#and i already drew a fleshy ??????good boy

[zkretchy]

So the background being that poppy was a pure anything but anything grimdark neutral looked wrong afterwards so...pop~ Today is a day of artistic edge or whatever you call it and alas-Aiden had to suffer my mood here today because ~aesthetics~-they are there to be enjoyed

[patorucho]

Making a "If You Give A Fish A Family" book! I added and edited the transcript so it'd make a little more sense ^_^;;

Text ver. under cut!

—

There once was a fish, born on a very special day.

The day was so special, his family gave him away!

He was taken to a palace, but it didn't feel like home.

And though everyone said they loved him, he still felt alone.

The big fish of the palace said, "You must become strong!

We fish don't like people, because they're always wrong."

The big fish brought a target and said, "You'll be family if you hit this!"

So the fish tried every day, but he always seemed to miss.

Then one day, the little fish made a big mistake.

And the big fish of the palace, kicked him out of the lake!

The fish was alone on the shore, sad and beached.

When suddenly, out of the sky, a fleshy hand reached!

The fish saw two people, with no fins or tails.

On a big brown floating thing, hollow, and with sails.

The fish was worried, "Is this hell?"

"Did I do a big sin?"

The two laughed, "No we're pirates!"

"This is our crew, and you're in!"

The fish learned to live above sea,

Alongside his two new friends, this was easy!

Up upon the large boat, the fish saw the top of the water.

"This is my ship," The man said, "The Big Chipper!"

They saved a lot of people, and committed violent crime.

But because they were together, they had a real good time.

But one day, the man said, "I have a confession, fish."

"I lied."

The fish felt so betrayed,

and decided the man would die!

And so the fish drew his sword, and the man did the same.

The man thought, "This was crazy!" while the fish thought to honor his name!

They fought, words and weapons clashing on the ship's top.

That is, until the woman put it to a stop.

"We're a crew!" She said, "We shouldn't be fighting like this!"

The man agreed and apologized, and so did the fish.

So the trio went back to their adventure.

Meeting new people, from different places they ventured!

They made a new friend, a horse from a puddle!

That the little boy rode, then they became buddles.

They met a dude, Duke D. Dukem of Duke.

And a plant with kind eyes, that gave them a spook!

The next day, the woman's father came and a real big frown.

He said, "You are a big baby loser, and you've let this family down."

The woman said, "You're right papa."

And so she shot the fish.

But before the fish died, he said,

"Is that really your wish?"

The woman said, "Wait no! I wanna be friends with you!"

The man chimed in, "I'm sorry for lying." "Me too."

They even met a Goobleck, who mostly said "Heehoo!"

He absorbed one hundred people! But then pressed undo.

Their crew was back together, and finally free.

Then the fish saw another target, if he hit it, he'd be family.

The fish thought of his journey, God, and his friends.

The fish took one big swing, and the fish missed again.

The fish looked sad at his things, and said,

"Well, I guess this is it."

But the two stopped him, and said,

"But you're already family, and family fucks up shit!"

If you give a fish a family, never again he'd be alone.

Because if you gave a fish a family, you'd give him a home.

The end.

[yuichi-ro]

𝘸𝘢𝘬𝘢𝘴𝘢 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

cw: fem!Reader, dom!Reader, sub!Wakasa oviposition, sex toys, anal (m!receiving), belly bulge, watersports, hands free cum, nicknames (ma’am, pretty kitty, etc), NSFW content, unedited word count: 2.7k    

The search history on Wakasa’s phone was, enlightening, to say the least.

You’d lost more than just a few minutes scrolling through the pages, bookmarks and other tucked away hidden treasures of his dirty mind in the confines of his smartphone. Some of it average. Some of it dark web worthy that painted a very different picture of unenthused man. But one thing that always came back to almost all of the frequented videos were one thing. Eggs. 

Wakasa wanted a belly full of eggs and it was painfully obvious from his search history. Who were you to deny such a splendid thing to your lover?

With the curve of the toy pressed against his sensitive seam. You cooed as you ran your palms over his thighs and let the weight of the new toy press against his taint with no more relief than that. His cock twitching against his slender hips even if he was only half erect . It was charming since he hadn’t been touched even once yet. This excitement purely by the sight of your newly introduced toy.

“You like it?” Your hands gripped his thighs. Drawing out a tired sigh from the man laid out under you who did his best to not close his eyes while you spoke, “Was so hard to keep it under wraps when I ordered it...”

Taking the toy back into your possession. Wakasa was no match when you slipped the underside of the alien like silicone toy against the underside of his cock. His member throbbed while he twisted his fists in the sheets underneath and kicked his feet out to no avail as he couldn’t buck his hips up against the toy for enough relief. Swelling cock no longer a half hard on leaking on his pale thigh. Now as you drew the empty new toy along his cock. Purposely grinding and fake frotting against him. Wakasa’s eyes fluttered to the back of his head. Cock head purple and leaking. Slimy precum slipping down around the folds of foreskin pulled back from his sensitive tip. Each swipe of the toy making it messier but drawing out as many equally pathetic moans each time.

“S-Shit-” He managed with a shaky breath. Able to open his eyes just to look down at you smug between his thighs. Wakasa wasn’t about to tell you to stop. Mind spinning he could hardly focus on the toy. When next to you was what he really wanted all along.

“You want these?” You look over to the container of very graphically depicted egg shaped balls. There had to be at least half a dozen of them. Fleshy, clear, jelly like in texture. He hadn’t even gotten to touch them but already the idea of having them inside him was making him squirm, “You know-” You pull the precum covered tip of said toy away. Inspecting it and the slime trails he’d left on it as Wakasa remained immobilized under you, “I had to stop what I was doing and rub my poor clit after I saw all your search history....naughty naughty kitty.”

Wakasa wiggled his hips. Snug in the bed under you. His entire body on fire yet he couldn’t vocalize his needs as blush spread from the tips of his ears and to the rest of his face. He’d dream of this moment. But never thought it would happen. And that you’d be this into it.

Sighing heavily, all for show, you give him a playful pout as you examine the toy. Remarking how he’ll have to be a good boy. And push them all out for you. Of course only after you stuffed him to the brim with these gooey nasty eggs. Making a momentary show of your new toy. The precum that he’d leaked all over the tip made it that much easier for you to slip your finger into the opening at the top. Assuring Wakasa was watching diligently as you fucked the opening of the toy.

First one finger. Then another. Swirling it around and making a show of how stretchy the material was. After all it was made to fit all these wonderful eggs in it. 

“Mmm I bet you wish I could do this to your cock.” You smirked, knuckles deep in the tubing of the toy as you rubbed his precum into the silicone toy, “Finger fucking your dick hole like this. Getting it nice and stretched out for eggs....because we really know where you want these laid don’t we?”

Adverting his eyes Wakasa wiggled his bottom down towards you. Amplifying how badly he wanted this when his ass rubbed your leg. Where you sat cross legged between his spread legs. Left with Wakasa nothing to grind and relieve himself on. But as you teased and talked, just to have him throb against the air and nothing else. Beads of precum rolling down his shaft and staining his tuffs of pubic hair surrounding the base of his cock. He looked good enough to eat. 

But that would wait. Right now you were living out your good boy’s fantasy.

“Do you want these?”

Wakasa remained silent but staring.

“I said-” You tapped the alien like toy against his ass and raised an eyebrow, “Do you want this?”

“Y-Yes-” He managed through clenched teeth. Eyes unable to look away from the toy resting under his cum heavy balls.

“Yes what?”

Groaning and rolling his hips up against the toy Wakasa let his head roll back and the world’s most pathetic moan leave him, “I want your eggs- Please ma’am- I just- I want to feel your eggs in me-”

“See, now was that so hard?” You take hold of the bottle of lube next to the treasure trove of eggs. 

So very liberal with the lube. Pouring it from above his cock. Watching the clear slime of the vicious lube rub down his cock. Wakasa’s already glistening member now slathered in lube as it flowed like rivers down around his pubic hair and pooled around his ass. So when the tip touched his entrance there was almost no resistance. To both of your pleasures.

Wakasa’s entire body trembled and thrashed. Urging his body down on the toy faster. Because obviously the speed that you slid the toy in wasn’t enough. The man’s twitching insides swallowing each centimeter you gave him. Followed by every inch. Until your closed fist around it’s base rubbed against his ass cheeks and balls. Making you smile pleasantly with how well he took it. Holding it deep in him as another hand came up to fondle his poor neglected balls. 

“I saw all that twisted fucking shit you watched- That you read-” Your fingers massaging and tugging at his sack as you slowly pushed the toy in and out of him. Wakasa melting quickly under you as the gooeiness from the lube made the toy slide down to the hilt with each push. Those grip-able slender hips of his shuddering and bucking up against your attention. Attempting to fuck himself on the toy but you simply wouldn’t allow it as you kept the pace agonizingly slow, “You must forgive me....of course I’d love to fill you up with eggs. Fuck that cock hole of yours until your gushing out my seeds....laying my eggs in your belly....but I hope this will suffice my dear pretty kitty.”

“Mo-More-” He managed. Already breathlessly fucked out expression creeping onto his otherwise complacent face. Wakasa couldn’t get the ache, no, the itch in his insides taken care of this way, “Please- Ma’am more please-”

“You want my eggs in you?”

“More than anything.”

You sunk the toy down to the hilt. Pressing the thicker base into his entrance and spreading him. No more toy for him to take as the rest of it was deep in his guts. But with the way Wakasa spasmed and attempted to fuck himself on the toy you swore he’d take the entire toy up his ass if you didn’t get him what he wanted.

First was the reluctant moan when you pulled the toy from him. Clenching walls around nothing now. Wakasa unable to stand it reached down without hesitation to stuff his two fingers inside himself. Quite the beautiful site as you sat back to load the toy up. Fingering himself with a level of desperation you hadn’t seen on him yet. Making you wonder how pathetic he was when he jerked off to those R rated pornos you snooped on his phone. And as Wakasa looked at you with a half lidded gaze and his fingers plunging inside his own guts with a cock leaking on his thighs. You set to slipping a couple of the jelly like eggs inside the toy. More than one round. You still could only fit a few in the toy as they slipped around with double the amount of lube after you poured so much over Wakasa just to fuck him.

Snug in their sheath you didn’t even have to tell him to move his hand. Repositioning the toy at his entrance. Wakasa relaxing instantly and you didn’t even push inside him yet. So when you waited a second. Until it forced him to try and focus on what you were doing. That’s when you pushed the loaded toy as deep as you could into him. Sliding in with no resistance. Right back up to the hilt like it was made for him. The inhuman noise ripped from Wakasa’s lips made you giggle.

“You want them laid in you?” You asked, fingers threatening around the base of the no longer hollow toy. One squeeze and the first egg would pop into him, “All my precious slimy eggs inside you~?”

“Yes-” Wakasa began nodding profusely. What strands of sanity he had after you surprised him with this toy were quickly slipping through his fingers. Wiggling, grinding and pushing down on the toy like he could will more of it in him. Finally his calm and cool composure cracking as the first little taste of your fingers tightening around the toy’s base and the first egg sliding inside him, “Yes! Yes please your eggs- Ma’am- fill me please- Fuck-”

Grinning ear to ear you squeezed the rest of the way. Assuring the first three where lodged inside him. Wakasa’s hips doing practical gymnastics as you slid the toy out of him slowly. Like a good boy as you refilled the toy he stuffed his fingers inside himself. Moaning like a whore as he ground himself down on his digits. Just as anticipated the second you put the toy to his entrance again. Pumping him full of a second load of eggs. You knew one of them would rest snug against his sweet spot. And such a sweet spot it was. Wakasa choked on his moans. Goosebumps pricking at every inch of his skin. Nipples begging to be tugged at. And a cock rock hard and pulsating. None of that mattered as it was more than just twice that you refilled the toy.

Up until the very last egg was squeezed into Wakasa’s overly sensitive insides. You could feel the resistance now of all of them wanting to come out of him. Keeping the toy inside him it made the most beautiful bump in his otherwise flat stomach. You giggled and managed to hold the toy inside of him to free up your other hand.

“Waka look...” You voice trailed off when your hand pressed the bump in his abdomen. Pathetic drooling whimper from the man under you. His eyes glossed over with pleasure. Words unable to be formed but precum kept leaking from his slit when you pressed down on his bulging belly, “My eggs look so nice in you....I wanna plug them up and never let them out of you....” Your touch ghosted over his hairy belly and smirked at his eyes fluttering shut when his cock twitched. Not even a fraction of an actual orgasm. Just from being this full and your lewd words had a meager amount of cum dribbling down his cock as more than just a little bit of the eggs pressed to his prostate, “Oh but how I desperately wanna see you push them all out too. On your knees....like a fucking whore.”

Pushing the toy inside him. Riling up the eggs that rolled around in his guts. Pressed at all the right spots and more. Wakasa was panting staring up at the ceiling when he rubbed his belly after you. Feeling the bulge you were admiring. It was big. But god how he wished it was bigger. Fuller. Teeming with eggs. He knew he’d love the evil you could do with this toy. 

“Next time I’ll plug you up,” You hummed happily as you watched his cock just about ready to burst it seemed, “Now, I wanna see you get up.”

“G-Get up?” Wakasa repeated your words not really sure he could.

“Get up.” You said sterner this time, “Get on your knees and push them all out. Each one. I wanna see you push all my eggs out pretty kitty...”

Groaning as Wakasa swore his limbs felt like they were made of lead. Your wish was his command and he wasn’t about to upset the person so lovingly pumping him full of eggs.

Careful as he did it. And with your help. The toy stay lodged inside him and not a single egg escaped prematurely. You rubbed his belly once more as Wakasa knelt above your lap. Staring down at his distended belly and raging hard cock sticking straight up regardless of his full belly.

“Wait-” You reached over and grabbed the container the eggs had been in before, “Mmm wanna catch all my pretty boy’s eggs after all.”

Maybe the wink you gave him. Or the utter disgusting nature of what he’d gotten himself into. Depraved be damn Wakasa didn’t care if it would be a mess. He was only thinking about being your incubator for the rest of his life now.

With encouragement and Wakasa’s hands on your shoulders to steady his wobbly legs. You slowly pushed the toy inside him a few more times. Met with resistance but mountains of pleasure as Wakasa inadvertently rutted his hips into the motion of the toy. Fucking himself best he could before without warning you pulled the literal plug on him. 

The utter disgusting gushing lewd noises that echoed in the room were the cherry on top. When Wakasa felt the slimy eggs pouring out of him. One by one. Thick in the middle as it passed through him. It felt all too weird and too good at once. And utterly neglected cock shot a healthy gush of cum up his abs. With the slow deflation of his belly as Wakasa doubled over you. Legs trembling. Moans ripped from his pretty lips. And the plop of each egg out of him caused the most spine tingling orgasm to take his breath away. Cum streaked across his now flat stomach as the last few eggs were pushed from his insides. The rest of his load dripped and drooled into the pail of eggs. Coated in every juice he had. Only complete when Wakasa realized all those eggs had been pressed against his bladder as well. And when he relaxed after his orgasm, he didn’t have any control of the golden stream. Accidentally pissing himself after all his muscles relaxed like one big sigh. Wakasa stared down at the jelly eggs coated in everything now getting a little gush of his piss on them. 

Utterly too fucked out of it all the man could do was slump into you. Comforted by your arms cradling him against your body. And your lips coming to kiss the sensitive skin right under his ear lobe.

“...don’t get too comfortable Waka.” You mumbled into his warm skin and gave him a playful nip of his ear lobe, “Those are reusable and I’m going to stuff them all back inside you. Plug you up and ride you until you’re crying under me.”

Wakasa couldn’t speak. Too in love with you and every word that left your mouth. He’d happily become your incubator for the rest of his life if this was the fun that awaited him.

[17wishbones]

Here is Chapter VII: War’s End (Part 2). I low-key cried writing this because, wow, I really do love this Flame Hashira so so so so so so much. I got a bit distracted reading other fanfiction and all that but here comes the second part. Now, this has spoilers from the manga/movie, so get to watching it as soon as possible. However, if you don’t mind it, go ahead and have a read! Please enjoy!

- - - - - - - - 

                                            Chapter VII: War’s End (Part 2)

Bright rays of the sun beat down on you as you stood before the oceanfront. The wind blew through your locks and along your skin. In your hands was a net and a few fish caught in them. You ogled them with a tight squint. ‘I know this handwork-’

“_____! _____!”

Your eyes widen. “That can’t be. . .” You slowly turned around and was blessed with a beautiful sight. “Mother? Father? You’re both. . .” Tears flowed like a river as you tackled them in an overdue embrace. You couldn’t swallow the sorrow that crept over your body when you thought to have lost them.

“We’re both what? Other than waiting for you to come home?” Your father was a tall man, standing halfway over six foot. His thick dreads touched the small of his back and his salt and pepper beard filled out his face. He was a handsome man still.

“You must be thirsty, _____. Come on in and drink. You’ve caught enough fish to last us a while.” Your mother was a beauty herself. She had a clean shaven head, a strong jawline, and the legs of an Amazon.

They stood tall while you remained short. You didn’t receive the end of the tall gene pool but that didn’t make you any harder to love, even though they joked about your height all the time. The two of them loved you so much.

Your mother, Oolade, wiped your tears away as your father, Uzoma, got the net of fish from the shore. “We shall eat as kings and queens together!” He shouted. “Look at the bounty our daughter has gathered!”

“I am proud of you, my sweet _____.”

“Mother, Father, please, you are embarrassing me!” You laughed. “Kyōjurō would love nothing more than to meet you both.”

“Kyōjurō?” They both questioned in unison.

“Oh.” Your mind went blank a moment. ‘Why did I say that? Kyōjurō? Who-who is that? His name sounds familiar.’

“Never mind that. Come.” You didn’t even think twice as you followed your mother to your quaint house on the shore that your father built by hand. It was just as you remembered.

“Oolade found some wild rice to make with as well. We’re going to have a feast!”

‘What was I even doing before? I must have been daydreaming.’ There was no questioning this surreal feeling as your parents showered you with love and laughter.

Overwhelmed with a sense of unbridled joy, you thought to never leave him.

You blinked. ‘Him?’ You questioned blankly. ‘Who is this him?’

Time had passed but the scenery didn’t change. “Hey, I’m going to step outside for some air.”

“Hurry back so that you may bless the food before we feast.” Your parents’ smiles, even though forever imprinted in your mind, suddenly dulled in comparison to the image of this fiery man.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. You slowly opened them and saw an outlined path towards the woods. You instinctively followed it to a rip into another space. You gasped aloud as you caught a young child making their way to this shining orb floating within a bundle of sunflowers.

The child turned to you, frightened and with the needle pointing towards you. They were sweating and shaking with fear.

“What are you doing here?” 

“How did you find me!? You’re not supposed to be able to enter into your own unconsciousness!”

“It’s mine… isn’t it?” You took a step forward.

“_____? _____!” Oolade and Uzoma came running toward the border with sadness filling their eyes. “What are you doing? Come back!”

“_____, don’t leave us!”

You didn’t heed their words, but their voices wretched your heart. “You plan to do something? For what cost?”

“Destroying your core will allow me to sleep peacefully and see my family again!”

“And that’s the best way to go about it?” You ignored their calls as you pressed forward towards the child. “Your good dream will end and so shall you succumb to your pain.” Your eyes softened. “You will die a sad death. To a demon.”

“How do you know how I feel!? You just had a good dream!”

“A bittersweet dream. My parents have long since passed. They no longer live in this world. Even this cannot bring them back forever or give me peace.”

The child backed up until he was just a footstep away from your core. “Come any closer and I’ll do it!” 

You stopped your approach and knelt down, holding your arms out. “Then you choose. Live your life or succumb to an eternal slumber?”

The child had wanted a good dream of his family, to be happy, but when he saw the look on your face, the look of pain and suffering from even getting a glimpse of what life could have been with them spread over your face.

He dropped the needle and ran to you full throttle, crying his heart out as he embraced you tight around your neck.

This was the right thing to do. Even as good as the dream would be, it would hurt all the more to have it taken away.

The faux warmth of the child disappeared and your eyes fluttered open to an ungodly sight that made you want to throw up.

“What the hell!?” You stood on top of flesh. “Intestines!?”

Rengoku flashed past you by one moment and returned the next. “You’re awake, Sunflower!”

“Did the demon become a train!?”

“So it seems, yes! Kamado and Hashibira are going for the neck. Our job—”

“Is to protect the passengers at all costs.”

“Nn! You take care of this cart and I’ll do the other four!”

“Just one?”

“Your safety is of utmost importance! Aid Golden Boy and the Demon girl as needed!” He kissed you quiet before dashing off in a blaze, hushing your protests.

“That man…” you drew your Nichirin blade, “Is so…” your short dash in the cart made easy work of the disgusting, fleshy tendrils, “Annoying!” But you couldn’t argue with his command or logic. He was sound in the midst of danger.

What you did was light work, and by the looks of it, Zenitsu and Nezuko had the other three sorted as Tanjiro and Inosuke ran for the front of the train. You hummed, slightly irritated at your position. You were getting into none of the action, but you knew how fast Rengoku and Zenitsu were moving by the back and forth teetering of the carts.

‘This train could topple at any moment, especially with all of this monstrous bulk. So, there’s no telling when it’ll--’ A shrill filled the air, disorienting you as the train of muscle crumpled up and fell right off the track. If it weren’t for the demon’s flesh and that Demon Slayer footwork, people onboard would have been seriously injured.

You checked those in your assigned cart and then where Zenitsu and Nezuko were. “Are you guys alright?” 

“Mm, mm!” Nezuko nodded as you came over to the slightly slumped Zenitsu.

“Great!” You took him by the shoulders and started shaking him away. “Zenitsu? Zenitsu! Wake up!” He was still asleep, but he only incurred very few injuries as Nezuko had. “At least you two are alright. You really held your own, Nezuko. I’m a little jealous I didn’t get to help out much at all.”

Nezuko, no matter if tired or full of spunk, was just a beauty to look at. You understood why Zenitsu was so smitten with her though he feigned himself a well-groomed ladies man. She offered a soft sound as a response before she leaned up against you. 

Parts of the demon’s body slowly faded from existence, leaving now broken windows with an open view to the outside. Rengoku stood over Tanjiro, instructing him as he laid on the ground. Nezuko picked up her brother’s scent and slowly headed outside. Zenitsu followed her sleepily as you grabbed a few people and exited yourself.

Suddenly, the earth shook and dust flew everywhere as something else landed unto the field. You couldn’t believe your own eyes! The aura spiked high as it circled around the tattoo-marked Upper Moon demon. The shine in those eyes were as hungry, monstrous, and devilish as their appearance.

In the blink of an eye, he was just moments away from striking Tanjiro. “Fire Breathing! Second Form! Rising Scorching Sun!” Rengoku’s quick thinking saved him. “I don’t understand why you’d target a wounded person.”

“I thought he’d just get in the way between you and me.”

You froze. You had never seen a demon so fast like this one. It was just as scary as that time in Asakusa. The aura you ingested made you run on instinct, quelling the thoughts of fear or nervousness. 

This one looked too toxic. You’d be sick for days. Not to mention, this demon only had eyes for Rengoku.

“You and I have something to talk about? It’s our first time meeting and I already hate you.” Rengoku replied.

“Is that so?” Akaza mused. “I really hate weak humans,” in terms of Tanjiro and others, “When I look at weaklings, I just feel disgusted.”

“It looks like you and I have different moral values in regards to things.”

