvety. He reared back with a gasp, the length of his rabbit ears slipping through her fingers. Dark brown eyes stared down at her accusingly. “I didn’t know you were – I mean, you’re so sensitive. I’d say I’m sorry, but –” He cut her short, taking her bottom lip between his teeth, tugging gently, before running his tongue across it. The hybrid settled more of his weight on top of her, as he brought his other hand to the hem of her gown, adjusting the fabric so that it wasn’t in the way. Every touch felt like fire that was steadily melting her through, her hips moving against his thigh in earnest. The hand that was at her neck went to her wrists then, easily pinning them both above her head, and down to the mattress, while the other slid to the curve of her ass, better helping her move in rhythm with him, grinding into her slow and hard at first. The seam of his slacks dug into her sensitive skin, the flimsy material of her panties doing little to separate them, the friction maddening. “Say it…” He pulled back far enough to look at her lips, all red and swollen, then back to her eyes, defiant and heated when she said it again, “No.” “No,” he echoed, before leaning down and slipping his tongue past her lips, filling her up with warmth, and sweetness, before it was all gone. The mattress sank under his weight, when he got off the bed. Her heart was racing, watching as he adjusted the choker around his neck, tucking in the shirt that had come out of his pants, which – holy, fuck, he was big – the thick length of his cock straining against the tight fabric. There was a dull ache in her stomach. She could practically feel her arousal soaking through her panties, yet he was distancing himself. He was distancing himself all because she wouldn’t beg him for it. It was with a cocky smirk, that he tilted his head at her, “Come to me when you’re ready.” This time he took the door leading out into the hallway, where the guards would be waiting, along with her brother. He cared not at the moment. The grim look on the prince’s face was enough to silence Hoseok, who’d been readied to ask him an entire list of questions. Resting against the fox hybrid’s shoulder was Min Yoongi. He was in a deep slumber with Hoseok’s cloak resting just under his chin. The prince merely raised a brow, before wobbling down the corridor, unashamed. The shower would be scorching hot, the running water loud enough to muffle her name rolling off his tongue. He’d slick himself up with oil and come hard into his fist, picking up from where they’d left off, envisioning the way she’d beg, and cry so sweetly for him. Desperate for him… Just like he’d been desperate for her all these years.

[confrontingdisaster]

Nothing about having my second child was as easy or simple as my first son. Straight up, with Carson, it was the easiest pregnancy, a totally textbook delivery that wasn’t to quick or too slow. But Caleb, man with Caleb, everything was different and everything was a surprise. We were using protection, clearly it didnt work, but we didn’t even find out I was pregnant until I was six months along. I had spotting here and there and didn’t think much of it because sometimes my period is wishy washy, but alas it wasn’t my body being weird, I was pregnant. So cue surprise number 1. We were both at least very thankful it was another boy, never been a person to want a  girl, just not for me. I love being pregnant, there’s nothing else like it in the world, but this time around it was so much worse. I was tired constantly, I hurt all the time, and Caleb liked to sit very low and pinch nerves with his head. So when I was standing or walking and he’d do it, my whole left leg would go numb, or a sharp shooting pain would go from my pelvis to my toes, or I’d just nearly fall over because of it. That really sucked. My due date was November 27th. On November 11th, a saturday, two days before my normal prenatal appointment, I was in a tremendous amount of pain so i eventually submitted to going to the ER. It wasn’t contractions, it was constant pain in my abdomen. It didn’t come and go like contractions. It just hurt. They did an NST, I wasn’t contracting, I didn’t even see a Dr, just a nurse. Tony was freaking out, thank God his brother had been over at the time and offered to stay with Carson and our dog. I wasn’t a fan of the nurse, she didn’t seem to know much. She said I was probably constipated or gassy and sent me home. The next morning I was feeling a lot better but by the afternoon I was starting to hurt again. Then in the evening it got bad again, but this time it was coming and going like contractions. I finally decided enough was enough and I needed to go to the ER again and couldn’t wait until monday to see my Dr. Tonys brother was over again, but thinking they’d just send me home again, I told Tony to stay home in case it was nothing again. Surprise. It wasn’t nothing. Another NST showed I was having contractions and was in active labor. They checked my cervix and told me “Well you’re about 3cm but your bag of water is popping out of the left side so you could be as far aslong as 6cm.” Nice to know. Cue me texting Tony and him freaking out even more now since it’s over two weeks before my due date. It just kinda happened quick, I was too worried about the fact that I was having him so early when I went over with Carson, and worrying things wouldn’t be okay, and the pain was