“I see. Then I have a wonderful proposal. How about you become a demon, too?” 

“No chance.” Rengoku declined.

“I know your strength just by looking at you. You’re a pillar, right?” Akaza’s interest in Rengoku shined through his symbolic eyes. “Your battle spirit is quite polished. You’re getting close to Supreme Territory.”

“I am the Fire Hashira, Rengoku Kyōjurō.”

“And I’m Akaza.”

They both exchanged names but withheld their stances. Akaza came to kill and eat any humans as well as convert the strongest ones into those he could. However, no matter the strength, Rengoku was defiant in every sense of the matter when it came to slaying demons and protecting the weak who could not fight for themselves.

But you weren’t out of the clear, however. “Ah, seems like I have a two for one deal.” To your chagrin, the demon noticed you next. “Why don’t you consider becoming a demon, too?” He saw your spirit as well, one with potential of being his punching bag. “As a demon, you can become stronger. That wonderful sword style of yours will keep on improving and we can fight forever! Otherwise, you’ll never reach Supreme Territory and do you know why?”

Silence.

“Because you’re human. Because you’ll grow old. Because you’ll die.” Akaza pointed his finger at Rengoku. “Become a demon, Kyōjurō. You can train for a hundred years. Two hundred years. You can become stronger.”

His face grew dark as he pointed at the likes of everyone in the vicinity, truly disgusted by what he saw before him. Rengoku looked none too pleased with you inserted into the situation. ‘Don’t worry, _____. I will protect you, the children, everyone! Nobody here will die or turn into a demon while I still stand!’ He felt overprotective over you, and found it fit to fulfill his duty not only as a demon slayer, but as a man.

Rengoku couldn’t stand that look of dread and worry filling your eyes. “Growing old and dying is the beauty of the fleeting creature called a human being. Because they grow old. Because they die. They are tremendous. Lovable. What they call ‘strength’ isn’t a word that is used in regards to the body.” He wouldn’t let Akaza spout such untrue words. “This boy isn’t weak. Don’t insult him. I’ll say it over and over again. You and I have different moral values.” His sunset eyes widen menacingly. “No matter what kind of motivation I have, I will not become a demon.”

“I see.” Akaza stanced. “Technique Deployment. Destructive Kill: Compass Needle!” Akaza prepared to fight. “If you won’t become a demon, then I’ll kill you!”

Air waves and flames lit up the area as both Rengoku and Akaza moved at blinding speeds. Pillar versus Upper Moon. You were stuck in place, unable to move. The sudden gravity of the situation skyrocketed and your body froze. Your breath shifted, becoming uneven and quick.

“DON’T MOVE!! If your wounds open, it’ll be fatal! Standby, soldier!!”

Rengoku’s serious voice brought you back, but he demanded no one interfered. Inosoke, who stood at Tanjiro’s side, felt helpless.

It was an explosion of power that erupted, and emerging from the dusty cocoon was an unscathed, healed Akaza and a battered Rengoku. “Kyōjurō…?” His blood-soaked uniform recalled his humanity, his mortality. You were in a state of distress.

Akaza praised him, and employed the idea of becoming a demon, where all his wounds, his crushed eye, and his organs would heal in moments. He’d become stronger, faster, and more powerful than before, but the answer was still no.

Rengoku raised his blade and stared on with a dazzling, one-eyed smile. “I will fulfill my duties! I won’t let anyone die here!”

“You really should become a demon so that we can fight for all eternity!”

“Full Focus Breathing. Flame Breathing. Esoterica. Ninth Style: Purgatory!”

“Technique Deployment. Destructive Kill: Obliteration Style!”

They clashed in one final blow, and the results after the dust cleared terrorized you with your unknown and worst fears.

Akaza punched through Rengoku who held his blade upright. It was but a second before he tightened his grip and slashed at Akaza’s neck which surprised the demon. Rengoku, even as death approached him, remained resilient as he caught Akaza’s other hand, tightened his innards around his arm, and dug his blade further across. As the demon screamed for release, Rengoku screamed for his defeat.

“INOSUKE, MOOOOVE!!! MOVE FOR RENGOKU-SAN!!!”

Tanjiro’s shout broke you from your shock. Opportunity to strike was now or never. At the speed they ran, they wouldn’t reach Akaza as he struggled for release as the sun was due to rise. 

‘Full Focus Breathing. Fire breathing. First form: Unknowing Fire!’

It was a split second decision that made all the difference, and thanks to Inosuke. As Akaza panicked upon seeing Inosuke preparing to jump, Akaza suddenly felt weightless below. ‘What? My legs!’

Inosuke stopped just in time, leaving the final slash to Rengoku who pushed with all of his might and brought his searing blade through Akaza’s neck.

“You sneaky bit— oh no! The sun! I have to go, I have to— AHHHH!!”

Dawn broke over the horizon and Akaza’s body disintegrated.

“Kyōjurō!” You helped him to his knees, seeing the condition that he was in. “You’re hurt. Maybe if we can get you bandaged up, we can—”

“I’m sorry, My Sunflower. My stomach won’t close. I will die very soon.” He turned and addressed Tanjiro. “Kamado, my boy. Let’s have a final chat.”

Tanjiro ran over, huffing as tears stained his cheeks. “Rengoku-san, don’t talk too much! Help will be here soon. Just hold on!”

“Just listen to me. Return to the Rengoku Estate. There should be notes about the ‘Dance of the Fire God’. My father read them  many times. I didn’t read them myself, however, so I don’t know what’s inside them. And for the both of you, tell Senjuro to pursue the path that he thinks is right, as his heart tells him to. And tell my father to take care of his body. And also...” He leaned in. “Kamado, my boy, I believe in your sister. I accept her as a member of the Demon Slayers.”

Droplets of water dripped from Tanjiro’s big eyes.

“I saw that girl protect the humans inside the train despite bleeding out. Those that protect humans and fight demons are Demon Slayers, no matter what anyone else says. Live with your chest high. You, Hashibira, Golden Boy, and her will become great pillars.” His attention finally landed on you.“My Sunflower.” He weakly raised his blood-smeared hand, touching your cheek. “Never give up. I will be watching over you.”

Rivers flowed down your desolate face. “Wait for me over the bridge when I cross. And meet me in the next life.” You found his hands and held them in yours. “I-I l-” Words became lost as you choked on every letter, unable to contain the sadness corrupting your mind and heart.

It hurt him to see you like this, and it devastated him more that he wouldn’t be able to comfort you and grow old together. “My life flashed before my eyes and my most wonderful memories were of you. Your warm smile, your touch, your praises, it makes me more determined than ever to be with you wherever we may go or be.”

The last thing he’d feel was your lips on his, stained with his blood. “I’ll never forget you, Kyōjurō!” You said with as much enthusiasm as you could. “I-I love you!”

Rengoku couldn’t help but to smile. “I love you, too, My Sunflower. Set your heart ablaze. . .”

“And move forward.”

Rengoku peered past you and Tanjiro, spotting a familiar shape. ‘Mother?’ You and Tanjiro looked back but saw nothing. But an enveloping aura past you two and surrounded Rengoku. ‘Did I do everything right? Was I able to fulfill everything I was supposed to carry out?’ 

‘You did a wonderful job.’ A smile to him, a smile to her, and his head drooped. His body rested peacefully in your arms and his fiery aura dispersed as it was no more.

‘Kyōjurō!’ You were too choked up as you sobbed loudly and ugly. Your heart ached just like it had when your parents were eaten by demons.

Your world darkened, stained in your tears and his blood. What was this victory worth now that he was gone? 

It was worth every saved life here, and you knew that. It was going to weigh on your heart how you didn’t help him sooner, but his face discouraged you. He took the brunt of Akaza’s assault and held on until the very end.

You mourned over him from that day and weeks later. No one had seen you since the Mugen Train incident. Rengoku had done so much to keep everyone safe, taking his last breath on the battlefield. It had been a hard pill to swallow, one that you had not fully been accepting of even though you were there to see him off.

Tanjiro, Inosuke, Zenitsu, and Nezuko missed seeing you around. And especially Senjuro, but you needed to separate yourself and become better. You were no use to anyone lying on your back and crying your eyes out.

With the Nichirin blade in your possession, you carried on silently with a memory of him attached at your hip. His haori? Cleaned, pressed, and framed on the wall. For as long as you lived, his legend would be immortalized. On your shoulders, you carried the burden of loss. Sometimes, it’d hurt so much, your chest would heave and you’d clutch part of your left breast, where the pain ran deep as tears stung your eyes.

You left Senjuro with a kind yet sad smile as you didn’t want to hear the ugly mutterings of his father’s distant, drunk voice. His aura dripped in a drab blue, his melancholy nature surely melting at the loss of not only his wife but now his eldest son.

You hadn’t forgotten about those you loved. You’d be back for them. - - - - - - - - - -  Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII (Part 1) / (Part 2) / (Part 3)

[blue-bird-kny]

Hi! I would like to request a Zenitsu X Fem Reader please, I hope your ok writing for Zenitsu again, if not that's completely fine :3 But if you do consider this, could I request a Scenario, Perhaps, like, Zenitsu and the reader have been dating for a few months, they have exchanged a few kisses here and there but never anything frisky,so the Reader makes it her mission too get zenitsu all blushey by giving him heated kisses (Nothing too extreme if your uncomfortable tho, Hope this makes sense)

Thank you so much for your request! It’s always been on my mind since it was requested because it’s so outside my normal, comfort zone. Okay buckle up people because this is something I've never seriously written nor published, so please bare with me. Enjoy~Amanda

P.S- I’d like to take this moment to personally thank you, I always see you on my notifs and your support is much appreciated!

Warning: Sexual Themes, Riding, Blow jobs, NSFW

( 1.6k words)

“Let’s Do Something New”

You sat across from your boyfriend, absentmindedly pushing around the grains of rice that rest untouched in your bowl. Quietly, you observed the small quirks his face made as he ate and spoke, committing all the small movements to memory. “What am I doing? It's not like he’s a stranger, you can just talk to him” except you really couldn’t.

There was never really a good way or time to walk up to the person you’re with and be like “Hey I like you, please touch me”, just the idea made your stomach churn with embarrassment. You were a woman with needs though and you wanted nothing more than to have all your delicious fantasies fulfilled by the one you love. You weren’t completely driven by sex, but you longed to have Zenitsu give you some sort of special attention.

Whenever things get a little too sensual, too romantic, too heated, Zenitsu always pulls away, leaving all your pent up excitement to go to waste. Tonight would be different; tonight you were taking this boy down, it was his turn to be all riled up. Luckily, you knew your beloved well enough to know exactly how to get him to that point.

“Y/N-chan what's wrong? You haven’t eaten anything” Zenitsu's concerned voice invaded your personal world, innocent eyes peering into your own. Your smile hid your dark intentions as you spoke to the unknowing boy in front of you, “Not a thing my love”. God how you wanted to take that innocence for your own use. 

You excused yourself from dinner early to prepare for tonight's endeavours. You freshened up, tousling your hair and switching to a pair of flimsy, thinner clothing. You knew you had to act quickly, the minute you left the dinner table Zenitsu would be hot on your heels. Almost like clockwork, Zenitsu’s quiet knock could be heard from the other side of the door. Show time

“Come in”

“Hello Y/N….” his cheery greeting died as he took in your appearance. The outfit you wore was much shorter than what you usually wore, and thinner to, the small perks of your hard nipples becoming painfully obvious to the poor boy. Zenitsu gulped as you strutted his way, his eyes unable to look anywhere but you captivating orbs. 

“Zeni, why won't you come lay down with me? I promise I’ll be good” your sultry voice spoke into his ear, hands trailing down his exposed arms, placing the slightest amount of pressure on your nails. This was out of your usual character but if it drew Zenitsu into the palm of your hand it was worth it. He could only hum in response, the words stolen from his tongue, as you pulled his helpless body toward the bed. “Sit” you commanded gently, Zenitsu obliged thoughtlessly.

You trapped the boy between your thighs as you straddled his hips. You smirked as you admired the boy who sat beneath you; his cheeks had taken a permanent rosy color, his pupils blown and his breath already unsteady, all from a few light touches. You couldn't help but slightly quiver at the sight, “Will you let me touch you Zeni, just a little?” you continued to languidly trace the curve of his jawline with the tips of your nails, working your way over his bottom lip.

For a brief moment, you forgot your motives as your heart melted; it was obvious how badly he wanted this yet he still held back “Why are so cute?”. 

“C’mon Zeni, let’s have some fun” you ground your hips against his, slowly so that he felt every second of it. That was all it took for the last bits of his resolve to shatter, leaving behind pure lust. “Okay” was all he mumbled, that was all you needed. You devoured his trembling lips, your tongue exploring his foreign wet cavern. He groaned at the feel of your tongue against his, his little noises edging you on. He gasped in surprise as you sucked on his tongue, coiling your warm appendage around his.

You pushed off his slouched form, growling at the sight before you. Zenitsu’s chest was heaving as he caught his breath, his swollen lips were now a tempting cherry red and a small line of drool slipped past his parted pair; Breathtaking. You rolled yourself against his hips again, rougher this time, relishing in the way his hardness rubbed against your heat. Leaning forward, you spoke into Zenitsu’s ear “Don’t be shy, I know you wanna touch me too”. His hands shook nervously, but he couldn’t help himself. 

Hesitantly, Zenitsu shifted to your fleshy ass, slightly squeezing the cheeks in his strong hands.  A moan left your lips vibrating against the juncture of his neck where you’d been suckling. He shuddered at the sound, continuing to play with the jiggle of your ass checks. The effect he had on you was intoxicating, a new sense of confidence drove him.

“Please touch my boobs” usually you’d be embarrassed at the words you were speaking, but you’ve been so desperate for your lover’s touch you didn’t care; there was no room for restraint. You slipped your night dress over your head, leaving you only in a pair of panties, giving him better access to your bare breast. He stared in wonder as he watched the way your breast bounced, he was determined to hear your beautiful sounds again.

He took one in each palm, softly kneading your tender breast. You tossed your head back in pleasure, closing your eyes at the sensation of his rough skin against you. Zenitsu swiped his thumb over your hard nipple, a shock of pleasure coursing through your body. A loud moan slipped past your lips, overwhelming his ears; he’d have those sweet nosies engraved in his memory.

“You’ve become such a tease Y/N-chan, you're driving me crazy with those sweet sounds” his husky voice drove your cunt to tighten around nothing. It was your turn to become speechless as his hand snaked around your waist, bringing your chest closer to his awaiting mouth. You choked as your mound was engulfed by his hot, wet mouth, his tongue working fervently on your nipple. “Zenitsu” you breathed out, your finger gripping his shoulder for support. His tongue switched between each boob, swirling around your small bud, sucking and tugging against it torturously.

You were a wet, helpless mess at the mercy of his mouth,  your hips grinding harder and faster on to his desperate for any sort of friction. “Please Zenitsu I need more, please let me feel you inside me” you pleaded, you were going insane at the slow pace Zenitsu had fallen into. “ Y/N-chan are you sure…”  you grabbed his chin, focing his eyes to stare into yours, “Zenitsu I’m sure, I trust you”

He untied his robe, sliding the short sleeves down his toned arms, his sculpted chest left on full display for your hungry eyes. You traced the bulge that was stretching the fabric of his boxers, he shuddered at the touch. “Y/N-chan please get to it, I won’t be able to handle anymore teasing” he was desperate at this point. With a smirk, you pulled down the pesky piece of clothing. Zenitsu wasn’t too thick, his dick was thinner but he made up for it in his length. You droold at the prospect that he’d be inside you, your finger collecting some of the leaking precum from the tip. You brought the finger to your lips, Zenitsu was mesmerized as you brought the finger into your mouth, your tongue collecting his salty taste. Zenitsu moaned loudly, you almost feared the others had heard.

You slipped your panties to the side, aligning his cock with your entrance. Inch by Inch his member disappeared between your slick folds, you winced in pain as you adjusted to his size, waiting for the pain to subdue before you began moving. You bounced on his dick, bottoming out before taking him whole again. Zenitsu laid his head against the wall watching with lidded eyes at the way your breast bounced with each thrust, the way your face contorted in pleasure, the sinful noises that rolled off your tongue for anyone to hear. “Zenitsu I’m gonna cum soon..” you mewled shifting your angle so that each thrust pounded into that special spot inside you. You yelled in ecstasy as you came, riding out your high while your cunt clasped onto the cock buried inside you, your juices dripping down onto the sheets.

“Y/n please” you knew he was close too and he didn't want to cum inside. You pulled yourself off his dick, your juices glistening on his cock. Your knees dug into the hard ground as you eagerly wrapped your lips  around his red tip, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as the taste of your slick and his bitter precum mingled together on your tongue. It only took a few fierce bobs of your head to have Zenitsu come apart in shambles, you made eye contact as you swallowed every last drop of his seed, the warm, milky liquid going down smoothly.

You both were exhausted, sheen layers of sweat covered your bodies. The room, that was filled with the sounds of desire and want moments ago, was now silent, only deep breathing could be heard. Your naked body nuzzled closer to your boyfriends, who stared wide-eyed at the ceiling with crimson cheeks. “Get off the covers Zeni, I’m cold and tired” you murmured.

 “Shouldn’t we..” 

“Shhhh, we’ll wake up early to clean up”

Bonus!

“You guys hear all those noises last night? It was like there were animals inside the house” Tanjro questioned. Zenitsu’s cheeks immediately reddened as he opened his mouth, you placed your hand on his thigh to silence him before he could say anything, “Nope we didn’t hear a thing” you smiled kindly. Zenitsu shook his head vigorously in agreement, although he was so nervous he wasn’t entirely sure what he was agreeing to.

Main Masterlist

Well that was definitely different from the content I usually post, but I’m satisfied! Maybe we’ll be seeing more smut on my page, who knows ;) Anyways I hope you all enjoyed it, thank you~Amanda 

[minty-mumbles]

Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep Ch. 6

Chapter Summery: Sky Dreams

Edit: Thank you to @mrowtastic for making fanart for this chapter! Check it out here

Read on AO3 Here

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

~~~

When Sky opened his eyes, he wasn't in the camp anymore. He hadn’t really expected to be, though.

He shook off any lingering sleepiness. The Dream would proceed whether or not he was paying attention, and something told him that this one would be important. He would want to pay attention.

Looking around, he took in his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was the wet, oppressive heat. It was stifling, making the air thick and hard to breathe. Sky could already feel himself getting lightheaded. The regular air on the surface was bad enough, but this was ten times worse. He was used to the thin air of Skyloft, not the muggy hell he found himself in now.

Although, he couldn't be certain whether he was on the surface or not. The area he had found himself in actually reminded him of the place he finally faced off against Demise. He was standing in a large, open space that seemed to go on forever. The floor was smooth and glassy, slippery beneath Sky's boots. The sky was a dark, unnatural color, red as a new scab. The clouds similarly red, billowed as if agitated.

The heat he felt could probably be attributed to the flames that were encircling the area. The flames were an unusual teal color, which Sky immediately recognized. It was ghost fire, the kind of flames that surrounded the spirits he could See. He had never seen so much of it at once though, and had never seen any of it without spirits to accompany it.

Sky noticed all of this vaguely, out of the corner of his eyes. His attention was solely focused on the creature in front of him.

When he first looked at it, he hadn’t quite comprehended what he was looking at. The scale of it alone was staggering. A massive cloud of ghost flames and smoke billowed in the middle of the area. At first, he couldn’t make out anything within the cloud.

But as he looked longer, he slowly began to realize that the cloud wasn’t just a cloud. It was some creature. Limbs peaked out from the flames. Some were feathered, others fleshy, others still were scaled. Eyes, too many and not in the right places, glowed, showing through the smoke.

The slow realization that this was a creature- no, a monster- repulsed Sky.

By itself, it wasn’t much to look at. It wasn’t that scary. Sky had seen worse beings. Most of it was obscured by smoke, anyways.

But something about it was just wrong. It triggered some primal instinct buried deep inside Sky that told him to run and not look back. He knew he couldn't do that, being trapped in this Dream, but the urge remained.

Despite his horror, he tried to stay as calm as he could. He knew that he couldn’t be harmed in the Dreams. The objects of his Dreams never even saw him. He was a third-party observant, and therefore perfectly safe.

He looked closer at the monster, no matter how much he didn’t want to. At first, he didn't see anything noticeable. But then a tendril of smoke shifted, revealing a hylian standing at the base of the cloud. They were minuscule compared to the size of it.

Sky dared to move closer to the sight, to try to make out the figure better. As he stepped closer, he realized that the figure wasn’t just a random person.

It was Wild.

Of course it was Wild. Sky picked up his pace, now nearly running to be closer to the scene. He knew that Dreams were always important, but something about this felt pivotal. Like maybe this was the most important event he had ever Seen.

The champion was just standing there. His hands were bound by chains of smoke and flame, but he didn’t fight, and neither did it seem like he was being burned by the ghost flames lapping at him. Despite Wild’s chains, the absurd thought crossed Sky’s mind that It looked like the creature was embracing the boy, enveloping him in its smoke and flames.

Sky skidded to a stop only a couple dozen feet from the site of conflict. He didn‘t dare go any closer, despite knowing he would be safe. His instincts were protesting being even this close to the beast. From this distance, he could see the state the champion was in, and it wasn’t pretty.

Wild was gasping. Although he didn’t fight, a snarl was stretched across his face, and it turned his expression into something feral. Something unfamiliar and horrifying.

Sweat mixed with tears dripping down his face. His hair, shorter than what Sky was used to seeing, was half pulled out of his ponytail, messy and unkempt. His clothes hung around him in tatters, soaked through with sweat and blood.

Blood seemed to ooze from him. He had no obvious wounds, but he was covered in it. It oozed from his eyes, his ears, his mouth, everywhere. When it dripped to the ground, it slicked the floor.

Wild looked up at the monster for what seemed like hours. The minutes stretched on. Sky knew that even if the Champion did fight, he wouldn’t be able to escape, not unless the monster willed it. It's hold was inescapable, and Sky was sure Wild knew it too.

A deep rumbling voice rang out, startling Sky. He hadn’t really expected either of the pair to speak.

The voice reminded Sky of Sun’s voice. It had a similar resonance to it. Unlike Sun’s, though, this voice did not chime sweetly, and it seemed as if there was nothing good about it. Instead, it was as if the voice was made up of the sound of stones striking the ground, of fire blazing through a house, of wind whistling through hair as you fell, knowing no one would catch you.

The voice was terrible. Great, yes. Awe-inspiring, even. But terrible.

“You must choose, hero. Be healed and change, or accept death, and change anyways. You must choose, now.”

As if that were a cue that Sky didn’t understand, both of the pair shifted back. The hold the creature had on Wild was released, Wild stood, facing the creature as if they had just been having a casual chat. Sky might have believed that if not for the blood still oozing, oozing, oozing from Wild.

“So...” The creature mused, “You have chosen.” The voice rumbled. Sky couldn’t tell if the creature was pleased or not.

Sky wanted to scream out in frustration. Wild hadn’t chosen anything. What did this all mean? This Dream was even more nonsensical than usual. His head was starting to feel fuzzy, as if it were filled with electricity.

“Go,” the voice ordered, leaving no room for complaints.

Wild obeyed without protest, something Sky had never known him to do. Even Time, who Wild seemed to have deemed the-only-one-who-can-tell-me-to-do-anything, would receive performative grumbles and defiance, even as Wild was simultaneously doing what Time ordered.

So to see Wild just obeying silently was so unusual it was almost repulsive.

The champion turned mechanically, stepping into the flames. They consumed him. His form turned black, withering and burning away into nothing unnaturally fast. Sky had to bite his lip to keep from crying out in panic, even knowing this was a Dream, and Wild was still safe back at the campsite.

When he turned back to the creature, though, he did cry out. He couldn’t help himself.

He was used to being a passive observer in his visions. He couldn’t interact with the people he Saw, or affect the vision in any way. In a way, he had become complacent. Even in a scene as tense and horrible as the one he was witness to now, he knew he was in no danger, and so, in an odd way, he was relaxed.

Any calmness fled him as he turned to face the beast. This vision seemed like it was going to break his complacency in half.

The creature’s eyes were staring straight at Sky. He still couldn’t make out most of its features, but one thing had come into sharp focus.

A smile. Large, too large for its face, and larger still. Too many teeth, and not all of them in the right places. And yet, from what Sky could make out, it seemed less malicious, and more… resigned.

It sickened him. He took a quick step backward, as the creature began to slowly ooze towards him, tenderly of smoke creeping along the floor towards him.

Unfortunately, just because Wild, the source of the blood pooled on the floor, was gone, did not mean that the blood itself was gone.

Sky slipped, cracking his head on the glassy surface of the ground. He groaned, his head throbbing, the world spinning.

“Why do you try to run from me, Hero? I am inescapable.” The words drew Sky’s scattered attention back to their speaker. The voice had lost its resonance. Now, it was raspy and off-putting.

Sky could only lay still and tremble as the creature moved closer, and closer.

A defeated laugh tore through the air, and Sky couldn’t tell if it came from him or the creature.

[salvejoon]

Mornings of You and I | pjm - M

If we hold on together I know our dreams will never die Dreams see us through to forever Where clouds roll by For you and I

⇒ Summary: Jimin had been too tired to celebrate your anniversary the night before but this morning, he intends to rectify that.

⇒ Pairing: Jimin x female reader 

⇒ Genre: Fluff and smut.

⇒ Rating: 18+

⇒ Word count: 2.9k

⇒ Warnings: fingering (f receiving), blow job, semi public sex as in someone could easily walk in on them, unprotected sex (wrap it up, my dudes), sweet and soft boi Jimin and a tiny bit bratty reader, creampie. 

⇒ A/N: Hello my sweets, I’m back with a short one. This one is for @ppersonna​ because I know she loves Chimmy as much as me 🥺 anyway, I hope you enjoy it! 

⩶⩶⩶⩶

The softest of sighs left Jimin as he rolled over, the cover sliding further down his body, arms reaching out to tuck the woman next to him closer. He hummed in confusion when he found the spot empty and slowly opened one eye, squinting when the sun peeking in between the curtains bounced off the white satin covering his bed. 

He glanced at the alarm clock on the night stand. 

06:57 AM 

Sitting up in the bed, allowing himself a few moments to wake up before getting out. He stretched and looked out the window. It was still early and the sun was barely appearing above the tree lines of the grounds below. He smiled when he heard birds chirping and opened the window more to listen and to allow a fresh gust of wind to enter the bedroom. 

He took a deep breath and headed to the bathroom to take care of business. Jimin exited the bathroom, feeling a little bit more fresh after having washed his face in some cold water. 

He looked at the empty bed and felt a slight pang of guilt as he remembered last night. It had been you and his 1 year anniversary but you both had agreed upon not planning anything big to celebrate, you had still surprised him with a late dinner and the finest lace undergarments, promising him a night full of love and pleasure. 

Jimin had simply been too tired to do anything but eat and go to bed. It had been an awful long day in the studio. You had been understanding though and backed off but Jimin saw the flash of disappointment in your eyes before you had returned to eating. 

He felt bad. 

Opening the door, he walked into the hallway and his hopes raised as he heard to silent the rest of the apartment was. His friends were still sleeping. It was Saturday, after all and they would be sleeping in. 

His feet carried him towards the kitchen, the scent of cooking enticing him closer and that’s when he heard soft Hispanic tunes playing. He smiled when he entered the kitchen and saw you stand by the island, a bowl in front of you, dressed in your robe, the off-white color contrasting your skin nicely, your hips swaying gently to the tunes and your humms following the beat.  

Jimin quietly walked over, standing behind you and you jumped slightly when he circled his arms around you but quickly relaxed in his arms as he placed his chin on your shoulder. 

“Good morning, handsome.” You greeted him and he saw the corner of your lips tug upwards, “Did you sleep well?” 

He nodded, “I did.” He turned his head and placed a peck underneath your ear, “But I missed waking up next to my beautiful girlfriend.” 

You chuckled softly and shrugged, “I wanted to make you and the others breakfast. Felt like you needed someone to take care of you for a change. I know you’ve been busy.” 

“You’re spoiling us, Y/N.” 

“Hmm, yes but you like it.” 

Jimin loved it. He loved that you were so caring towards him and his friends but breakfast was the furthest thing on his mind right now - he had other plans. 

“I feel bad about last night.” You heard him sigh into your neck and he squeezed you once.

“Jimin, baby, I told you already, don’t feel bad.”

“But I still do… You prepared dinner and dressed up real pretty, just for me and I didn’t even have the energy to show you how appreciative I was.” You stiffened in his arms when one of his hands slid up your stomach and slipped underneath your robe to grope your breast. You whimpered lowly when his thumb glided across your nipple, causing it to harden and you bit your lower lip when he licked a stripe from your neck to your ear.

“But I intent on showing you now.” He whispered in your ear and you shivered. 

“Jimin, the others-”

“Are sleeping, so keep quiet, beautiful and they won’t wake up.” He nipped at your earlobe before moving his free hand to loosen the belt of your robe, his other hand moving up across your collarbones to gently pry it off your shoulder. 

You exhaled, “B-but the pancakes-”

“Can wait.” 

Jimin’s lips kissed their way down from your ear to your bare shoulder, his hands moving to cup both your breasts, causing you to whimper and squirm in his arms when he pinched the nipples, “I had hoped you wore the bralette from yesterday.” 

You huffed, “You try sleeping with that shit on - ah - when it’s both uncomfortable and hot.” 

He kissed the junction of your shoulder and neck before grinning, “I prefer you naked anyway.” 

You grabbed the edge of the counter top when he moved a hand to the junction of your thighs, “Open up for me, baby.” He murmured against your skin and nipped at it harshly when you didn’t, “Sweetness, do as I say.” 

“B-But then I can’t keep quiet.” 

He hummed and began drawing patterns on your lower stomach, “Won’t you try? For me?” 

At this point, he could get you to do anything for him, so you spread your thighs a little, his hands went down to your center and when you heard him groan, you knew you were already plenty soaked. 

“So wet already.” 

“J-Jimin...” 

He hushed you as his ring finger prodded your entrance and you let out a soft moan. His thumb found your clit easily and drew lazy circles around it, making you buck against him. He was already hard and it was getting unbearable. Then he dipped a finger inside you and you bit your lip when his finger moved in a come hither fashion. 

“Please.” You begged and turned your head towards his on your shoulder. Pancakes all but forgotten and the music tuned out as your heart pounded in your ears, Jimin lifted his hand from your breast to your chin, holding it gently as he languidly kissed you, using the moment to add another finger into your cunt. You moaned into the kiss and his tongue delved into your mouth, meeting yours, massaging it slowly. You felt drool dribble down your chin as you kissed, your hips slowly riding his hand as he fucked you with his fingers. 

“You’re so hot, fuck.” Jimin growled as he drew back, letting go of your chin and rested his forehead on your shoulder as you kept on riding his hand, moaning softly along with you as he felt your slick slide down his hand and dribble onto the floor. You threw your head back when his fingers curled inside you and hit that soft fleshy spot, doing your best not to wake up the entire household as you bit your lower lip hard. 

“You cumming, sweetheart?” He asked, before sucking on a sensitive spot on your shoulder, making you keen and contrast around his finger, “Can you cum for me?” 

You nodded wildly as his thumb pressed on your clit with more pressure, his other hand cupping your right breast roughly, pinching your nipple, that coupled with his soft plush lips on your shoulder, sucking a bruise into your skin made you unravel and you came with a soundless scream, your head thrown back onto his shoulder. His fingers kept fucking you until you whimpered from overstimulation and you felt relief when he withdrew them. 

You turned around in his arms and finally got a good look at your boyfriend. His black hair was messy from sleep, his cheeks flushed prettily, his thick lips red and slightly chapped, his chocolate eyes blown out completely with desire.

For you.

Your eyes travelled further south, down to his chest and the planes of his well toned stomach, your eyes honing in on the tattoo on his ribs, down to the black boxers he wore that hugged his body and did little to help his erection. 

A tap to your chin made you raise your head and you looked into his eyes.

He lifted his hand and held eye contact when he put his index and middle finger, covered in your wetness, into his mouth, moaning at the taste of you. You stared at the lewd action with hunger and when he removed his fingers from his mouth, you pounced, your arms going around his neck as you pulled his face down, tasting yourself as your tongues mixed in a heady dance that made you feel floaty. 

Jimin had always been a great kisser. 

He half-chuckled, half-groaned when you put a hand over his erection but he grabbed your hand and ended the kiss. 

You pouted and he nuzzled your nose, “Eager baby?” He said, his voice deep and rough from want. 

“Can’t really fucking help it, now can I?” You retorted and he let out a breathless laugh and pecked your lips, smirking when you chased after his lips with your own. He moved his hand from your wrist to your hand, interlacing your fingers and led you to the dining table, pulled out a chair and sat down. 

“Do what you want to me, beautiful.” You should be ashamed of how fast you let go of his hand and dropped to your knees in front of him, between his muscular thighs, your hands pulling down his boxers and letting his hard cock out, but you weren’t. 

Jimin had seen plenty of beautiful views in his life but nothing came even close as you sitting on your knees before him, looking up at him like he had gifted you the universe itself. You pulled back your hair and grabbed his cock, enjoying how he shifted in the chair, anticipating what was to come. 

You took one last longing glance at his face before you descended, moving your hand up his cock to the head, your thumb spreading the precum there as you licked him from the base to the top. He let out a small moan at the action and you did it again before kissing the tip and taking him into your warm, wet mouth. 

He let out a deprived groan, like he had been waiting for this his whole life, when you twirled your tongue around the head, gently prodding at the small opening. 

You felt yourself grow wetter by the sounds he made as you sank further down, taking him as deep as you could, resisting the urge to gag when he hit the back of your throat. Your boyfriend might not have the longest dick in the world but he certainly had girth, so you had to slack your jaw as you began to bob your head. 

Above you, Jimin made noises, his soft whines and moans only spurring you on. 

“S-Shit, you’re good at this, Y/N - Holy shit!” He erupted a little too loudly and you released him with a soft pop.

“Gotta keep quiet, baby, don’t want to wake up the others, now do we?” You said with a teasing smirk and your response was him glaring at you, but his expression quickly changed when you took him back into your mouth and sucked. His hips bucked at that and you gagged at the sudden movement, pinching his thigh in warning. 

“S-Sorry, it just feel so good.” You heard him stammer above you and you hummed, resuming your earlier movement. You allowed him to place a hand on the back of your head, his fingers interweaving into your hair, gently grabbing it as you moved your lips up and down his cock. 

Something tightened in the pit of his stomach and he tugged your hair gently, “Babe, you - ah - have to stop.” 

You drew back, placed a soft kiss to the head and stood back up, let him pull you flush up against him and smiled down at him. 

“I love you.” He whispered, placing a kiss in the valley between your breasts, “I need you, Y/N. So badly.” 

You grabbed his shoulders for support as you moved to straddle him. The chair wasn’t big enough, so you kept your feet on the ground, albeit tiptoed. It creaked slightly under the added weight but once you were settled on top of him, you kissed him slowly, loving, murmuring ‘I love you’ into the kiss. You moved a hand between your bodies and downwards, pushing your ruined panties to the side and then grabbed his cock, lining it up with your entrance. 

Jimin looked up at you with desire, love and longing in his eyes and you drank in how his jaw went slack as you slowly sank down onto him, your walls dancing around him at the intrusion. 

“Fuck…” He whined and grabbed you tighter as his hips twitched under you, “I don’t want to leave ever.” 

It burned a little but it always did due to his girth but you took that time to simply enjoy each other. 

“I love you.” He repeated when you lifted your hips, only to fall down on him, “So much.” 

“I love you too.” You whispered and set a slow pace of going up and down, riding him, “You feel so good.” 

“Y-You do too. So fucking good.” He moaned and his head fell back as you began grinding on him, the feel of your wet and warm heat tightened around him sending him reeling. 

To him, there was no better place on earth than inside of you. Joined with you. 

But soon your legs began to burn and your pace faltered. Jimin noticed and moved his hands to your ass and held you tight when he lifted up from the chair, your legs going around his hips and laid you down on the dining table. 

Jimin moved slightly, your legs untangling themselves and he put them in the bend of his forearms, slowly dragging his cock out, looking down, moaning at the sight of how well your cunt took him as he pushed back it in. 

“Fuck, that’s hot.” He groaned, repeating the motion but this time harder, causing your breasts to bounce and you let out a gasp at the new angle. His cock hit all the right places and it felt like someone had lit a match and set your nerves on fire as he dragged his cock over that same spot over and over and over.

Before long, you were a mess before him: hands clawing at his arms, chest, anything within reach, your legs trembled with your approaching orgasm, your breasts bouncing wildly as he increased the pace, jaw slack as the sexiest sounds came from your mouth. 

Your cunt clenched around him, causing him to whine loudly and grab your waist as he began to pound you harder and faster. His eyes went from your face to your bouncing breasts and he leaned forward, catching a nipple with his teeth and you keened. 

“Jimin, baby, I-” You stopped when you felt him rub circles around your clit, your back arching off the hard wood, “Ah fuck!” 

“Not so loud, beautiful.” He said as he released your nipple.

“Hnngh - fuck you.” You fired back but the insult lost all it’s meaning when you ended it with a small cry as you felt your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks. Your body went rigid and you came with a loud gasp. 

Jimin clenched his teeth when your cunt constricted and clenched him almost painfully, “Shit, shit, shit, hang on baby, I’m so close.” 

“Don’t you dare stop.” You wailed, his thrusts prolonging your orgasm and you spasmed wildly when you felt him heave a deep breath, his member enlarging slightly and you felt his release paint your walls. He let out a guttural groan as he kept filling you up, thrusts slowing down until they came to a halt. 

Jimin swept the sweaty strands of his hair back with a hand and he smirked down at you, “How are you feeling, baby?” 

You huffed and managed to prop yourself up on your elbows, “Amazing but stuffed.” 

He chuckled and leaned down to kiss you. You met him halfway and enjoyed the afterglow for a minute before he retracted and pulled out of you. He put your panties back and cupped your center.

“Keep it inside you, my love.” 

You cocked an eyebrow, “While I make breakfast?” He helped you stand back up, your legs a little wobbly but you managed, “Really?” You asked as you adjusted your robe, trying the belt.

“I want to fuck it out of you later and fill you again.” 

“Later? I thought you and the guys were heading out today.” 

“I’m staying home today.”

You beamed at him and pecked his lips and walked over to the sink to clean your hands. 

Jimin headed out of the kitchen, wanting to take a quick shower when he stumbled upon a smirking but flushed Hoseok. 

“Morning.” The rapper greeted, “Had fun?” 

Jimin’s cheeks heated up, “You didn’t see anything?”

“Pfft, no. But I certainly heard…”

“I’m sorry, hyung.” 

“Don’t be but I am not eating breakfast on the dining table.”

Jimin nodded and was about to pass his friend when he froze and turned around, “I-I thought you said you didn’t see anything?” 

Hoseok looked past his friend and headed for the kitchen, “Did you hear that? I think Y/N is calling me.”

“YAH! I THOUGHT YOU SAID YOU DIDN’T SEE ANYTHING!”

[sombreboy]

Mused obsession (4)

Written by @sombreboy​​​ as Jungkook & @chimoona​​​​​ as Jimin Banner by @carly-bean-blog​​​​​

[ masterlist ]

⇢Explicit (18+) ⇢Pairing: Jungkook & Jimin ⇢Genre: yandere, smut, mxm ⇢Word count: 9k ⇢Ch.warnings: profanity, jealous jk, tattooing, light descriptions of blood/pain, exhibitionist jk oh boy, graphic desc. of piercing jk's cock (I'm no piercer so don't take this literally it's fiction, infections don't exist in this world pls be sanitary.), more intense sexual tension because why not, jk is a total sadomasochist and this you need to remember forever for every damn chapter. xo

Industry famous Jeon Jungkook of GJK photography takes an interest in a model and up-and-coming fashion designer, Park Jimin. After an opportunity to study the man behind his trusty lens, he thinks he may have just found his new muse.

The next morning Jungkook’s alarm went off early, and he groaned out curses. For once, he didn’t want to wake up. The quality of sleep he’d gotten was a rarity in his life, all thanks to the man laying next to him. Jungkook turns the alarm off before clinging to Jimin, pressing soft kisses on the crook of his neck, wishing he could stay in bed forever.

It isn’t the alarm that rouses Jimin but the motion of Jungkook behind him. Gentle kisses tickle his neck and strong arms hold him close—a kind comforting touch he hasn’t felt since his ex. He turns to face the man, pressing his parted mouth to his, still groggy with sleep. “Good morning,” he coos, brushing his plump lips down Jungkook’s flushed neck before resting in the indent of his collar.  He slept well enough, but the unfamiliar setting caused him to wake a couple times throughout the night. Even then, Jungkook’s warmth and protective hold coaxed him back to sleep. “What day is it?” He wonders out loud, not ready to sit up and check for himself. The mixture of liquor from the night before doesn’t help his focus in the slightest, feeling slightly hungover and lethargic. “Have you seen my phone?” He dreads the many messages he probably has from his manager, or even Tae.

Jungkook hums, ignoring every single question being thrown at him. He just wants to hold Jimin forever. But eventually, he reaches over to the nightstand where he’s placed the elder’s phone and hands it over, then cuddles up close to get a look at the screen as well. He’s extremely curious after all—does anybody miss Jimin? How easy would it possibly be to just...keep him?

No, that’s too early. Things take time.

“I don’t know, but there’s breakfast ready whenever you’re hungry...” Jungkook murmurs with a raspy morning voice.

“Mm, sounds good…” Just as Jimin suspected, ten messages and four phone calls. Most are from his manager, a couple from Taehyung apologizing, and one from… interesting. Jimin flicks off the covers from his side of the bed and wriggles out of Jungkook’s arms, regrettably.  “Breakfast sounds great,” he picks his robe from the floor and wraps it around himself in a hurry, “I just need to make a few phone calls.” He leans onto the bed and gives the younger a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll make it quick, promise.”

Before Jungkook has a chance to reply, Jimin steps out onto the attached balcony and closes the door behind him. First thing’s first, he definitely needs to let his manager know he’s not dead in a ditch. However, more importantly, he’s dying to know why his ex messaged him out of the blue after so many months of silence. He’s a vague man. The only thing his text said was “Proud.”