ridiculous. Much worse than the first time. Cue me asking for an epidural. They said the woman would be in but it’d take her a half an hour. No biggie I thought. Surprise again. While waiting for her to get there the contractions got worse and I knew I was getting close because while I was having them I could feel the urge to push. My water hadn’t broke yet though, but I had never experienced anything like that because with my first labor, I got the epidural much earlier. The woman finally got there, same lady who did my first epidural, a friend of my dads, I was glad. She had me sit indian style and hug a pillow, then felt my spine and inserted the catheter. She got it in the wrong spot. I felt a hot tingly sensation in my right foot, then it went up my leg. She had to leave and go get a different medication to put in because she hit the wrong spot. So here I am, curled over indian style, in labor, a catheter in my spine, just waiting for her to come back. Ever been in labor? Sitting crunched over is a really shitty way to sit for contractions. As I was waiting for her to get back, my water broke, surprise again. Admittidly, I was freaking out a little bit, and they make everyone leave the room to do the epidural so nobody was there with me. That was fun.  They had to break my water last time, it didn’t go on its own so that was a new experience too. Considering me freaking out a little, I didn’t tell the nurse my water broke. Fuck that, I wanted the meds and I wanted the pain relief. I was worried they wouldn’t let her finish. She got back and put the meds in, then I told the nurse my water had broke. Cue everyone getting shit ready quick because they thought I had at least another half an hour to an hour. The epidural took effect, but it made my legs tingly, like pins and needles, but I had no feeling. It was insanely weird. I could still control my legs and move them and everything. With my first one, nurses had to hold my legs to push because I couldn’t feel anything from my boobs down. This time where she had fucked up, it was numb but it was so weird. While pushing I could feel him crowning, but only the pressure, with none of the pain. It was an incredibly weird experience. It took three hours from the time I went into the ER. Within three hours, I gave birth to my second son, over two weeks early. He weighed the exact same that Carson did when he was born, and he was exactly as long as Carson was too. And they look insanely similar when you compare carsons baby pics to Caleb. Mind blowing. But despite wanting to come quickly, and very early, he was absolutely perfect in every way and I don’t think I have ever been so relieved. There is nothing more terrifying than going into labor early and not knowing what will happen because there is just no stopping it. I knew logically that I was far along enough that he was developmentally fine, but still that doesn’t stop you from panic. Or it didn’t me at least. The woman who did my epidural told me I had to drink as much caffeine as possible because of the epidural being fucked up, I was going to get a headache and caffeine would help it. No big deal I thought, I get them all the time. HA. Surprise motherfucker. Laying down, I was fine, but the second I would sit up or stand up, it felt like someone taking a hammer to the front of my head. Enough to make things spin and make me feel like passing out. No regular head ache. It was because there was now a small hole in my spinal cord leaking fluid and I would have the headache until the hole closed or the leaking stopped. She left the catheter in my spine until the day I went home, two days. Supposedly that is supposed to help. If the pain wasn’t manageable by then, she offered to do this procedure where she would take blood and try to insert it in the hole so it would clot and plug the hole, stopping the spinal fluid. No thank you, I was all set, and it didn’t hurt bad enough for me to want her to do that. She told me she was surprised I was handling it so well, most of the time people can’t even sit up after that, sometimes literally for days, and I was alright. Caffeine saved my life. But when I ran out of caffeinated soda the first night, the headache really set it. That sucked bad. Then the second day it started with my neck. The back of my neck so so stiff and it hurt so bad, like an ice pick being drove in there and wiggled around, another side effect of the fucked up epidural. Luckily there was people in and out all day so when it got bad I just napped while everyone was fawning over the baby. Even now, its been a month, and if I stretch my back right, or sleep wrong on my neck, or do anything to tweak my back or neck even a little, and I instantly get slammed with a headache that is enough to make me seriously think my head my explode it’s so bad. So after two days we got to go home, Caleb was a whopping 5lbs 13oz when we were discharged and just so so tiny. I seriously don’t remember Carson ever being that small. Ever. But don’t be fooled, chances are, a second pregnancy is not going to be the same as the first. Hopefully for you, it’s better the second time around. It would have been worse for me, I know that, but compared to my first delivery, this was bad for me. I’m just insanely thankful that everything was fine with me, even with a fucked up epidural, and Caleb was absolutely perfect, so really, I have nothing to complain about.