Jungkook’s lip twitches as he watches the blonde close the balcony door in a hurry. What is so important? He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a bit curious...and frustrated. He doesn’t like secrets, even if Jimin doesn’t owe him anything... technically . Jungkook wants to know, and he will, eventually. The photographer lays low, gets out of bed to puts on a pair of sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt. He grabs his own phone and sits back down, scrolling through social media... Jimin’s show was a hit, trending, both photos and praise, on the news. Of course, there were the photos of Jungkook, smiling as he was enjoying the show—which also drew a whole lot more attention towards the blonde, as if making Jeon Jungkook smile was an achievement. Jungkook scoffs, but nonetheless happy about the many pictures available of Jimin, saving several to his phone as he continuously glances over at the balcony.

Who is he calling… Kook cranes his neck to try and decipher Jimin’s facial expressions, but can’t quite make it out...

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. No, Jeon didn’t kidnap me and hide me in his basement. No—GOD, what kind of man do you think I am? Yeah…yeah…okay, thanks for covering. It went really well? Trending? Goood…okay, yeah, thanks for calling. Sorry to worry you…bye.” Jimin checks in with his manager. They’re annoying as hell but they mean well. He shoots Tae a quick text, telling him to sleep it off.  Then Jimin flicks through his contact list until his thumb hovers over the one name he didn’t think he’d ever call again—Seung-Ho.  The man started as a lifestyle influencer, wearing Lululemon shorts at Machu Picchu or casually eating the latest novelty hipster food with a bright smile on his face. Now he’s the brand ambassador and face of Jimin’s biggest competitor.

“Jimin, baby…,” he coos over the receiver. “I’m so proud…”

Inside, Jungkook grows restless, bouncing his leg with clasped hands as he stares at Jimin through the glass door. Who is he talking to? Why is it taking so damn long? Why did he hover over the screen for several seconds before pressing the call button? He didn’t want to wait any longer—who is more important than Jungkook? Normally, the younger is extremely patient in every other aspect of his life, but when it comes to Jimin giving somebody else his attention, it runs out quick. He gets up to saunter over to the balcony door, carefully sliding it open to eavesdrop.

“Seung-ie—“ Jimin catches himself, “Seung-Ho.” He rolls his face in his palm. It’s too early in the morning to have this conversation with the ghost of his past. Regardless, he’s very curious to know why he reached out after all this time. “Why did you text me? To say you’re proud?” He can’t help but smile a little when the man on the other line praises his clothing collection. Apparently Seung was in the audience the whole time, absolutely loved Jimin’s little speech, and even took note of how well the model looked on stage under all the glowing lights. He laughs, recalling the last time he took Jimin out on a date—how he spilled slushie all over his pure white button up and they had to make an emergency stop at Neiman Marcus for a spare.

“I miss you, Mochi,” he says lowly from the other side, deep and seductive. “When can I see you again?”

Seung-ie?… Seung-Ho. Why does the name sound familiar?  Jungkook rolls his tongue against the fleshy inside of his cheek, listening for merely a minute before he decides it’s enough. He announces his presence by snaking his arms around Jimin’s waist, placing his chin in the crook of the elders neck, placing soft kisses against it.

Mine…

Kook leans in to whisper into Jimin’s ear, “I’m hungry…”

It distracts Jimin’s train of thought to have Jungkook kissing his sensitive neck. One ounce of attention from the man and he is absolute putty.

“Who was that?” Jimin hears Seung-Ho chime from the other end.

“I’ve got to go, but thank you for coming to the show,” Jimin replies, wrapping up the call. He presses the end button and turns in Jungkook’s arms to face him. He looks annoyed to say the least, but he doesn’t blame him, he would be too. “Just a stupid ex,” Jimin whispers before melding his lips to the other man’s. “Let’s eat…”

 Jungkook grasps and guides Jimin’s chin between his long, tattooed fingers to face him. “Why’d they call you?” He’s no longer subtle with his concern, the mere mention of an ex causes his eyebrows to furrow. “They bothering you?” He continues, his fingers tightening ever slightly around the blondes chin, his face so close that their lips graze together with every word spoken. His other hand remains wrapped around Jimin’s waist, keeping their bodies tightly pressed together, as if the elder would disappear if he didn’t hold him.

Jimin rolls his eyes and tries to shake off the goosebumps still prickling from Seung-Ho’s compliments. “He’s probably bored,” he covers, still not entirely sure why the man reached out. He said he was proud, but why should Jimin care what he thinks? As Jungkook’s hold tightens, Jimin feels the need to be honest, as if the truth is being squeezed from him. “He liked the show. Wants to see me again, but...,” he squeezes Jungkook back, “I’m far too busy.”

“Too bad for him.” Jungkook mutters, a small smile tugging at his lips as he feels Jimin’s reassuring squeeze. He feels his stomach rumble, looping his fingers between Jimin’s as he pulls the elder with him inside towards the dining hall.  If the blonde isn’t already constantly reminded by the wealth the young photographer possesses, this would be one of many reminders. A large table filled with all kinds of breakfast delicacies greet them, way too much for one, two or even three people. This might as well be a buffet for a party. “I didn’t know what you’d like, so...I got everything.” Kook shrugs, as if this isn’t his everyday life anyway, zeroing his eyes in on the fridge filled with his favorite beverage.

Jimin never has to leave. Every little thing that could possibly accommodate his needs is right here in the photographer’s house. “There’s so much to choose from...” Jimin’s hunger increases the longer he looks. He doesn’t even feed himself most of what’s available, but he almost feels like he’s on vacation, so he grabs a pastry and quickly devours it before the guilt sinks in. The flakey, sugary taste is sweeter than sweet as it hits his lips. “Here…” he lifts the danish to Jungkook’s mouth and coaxes him to take a bite without a second thought. The instinctual domestic nature is less and less jarring the longer he stays.

Jungkook’s eyes widen a tad bit in surprise at the sudden gesture, but quickly grasps Jimin’s wrist to guide the pastry to his mouth, chomping off a large piece. His eyes flutter shut with a quiet hum in content—his adoration for sweets so strong that one would wonder how the hell he has the physique he does. “You’re a man of taste,” he chuckles, bringing the straw of his drink to his lips to wash the pastry down. He could definitely get used to having Jimin here, seeing the elders' reactions to his everyday life, so adorable. Having somebody here is a nice change. Sharing this with him is all Jungkook starts to crave. “Try the fruit. Get me some grapes.”

The grapes grabbed Jimin’s attention right away—so ripe and juicy. He lifts a vine from the table and plucks off a single grape, popping it into his mouth and biting down with a satisfying crunch. A light moan tickles his throat, unable to contain how much he enjoys every bit of this.  “Want one?” He plucks another grape and grasps it between his teeth, bringing it up to Jungkook’s lips to feed him directly.

With a smile, Jungkook leans in to bite the exposed half of the grape and within the same movement, grasps Jimin’s waist to push their hips together. “Want you ,” he shamelessly admits, digging his long fingers into the blonde’s sides, tipping his head forward to press a soft kiss on his plush lips. Jimin is already acting more and more in the manners that Jungkook wants; so sweet and almost domestic, like they’re actually together. He really likes it...and in his own mind, they might as well be. He has no eyes for anybody else since he saw the blonde step into his photo session.

Jimin’s hold tightens, digging to be grounded in reality while his mind floats somewhere else. He doesn’t know what’s come over him, feeling so clingy and lustful since the second Jungkook called him “baby.” “N-need you,” he says quietly. His eyes fall away from the other man as his cheeks flush with embarrassment. He isn’t sure what exactly he needs, but every little facet of his time with the photographer is so overwhelmingly euphoric he can’t imagine being apart.

One of Jungkook’s hands moves up the elders body until he reaches his neck, carefully sliding down the robe on one side to expose his small shoulder. “Yeah?” He nuzzles his nose into Jimin’s neck. Fuck, he smells so nice... A deep inhale follows, unable to resist the urge to brush his lips against Jimin’s soft skin. This man is the human embodiment of a drug.

“Yeah,” Jimin replies, weak in the knees. He pushes his robe down further for Jungkook to feel and breathe in any part he desires. He does the same to the other man, tugging the robe loose until it hangs slack around his back. He kisses his way up his built arm, paying close attention to the tattoos that decorate his skin.  “Didn’t expect you to have so many,” Jimin notes with lips pressed lightly to a dark tattoo engraved in his shoulder. “I’ve always wanted more. Love the way they look.”

“Want a tattoo?” Jungkook muses. The mere thought clashes in his mind. Jimin’s skin is precious , not just any tattoo would be good enough. He sighs at the sensation of the elders lips and knows exactly who he’d choose to fulfill his wishes, if he wanted. There’s nobody he’d ever trust more than his personal tattoo artist, Kim Namjoon. He’d lie if he said he wasn’t anticipating the sounds the blonde would make as soon as the needles graze his tender skin... “What would you get?”

Jimin lifts the hem of his robe, exposing his naked thigh. “It would need to be special. Maybe something small. I’m thinking here...” he motions to the taut muscle, pure and unmarked. Jimin surveys Jungkook’s expression as he rubs a thumb over the flesh, “Wouldn’t it look pretty here, Jeon?” Clearly the younger appreciates body markings. It’s only fair his input is taken into consideration. He is, after all, the one who unknowingly influenced Jimin to finally do it.

Jungkook crouches down in front of him, allowing his slender, inked fingers to smooth down Jimin’s thigh until he reaches the part that’s meant for the tattoo. He takes a short moment to just admire the firm, untouched skin before gazing up at the blonde. “It would look gorgeous...I have the perfect person for the job. Maybe after today’s fitting?” He tilts his head in question, wondering if the model would truly be up for it. If Jimin mentions he wants something, Jungkook can’t get it out of his mind until he has it. Was it a small comment in the heat of the moment?

For Jimin, it’s so easy to just say yes when Jungkook asks a question. His wide bambi eyes sparkle with intrigue, and who is Jimin to strip that joy from him?

“Yes,” he answers, a little hesitant. He was just playing around to get a rise out of the younger man, but the idea of getting permanently marked while Jungkook watches is even more exhilarating. “But after the fitting. I need to be in top shape if I’m going to get down on my knees and measure you properly.”

Jungkook’s expression lights up—a yes is definitely what he wanted to hear. He knows he’ll have to set the plan in motion, because Jimin wants it.

“That I agree with,” Jungkook coyly replies with a crooked eyebrow. The playful spark in his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed as he leans in to kiss the blonde’s thigh. He plants a soft peck before standing up to cup Jimin’s cheeks. “Have you eaten enough? We should get ready.”

Jimin quickly devours another danish before his body tells him not to, living just a little longer in the fantasy world Jungkook created. It really is too good here, and with the other man adoring every facet of his being, it’s very hard to leave. Leaving Jungkook to finish his breakfast, Jimin finds his way to the nearest shower and instantly gravitates to the shampoo Jungkook lathered him with the night before. It’s a comforting smell that is now regrettably faint on his skin from a deep sleep. He hurries to coat himself in it, head to toe, blissing in the cloud of humidified scent blooming under the warm cascade of heat. After a short while, he steps out, feeling like a new man, ready to give Jungkook the suit of his dreams and repay him for everything.

Jungkook doesn’t bother with a shower, but simply gets dressed and waits. He runs his hand through his messy locks. The ruffled look adds to his childish yet not so innocent charm, juxtaposed against his black dress shirt that fits his firm physique, paired with black jeans. It’s a casual look, yet his adorning jewelry showcases that he is anything but ordinary, with many shiny rings and an expensive necklace that rests at the base of his neck.  While waiting for Jimin, Jungkook lays down on his couch and contacts Namjoon to make sure he’s available and ready after the fitting. He’s giddy to surprise Jimin with the news... later .

All the while, Jimin wrapped back into his robe and padded down to Jungkook’s studio in hopes of retrieving his clothes, however, he found them neatly folded on a decorative console table just outside. The studio door was shut and locked tight, which he found slightly odd for a mere photography studio. Regardless, he was sure Jungkook had his reasons. He changed into his clothes from the night before and finessed his hair into a presentable style with a bit of product he found laying around. It’s not best practice in the world of fashion to be seen in public wearing the same thing twice, but he made an exception for the day.

Eventually, Jungkook grew bored and decided to go find the blonde roaming around his house, only to find all ready in yesterday's outfit. Cute.

“Ready to go? Car’s waiting outside for us.” He reaches out with grabby hands for Jimin, waiting for him to get the hint; to run to him. The younger wishes for the domestic feeling to never go away, and he was curious how the blonde would act among other people.

Luckily for Jungkook, Jimin got the hint right away and walked towards him quickly, still taking the time to admire his fit as he approached. Today is going to be difficult— how can he build upon perfection? It’s hard not to implode by how cute Jungkook is, looking the way he does, so effortless and cool; truly a muse fit for the occasion. “Ready,” Jimin nods, smiling widely and snuggling into Jungkook’s arms to enjoy a few last moments in this fantasyland before transitioning back to Park Jimin, the supermodel and fashion aficionado.

Jungkook cups the blonde’s cheek and guides his face to look up at him—a last close up look before their one-on-one dynamic would be broken, momentarily. His butterfly truly has a duality to him that is admirable, however the way the elder can easily crumble for him is incredible.

“Okay, let’s go.” He flashes his signature toothy smile and turns to guide them to the waiting car. His arm tightly grips Jimin’s waist until he has to let go to hold the door open for him.

~

Preparations were made on Jimin’s part during the ride. It seems his assistant is used to last-minute bookings since he started his Be Your Light collection. Last-minute tailorings for industry events and spontaneous all-nighters when inspiration struck. For this occasion, he requested that all the materials be ready for him to use alone—No assistants. The attention would be purely put on Jungkook. Just like the photographer’s preferred work style, Jimin wanted no distractions.

It was go-time the second they arrived—Jimin’s assistant guided the two men into a secluded wing of his studio where a myriad of patterns, leathers and fabrics were laid out.

“This is perfect, thank you,” Jimin nods his approval and flashes a sparkling smile, then begins to pull together his measuring tools. “Jeon, please, take a look around and tell me if anything catches your eye.”

Jungkook begins to stroll around the different materials to work with, fingers smoothing over the fabrics tentatively.  His eyes keep looking back and forth between the black silk and leather. He always tended to like darker, edgier themes, but the soft and shiny material is so comfortable to touch. Jungkook grasps it in his hand and holds it up for Jimin to see with a lopsided and challenging smirk on his lips.

“Could you make me something with this?”

“There’s a lot I can do with that.”

Jimin strolls up to feel the smooth silk beneath his fingertips. Leather would have been a fine choice for its stability and durability, but he likes a challenge. “Black silk,” he notes, plucking the swatch from Jungkook’s hands to inspect it further, “it can be very complimentary to your skin tone.” He rubs his thumb over the rise and fall of the fabric’s exterior—a faint textured brocade, so unique and fitting for the man—dark, yet subdued. “If I tailor it just right, it can hold your shape or flow loose, if you choose.” His designer mind flicks on and he plots the form internally. “What kind of event do you plan to attend in a silk suit, Jeon?”

“I don’t know yet,” Jungkook shrugs, a smile mixed between sheepish and coy replacing his challenging smirk. His eyes follow Jimin’s delicate fingers as they smoothe over the fabrics, already wishing they were on him instead. Growing impatient, he jumps a bit in his position. “I want the silk, make it fitted…” He muses for a moment. “And a low front?”

“A low front, huh?” Jimin glides a hand down the front of Jungkook’s shirt and tugs a little to reveal his defined collarbones. “A very wise choice,” he smirks, releasing the shirt with a snap, “take this off, I’ll need to get close to your body for the tightest fit.” He takes a couple steps back to give Jungkook space, itching to rid the shirt and everything else. However, this is a big opportunity to make something neoteric and special. The process will be the greatest test of his patience.

“Everything?” Jungkook coyly replies as he pulls his shirt over his head, shamelessly exposing his upper body to Jimin. He kind of likes this side of Jimin. No, scrap that–he really likes it. The photographer is rarely ever told what to do, and the elders' confidence and passion for his work is just adding to the younger's growing infatuation.

Jimin bites his lip at the question. “Eager, aren’t we?” His fingers fall to Jungkook’s waist, gliding across his exposed hips and down to his belt buckle. “No, Jeon, just the shirt for now.” He gives the buckle a light tap and then steps behind the photographer, releasing a soft sigh at the smooth expanse of flesh he’s blessed to dress any way he likes. “We’ll start with the top and work our way down. Now stay nice and relaxed, I want to make sure the measurements are precise.”

Jungkook’s coy pout matches the mischief in his eyes as he glances over his shoulder at the blonde. “Yes, Mr. Park.” He turns his head back to look straight forward, letting his arms dangle loosely on his sides. “Take your time with me.” Jungkook really dragged out the way he said the elders last name, as if they weren’t already past the point of formalities.

Jimin takes his time to touch and measure Jungkook’s torso until he has every inch of muscle definition saved to memory. The younger’s enthusiasm encourages him to work with full concentration as he daydreams about the low neckline and how he’ll form it. However, he’s easily snapped from his thoughts whenever he is referred to as “Mr. Park,” like he’s never been called the name before. When it rolls off of Jungkook’s tongue, it’s no longer a name given at birth but a name given to tease. He drapes the measuring tape around the back of his neck and pauses, taking one last second to admire all of Jungkook’s tattoos, fully exposed just for him. What a predicament he’s gotten himself into. He doesn’t want to rush the process, but once the pants come off, he may need to pick up the pace.

“Now the pants, Jeon,” Jimin instructs with the firmest tone he can muster, “take them off for me.”

Jungkook cocks a playful eyebrow at the elder male, letting his hands work his belt to slowly unbuckle it. “You’re so cute when you’re bossy.” He unzips and peels his pants down, letting them fall and pool by his feet before stepping out of them, standing in nothing but his boxers. It’s new, being the one to follow orders. But, the way Jimin tries so hard to remain professional is the best part. So the photographer plays along, curious as to how long the blonde can hold his mask before it crumbles.

Jimin continues to act like he doesn’t want to take advantage of Jungkook’s vulnerable state, which is even harder than it looks.

“I’m always cute,” he responds just a little too late and winks at the younger man. He doesn’t know what he’s saying at this point. His brain switches to autopilot once Jungkook’s thick thighs become visible. All he can think to do is take a deep breath, bend to his knees and measure.  Measure, measure. He jots down his findings on a small notepad to keep his hands busy. The process is almost complete—just one more measurement and Jungkook can get dressed. Jimin places his palms on Jungkook’s inner thigh to hold the measuring tape in place for the inseam.  “Hold still,” he asks quietly, feeling small and meek under the younger man’s gaze, “I’m almost done.” His hand soothes over the expanse of his exposed flesh, lingering a little longer than professionally advised.

Jungkook firmly places his hands on his hips as he gazes down at the blonde from above. His potent stare along with the confidence practically oozing off of him is sure to make just about anybody nervous. However, it is Jimin that he wants to bring to his knees, and conveniently enough, he already is. Before Jimin could properly measure his inner thigh, Jungkook playfully reaches his hand down to brush the blonde locks away from Jimin’s face, then runs his long fingers through it, giving a light tug before withdrawing.

“Done?”

Jimin shudders from the tug at his roots, causing his muscles to tense from the pleasure and proximity of the man above. He can’t resist the effect Jungkook’s beautiful hands have on him, especially when they’re carded through his soft hair, caressing him any way they please. “Almost done,” he says in a low tone, aching to deflect attention from the growing tent in his pants. “But if you keep distracting me, we’ll be here all day.” He glides his hand higher up the younger man’s inner thigh until it touches the hemline of his briefs. “Would you like that, Jeon?”

“Is that a question or a proposition?” Jungkook’s light smirk doesn’t go unnoticed. His hand doesn’t leave the blonde’s curls as he twirls the light ends between his fingers. God, did he love to tease the model, who’s eyes seem to dilate with lust as they gaze up at him with innocence. But Jungkook knows by now that he is far from the angel he initially presented himself as.

Jimin replies with a smirk of his own, dragging his small fingertips down the younger’s inner thigh to take the last measurement. He purposefully brushes the back of his hand against the bulge in Jungkook’s briefs and teases him through the fabric for just a second, then withdraws completely as if nothing happened. “I’ll pass my notes to my assistant so she can begin the preliminary steps—shouldn’t take long.” He stands to his feet and steps so close to Jungkook that their bodies nearly touch. “You did great, Jeon. You can get dressed now.”

Jungkook scrunches his nose in a small, toothy smile. The blonde really tried to play him at his own game. Well, if that’s what he wants... He nods lightly before turning around to bend over and pick his clothes up, slowly putting the fabrics on one by one without a word. Maybe Jimin expected a different reaction, but Jungkook wanted the blonde pining rather than simply giving him what he wanted.  As he is fully dressed, he turns back to face Jimin and reaches out to caress his cheek with the back of his hand. “I'm thrilled to see what you come up with… Now, are we done for today?”

“That’s a wrap,” Jimin nods, internally cursing himself for encouraging Jungkook to dress so quickly. Regardless, it wouldn’t hurt to show some affection now that the measurements are recorded.  He melts into Jungkook’s caress and curls his arm around the small of his waist to guide him to the door. He peeks up at the taller man beneath his blonde fringe, feeling more relaxed now that he doesn’t have to focus on drafting the suit.

“So, about this tattoo...”

Jungkook’s face lights up at the mention. “Yes! Do you wanna go now?” He is a tad bit over excited about the fact, as he’s made sure that Namjoon was ready to clear his schedule the very second he made the call.  Kook wraps his arm around Jimin’s shoulder to pull him close as they head towards the waiting car. He may have asked, but his mind is already made up—Jimin is getting that tattoo.

“I’m a little nervous,” Jimin confesses, grasping the car door handle and hesitantly tugging it open, “It’s been a while.” He slides into his seat and gets comfortable next to Jungkook. He’s a little out of his element, but he trusts the man, surprisingly enough. He can’t pinpoint why, but he finds solace in his touch—a sense of calm that makes him feel like he could tackle anything. “I don’t even know what I’m going to get,” he laughs, “Shit, Jeon, what did you talk me into?”

“Do you trust me?” Jungkook’s eyes fall on Jimin as he says so, repeating the same words he once said back at their first photoshoot. Without a response, he gives a vague wave of his hand and the chauffeur begins to drive. He places his hand on Jimin’s thigh and let’s it rest there, giving it a light, reassuring squeeze.

It’s not just Jungkook’s words or his touch that pulls Jimin closer—it’s the undivided attention, and his tranquil gaze. Every now and then, Jimin swears he can see the man’s soul in his dark irises. They’re so receptive and kind, but piercing and cool, all at once.

“I trust you,” he speaks above a whisper. Just as he did at their first photo shoot, Jimin places his full and complete trust in Jungkook’s hands. He’s a proven visionary—not only a renowned artist but a man with true vision. If he wants this permanent marking to have the greatest meaning, he’ll leave the final decision up to Jeon Jungkook. That moment in the glass room changed Jimin—seeing his faults fall between the cracks of those mirrored shards, scattered across the floor. He owes this to him. Everything that’s come from that moment has only made Jimin stronger—a better version of himself. “I want you to choose what I get.”

‘‘Really?’‘ Jungkook’s doe eyes widen before they squint in a smile. Small wrinkles appear in the corners of his eyes, adorning his skin. He feels butterflies erupting in his chest at the way Jimin willfully gives his trust. He seems entirely head over heels, and that’s exactly what he wants. Jungkook cranes his neck to close the last bit of distance between their lips in a sweet kiss. He pulls back just enough to stare at how Jimin gazes back in awe, only to lean forward and place another kiss on his plush lips...and another, and another. It’s like a drug. Lips, intoxicating, the way they envelope his with loving care.

Jimin presses back firmly to Jungkook and unbuckles his seatbelt to get closer. There’s far too much pent-up energy and nerves in his body to resist. He moves his hand to the back of the younger man’s neck and guides the kiss. He pulls him deeper, gliding his velvety tongue along Jungkooks, crawling into his lap and straddling him face-to-face.  “Really,” he breathes against his hot lips, “Want you to mark me, sir.”

Jungkook can tell that Jimin’s words have double meaning, which causes him to smile.  The plush of his bottom lip grazes the blonde’s. “It’s a promise, butterfly,” he whispers smoothly as his hands settle in a firm grip on Jimin’s hip bones, squeezing lightly to feel the soft flesh push out between his fingers. Jimin always seemed so fragile when he was like this, yet the innocence in his eyes is nowhere to be seen when he’s slowly becoming corrupted by Jungkook’s various temptations.

Jimin soaks in the feeling of Jungkook’s hands on his hips and allows them to hold him close for the duration of the ride. He wants them to hold him everywhere at once, but unfortunately, Jeon Jungkook isn’t Vishnu with four arms. However, at least in Jimin’s mind, he is god-like. Is it odd for him to think so highly of a man he’s known for less than a week? Life moves quickly in the world of fashion—working partnerships are just another part of it. In the words of Heidi Klum, “one day you’re in, and the next, you’re out.” At this point, he’ll do anything to stay in.

The model cards his fingers through Jungkook’s soft hair as he slides off his lap, giving him a small peck on the lips before settling back into his seat. The car pulls up to the curb of the shop; Jimin instantly feels his tingly heartbeat in the tips of fingers as they wrap around the door handle.  A moment of pause, then... “Lets get it,” he breathes out in a wisp of a laugh.

Jungkook smiles as he leans over Jimin to place his long fingers on top of the blonde’s, unlocking the door with him to push it open. As they head inside, the bell to the shop chimes.

“Jungkookie!” They’re met with a dimpled smile greeting them across the room, pen in-hand, working on a sketch. The man stands up to approach the two and gives Jungkook a hug before doing the same to Jimin.

He surely isn’t shy.  

“Is this Jimin? I’m Namjoon.” He takes a step back to observe the blonde, shooting a quick glance at Jungkook that basically says ‘nice.’

Jimin straightens his posture to give the best impression as it seems this man is not only the one about to stick needles in his flesh, but also a good friend of Jungkook’s. As he’s quickly gathered, it’s a rare occasion to meet anyone Jungkook would call a friend. Jimin can only imagine what he makes of his relationship with the photographer. Namjoon’s dark-lined eyes hold firm on Jimin’s, almost softening to put him at ease. “Park Jimin,” the model smiles, “it’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Namjoon smiles back, his prominent dimples on display. He heads towards his desk to pick up the sketch he was working on, beckoning for the others to come closer, “Check this out.”

Jungkook steps beside Namjoon to take a look. “Perfect,” He coos, doe eyes observing the beautiful flower that Joon had sketched on the paper.

“Great,” Namjoon smiles wider, showing Jimin the sketch. It's a delicate drawing of red petals from the sage flower—the meaning behind it being ‘Forever mine,’ which is sketched in a short note at the foot of the page for reference. Joon already knew this is what Jungkook wanted for this one—always something floral, and always different meanings behind them. This one is the most meaningful one he’s ever done...and not just one more flower to be added to Jungkook’s collection on his arms.

Even on the paper, the red petals seem to burn off the page. It’s as if they’re begging to escape the confines of 2D and become immortalised forever, sunk permanently into Jimin’s flesh. He’s lost for words as he scans every detail even though he’s already set on having it on him for life.

“It really is perfect,” he smiles at the cheery dimpled man. He turns to Jungkook and is pleased to see he’s equally enthralled with the finished product. “You’ve chosen well, Jeon.” He drops his hand down onto his own hip until it lands high on his thigh. “Are we still thinking here, or…somewhere else?”

Jungkook’s eyes rake down Jimin’s body in thought for a long moment until they land on his upper thigh. It seems like the perfect spot, and watching the process will be the most enticing part of it all.

“Right here is perfect,” He agrees, placing his hand on top of Jimin’s to apply light pressure onto the firm muscle.

“Splendid,” Namjoon nods before gesturing towards the large, comfortable chair in the room. “Please remove your pants and have a seat.”

Joon heads over to his chair and rolls it over to his desk to gather necessities while waiting for the blonde to get ready.

Mind over matter—Jimin slides his pants down quickly like he would at any runway show. In a situation like this, modesty flies right out the window. In a matter of minutes he’ll be poked raw while Jungkook watches, and the thought alone makes him hastily take his seat in front of the artist, eager to begin.

“Jungkook?” Jimin asks, looking up at the tall man while he towers over him protectively, “You’ll stay here, right? You won’t leave?” His hand itches to hold his as he hears Namjoon whir the machine a couple times to prep the needles.

“I’ll be here every second,” Jungkook promises with a small nod, reaching to brush away Jimin’s fringe from his forehead before grabbing a chair to take a seat next to him, “I chose the piece after all.”

Namjoon smiles to himself at the sweet exchange, noting just how well Jungkook has Jimin wrapped around his finger. It almost reminds him of how he himself used to feel the same way, once upon a time. “Alright, take deep breaths and don’t move. Let me know if you need to take a break,” Namjoon says as he scoots closer in his chair to place the stencil on Jimin’s upper thigh. He observes the placement before giving Jungkook a questioning look, rather than giving the decision to Jimin. Once Kook confirms with an approving nod, Joon gets to work, whirring the machine as he draws the first line. Both men glance at Jimin between strokes, attentive to see his reaction.

The stinging sensation of pulsing needles on Jimin’s soft flesh is not foreign, yet they feel sharper this time around. Deeper. Joon does not have a light-handed approach, likely as a stylistic choice for bold line work, but it makes the fine hairs at the back of Jimin’s neck stand on end. The artist’s attention to detail reminds him of the perfectionist in himself. He acted similarly when he sketched his clothing designs for the BYL collection, so he respects the process. He grits his teeth and bares through the pain. He can feel Jungkook’s gaze land heavy on his thigh as the needles stitch into his skin and embed vibrant ink. The younger man’s investment in this spontaneous decision is enchanting. The design he chose is brilliant and thoughtful. Jimin wonders if he’s devoted this much of his undivided attention to anyone else besides himself. Surely a man of his prestige has better things to do than this with him .

Nonetheless, Jimin pushes his insecurity aside and places his hand on Jungkook’s thigh for assurance.

Jungkook observes every stroke of Namjoon’s wrist with deep focus to make sure there is not a single mistake done to Jimin’s precious skin. He’s more invested in this moment than he has been with anybody else. Luckily, he knows he can trust Namjoon to do a job that is nothing but absolutely perfect. Watching Jimin’s skin slowly gain lines and colors with a design he chose...it’s a feeling unmatched by any other. ... Well , possibly matched by the way Jimin is obviously struggling to keep a straight face. The light twitches in his plush lips are so endearing. Jungkook grabs Jimin’s small hand and gently strokes his knuckles with his thumb, holding it like that the entire time.

Then, after what feels like forever, the buzzing of the machine finally comes to an end. Namjoon places the needle gun back on the desk before cleaning Jimin’s thigh off, inching forward to inspect the finished result. “Alright, we’re all done. Take a look by the mirror over there if you want a proper view.” Joon directs his words towards Jimin, but his eyes flicker to Jungkook’s.

Standing on his feet is a raw task, but Jimin does it with a brave face, placing weight on the leg until it feels comfortable enough to walk on. The mirror doesn’t do the piece justice—up-close it is perfectly placed on his toned thigh and brilliantly shaded. He ghosts his fingers over the fresh ink, hovering just above, slightly bewildered that it’s a part of him forever.  He turns to Namjoon and nods his approval, then looks to Jungkook, trying to assess his reaction. From what he could tell, then man is just as pleased, maybe even more. It is his design concept, after all, and he should be proud. Jimin rests his hand at his side but can still feel Jungkook’s hand—thumb working in soothing circles. It makes him wonder if perhaps he’s relaxed enough to take the pain as well.

“While we’re here,” Jimin says confidently, feeling the dopamine pulse in his rosy numb flesh, “are you getting one too?”

“I am, actually.” Jungkook's small smirk tugs at his lips as he remains still, eyes still admiring the work on Jimin's thigh. Forever would he be marked with the piece that he had chosen. And now he’s about to get one of his own.  Kook guides Jimin to have the seat next to him as he gets himself ready, extending his arm to expose the ink-free piece of his skin on his lower arm. Meanwhile, Joon prepared another set of needles. He rolls up to the youngest to place his stencil, raising his eyebrows in a silent question of 'Good?'   With an approving nod from Jungkook, the familiar buzzing sound of the machine echoes once more. Joon marks Jungkook with a similar design as the one on Jimin's thigh; however, slightly different. While Jimin's is a work of red petals, Jungkook's is the flower itself, with petals falling off of it. As with every other piece Namjoon had done on the photographer in the past, he marks Jungkook's flower tattoo with a barely visible number. It’s a sly way of tracking each time the man has brought someone in to tattoo themselves for him. Why? Who knows. It is a mystery only known to the man himself.

Jimin notes the small number as Namjoon etches it onto Jungkook, not even sure if it is a number he’s seeing or just another part of the blooming bud. The photographer’s silken skin beads with fresh droplets of blood, obstructing his view of the design. He doesn’t even wince when the hairpin needles pierce his skin over and over, like he’s done it so many times it’s as casual as a monthly haircut.  Jungkook is a seasoned professional in Jimin’s eyes. He admires the painless way he endures Namjoon’s heavy-handed pricking in what he assumes to be a sensitive part of the body to mark. He can’t pretend he isn’t shocked the photographer had the foresight to plan matching tattoos, and was too bold to assume Jimin would want it. But Jeon Jungkook's bold decisions are what attracted Jimin to him in the first place.

“You’re doing well,” Jimin assures, soothing his hand over the wide expanse of Jungkook’s back. “You’re doing really well...”

Just as the tattoo begins to form into a coherent piece of art, Jimin’s pocket vibrates. He pulls his phone free and stares down at the notifications, quickly hiding it at his side once he realizes who messaged him.

Jungkook smiles at the sweet words coming from the elder, but it fades just as quickly when he notices the slight tilt of Jimin's phone screen to keep it just out of his vision. Kook can't help the curiosity that gradually morphs to swirling annoyance in his gut. He just can't help it—he hates secrets when they’re kept from him. Could it be the same person Jimin was on the phone with earlier? The younger isn't oblivious, and he really wishes this wouldn't cause any trouble. But before he can comment on the split second, the phone is shoved back into Jimin's pocket, and Namjoon chimes that he's finished.

“Alright, we're done here,” Namjoon clicks his tongue and wipes Jungkook's arm clean, observing the masterpiece with his squinted eyes. He rolls his chair out and stretches his back until his spine pops. “Good, Jungkookie?”

“Perfect.” Jungkook approves as he gets up off his chair, looking down at the new piece of art on his skin. A mark just for Jimin. He displays it for the blonde, a crooked eyebrow following with his toothy grin, “Now we match.”

Jimin tries to muffle the sound of incoming text messages as they continue to vibrate in his pocket. If it isn’t Seung-Ho, it’s surely his manager on behalf of Seung-Ho. The man is persistent when he wants Jimin’s attention—but why does it have to be now? Jimin doesn’t have the nerve to check his phone, especially not when Jungkook proudly displays his fresh ink.

“It’s—” Jimin leans closer, grasping the man’s bicep to steady his body. He squints to take in every little detail, down to the faint number etched at the center of the design—but is it a number? It very well could be, but what does it mean? Jungkook doesn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest, so Jimin pushes his curiosity aside and examines the rest of the tattoo. “Not to be biased, but I think It’s the most beautiful flower.” The delicate way the red petals seem to fall down from Jungkook’s arm and onto Jimin’s thigh is wholly picturesque. Jimin would be lying if he said it didn’t excite him, knowing the two of them will share this for the rest of their lives. If anything, let it serve as a reminder of their working partnership and the bond they shared shooting Jimin’s first solo collection. Give it time and perhaps the tattoos will increase in value. It’s not even a day old and it’s already Jimin’s new favorite piece of art. He lightly taps his tender thigh and savors the sting, flicking his eyes between both tattoos until they are melded in his mind as one. “It’s been a long day, Jeon,” he winces, tapping his tender flesh a little too roughly. “Ready to head out?”

Jungkook shakes his head with a mischievous, toothy grin growing on his face. “Not yet, I have one more thing.” He speaks as he stares at Namjoon, who suddenly seems to shrink where he stands despite being the tallest of them all.

“Are you sure? It'll hurt.” Joon asked with his eyebrows raised high, feeling the itch in his fingers. He really wants to do it, but he also wants to make sure this was truly what the younger desires. He does hope for a ‘yes’ though. There is nothing else he wants right now than to feel and see Jungkook, even if it's in a professional setting.

“Yes, I've planned this for a while now.” Jungkook's hands travel to the hem of his pants, tugging at the waistline as his grin grows wolfish, “And I want it right now.”

“O-okay...” Namjoon's voice strains, his heart practically bursting within his rib cage with excitement. He loves tattooing, but if there is anything he loves more, it’s body piercing. There is just something about the adrenaline he feels rushing down his spine when he feels the needles easily penetrate through flesh, to be adorned by a piece of jewelry. Joon would be lying if he said it didn't make his face heat up a bit.

“Alright, take a seat,” Namjoon clears his throat, sitting back down on his rolling chair and patting the client seat.

Jungkook doesn't hesitate to pull his pants down along with his underwear, shameless and confident in his body as he sits down, half laying in the seat, eyes fixed on Jimin's. He notes how the blonde's eyes immediately find exactly what Kook expects.

“Don't stare so intensely, I'll get excited,” Kook teases Jimin, then flickers his gaze down to meet Namjoon's, who is also seemingly swallowing tightly to keep his professional mask on.

This is too much fun.

“A-are you—” Jimin’s voice weakens as Namjoon grasps Jungkook’s flaccid length and lines up a small barbell at the tip, measuring for size. He very clearly is, no doubt about it. If he was confident going into the tattoo, Jungkook is beyond confident going into this. Jimin wants to ask permission to watch, but can tell right away that it’s Jungkook’s full intention that he do so. He really does like to put on a good show, and, well, Jimin is captivated.

Namjoon finds the perfect piece of jewellery and sets it aside to ready the needle. It’s much larger than Jimin would have imagined—it looks hallowed throughout and incredibly sharp. It’s difficult to understand why in this moment, but Jimin feels his skin heat with arousal at the mere thought of seeing Jungkook’s tip gleam with a pretty stud through it. He takes a seat beside him, aching to be as close as possible. He crosses his legs, already feeling his cock stiffen at the sight. Jungkook seems to be affected as well, gradually growing thicker, unabashedly, right in front of his audience of two.

Jimin nips his plushy bottom lip and focuses his curious eyes on Namjoon’s hand as he grasps the hardening cock, ready to pierce. “Be still,” Jimin warns, nearly salivating at the sight. “I want it to be perfect.”

“Namjoon knows what he's doing, it'll be nothing but perfect,” Jungkook sighs out his words when Joon's warm fingers wrap around his length, already half hard from having two sets of eyes immersed in him, and him only. “Right, Joonie?”

“Right…”' Namjoon whispers through his teeth, his eyebrows tightly knit together in focus. It’s not easy to keep himself collected when Jungkook's cock is literally within his grasp. It’s heavy, and the all too familiar feeling of it makes his gut stir. “Just take a deep breath and don't move,” he warns as he brings the needle closer. His other hand keeps a firm grip around Kook's length, twitching once Joon's fingers tighten around it.

“Just do it before I get too hard…” Jungkook groans quietly. In all honesty, the photographer doesn’t care if he’s rock solid while getting pierced, he’s too much of a glutton for pain to mind it. Maybe he'd even prefer it that way. To say this is arousing would be an understatement.

Namjoon doesn't need to say anything else, and finally presses the needle through the flesh. For other professionals, this might've been too slow, but for the two of them, this was just the perfect torture. The needle is so sharp it practically melts through Jungkook's cock, and it has Namjoon foaming at the mouth when he hears Jungkook's audible moan echo in the studio.

“Fuck, hyung!” Jungkook curses through gritted teeth. His hand instinctively reaches out to grab Namjoon by his hair, tugging harshly. “All the way through, keep going.”

Namjoon's lower lip is tightly clamped between his teeth as he holds back the vibrating groan in his chest, finishing what he started as he finally pushes the needle through entirely; the bloody sharp tip of the needle sticking out on the other side. It’s gorgeous.

Jimin’s body feels hot and electric as the pain of his tattoo dissipates and is replaced with pure exhilaration. He watches every movement with wide blown-out pupils. His mouth is impossibly parched, he can’t will himself to swallow out of fear he might blink and miss a millisecond.

Namjoon loops the barbell through the hallowed tip of the needle and threads it through as the needle glides free of Jungkook’s stiffening length. It’s set aside, freeing a small bead of blood to trail down his shaft.

Jimin tears a fresh sheet of paper towel from a neighboring roll and dabs the wound gently. The younger man’s reddened tip swells under his touch and only spurs Jimin on to dab with excess—more than what’s needed, but selfish and satisfying for his own pleasure. He nips his bottom lip roughly until he’s sure he might draw blood of his own, then looks up at Jungkook with nothing but urgent need, silently begging to leave straight away. Jimins needy look doesn't go unnoticed by the younger, giving the blonde a reassuring wink.

“You did well hyung.” Jungkook leans in to press a light kiss on Namjoons forehead before he stands up, observing the little addition on his length. The pain is delicious, stinging and amplifying the throbbing pulse rushing from his heart to his cock.

Yeah, he needs to put it to use...there was no way around it.

Jungkook pulls his underwear and pants on, nonchalantly clasping the button on his jeans before he beckons Jimin to follow him like a puppy. “We will be back when I want some additions to my butterfly.” Jungkook grins at Joon, knowing the man knows exactly what he means, and that he'd have to be prepared. Soon.

The bell chimes loudly as Jungkook holds the door open for Jimin, giving Namjoon one last silent look before he walks out.

© sombreboy 2020. Do not repost, edit or translate.

[fairy-txles]

PRODIGY || Child of the dark

PART 1 | THE BEGINNING

Hilary swallowed thickly as he read aloud the letter to himself, unconsciously nibbling his fleshy inner cheek. For the second time this month, the teenager felt his heart skipping erratic beats.

“Dear Mr Raine, as you already know; you’re a valued prodigy in manipulation. However, you have begun to lose yourself, and due to the recent events that took place; we have reconsidered your place at Durmstrang. You are permanently expelled from this school...”

He gripped the frail letter tightly, his amaranth lips dipping into a slight frown.

“Shit. I saw this coming, but those airheads are acting as if I’m going to detonate.”

He drew in a deep breath, and expelled a shaky one, squeezing his eyes shut to anchor himself and prevent any reckless actions.

Maybe this is best. He reflected, reopening his eyes, and gazing at the crackling fireplace that spat at the crimson armchair he was leaning against.

Maybe I can start over.

But I haven’t even finished with my work. A nagging voice in his mind complained.

It almost seemed unacceptable to kick him out. Hilary was a seemingly well-behaved student, a potent prodigy that was brimming to the top with potential; he most certainly wasn’t shy either and was rather cunning for his age.

However, his ability to manipulate seemed to be like heavy chains, weighing him down and acting more like a curse than a blessing.

Durmstrang had expelled Hilary just as he was learning to fully harness and control his unique ability again.

He improved much through hours of training and practice that left him exhausted, yet he still managed to commit a grave mistake that affected both his academic and private life.

When he thought things couldn’t possibly get worse, they did; Hilary realised he was practically following the footsteps of his god damned father he despised so much.

Hilary continued reading almost hesitantly.

“We have contacted an affiliate of ours, and they have decided to take you in as a student. During your time at Hogwarts, you are to train yourself and learn to manage your power.

There will be an inspection at the end of your fifth year. You will be contained further until you are in control if you have failed to do as required.”

Hogwarts. Simply thinking of attending a different school made the hairs on his neck bristle. He recognised the name, his mother, Glinda, attended when she was a young witch.

Hilary had heeded many stories of Hogwarts from his mother. It didn’t seem too bad, and it had a good reputation for academic and quidditch reasons. He was told of the students that had gone in clueless and come out experienced, and of those that represented the school well.

He was also informed of the other, unpleasant stories.

Like the story of this young boy, Micah, who had wandered into the forbidden forest and returned traumatised. Or that previous transfiguration professor, Malissa Carbine, who was mauled to near-death by a lion that was once a spoon.

It made his skin prickle, just thinking about those tales, thinking about how it could happen to him.

The quiet click of the mahogany door instantly drew Hilary out of his displeasing thoughts, a familiar figure shaking off snow from her ebony hair as she stepped into the warmth of the living room.

“Hey, mum.” The teen greeted his mother with a faint wistful smile.

“Hey bub, just came back from Diagon Alley.” Glinda held up a straw basket filled with a pair of oil black robes and bulky school books Hilary didn’t already have in his large bookshelf.

“Got your stuff for Hogwarts.”

The smile quickly died.

“So, you know I got expelled?” His mother nodded, shrugging off her thick woollen coat and sighing as she felt her numb fingers thawing in the heat of the fire.

“Aren’t you angry, disappointed?”

Glinda shook her head and deposited the items on the little wooden table, which groaned under the sudden weight.

“I would never be disappointed in you, Hilary. What happened was out of your control; you were provoked.”

“But it wasn’t out of my control, if I tried harder it may have never happened. My little brother, your son isn’t here anymore because of me; I should be rotting in Azkaban.” Hilary quickly clenched his fists and glued his eyes to his knees, his fingernails biting into his pale palms.

Glinda put a gentle hand on her shoulder, sympathetically looking into his glossy orbs. Her son was having trouble seeing past the destructive nature of his ability.

“But you were given a second chance, so use it well. People are capable of change and so are you. Now, let's go pack your things. We both know that the train is leaving early tomorrow.”

Hilary nodded slowly.

“I’ve contacted the school about dorms, but this year they’re going to be packed; so don’t be too surprised if you’re placed in the girl’s dorms. I’ll be down here, making dinner. If you need any help, just shout, okay?”

He replied with a quiet ‘okay’ and retreated to his room upstairs.

Once he closed the toffee coloured door, Hilary stood almost mindlessly for a moment before he leaned up against it and slid down miserably.

“What shitty mess have I plunged into?”

-

Ten years ago

“Mum! Mum! I want to show you something!” Five-year-old Hilary beckoned his mother jovially, practically bounding like an overexcited puppy.

The pair were enjoying a picnic outside in the brisk Autumn breeze, vibrant shades of warm colours enclosing them; a wide blanket of swirling whites and cerulean pulled over the sky.

Young Hilary had leapt over to his mother with a snapped twig in hand, presenting it as if it were a trophy.

“Look what I did!”

Glinda grinned, positively amused by her son’s usual excitement; fastening her attention on the toddler.

“Did you snap that?” He nodded frantically, pushing the wood into his mother’s half-open hands.

“With my mind!” The woman accepted the twig with a chuckle.

“I’m sure you did bub, now come and eat your sandwich before the owls do.”

“No, I really did! See?” Hilary picked up a nearby stick that was relatively thicker than the twig, clumsily placing it on the chequered black and blue mat.

He crouched down and stared at it intently, like it had eaten his slice of cake (no one touches his slice of cake), with nothing noteworthy or out of the ordinary occurring.

“Sometimes, Hilary; our minds can be both a brilliant and deceiving thing. You have a great sense of imaginatio-“

Snap.

Glinda looked down to see the stick in splinters, shocked, she shifted her gaze up to see her son grinning widely like the Cheshire cat.

“I told you, mum! I told you I could break it with my mind!”

But how? It most certainly wasn’t magic, he doesn’t even have a wand yet!

“Bub, look me in the eye - no higher - and tell me how you did that.”

Hilary pouted cutely as he thought, tapping his chin like those adults in the movie did when they were thinking.

He suddenly crossed his eyes, beaming as he wobbled sideways and prodded his temples, giggling like the child Hilary was.

“With my mind.”

Glinda gently heaved the giggling Hilary into her lap, tenderly stroking his short silky hair as she whispered into his ear.

“You're going to grow up to be a formidable wizard.”

[everythingoesnk]

Better Late Than Never

summary; john plays cupid (sorta?)

word count; 1 711

request by anon; “heehee i never knew u took requests!! ur writing is so lovely u rlly are talented❤️❤️ i was wondering if u could do smthg ab being georgies neighbour and like him n the quarrymen r rehearsing and they invite u to watch and they flirt w u and he gets jealous”

disclaimers; this sat in my drafts for ages but i finally finished it. glad that i can post it for once and for all. don’t be too hard on me cause i haven’t written shit in so long and i’m super sceptical about my work ty

warnings;

********

A few weeks earlier, Paul and John made the decision that Eric Griffiths had to go. They wanted George to be part of the group, and with Eric on board there were just too many guitars. The Quarrymen, along with Lowe on the piano and Hanton on the drums, had a demo recording scheduled in Kensington in a couple of days, so whenever they had the time, they would invest it in practising and sprucing up their performance.

You were coming back home after babysitting a three-year-old boy when you saw Paul and John’s distinctive jaunty silhouettes down the street.

They were carrying their instruments.

”Reunion of bitches?” you teased, bumping your shoulders with theirs to open a spot for you in between.

They were so used to you being a nosy little bird that they didn’t even flinch when you appeared.

“If what you mean by that is if we’re heading to a rehearsal, yes we are” Paul confirmed looking down at you with a warm smile. He slid his arm around your neck and patted your cheek persistently just to annoy you. “It’s the three of us this time, the others are busy”

You tried to smack his hand away while he spoke, but he had it strongly clamped over your mouth now, playfully sticking to his cat-and-mouse game. John was used to Paul behaving like this around you, you being like a little sister to him even though you shared the same age, so he didn’t move an inch when you began asking for help through the muffled laughter.

What came out of his mouth instead earned puzzled looks from you and Paul, who slowly let his arm drop.

“You can’t come” he had stated, because he knew you and it was only a matter of seconds before you started badgering them to let you stay and watch them play.

“Why not?” you snapped back, forehead puckered up.

John threw his head back to stare at Paul and raised an inquisitive knowing eyebrow at him.

After witnessing the looks they were giving each other, you huffed loudly, tired of the melodramatic secrecy. “Not again with the silent conversations”

“You can’t expect to know everything, (Y/N)” John stated.

“But what is there to know?” you questioned, beyond confused.

You were missing something and it was stressing you out that they knew what it was but wouldn’t tell you because they didn’t feel like it.

Paul felt empathy for you after seeing you so lost.

“We don’t progress much when you’re around because you distract Geo too much” he explained.

“Bravo, Macca” John sighed as the three of you continued to walk towards George’s house.

With their ‘silent conversation’ they agreed not to rat out George, but Paul’s mouth was faster than his brain could ever be.

John should have taken into account his mate’s overspoken nature.        

“I do?” you said, lines forming between your brows, not understanding. “How so?”

John snorted. “Sit and observe”

You turned to Paul. He was staring at John the same way one does when you recognize your friend is about to put on a show and you aren’t very sure if it’s the right time or place, but you know that anything you say will fly into their ear and out of the other.

He fixed his eyes tenderly on you after and shrugged his shoulders with a peculiar cheekiness.

//

George looked every bit the unconcerned man as he sat back and watched John plop down on the couch next to you, splaying his arms along the top of the seat as he asked you how much you get paid for the babysitting.

They were in a break after been playing for two hours.

“Not much” you noted.

“Quit” he interrupted, smirking friskily and brushing a strand of hair behind your ear cautiously. “I’ll double your wage if you join the band. We are missing the attractive factor”

You wheezed. “I’m positive with your talent it’ll be sufficient” you said, laughing still.

You looked over at George. He wasn’t looking in your direction but John’s, mouth compressed and something you couldn’t fathom flitting across his eyes.

“Besides,” you added, “I don’t know how to play any instrument to save my life”

“The piano a little bit” George chimed in, after deliberating whether to speak or not.

You blushed settling your gaze on him one more time, marvelled that he remembered. “It’s been years since I last practised”

“If the piano is too much I’ll give you my harmonica. I’m fucking tired of blowing into that shit” John offered, resting his left hand on your thigh and giving it a firm squeeze.

Everyone laughed except George. He didn’t even smile.

He dipped his eyes and ran a finger over his brow back and forth for a couple of seconds before grabbing his guitar again.

Something was off with him, and it upset you that he was feeling under the weather when Paul, John and you were vibing and having such a wonderful time.

John kissed your cheek and cuddled you after wrapping his leather jacket around you even though you didn’t ask for it. George saw and shook his head gently, forcing himself to continue working on his part so he would nail it in the upcoming session. His mind was elsewhere and the chords didn’t sound as good as he wanted them to be. He brought his brows together and you stifled an affable grin, observing silently while he mumbled under his breath, probably putting himself down for not getting them right.

John smiled seeing you stare at George, but Paul knew what that smile meant, what was really behind it, and he started gesturing at him as subtle as he could not to push his luck with George. He’d keep his conscience clean regardless of what happened from now on.

John’s smile enlarged when he saw his best mate from the corner of his eye trying to catch his attention, but he had it all mapped out in his head.

He leaned forward, elbows on the knees and fingers interlocked.

“(Y/N), is it true that you’ve been seeing Sam?”

You looked over at John, perplexed.

George also raised his gaze, disconcertion lurking in it.

Paul slapped a hand to his forehead.

Clueless as to why he would ask that, you turned pink. “Where have you heard that?”

George interpreted your blush as you being embarrassed because you got caught, and your question as wanting to know who spillt the news. The suave yet pained expression tinted on his face was replaced by a rather sad and fragile one.

Instinctively, you pinned your eyes to George’s when John didn’t answer you. You weren’t dating anyone named Sam and you didn’t want him to believe that you did.

He remained there staring what felt like a lifetime into your eyes, only for his to fall to the floor seconds after. He stood up and paced to the door.

Envy overloaded him, making his jealously evolve into what a romantic would describe as passional delirium.

Hastily, he turned, came up to you and closed his fingers over your arm. John watched with a wry grin.

“Can we talk?” George asked, his tone filled with forced politeness.

You nodded and let him guide you towards his kitchen.

He looked over his shoulder first to confirm that neither of his bandmates had followed you there.

Then, for a few seconds, he froze. You noticed he was agitated and internally saturated with mixed feelings.

Out of the blue, he straightened his spine, a different kind of thickness filling his throat. Determined to overcome his shyness and insecurity, he gave a long exhale. Throwing you off guard, he grabbed your face, fingers gripping tightly your cheeks, and pressed his mouth to yours so enthusiastically that you subtly felt his front teeth.

Excitement and love rushed into your veins.

You kissed him back and wrapped your arms around his waist, knowing from the get go that this wasn’t going to be the last time that you would taste his lips. George couldn’t open his eyes at first after having departed from the kiss, which turned out to be the best and most pleasant, pure and precious kiss he had ever shared.

When he flicked them open, he couldn’t resist the drive to glide his thumb over the soft skin of your sweet fleshy lips.

John suddenly burst into the kitchen pretending to pull off that the obtrusion was casual. The real and obvious reason was that he wanted to see what was going on behind curtains.

George quickly pulled back.

That reaction and the swollen lips from both of you was enough for John.

“Don’t mind me. Just came here for something to drink” he said, but the clownery in his voice was oh so present and solid.

Cheeks burning, George didn’t move.

John, with the glass in his hand, turned to him before leaving.

“I mean, maybe it’s you who needs some water. You look feverish, my friend”

You quickly pushed him out of the kitchen.

George slowly looked up again when he wasn’t around. “There’s no Sam, is there?”

You shook your head no. “John is a crackhead, a good bloke but a crackhead. Never listen to him, listen to me” you smiled. He drew you into his arms, missing your warmth already. “I’m not dating Sam, Geo. He’s blond and I’m not into blondes”

George chuckled. “What are you into, then?” he asked, needing to hear from you that you only wanted him.

“I’m into this guy from The Quarrymen. Not the one who plays the bass, and clearly not the blind one, he’s too much of a ponce sometimes” you smirked. “Into the bushy unibrow guy”

He laughed harder and tightened his embrace.

“Lucky you he’s had his eye and unibrow on you for some time”

“Sweet, cause I’ve been in love with him ever since I met him”

George stared dearly down at you with the brightest smile and captured your lips again.

He didn’t know if John was a genius or a foolish cretin for causing him to feel so enraged before, making him believe you had a boyfriend.

The perfect mix, he conceded.

[eruden-writes]

Wretched Creature - Part 4

A Beauty and the Beast retelling.

After taking on her father’s punishment, Bellona finds herself imprisoned at a castle with Larek, a man who has an incessant need to self-depreciate himself despite being decently attractive, and a contingent of sentient objects.

Needless to say, it’s a confusing time all around.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

---

She’d barely spent a full day with her father when she remembered how wretched the townspeople were. Her father had grown thinner in her months of absence, she noticed, and his hands roughened from tending to the garden alone. Especially while foraging during the winter. Few to none had helped him. Snide remarks about her time away followed after her as she shopped in the market, with none coming to ask what happened, where she’d been.

Steadfastly, for those few days, she ignored the ache to return to Larek and the others. Defying the temptation of taking her father back to the castle with her. At least, he’d be fed and well cared for there.

The temptation only grew when Grigor paid her a visit. It was only a matter of time, but Bellona had hoped someone else had caught his eye in her absence. Just seeing him made her stomach lurch. His ash blonde hair, cut short, with his almost colorless blue eyes. Tall and broad, with bulging muscles and scars from hunting or fighting. Bellona couldn’t imagine why so many fawned over him. His eyes and smile were just too cruel. 

Then again, all of his admirers didn’t have Grigor’s relentless attention. As Bellona had experienced since they both traversed into adulthood.

As always, her skin itched, feeling the man was up to something as he introduced his ‘friend,’ the good Doctor Markoney. 

In moments, Grigor got her father rambling about fae folk in the woods, the ones who stole her from him for all those months. To that, the “good” doctor promptly diagnosed her father with delirium just as a cart rattled up to her home, ready to transport her father away. 

Horror clenched in her chest as she tried to stop the burly men from hoisting her father away. Her brain was having a hard time keeping up with the sudden turn of events. It wouldn’t be until later she realized it had all been planned. 

She was intercepted by Grigor, who held her firmly back. On his lips, a sick smile and a proposition: Marry him and her father would be saved from the asylum.

Bellona shook the thoughts away. She didn’t want to think what missteps she made that ended here, on the cold stone with Larek’s dead body beneath her. 

“You’re so unfair,” she sobbed, her face pressed into his chest. Her ears ached to hear his heartbeat or feel the steady rhythm, even faintly. But everything about Larek was still. Her fingers tangled further into his shirt, her shoulders shaking through her crying. The whole situation was unfair. From start to finish. And he’d been in the middle of it all. 

He didn’t even have the decency to let sort out her thoughts before confessing and dying on her! Though it wasn’t Larek’s fault. It was Grigor’s, for waging a battle against him and the other castle inhabitants. 

Admitting that didn’t help the pain in her chest or the fractured thoughts struggling to piece themselves together. Against his chest, she pulled her face back far enough to warble, “I want you back so I can figure out how I feel.”

She didn’t notice the others  - Larek’s servants or friends or whatever they truly were - crowding around the balcony door as she collapsed back atop Larek. Nor did she notice the balls of light raining from the sky, clattering like hail across the balcony. It wasn’t until her ear caught a strange hiss did she look up. Scattered around her, little marble-like balls of light continued to fall, gravitating to Larek’s pool of blood. 

They glowed brighter in his blood, threads of light spread into him until his skin glowed. Bellona drew back, staring as an unseen force hoisted Larek’s body up. He spins mid-air, head lolling, his tattered shirt expanding and enveloping him. Bellona watched as the glow overtook his whole body, until she had to raise her hands to keep her eyes from burning.

Her ears perked up, hearing two fleshy feet hit the stone in front of her. 

“Finally.” A voice like Larek’s, but deeper. The words resonating in a broader chest.

Lowering her hands, Bellona peered up. Then, her gaze drew even further up, eyes widening. 

An orc. 

An orc!

A tidal wave of realization slammed into her. The paintings, the armor, the weapons. They were all orcish and she didn’t realize until now! She grabbed at her head, a slight pain throbbing at her temples until it dissipated fully. Only confusion reigned in her mind. How could she have forgotten a whole ancestry?

Her attention focused on the orc before her. They seemed to be taking stock of themselves while she stared. Touching their own arms, legs, tusks, even turning to take a look along their back. Making sure everything was present and accounted for. 

A splotch of red caught Bellona’s eye and she jerked to her feet. 

She’d been so stunned by the - ...well the magic, she supposed - she’d forgotten who’d worn that shirt before. Grabbing the orc’s beefy arm, she forced them to turn and leered up into their face. Dark green freckles dotted their face. A crooked smile grew at their lips as she scrutinized them. And finally, eyes of molten gold.  “Larek?”

“Yes?” 

“This… this is why,” Bellona gasped, releasing his arm, “why you kept bemoaning you were ugly and weak!” 

Larek gave a wincing smile, as if feeling foolish. “Yes.” 

“So, that means…” She took a sudden step back, eyes suddenly going hard. Things were falling into place now, explanations filling her brain before confirmation. Her hands pressed to her chest as her eyes darted back to his face. “You must think I’m ugly and weak, since I’m human. Is that why you stopped me in the library?”

“What?” Larek’s eyes widened, his large hands coming up in a placating manner. “No! I mean, I did thinking that of all humans, at the beginning, but-” 

“Dear gods, boy, you just got her back and already you’re digging a new hole.” 

Bellona and Larek turned at the new voice, the former with eyes widening and the latter with a relieved smile. 

A small horde of orcs stood in the doorway to the balcony.

The one who spoke stood with their arms crossed, a teasing grin on their lips and gold caps on their tusks. They stood taller than the others, though they had a more lithe - but no less muscular - frame. As Bellona stared, she realized it was Lumi, the once-candelabra. She gave Bellona a wink, leaning a little toward her, “I’ll help you hide his body, Bellona.” 

“You’ve been turned back all of five seconds and you’re already trying to seduce her,” snapped a heavily scarred compatriot as they made a face at Lumi. Short and beefy, with a bushy salt-and-pepper beard and a gold ring in one of their ears, reminiscent of the ring in Fruk’s handle.

Behind those two, another nudged them both, letting their gaze swing from Lumi to Fruk. Their tone smooth and measured, the silver cap glinting off their one uncracked tusk. “Enough, you two. She has questions.”

Realizing Causton’s point, all eyes turned back to the one human among their numbers.

“You’re all orcs.” Bellona said after a moment, pressing her hands to her face, the groan sifting between the crevices of her fingers. She felt as if she’d been emotionally dragged by horses after everything that had happened so far. “What happened?”

---

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

[stronghours]

SUNSHINE IN THE SKY REPRISE

And it came to pass, a few weeks after she and Jules made a bad decision on his thrifted futon, that they met again during 4th of July merrymaking. 

Lux toddled in grey lake water among Ava, Claire, and Archie (Celeste down and out with summer flu). Lux couldn’t swim, a fact disclosed in private to Ava, which Ava hadn’t kept to herself, and the group formed a stooped, anxious ring around her doggy-paddling. She was forced, among the smell of hot dogs in the safe green grass hundreds of yards beyond and the ominous cloud cover above, to make sure only her ass whomped her protectors’ knees when the waves tried to boil her body up and away. She’d made a mistake, and her only wardrobe protection beyond her suit itself and her spandex underthing was a hastily added solid color sarong, which while dry didn’t match, and while wet, just looked lousy and modest. But she couldn’t be parted with it and had made up a past bout of minor skin cancer, a pin-mole insidiously located on her protected inner thigh, the paranoia of which haunted her still. Even Ava dropped her chin for the C-word.

Now she suggested Lux float on her back and allow her perception of the water to form fingers in the magic slot located on her lower back, and soon she’d be floating like crazy among the wacky kids and her hot workmates and her boss and all their invisible pubes. A wave slapped dirty fingers up Lux’s nose.

“It’s kind of like learning a language,” Archie contributed. “Got to learn it when you’re young. Looks like your parents fucking doomed you.”

“My pap pap slam-dunked me in our above-ground when I was five,” said Claire, who floated tummy-down in frog position by exerting no effort Lux could observe. “I bobbed right back up, but like, what if I hadn’t?”

Lux, six feet tall, decided to use it to her advantage and planted her knees in the sandbar. She could just about do it and keep her eyes and forehead in periscope position.

“Reuben and I are thinking of installing an above-ground,” said Ava, and seeing Lux shrink, rose to her feet and splashed water across her dewy collarbone. Lux pushed every single one of them out of her mind and stared between the chops out into the open sea to make-believe Michigan somewhere on the other side. A rhythmic slap approached from the left and the white bow of a lifeguard’s canoe sailed past their collected heads.

“Hey now,” scolded the familiar voice behind the sunglasses, “only three hot bitches are allowed in the water at a time. Think of the community.”

Ava sloshed around at the familiarity, but everybody else had already noticed it was, absurdly, Jules, and sent up a bunch of soggy greetings, all except Lux who rose into a semi-crouch in the drifting seabed out of surprise, and Ava, who let them all perform verbal recognition on her behalf and only spared a nod.

Jules looked very high school, very lanky on the bobbing bench, with the oars braced under his tanned arms and his cute red tank top cinched under his fanny pack. He rode the up-down of the surf the same way he did most things, with enough bored grace to suggest he’d learned quite enough and had more interesting things to do. Lux had recently learned this conceit of his could be bypassed, and she was glad he kept the sunglasses on when he looked her over.

“What’s up Cathy,” he said, with the same Sophomore carelessness, and she plunged her head under an oncoming wave, the pressure preferable to the dawning knowledge that now, he had information he could disclose, and he’d had it for weeks.

She rose again, squinting. She couldn’t tell if he had caught on.

“What?” he asked. “What did I do?”

“You got another job, Jules?” Ava surged forward, displaced Lux. “Roscoe doesn’t give you enough to do, on top of commissions?”

“Give me another commission and you’ll find out.” He drew the left oar’s pole hard under his titty to keep the nose of the canoe from slicing into their crescent. The mechanism bucked like a horse and the wind snatched the ugly white hat off his head and toward an oblivion of preteens due north. Claire yelped and threw herself into the water, rippled away to go fetch it. “You ever been in the cellar underneath Rawhide, Ava? That’s like, thrice-darkness. I was gonna kill myself.”

“I’ve never been in a situation that required me to be in the cellar underneath Rawhide.” Prim Ava glanced pityingly at Lux, who allowed wave after wave to pummel her head in her effort to stay low. “Poor baby. She can’t swim.”

“Throw her off the pier,” Jules suggested.

“It worked for Claire’s pap pap,” Archie said, and braced an annoying hand on the back of Lux’s neck. “Sorry babe, looks like you’re going down.”

Lux threw herself underwater before Archie could push her into the drink. Beneath the top swell she had enough time to touch her palms to the sand and try to dig her hands where she’d braced her knees, but she was blind, and the divots were washed away and the grains were swept off and replaced swept off and replaced, and she panicked when the water tugged the sarong’s knot. She resurfaced from the green and grey, coughing and yanking the weedy fabric around her legs. Ava, shining and petite against the sky, so securely tucked to smoothness, had finished with Jules herself and was high stepping back to shore.

“…I’m just saying, you should definitely try it out –” Archie had spoken in the interim. Jules was nodding. He’d shoved the sunglasses up and over his curly head and while his gaze was trained forward to take in the gamboling bathers, Lux could feel him keeping her in the corner of his eye.

 -

She remembered being in good if overenergetic spirits. She recalled a hot yellow sun. She wore her lavender halter with the powder-blue culottes, her hair freshly hennaed from the night before and trustily bunned. She traveled from a three-hour duo with Ava regarding some mind-numbing bouts of predicament ropework that left her guiltily bored of the client and his ballerina snobbishness, but pleased with her improving knots, and with the fact she could at least trick Ava into thinking she was a viable rope top. She’d exited the bus prematurely and entered the sidewalk throng to burn through her constipated spirits, past a raucous patio partition of a dippy sport’s bar and collided with Jules himself, exiting.

It was like striking a human-size grasshopper. He recoiled, elbows up, and almost upset a busboy’s tray. She reared at his excess, ready to dive into the full indulgence of her insult. In the past year after the Annelise Petro incident she’d only seen him at a distance. Their last words, exchanged in close quarters within Jules’s car more than twelve months ago, had not been civil. He was much tanner than she remembered of him in previous summers. He’d filled out in the chest and shoulders. For a second, she could glimpse he’d gained some weird physical vitality – but as she observed, the color drained from his face. His shoulders slumped. He looked sick as a dog. She’d thought he was drunk.

She grabbed him by the shoulders and steered his head away from her. “Do not,” she ordered, “Do not fucking puke on me.”

He pulled himself straight but didn’t dislodge from her grip. “Don’t say anything,” he hissed, dirt-sober, and before she could make him clarify, a middle-aged couple loomed over his shoulders. The woman, a full six inches shorter than both Lux and Jules (it was just then Lux realized she and Jules were precisely the same height) sparkled nervously, trussed in Cubs blues.

“Oh Jules,” she said, “Who’s this?”

She was blond and ferrety, but in the man, Lux could see a sour and fleshy shadow of Jules’s own face and bearing. He looked at her with the same stern contemplation Jules had leveled on her in the past, and Jules presently, dead in the eyes, curled in on himself like a shrimp.

She’d inexplicably exited her rancorous ditch and stumbled over Jules in the no-man’s land of Blood Relatives. She wanted to, against all rational thought, shove him behind her back and put her arms out.

Instead, she reached a hand to the man (dad? Oh boy, what fun) and chirped, “Hi, I’m Catherine!”

And to the woman (mother? God in heaven), “don’t we just all love Jules!”

The woman shriveled with feeling that hardly looked like relief. The man gravely shook Lux’s hand, and she was pleased with his grip’s condescending pressure. Her body moved far ahead of her brain. She could see herself at distance, popping one toe behind her planted heel, one hip cocked, tits pushed out, but no further than her glowing smile. “And how do you two know each other,” the man said, said, explicitly did not ask. Neither man nor woman introduced themselves.

Jules, white-lipped, opened his mouth but Lux flowed over him. “2007,” she answered, “Leidermeister Playhouse, down in, uh, are you from around here? No? Well, Tinley-ish. Way down there. Spring musical. I was on playbill. And Jules was doing costumes for Pippin.”

For the first time, Jules treated her to the sweet sight of his smug, sick face struck totally dumb.

“Theater!” The woman bubbled. She put her hand on her companion’s meaty forearm, placating.

But the man was not letting her go without a fight. “Theater,” he said. “And what part did you play.”

She treated him to her glowing smile first (cracking, a little). If Jules had learned his own abysmal manners from these creeps, then he’d somehow made improvements on his own time.

“The Mother,” she improvised. “Of course.”

“Stepmother,” Jules piped up, at last.

It was all yadda-yadda to Lux, but the man finally checked the neon dial of his watch, gripped the woman by the elbow, said they would have to start taking pains for a cab if they wanted to catch the game in time. “Sure,” Jules said, though his permission hadn’t been asked, his advice unsought. “You’re not far away.”

“You call her and say you saw us, sir,” the man said. “She’ll expect it.”

Jules was too busy accepting limp patty-pats from the woman, who shot Lux a tragic grin before she scampered up the sidewalk, followed by the broad back of her presumed husband. No proper hug, no I-Love-You, no masculine head smacks or back whacks or take-care-of-yourself-you-hear pronouncements. They just walked away. Her own parents would be appalled.

The life was coming back to Jules’s face, but he was still doubled over, as if from a cramp. “Jiminy Christmas,” he uttered, and she wanted, in a surge, nothing more than to pinch his cheeks and trap his head in her armpit and noogie him to death and bust his fluff. Instead, she assisted him away from the crowd, and before long they strolled down a quiet residential street, arm in arm. She decided to give him five whole minutes to recover from the encounter, but he did it in two.

“Ledermeister,” he said to her, appalled.

“Leider,” she corrected.

“You nutty bitch,” he dared, but there was no gas behind it.

“It’s like you think I’m some kind of pervert or something,” she said, and before she could help it, she started to nag. “What did you think I was going to say? Jules makes rubber sex suits with built-in condoms? I saw him in street clothes in a high-etiquette dungeon fingering my boss’s twenty-one-year-old latex bottom?” She felt him up a little in her haste, accidentally, and he squeaked. “Who actually has something to lose here?” She asked. “Who’s the fucking dominatrix here?”

“You don’t like me,” Jules said, coolly. “I had no idea what you would say.”

He sounded terribly calm. The sidewalk was dappled in shadows of maple leaves and, boxed in by reasonable townhouses on both sides, she was inclined to stay calm as well, and in her calm, she found a strange truth.

“I like you just fine,” she said.

“Oh.”  

She liked him just fine. She liked him more than she liked Ava.

They walked.

“God, it’s fucking hot,” she said. It would be more comfortable not to have their arms around the other, but she didn’t unlatch.

“I moved to this neighborhood a couple weeks ago,” he said. “We’re not too far. I’ve got a window unit.”

A window unit meant he’d accumulated an actual window; a net gain from what she remembered of the dismal basement unit she’d ducked inside three times over their three year acquaintance, along with a damp cement strip notating the kitchen and two hoary pipes jutting six inches from the ceiling where tawny water dripped into provided buckets and Jules himself, barefoot, crisscross applesauce on a carpet square stringing the hundredth of ten-thousand waiting bugle beads with one or two local drag queens, staring open mouthed at a small, shit television propped up on a pile of clean laundry encased in a garbage bag, and onscreen a shoulder-padded daytime soap actress made lines like “there’s nothing to worry about Blake – do you really think I’d expose the Nazi treasure to outsiders?”

“Yeah, let’s,” she said.

He’d found a squat, orangey building with collapsed flower beds out front and only the faintest smell of weed in the halls. She noted, vain, that he opened the doors for her and motioned her up the stairs first and it wasn’t until she’d reached the top landing of the third floor, and he was sorting out keys that she felt the pluck of that old sexy situation, which was Going Inside a Boy’s Apartment, something she hadn’t done since college, and even at that time, something that usually happened under the close watch of protective friends. She couldn’t eye him either, to see which way his intentions were shifting – he was already eying her – but then he let her inside and the feeling was wiped out by absurd, maternal relief.

“Oh, thank God,” she blurted out. “This is so much better.”

The place still smelled like paint and floor wax, and she walked about at her leisure, touching the walls, and flapping her arms, knowing she wasn’t going to crash into a spiderweb or trod on mummified centipedes. The only furniture yet was a pulled-out futon (he was a bedmaker, who knew) and the walls had been built out to delineate a kitchen. She lifted the back of her shirt to the air conditioner.

“I thought you were an idiot for accepting that place, before,” she told him, regarding the old basement. “Or you’d picked it to antagonize people on purpose.”

“Give me a break! I was broke. I was nineteen.”

He shed one flip-flop on his way to the kitchen. She watched it prone on the floor while she calculated.

“No, no,” she reminded him. “When we first met, Ava said you were twenty. We were in a bar. She made you duck under the table when the bouncer made rounds. You were illegal.”

“Nuh-uh,” he said, unevenly thwap-thwapping back to her. He handed her a beer. “I was here a whole year before you showed up. I came before you.”

He sat on the edge of the futon, and she considered that perspective as he scratched the back of his shin with his bare foot. He had long, narrow feet, and when he was looking at things that weren’t people looking back at him, his eyes tended to glaze over. He was looking at the blank wall.

“Hold up,” she said. “How old are you now?”

“Old enough for you to sit next to me,” he replied.

It didn’t mean anything, coming from him. She left her beer on the windowsill and sat next to him. He’d have to get a nicer bed at some point, she thought, bouncing up and down a little, and wondered if, all along, his manners and his living situation pissed her off so much not because, as she initially believed, they were representations of his obnoxious personality, but because she had been frightened that he was going to get hurt and clearly no one else around was going to warn him otherwise.

“You must have left your parents pretty quick,” she said.

“That was my aunt and uncle, just now.”

“Were they more fun when you were growing up?”

“My grandma raised me,” he said. “For eight years. Then we swapped.”

She unfastened her sandal straps and tried to dream up a guess about him that could possibly be correct, but she had the feeling if she said raised in a house? He’d go no, in Mr. Toad’s canary-colored caravan, and the woodland squirrels taught me how to sew, and I lost my virginity to Morlocks. She wondered if she was the first girl he’d ever brought up here. She wondered if his aunt and uncle already knew he was gay. She wondered if he was gay. And in her wonderings, she missed, at first, his growing impatience beside her. He touched her hand; she accidentally flipped her right sandal underneath the futon.

“Crap,” she said.

He rolled his eyes and slid to the floor, slipped between her legs, and with one cheek pressed to her thigh he rooted one armed underneath the springs and came out with the sandal, which he deliberately tossed several feet away. He came up on his knees, face lifted to hers, and she had to spread her own knees to accommodate him. His stern little expression was very cute, and she was warm with pleasant condescension, something sorely missing from her and Ava’s ropework that afternoon. She was tired of art, she decided, ignoring Jules’ cold hands creeping up the back her shirt, and she was tired of fantasy and she was sick of endurance feats physical and mental, and she was tired of her own cowardly communication, so much so the tiny bubble of unearned pride she felt for Jules’s ability to maneuver himself into the positions he required ballooned, out of control, into an old familiar cocoon where she couldn’t hurt him and he couldn’t hurt her.

“Nobody knows,” he told her, perhaps feeling it too. “But I can be a good boy.”

Jiminy Christmas, indeed. But he couldn’t have her for cheap, and he clawed her spine too confidently. She put her palm to his left cheek, let her thumbnail scrape over a pale divot where it looked like the nap of a paint scraper had teased out a pill of his flesh, years ago.

“Listen,” she asked, and squeezed his ribs with her knees. “If you had met me while I was with relatives, and I looked scared about it, what would you have done?”

His fixed gaze skittered to the side, over the wall, across the floor, and while he didn’t retreat, he only spoke up when his face reached a zenith of clumsy guilt. “I would have fucked around with you first,” he admitted. “Only a little.”

“I thought so,” she said, and smacked him a nasty one across the face.

With no furniture around, the crack resonated. Jules took it open-eyed. He didn’t whine or argue and only clenched his jaw a couple seconds after, when the real pain hit. He faced her again, glowing and pink, his left eye watering. She couldn’t help it. She grabbed his head and squeezed and clawed and palpated, yanked his lamby hair, perfect for yanking, and beat his butt with her heels. His head thrashed and his hands flapped around behind her back. She seized one and forced it down on the blanket and let the other undo her halter knot while she bridled him with her free thumb. His back molars rose on the edges in sharp ridges, and she whirled her wrist under his chin until she could see him swallow from the inside. The whites of his eyes showed.

“Good boy my ass,” she said, to herself, but he heard and appeared wounded. “Okay, okay,” she conceded. She wiped her thumb on his face, forgave him silently, and even her playful meanness disintegrated. He crawled over her lap and rubbed his red-hot face in her shoulder, gnawed painlessly on her clavicle. His shorts stuck out in front.

She knew a hundred ways of positioning and a hundred more roleplay scenarios he’d probably accept without suspecting she used them not to her pleasure, but to protect her modesty. She was sick of it all, hadn’t fucked or been fucked properly since she’d been his age, and was horny enough to maim. She took him again by the shorthairs along the nape of his toasted neck, and when he sighed down her back, she pressed his hand to her groin.

“Feel,” she ordered.

He felt dopily, paused, and resumed. Squeezed. Offered no comment.

“Tell me what that is,” she said.

He had delicate ways when he had enough patience to reveal them. Without asking permission he slipped a hand down her waistband, far between her legs, far too quickly for her to chase him off, and by the time she felt him properly, he held her so the head nestled in the heel of his hand, wedged against the meat of his thumb. He felt her up against the underside vein of his silky wrist.

“That’s the cock that’s gonna fuck me,” he answered, correctly.

 -

She had condoms in her purse. He had Vaseline in a bric-a-brac moving tub besides the futon. He rolled onto his narrow tummy, and she flipped him onto his back again so fast he nearly rolled off the mattress. She wished, as she watched him raise a knee and finger himself, that she’d brought her toolkit with her from the club where she kept her nitrile gloves and her fancy salves and her more mobile toys. Jules laid himself out on the futon like somebody else would on a beach, languid and comfortable and she pressed one of his nipples with impatience. She suspected he’d be chatty, but he didn’t speak at all during the preliminaries. He had more body hair than she would have expected, but not enough to grab, and a severe bathing suit tan line that reminded her of Ava’s jabs about the minor gossip between him and Roscoe. She wondered if some queen paid him to lay out on a patio somewhere, if that kind of arrangement still happened, and she wondered if he could let go of the sniping and the attitude long enough to show that hypothetical crowd what he was showing her now – that he was, actually, a very good boy.

When he was ready for her, the very good boy reached out with his arms (and made gimme-gimme clutches with his hands). She obligingly sank on top of him, then, quicker than she intended, into him, guided by his hooked shin and a decisive hand on her ass. She clawed his scalp and arched, involuntarily driving herself forward. A telltale sensation like he’d dumped a bucket of his own blood over her head soaked her from head to toe, and for a hot second she thought it was too late – then he jerked one her nipples until she shrieked and came back to him, stunned. 

You’ve got more than that in you, she heard him say, through the haze in her brain, and in between two blinks he swapped out the sadist faunlet for, once again, being her very good boy, and he undid her bun with one hand and guided her head so he could kiss her mouth and calm her down. She saw from above his legs lock around the small of her back. She was shocked she could get hard enough to effectively penetrate, a shock that blissfully vaporized as she rocked inside him.

His own cock, which they mutually ignored, was restrained by her soft stomach. Her breasts ached, pressed against his chest, and she had to break free from his clasp to prop herself on her forearms. He followed her, licked her lips until she gave up and sank back down. The tip of his nose was cold against her cheek. She could feel his lashes and the curve of his eyeball roam around in the socket. He was a ferocious and intent kisser, not nearly so languid now, and every goosebump outside his skin and strand of muscle beneath rose to her, encased her in his prickles. His focus made her quite aware of a separation between her hips (melted, as far as she was concerned) and her brain, electric-bright now, entertaining Jules by turns as a barbed, poisonous plant, as a nuzzling, brainless creature, as a mean bottom slut who clawed her bottom and held her hair in a knot in his fist, who maybe needed to be exercised as a handler would a spirited pony, in order to nurture his kindness, improve his manners, and keep his juices fresh – and she giggled involuntarily, a tight muscle in her back relaxed, and she came inside a boy for the first time.

She either made an unacceptable noise, or a had been making noises all along. A downstairs neighbor ratta-tat-tatted their ceiling, Jules’s floor. Practical as a fillet knife, Jules pushed her out of his ass, swung one leg wide, slammed his heel rudely against the floorboards, uttered “fuck off, asshole” then rolled back to her again and rubbed his face between her breasts. She cuddled him a couple tender seconds, which he tolerated, before scuttling backward and regarding her from a lucid distance as she disposed the condom.

“Come back here, she said. He looked like a praying mantis.

First, he stuck his legs off the thin mattress and with one judicious sweep of his torso, seemed to crack every bone in his body. Then he crawled over and allowed himself to be held.

“Oh,” she noticed. “You didn’t come.” His dick was still hard, and when he laid his back flat against her hip, it bobbed due west of his belly button.

“Relax, it doesn’t always happen for me.”

She ignored him and let her ego propel her forward. He reclined on her like she was a chaise and breathed through his nose.

“You know what Ava calls you?” She asked, jerking him onward and upward, hopefully.

“I’m a community opportunist,” he answered smugly. “Plus, Roscoe’s houseboy.”

Two out of two, verbatim. She drew her nails up and down his stomach and he twitched, fought against curling up. “Houseboy,” he repeated, hissed. “The last houseboy passed away in the fucking nineties. They peeled him down with the wallpaper.” She felt, through his spine, how he tried and failed to work up a temper. “Then they tatted his chalk outline above some burlesque artist’s John Willie tramp stamp. Mistress Avalon sure is concerned with faggot business.”

“Your boys don’t make you come?” She asked, a hill over him now, and above arguing. He sparred solely with himself.

“What boys? These guys – big guys –”

She went back for more Vaseline, not great for this kind of thing, but she was getting the idea Jules had a sensible nursery spirit and rarely abused himself. He didn’t appear to know much about his body and froze like a striker frame when she rolled the tip of him in her palm for more than fifteen seconds.

“– They think your asshole is your only sex organ,” he continued. “They hate themselves for loving twinks. And then they give you the reach around and if you aren’t wet like pussy then oh-h-h-h my god, it’s like the fucking sky is falling –”

She sat up, and his feet paddled the blanket to stay in contact. He reached behind her and grabbed her hair again but didn’t pull. He turned his face into her neck, and he shook all over.

“Being a slut is really hard,” he said, woefully, failing to hide, for a millisecond, the ghost of what might have been a sweet kid. Or it was her imagination. Either way, she made him come all over himself. It didn’t seem to register to him until the drops hit his chest. He looked down at his sad, wet dick and then back up at her, so testily she laughed in his face. He was smudged pink all over from her lipstick, and she pinched his springy cheeks.

“I’m a cradle-robber,” she declared.

“Okay, Methuselah,” he said, unimpressed, and darted away into the dirty ivory bathroom before she could slap his ass.

He recovered rapidly. In the sunny room things took a slumber party turn. He fetched her abandoned beer, dug out makeup wipes he inexplicably possessed, and repaired the damage to her makeup. He berated her when she couldn’t stop giggling.

“I was kind of wondering…” he began.

He paused. Sex had made him tactful.

“Go on,” she allowed.

“I was wondering if I’d ever figure out why you bothered being a dominatrix.” He used the point of his little finger to clear wet black scuzz from the corner of her eye. She hardly felt it. “Ava’s got her thing about being top dog. Claire’s a sadist. And somebody needs to get around to neutering Archie before he starts spraying the furniture. You, a mystery.”

“You think about me!” She preened and wiggled.

“You go on.”

��I like,” she confided, “to strap muscle hunks to the pommel horse and tickle them until they scream.”

“Gee whiz.”

“I like straitjackets, but I don’t like rope,” she continued. “And I like floggers, but not single-tail whips. And I like human furniture, but not human ashtrays.”

“The Marquis de Lux over here.”

He’d reached around and started French-braiding her hair. She put her ear to his chest and found his mousey heart.

“My mom and dad were angels,” she continued. “And my sisters were angels and my aunts and uncles and my grandparents. They were angels from the start. So was I. I liked it. Doctors like it too. When a kid is angelic, and very, very, very, very good, and says the right things, and rolls over. They give you what you need.” She thought that over. “They decide to give you what you need,” she clarified. “I was rolling over constantly. I didn’t know how to stop. It freaked me out.”

Jules’s heart answered wug-wug-wug. He sat in her lap and tried to get her braid to stay fixed in a twist. “See, I’m the opposite,” he said. “I’m a huge cunt, but I’m always looking for an excuse to be nice.”

Her hair unwound down her back. He clamped her bobby pins between his teeth, to deliberately make the job harder, then, looking down in their laps, spit them on the floor. And as quickly as she decided she needed to find her clothes and depart, having revealed too much, she stayed the entire night.

 -

On the lifeguard pavilions, the green flags were lowered, and yellow flags were handed up.

“Archie,” said Jules, from the safety of the canoe, “Head on back to dry land. No! no,” he called when Archie took Lux’s elbow. “Cathy and I need to talk really quick.”

“It’s not safe,” Archie said.

“I’m Red Cross certified,” Jules said, arms outspread up the oars as far as they could go. “I’m a beautiful heroine, waiting to happen. Also, I’m in fucking charge.”

“Go away, Archie,” Lux agreed, and Archie slopped to the shore, his broad back damp red in the sun’s undergrowth. Dark clouds approached from the west.

“Actually, that’s my boss.” Jules pointed to the sand straight ahead, where a bronzed ingenue, her thigh muscles sticking out like bread loaves, appeared to be watching the duo intently.

“You’ll get in trouble,” Lux cautioned.

“She wants to ride me hard and put me away wet, I think I can get away with it. I feel like you must have,” he added, pointedly. “She’s nineteen.”

It was hard to glare when wet, and it was hard to talk with Jules high and dry. Lux was clammy and clingy, and she couldn’t understand why he sniped at her. Then he crouched down, chest to knees, under pretext of scraping the oars straight down his gunwales and snapped, with pure, guileless annoyance: “Why are you pissed off? I’m the one who should be mad.”

That was too much to bear. “Jules –”

“I showed you my hole and said call me.” He straightened, the little snot, sincerity evaporated. “And you didn’t call me. Now I feel cheap.”

“Jules,” she said, sticking to her own path. “They don’t know.”

“Of course, they don’t know!” He said, clueless, if technically correct. “I didn’t think you’d spread it around to that crowd.”

“Shut up, Jules,” she tried again, and when his mouth opened automatically, she really blew. “Shut the fuck up!”

He shut the fuck up.

“They don’t know. They don’t know.”

She refused to say anymore. She wasn’t in the mood to roll over. Funny, how fucking a guy in the ass could spackle over a few of the gaping holes in her dignity. Patiently, she watched Jules rock to-and-fro, his face oscillating between his premature certainty and the vanishing tail of what she was trying to explain. Then he exclaimed, “huh!” and raised his face to the heavens.

Whistles sounded north and south, and one of his canoe companions raced twenty yards past, churning the creaming waves to reach the point to disembark. Jules ignored it all.

“Oh.” He started, blank-faced. “There’s bossola.”

He waved to the girl on the beach, who was really putting her back into her whistle. “Jesus, baby,” he said just as abruptly to Lux, who had been forced to retreat a few feet to find higher ground. “Now I’m really starting to worry.”

It was either of their guesses, as to what situation he was talking about. Lux wasn’t sure herself, and doubted he knew. His confusion reminded her less of him now, more of him the morning after, when she’d woken up, found him sitting bolt upright, staring at the walls of his clean, sunny studio. He’d turned to her bleary face, and with no confidence whatsoever, asked, Is it really so much better? 

“You want to climb up?” He asked now. “I’ll tell boss you have a cramp.”

“No, I can make it by myself.” She strolled backwards, ass out of the water, and twisted the sarong in front.

“I told Roscoe I fucked a girl for the first time,” he called to her, his eyes cast demurely downward. “You should have seen the sweat roll down his back.”

“I’ll call you,” she promised.

“Yeah, you better,” he advised, and shielded his face against the bursting spray. “Before someone else does. Ladies love the canoe.”

One perky heave-ho, and he displaced bow and stern, fixed his little craft perpendicular to the beach, and cast off toward the pier.

On the beach, Archie and Claire scuttled in the sand, packing their bags, and shaking out their towels. Claire held Jules’s rogue, soaked hat. “I was going to swim back over, but she yanked me out,” she explained, and pointed out Jules’s bossola, who had, watching Lux emerge from the dirty waters, eyed her face, eyed her cleavage, and continued stalking down the shore. She had an ass that needed to be seen to be believed. Lux hoped Jules wouldn’t tease her too much. She might call him sooner, to demand that exclusively. Possibilities, vistas, scenarios, she thought of all these and wrapped her towel around her waist, and she faced the dreary city skyline and she dreamed, and the full force of her imagination asserted itself.

“I’ll give it to him when I see him next.” 

Domme Lux took property of the hat.

Ava, ever watchful, caressed their folded umbrella. “I thought you and Jules didn’t get along,” she said. Deliberately did not ask. Lux, in that moment, didn’t care. It wasn’t her job to teach Ava manners.

“I like him just fine,” she said.

[stevenbasic]

I’d been nervous about this kind of moment since she’d asked to meet me for dinner. Since we’d arrived at the resort. Since I’d asked her to go to the conference. I’d been nervous that I’d be sitting with her, alone with her, and I’d feel like this. Exactly like this.

Jesus, I should be relaxed. The night was perfect, warm with a subtle shore breeze playing through the palms around the restaurant patio and animating the flames of the tableside candles and garden torches. Sunset was on us, salt was in the air, music drifted over the tables. There’s no reason I shouldn’t have been totally at ease, relaxing for the night after a day of classes. Dinner was even going to be paid for by one of the vendors at the conference; I didn’t even need to see a check. But, no...I was buzzing, I was too excited. It was dangerous; I’m a married man. 

I mean, oh my god, Melissa was breathtaking that night. She’s everything I find attractive in a woman. She’s tall. She’s beautiful. Dark eyes, huge raven mane of hair. Her figure is beyond astounding, her breasts big and firm and full, cleavage in her black and white, floral, low-cut summer dress forcing me to struggle to control my gaze. Legs long, a huge shapely ass, and all of her so young and vibrant, healthy, strong.

And she’s just so goddamn pretty. 

But she was my office manager. She worked for me. I had her down at this conference so she could learn a few things, network with others, look into some new software systems. This was a professional meeting. 

And like I said, I’m married. 

But fuck look at her in this dress. She’d been drawing eyes from the minute she stepped into the place - mine included. And now it was getting late, we were finished with our meals, we’d already talked about what we each did at the conference that day: I was mostly in classes, she’d had some management seminars and looked around the exhibit hall, talked to some vendors. But then she’d gone down to the beach, and had nearly tempted me to join her. Dinner together was going to close out our day. I’d ostensibly called it a meeting, at first, but it didn’t feel like that at the moment. We’d both had some drinks - me probably too many for my own good - and she was looking at me funny. 

”Have I got something on my face?” I asked, finally. The booze, the calypso music, and her disarming perfume had already lowered my guard and I knew in my bones that if I didn’t get out of here I was about to say or do something stupid. 

Melissa giggled. ”No, I just think you look totally cute...” she said, coquettishly nibbling at the straw of her tropical cocktail, “...all relaxed and casual.”

“Oh jeez,” I replied, immediately flustered, feeling myself blush. This felt familiar. I’d been with Melissa before while she’d been drinking, and knew how flirty she could get. But there had always been others with us, people we knew and worked with, to keep my behaviors in check. Tonight it was just us. Danger, Will Robinson. “Well...thank you. You picked this outfit for me...”

“I remember, I’m glad you wore it for me,” she smiled, her eyes glittering in the light of the sunset, both of us recalling our shopping date, the department store last week, “Good boy.”

My heart fluttered, and she watched me react. This had become a thing between us: hapless me needing her to take care of her disorganized, at times absentminded boss, and she more than willing to do so. It started out as a little game but I think she got a kick out of it, how helpless I could be, and was beginning to relish filling this maternal role in my life. 

”Y-you look cu...you look nice, too,” I managed in understatement, “You got some sun this afternoon..?”

“Thank you. I tan easy, I always have,” she said, looking down and brushing something away from her bosom, already half-bronzed from a couple late-afternoon hours at the beach. For myself I took the moment to gaze, staring at the golden cleavage she’d boldly put on display for the night. “How about you?” she asked, as I looked away just in time, “You need some sun too.” At that she reached across the table and, as if to inspect me, took my right hand in hers.  My hand suddenly looked pale, my arm thin. “Are you going to promise me you’ll come down to the pool with me tomorrow?” she asked, taking my gaze with hers, “I was really looking forward to hanging out with you this week, and I got so lonely today, all by myself…”

”uhh….” I stammered, suddenly feeling even more iniquitous. I pulled my hand away, reached for my wine. “I, umm…”

Melissa giggled, watching my face, allowing me a gulp of Malbec before speaking again. “What?” she asked, amused, knowing I was uncomfortable with the attention. Was she just teasing me here??

“N-no...it’s nothing,” 

She smiled tolerantly. “You know, you don’t have to be embarrassed, being seen with me.”

“W-wait, what? N-no….I’m not…”

Her smile, obviously pleased, grew to a grin at my discomfit.  ”Oh don't tell me you're not thinking it too…” she giggled, as she brazenly leaned in and reached across the table to fix my hair, running fingers through errant locks and then taking the chance to look me right in the eye. Below our gazes, her boobs rested heavily on the table, bare cleavage bulging up buoyantly into the neckline of her dress. “How everyone here sees us…”

“w-wha...what do you..?”

“What I'm saying,” she continued plainly, as she sat back up straight in her chair, set her shoulders and puffed her big chest out proudly, “is that I totally look like your girlfriend right now.”

!!!

My mouth dropped. Her smile, mischievously, grew and grew and grew. 

“Melissa I’m married!”

“Shhhhhhhhh...I know that,” she laughed, biting her lower lip for the moment to regard me, “And you know that too. But no one else here does, or cares. They’re all strangers.” I watched her dark, beautiful eyes glisten, reflecting the candlelight between us through the growing darkness. “No one’s judging. No one else here really knows you, or your life back home, or anyone there...it’s okay, sweetie. It’s safe.”

Jesus, what was she saying? Unspoken between us, of course, was how unhappy my marriage had become. How tense things were with Sheryl. 

“Loosen up, you can relax,” she casually continued, pausing for the moment to smile at the waitress, who’d come to top off my wine. Melissa had insisted I order a bottle for myself for dinner, while she drank colorful cocktails. “You can unwind, be yourself. We can hang out, have fun together,” she said, as the waitress drifted to the next table, “We might work together, you might be my boss, but here, this week…” 

I breathed in, noticed how her pleasant perfume had suddenly strengthened. 

“...Here we can just be friends, equals,” she said, “It’s just you and me. No one back home has to know…”

It...it all sounded innocent, I guess. A few days of relaxation, she and I. Dinners, beach, pool. But why did it feel so...illicit? ”b-but-”

“Aww…what’s wrong?” she pouted, seeing my struggles and stopping me, “don't want a twenty-something girlfriend?” At that she giggled, apparently pleased with my consternation, and reached out to grab my hands with hers. “Oh HONEY yes yes YES!” she she cried out, loudly, suddenly calling all the attention in our area of the outdoor restaurant to her, “Of course I’ll marry you!!!”

My eyes shot open, my mouth gaped. My blood chilled as the eyes of the surrounding tables all fell on us. Melissa just looked at me and smiled in glee as a small wave of polite applause grew, directed our way. She held my hands tightly across the table, bit her lip and watched my reaction. I was frozen, red-faced in shock, speechlessly waiting for the attention to fade. The clapping petered out quickly, thankfully.

“v-v-very funny, Melissa…” I muttered under my breath, trying to manage a smile but looking, I’m sure, like a bewildered sap. I glanced around, making conciliatory eye contact with several other diners, nodding my abashed appreciation. Melissa’s attention, though, was purely focused on me. 

She giggled again. “Aww, you’re looking a little red,” she cooed, “Did I embarrass you?”

”Melissa people are all staring now...” I whispered, pulling my hands back, finally, from hers. 

”Oh let them stare all they want…” she said with brash confidence, sitting up provocatively straight. With flourish, she dipped her head and tossed back her long, thick hair in a luscious, raven wave and re-set her shoulders to proudly present a chest in dramatic, ample contrast to her thin waist, purposefully drawing more eyes. She then threw her head back, exposing her throat and closing her eyes, allowing them all to get a nice long look, to stare.

I was outright gaping at how her bosom strained against her dress, threatening to burst it, when I realized I was doing it too, staring. I looked pointedly away just before she opened her eyes, looked back at me. Her eyes glittered.

“Don't be concerned about staring, I'm used to it,” she said, her hand reaching across the table again to firmly grab my chin, aiming my head right back at her. My startled eyes met her confident and forthright gaze. Immediately I found myself struggling to keep it as I thought: wow, her perfume is strong, and felt the primitive urge to glance down at her chest again. She watched my struggle, and the new crook in her smile seemed to know it.

“Really, it's okay," she said, holding my chin in her hand longer than she should. ”I mean it. I don’t mind if they look, if you look. Like we said, no judging, it’s just you and me here.” She drew a deep breath, her face, placid, understanding, tolerant. Another lungful of her perfume and my eyes wavered and in that moment, our gazes locked, something changed between us. 

Without a word my eyes dropped into her cleavage, which was again bulging heavily on the tabletop. They stared for a second, quickly drinking in the incredible view - big, tan, full breasts squeezed together into two fleshy swells - and then they stared for a second longer, and then another...and another. I stared for too long. 

And then I closed my eyes.

“Shhh it’s okay. I know...I know,” she whispered, tenderly, patiently, “I know the attention I get, because of how I look. I know what it...does to people. What it does to guys...“

Behind closed eyes, I felt my heart racing as her hand left my chin and affectionately began to caress my cheek. 

“It’s okay if it does it to you too....” she spoke gently.

”...” 

I had no idea what to say, what to do. I was too abashed to even open my eyes, and just passively allowed her to stroke my face.

“Dr. J..?” I heard her say, causing me to finally look at her again. Her hand left my cheek as she pushed herself back from the table.

 I watched her begin to stand, to rise.

“Here,” she said, offering me her hand, “let’s go for a walk...”

[sandalepieleelvis]

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When the Wind Blows: Alternate Ending

When the Wind Blows. That was a title I hadn’t heard in a long time. It was just obviously a British animated film based on a graphic novel by Raymond Briggs. You know, the guy who did The Snowman? It centered around an elderly couple then one day, word came out that war would break out in three days. The graphic novel was written around the height of the Cold War. The threat of nuclear war was as high as it is now.

I’ve always had morbid affection for dark animated films. Watership Down; The Plague Dogs; Felidae, you name it. When the Wind Blows fit snuggly in that bubble. Having watched it religiously on YouTube, the film was ultimately removed most likely because of it violated the website’s terms of service with its objectionable content. My thirst for the darkness of the animated feature was unquenchable and I hadn’t watched it sense.

That would all change one day. While I was browsing the internet, I came upon an online forum dedicated to dark, more obscure cartoons. It must’ve been my lucky day because one of the users happened to discuss When the Wind Blows. It was boring at first with just him elaborating on how he was immensely disturbed by the film when he saw it at 7. Then the discussion took a swerve.

After he explained what he considered the most horrid aspect of the film, he added an interesting tidbit. Apparently, it was an interview with Briggs himself. In the interview, Briggs explained that what contributed to his penning the graphic novel was the reality of a nuclear war and how virtually impossible it was for anyone to survive a nuclear holocaust. As such, there was a secret ending embedded in the home releases of the movie. To further his point, the user left an link to download the movie.

Curiosity overwhelmed my reasoning. For all intents and purposes, he may as well might’ve fabricated the whole thing. But, if it was in fact real, it would prove a good nugget of knowledge. So, I clicked the link. As it loaded, I was growing concerned that I was hoodwinked and that some sort of virus would crash it. I glanced back at my computer screen seeing that it was finished.

The film surprisingly started off without a single lag nor freeze. David Bowie performed the title song per usual followed by the real-life footage and Jim returning home from reading the newspapers in town. He lived with his wife in his country home in Sussex. He conversed with his wife again without issue. I felt a building dread. This was likely the third time I’ve seen the film so I already knew how everything would play out. Its saccharine mask would crumble away exposing its sinister underbelly. I hadn’t the faintest idea as to why this was the case. If I could put money on it, I’d have to guess Jim’s tone of voice. He was voiced by John Mills and yet rather than his jovial, more informed self, he had a forlorn expression on his face. Hilda immediately took notice.

When she asked her husband what the matter was, he informed her about the likelihood of war being inevitable. After she went through her tirade of war being wicked, the radio shuttered to life announcing that war could be expected in three days. The film segues to Jim preparing the house for the nuclear missile such as by painting the windows white or making a makeshift bomb shelter all according to the Protect and Survive pamphlet the government handed out. He called his son Ron only to become disheartened with his son's seeming ignorance. Ron's laughter could be heard over the phone. A mixture of humor and melancholy. He quoted famous songs much to his father’s chagrin. To me, it was clear that Ron was aware than he was letting on. He was losing what little sanity he had left by partying his troubles away.

The film progressed with the couple mentioning previous world wars and D-Day. Hilda was making a cake while her husband further desecrated the house in accordance with the pamphlet. The radio sounded again, the announcer explaining that an ICBM would arrive in three minutes. Jim became more hectic, and shoved Hilda underneath the door after calling her a bitch.

The screen turned to symbolize the missile dropping. A deafening siren blared through my headphones nearly sending me sprawling on the ground. Violent images of civilians' bodies littered the scenery. Fire rained down from the sky and engulfed the bystanders.

A school bus full of children was hit by a wave of the flames; each child’s body bloated up from the blast and ruptured like water balloons. Their skin melted off gorily. Imagine placing a stick of butter being placed in a microwave. Other people were glued to the streets due to their legs fusing with the concrete. Faces burned off as buildings and houses were leveled by the onslaught of chaos.

The sound wave struck the couple’s house, decimating it. Miraculously, or rather unfortunately, they survived. Hilda in typical fashion wanted to tidy up only to be held back and told that she couldn’t leave until the fallout subsided. In a new addition, Jim assured his wife that they would be fine. Another voice spoke out one that Hilda could not hear. Jim reacted in disgust becoming further unsettled.

“Old boy, while are you sentencing your wife to death?”

The conclusion I drew was that it represented Jim’s innermost thoughts, or more directly his conscience. It was a monotonous voice bereft of any emotion nothing there but a cold, pure logic.

The two attempted to survive as long as they could off what little rations they had left or whatever survived the blast. Their water bottles were disintegrated and subsequently, their water lines were cut off. The couple were immeasurably famished. Throughout the week, they made offhanded remarks about how people lost in the wilderness resorted to drawing lots and sacrificing the weakest member so the others would live. The thought they were so hungry they'd be willing to eat each other was horrible.

Jim once found a meat clover and walked over to his life as she laid on the couch sleeping. He contemplated his options but got cold feet when Hilda was stirring awake. He quickly hid the weapon away, instead telling her that she was hearing things because of her age.

One day while they were walking in their yard, Jim smelled something in the air. Hilda followed him also smelling it. Roasted pork, she thought. Her stomach was so barren, she’d waste no time gorging on the pork.

They walked over a hill, their thoughts immediately turning to sorrow. A family of four was huddled together tightly and were roasted dark by the blast. They were the remains of a husband and wife and their two small kids. Hilda and Jim looked at each other then at me with that thousand yard stare. The camera focused in on Jim’s beady eyes. Fire danced in them. He knelt down and ripped off an arm from one of the kids. Hilda prayed over the bodies before digging in as well.

"The Powers That Be will get to us in the end.”

A few weeks passed by. The couple were somehow still alive. The camera panned to the fridge showing scraps of flesh that were left of the family. Around that time, Jim had also collected the rain water, unaware that it was radiated and unsafe regardless of boiling it. Their water supply had vanished again. Rat carcasses were thrown all over the floor. It then segued to Hilda vomiting into the toilet ranting about hating the taste of rat meat and blood. Boils were all over her body and Jim’s. They were skeletal in appearance with their leathery skin barely being held together.

“I just hope that Ron and Beryl made it out okay,” Hilda weakly said.

As she said this, a jump cut of Ron popped up. He was animated with clay alongside his wife and children. They were melded together in a fleshy blob with their limbs conjoined together. Jim assures her that their son's family would always stick together. Hilda's hair began to fall out by the time she suggested to Jim that they should return to their bags because another attack could come. Jim agreed to her suggestion still assuring her that help would arrive.

The voice from earlier returned now violently criticizing Jim on withholding the truth about their situation. Hilda got into her bag and waited for her husband to join her. It felt like hours before he returned, and when he did, I was taken aback. In his hands was a rifle. He cocked it, and pointed it behind his wife’s head.

“Dear, are you there?” she asked.

Jim choked back tears as he tried to speak coherently. “Recite the Lord’s Prayer for me, would you?”

She obliged. Hilda recited the prayer louder as if hoping that her prayers would be heard. A single tear rolled down Jim's face. A loud gunshot is heard when the camera panned to the outside of the house. Jim looked at the gun in horror and tossed it beside his feet. Kneeling down, he clutched his wife as she laid dying. Tears dropped on her bosom. He remained in that position until the film faded out. The voice reappeared after the Morse code spelled out MAD.

"Old Jim died clutching his beloved wife to his dying breath due to radiation poisoning. But what he ultimately learned was that when you die…nothing happens.”

I was speechless with what I had witnessed. The film was dark, but never would I have thought that Briggs had a more sinister ending in store for the elderly couple. I took a flask and hard copied the download so I could watch it every now and then. Good too because the user’s account was terminated with the only indication of its existence being the other responses that the users gave.

Briggs said it himself that the wanted to show the utter hopelessness of surviving a nuclear war, and he succeeded.

[seokiloquy]

Lost In- What Word? Pt 2 - Akaashi Keiji

AU: Single Parent

Requested

Word Count: 2.7k+

Disclaimer: Fem! Reader, Time skip spoilers, just fluff

Pt 1 | Pt 2 | Pt 3

Another Saturday rolled around and the open field of the nearby park was close to empty. It was partially cloudy outside, letting the sun pour out periodically onto the grassy field. You kicked back, keeping a lackadaisical watch over your bags while trying not to fall asleep from the warm blanket that the sun gave you. The gentle heat that was settled into your stomach wrapped around your sides in a hug, it made it difficult to keep your eyes open and watch your son practice. It definitely didn’t help that in the moments when your eyes were open, your attention was mostly captured by the sturdy movements Akaashi made as he coached Naoko, and not Naoko himself.

This was one of those moments. Back facing you, the older man fell into a deep lunge, one leg stretching out further than the other. With his hands clasped together in an arrowhead shape and arms strengthened underneath his slim-fitting t-shirt, the ball fell right into the fleshy part of his forearm, bouncing high into the air with a satisfying smack. You quickly turned your gaze away toward the incoming dark clouds, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Nice spike, Naoko!” Akaashi encouraged.

You looked back to the rally that was taking place before you, smiling at Naoko’s large grin as he hit every ball with the near-perfect ability that had been developing over the past few weeks. Something hitting your cheek stopped you from spouting your own support for your boy. Looking up to the sky, your eye was assaulted by the same light sensation. Within seconds it began to pelt your skin harshly.

“Mama, it’s raining!” Naoko cheered, spinning with a large grin in his quickly soaking clothes.

You screeched at the feeling of cold water seep through your shirt to roll down your spine. Quickly, you grabbed the three bags off the ground, wrapping your arms as tightly around them as you could. From the corner of your eye, you could see Akaashi swipe a giggling Naoko off the lawn and point in the direction of the street. Naoko thrashed around happily in the older man’s arms.

The strong rain continued to stab into your skin as the three of you sprinted. Once at the dark-haired man’s car, he set Naoko down and began patting down at the non-existent pockets of his track shorts. “Keys,” he muttered repeatedly before spinning to pull his back out from your arms.

With the back door quickly swinging the door open, Akaashi lifted the young boy off the ground and pushed him into the back seats before helping you load the bags. The rain continued to pour down your back in small, cold waves. You shivered as the last bag was thrown in and the two of you began to round the sides of the car, hoping into the front seat.

Akaashi turned on the engine and cranked up the heat as you spun in your chair to try and dry off your son’s face, using your thumbs to wipe at his cheeks. “Keiji, do you have any— uh, clothes.. no, towels in here?” you asked.

He groaned, ruffling his hair to shake the water out. “Sadly no.”

A dissatisfied hum escaped you, as you spun back to face the front of the vehicle, listening to the rain as it bounced off the metal exterior. A roll of thunder echoed in the distance, soon followed by a flash of lighting. You sighed, “I guess we’re stuck here for a bit.”

Akaashi pulled the dar out of its lane, hand coming to rest behind your seat’s shoulder as he reversed. “I’ll drive you two home,” he said, smiling at Naoko as his eyes skimmed over the boy’s damp cheeks, “how are you doing bud, cold back there?”

Naoko hummed defiantly, shaking his head quickly, sending a few stray droplets of water Akaashi’s way. “Can we go play in the rain some more?”

You tried not to laugh.

Akaashi shook his head, finally pulling into the open lane, and faced the steering wheel. “Sorry kiddo, no can do.”

Akaashi felt a tingle tickle the back of his neck as he flipped through the storyboard sketches that Udai had prepared. The pages were messily put together and had misspelt notes covering the margins. Akaashi stared at a crude sketch of a newly introduced character on the page, trying not to laugh at the silly expression before flipping the sheet over.

"I think it looks good," he said, eyes skimming over the last page.

"Really? Not too bland? It is sort of a filler chapter," Udai yawned quietly as he splayed out on his chair as much as possible.

"I think you've included enough information that it isn't redundant."

"Wow. Thanks," the artist scoffed.

Early morning checks-ins, though required in the name of productivity, often left the undesirable feeling of doing a whole day's work in just under an hour. So when Akaashi stepped out of the small meeting space and saw that the sun was still high in the sky, he couldn't stop the audible groan that escaped him.

Chiyo laughed lightly, "long day?"

"The day's hardly started," Akaashi sighed, carding a hand through his hair, ruffling it at the back of his head. "I just want to sleep. I had a long weekend."

Ena gave the editor a smirk, "had fun with (Y/N) I presume."

"Oh shut up, Ena," Chiyo chuckled.

Akaashi slumped into his spinny chair, making it squeak at the fast movement and extra weight. Despite facing the other way, the light pouring through the window was incredibly bright, making him squint uncomfortably as he glared Ena's way. The other man gave him a conniving smirk.

"I wish that were the case. But not quite, I was dragged out by one of my friends to play volleyball yesterday. Apparently, their setter got bailed out and they needed a substitute. Everything's sore." Akaashi let out a pained groan, stretching his casual blazer covered arms above his head. He peaked a look over to your cubicle glancing at the unruly organization of sticky notes and pens that touched every surface except for your frames and monitor screen. "Where's (Y/N) anyway?"

"Naoko caught a cold, so (Y/N) is working from home today." Chiyo let out a pitiful whine.

The door to Udai's office opened slowly as the artist finished her sentence. It creaked as a mop of wavy black hair poked through. His nose pushed against the edge of the door as his eyes peaked over. "Poor baby Naoko is sick?" He asked, voice curling upwards. “If I could, I would make him some warm stew.”

“If you don’t get back to work you’ll fall behind,” Chiyo warned, not taking her eyes off of the large screen she drew on. With his frown becoming an unsightly grimace, Udai rushed back into his little office, berating himself for taking his eyes off of the paper for even a second.

Akaashi continued to stare at the empty seat on the other side of the frosted cubicle, biting his lip. He sighed, turning on the monitor on his desk, just barely ready to face the work he had to do for the next few hours.

Yukie opened the door, giving the taller man a familiar curled grin as she gestured for him to enter the apartment. He noticed the tall ceiling that had a fan hanging down from it and the plain couches that were covered with a soft-looking blanket. To his left was the open kitchen, where he carried over the stiff bag that he had been holding tightly onto. Yukie coughed, still holding the door open as she kicked on her shoes, umbrella in hand.

“I’m off to see some old friends,” she said. “I would say not to burn the place down, but it seems you brought food. See you.” The door shut gently behind her.

Down the hall, in Naoko’s room, you placed a cool towel against the boy’s forehead. “You really shouldn’t have played in the rain when Keiji dropped us off, now you’re sick.” 

He moaned tiredly in response, trying to turn his head to feel more comfortable, nearly letting the towel slip. Shimmying the heavy fabric back into place, you let the tips of your finger trail along his hairline, feeling for his raised temperature as you soothed him. “Oh sweetie, it’ll be okay.” You pecked his forehead lightly, grabbing the empty glass that sat on his bedside table and tucking his soft orange blanket over his shoulders. “Go to sleep, it’s okay.” His eyes were already half-closed and you were rising to your feet when the door opened.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Akaashi pitched, having waited a few moments in the hallway to listen to the melting tone of your voice as you spoke to your son in words the editor couldn’t understand.

Awe immediately filled your stomach, fluttering like little moths trying to find the nearest light. You watch as the man bowed slightly in the doorway before taking a few steps to meet your side. Leaning down, the back of his hand came to cup the younger boy’s cheek. Your eyes widened as Naoko's head fell limp in Akaashi’s palm, nuzzling into the strong muscle beneath the man’s skin. The strange feeling nagged at you again, making your lips pull into a pursed smile.

“He played in the rain didn’t he?”

“Even after I told him not to. Maybe he would’ve listened to you better,” you chuckled, crossing your arms against your stomach as your brain took a moment to switch back to the staccato paced language, different from your native tongue.

“It’s a shame though,” Akaashi said, walking to the door, hand coming up to hover behind your back. “I brought some warm soup for him to eat, I guess it’s just us then.”

The both of you walked toward the kitchen/livingroom split, and Akaashi gestured for you to sit down as if he were the host instead of the other way around. He reached into the cabinets to pull out two bowls.

“Let me help yo—”

“You’ve done enough today by taking care of Naoko. Let me at least do this for you.”

The light soup, despite not being the sick one in the house, warmed you up easily as it’s delicate flavour ran over your taste buds with each spoonful. The two of you ate in silence, listening to the rain that spat against your windows with every gust of wind. You didn’t even realize that you had asked for seconds before the bowl was once again placed in front of you by one of his sturdy hands. 

You quickly looked up to inspect the sharp corners of his eyes that smiled at you without needing any assistance from his mouth. The stare you were holding was quickly diverted to the bowl in front of you.

Before you even had the chance to notice Akaashi’s adoring gaze or the syllables that were about to fall off his lips, you blurted out.

“Thank you, Keiji. For everything.” You looked up just in time to see his mouth shut, waiting. “I honestly couldn’t be more thankful for everything you’ve done for us, I can’t put it into words.” You furrowed your brow as you maintained eye contact with him. “No, I seriously don’t know the words in Japanese. Don’t expect me to start spouting out a haiku for you just yet.”

He chuckled lightly, letting the melodic sound dance into your ears, making it even more difficult to put the right words together. You could feel heat burn the skin of your cheeks.

“I want to repay you somehow, so how abo—”

“How about I take you on a date?” he asked, leaning his elbows onto the counter.

You gulped, completely unable to get the words to escape you, and nodded.

Naoko, as you noticed over time since his initial meeting of Akaashi, has grown in unprecedented ways. Now, seven years since he was born, those small insignificant memories from when he was little had slowly faded into your subconscious, despite their images being engraved into your brain in those earlier years. 

Your lip swelled from the bite mark you left as you watched him bounce on the wooden court, heals never planting into the ground.

Yukie, the sports-loving and nutrition enthusiast, was the first substance added to this boy of a chemical reaction; introducing Naoko (and by association you) to the keep up sport at the ripe age of three. Working with athletes on a day to day basis and being near them since middle school gave the maroon haired woman a leg up in understanding in comparison to non-sporty parents. As soon as she was able, she took on the position of something akin to a soccer-mom. Helping you enroll Naoko in sports as soon as he was able to walk.

At the time, Naoko never seemed all too interested in volleyball itself. More attracted to the notion of being able to bounce something around. It at least kept him away from your phone. But as he grew older, and people began to notice that he wasn’t originally from Japan, Naoko’s outer shell seemed to build a bit, only opening the door for a stray volleyball to roll in. He was so shy.

Akaashi, so similar in some respects, made an unknowing catalyst in the young boy’s reaction. Suddenly and rapidly evolving the young, shy boy into one whose outer shell had carved out a bigger door, letting more things in, and a lot more out.

At the beginning of the volleyball season, only a couple weeks ago, Naoko’s coach came up to you after a practice, asking if the young player would be interested in moving up a level in the club, joining the representative (Or Rep) team for his age group. Naoko had stared at you like a tiny tawny owl until you agreed.

Now, you sat on the small metal bleachers set up for parents to watch their kids play, letting the excitement bubble in your stomach as your eyes trained on the young boy set a ball up into the air for his teammate to spike into the opposing club’s side of the court. The blue and yellow ball smacked into the floor after flying over the short net.

“Good Job!”

Your vision, as the players set up for the next serve, shot to Akaashi who was standing next to you, hands open on either side of his mouth as he yelled out in support. You smiled as he sat down again.

“Thank you for inviting me to come watch him play.”

A laugh escaped you as your hand waved defiantly. “To be honest, it was Naoko’s request. I was just the messenger. Besides,” you prompted, gesturing slightly to your son, who’s smile tore at the corner of his squishable cheeks, the largest you’ve ever seen from him. “He wanted you to see his first ‘real’ game.”

Akaashi’s charming grin was hard to look away from and at. 

“You know,” you continued, nodding over at the larger man that stood on the opposite side of the court with the rest of the players. “His coach told me that Naoko was a true prodigy after his try-out.” You bit your lip as you looked down at your fiddling fingers, feeling the light throbs begin to push against the back of your eyes. “Volleyball makes him so happy, and for him to know that he has talent is only pushing him further. God, he’s only seven and he’s already told me that he wants to be a volleyball player.”

You sniffled, hands clenching each other tightly. “I owe you so much Akaashi, you don’t even realize.”

His larger hand came to pull yours apart before holding the closest one gently in his palm. Letting his thumb swipe over the back of it. “You don’t owe me a single Yen, (Y/N). But hey,” he said, making you pick your chin up to face him. “If he wants to be a professional, I know a few cool guys he might want to meet.”

Sometimes I think about the fact that some of the people that have read our one-shots might share them with their friends or have a platform where they are popular, and it scares me and makes me happy at the same time. 

Also, we changed our upload date to Sunday because it works better for Kiwi. - Bacon

Posted: 13/09/2020