#but is confused by chin scritches

[galedekarios]

i want you all to meet my sweet little baby floof 🖤

[the-siphonophore]

It's storming so stormily rn <3

[charliemwrites]

Chapter 3

Content: Mild Pet Play, Dub-Con, Sexual Content

You wake to the scent of cooking eggs.

The previous night filters in between the muted clatter of dishes. Sneaking and hiding, then running and struggling. Your ass aches dully, no doubt bruised in a few key places, but the rest of your body is loose and heavy. Pleasantly so. Owed to that spectacular orgasm, though you’re reluctant to give Ghost any credit for that. He just took advantage of your body’s unorthodox arousal responses, that’s all.

Has absolutely nothing to do with the molten gravel of his voice. The rock-hard biceps, barrel chest, thick thighs. Those midnight eyes lurking behind that damn mask.

Nope. Nothing to do with him…

Well, that’s enough of that.

You yawn and stretch, blink your eyes slowly open. Before bed, Ghost scooped you up and took you back to your own cushion, saying something about earning the right to sleep with Johnny. You’d been dozing off and only managed a half-hearted grumble when he clipped your leash on again.

Across the room, Johnny is still splayed out and snoring – likely stayed up on self-imposed watch when he should have been resting. Shaking your head, you gingerly sit up, testing your body weight on your sore butt. Not too bad, if mildly uncomfortable. Manageable, you decide, and slump against the wall.

You rub your eyes, shift as your bladder twinges. Fuck. All that water Ghost made you chug last night. You glance dubiously at the kitchen doorway. To call out or not?

Ghost appears before you can decide. He notices you instantly, rumbles “good morning” in a sleep-laden voice that sends a shiver down your spine. You don’t respond, eyes dropping to your lap as your face warms. Christ, one good orgasm and a tender ass, and you feel like a teenager with a crush.

Don’t even realize he’s moved until he sinks to a knee in front of you. It’s too close; he absolutely dwarfs you. Your head doesn’t even feel screwed on yet, still floating somewhere in the memory of the previous night. He tuts as you duck your head, fingers curling in your blanket.

“What did I say about answering me?” he rumbles, deceptively soft. “Are we already misbehaving?”

He radiates so much heat. A tired part of you wants to curl into him, soak it up as you shake off the chill of sleep. You clear your throat against that thought and turn your face away. Not that he lets you get far, guiding your chin around and up. Exposing your throat – and yet still so devastatingly gentle.

“No. Sorry,” you whisper. “Just woke up, ‘s all.”

He coos. “Just a grumpy little thing, is that it? Need a spot of coffee?”

“A-and the restroom,” you add quietly, unwilling to risk denial. “Please.”

“Give us a proper hello and I’ll take you for a piddle.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, tamping down embarrassed anger as your face burns. He’s willing to give you what you want, that’s all that matters.

“Good morning, Ghost,” you murmur.

He hums. “Lovely, but not how my kitten should greet me.”

You blink, brows furrowing in confusion. How you should…? Right, because you’re his “pet.”

You recall what you can of cat behavior (though it’s been a while since you’ve interacted with one) and come to a hesitant conclusion. Slow and gauging, you shift forward, balancing on a hand between your legs. Ghost holds your gaze, dark and indecipherable.

Praying that his request supersedes his “no touching” rule, you lean up to press your cheek to his. When he doesn’t yank you back, you rub your face against the soft fabric of the balaclava, nuzzling to the sharp line of his jaw and then down to his neck. A rumble starts low in his chest. At first, you fear he’s growling. Then realize when he tilts his chin that he’s humming. Happily, it seems.

“Good morning, sir,” you murmur, pressing your nose to the hollow under his jaw. He still smells so fucking good. Even with the lingering scent of gunpowder and leather beneath the bodywash.

“Very good,” he croons, fingers burying in your hair. He scritches his fingers gently along your scalp, petting you. “What a sweet baby.”

You brace yourself against another shudder. You aren’t supposed to find this arousing or enjoyable. He’s holding your need to pee over you. That’s the only reason you’ve gone along with this. The only thing you get out of it is a trip to the restroom.

The chain rattles, drawing you from your thoughts. It’s… gone? When did he do that? Ghost squeezes the back of your neck and guides you away from his shoulder. You meet his eyes, bite the inside of your cheek when you see the gleam in them.

“You’ll be good for me, won’t you?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He clicks his tongue again, but lets you stand. It takes you a second, still a little stiff, but Ghost is patient as you stretch. Standing too close, sure, but not rushing you. Probably still preening over your compliance.

He walks you in front of him towards the basement hallway. When you come up short, Ghost chuckles and smooths a hand down your side. Meant to comfort, maybe.

“Downstairs bathroom is this way, little one,” he explains. “The basement isn’t for kitties. Even naughty ones.”

Well, even if he’s lying, it’s not like you have much choice. So you brace yourself and venture into the short hallway at his prodding. There are… four doors. You blink, glance at him over your shoulder. He points to the one at the very end. There are a series of locks on the outside, big heavy ones.

“Ominous,” you joke, strained.

“That’s the basement.” He pivots you to the right. “This one’s the restroom.”

“What… about the others?” you ask.

He snorts. “Sex dungeons one and two.”

You whip around, eyes huge. He barks a laugh and pats your ass.

“Storage and garage,” he chuckles. “Christ, your face.”

“Well, how should I know?!” you complain, shoving at the bathroom door. “I don’t know what you’re into!”

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head. You will.”

And then he slams the door behind you, leaving you in speechless silence. You press your hands to your face, compelled to hide when there’s not even a mirror for company. Fuck, you’re so stupidly turned on. It defies all logic and sanity. Once you feel a little less like you’re about to spontaneously combust, you hurry to do your business.

The downstairs restroom is a clean and modern half-bath. A brief exploration reveals nothing of interest (namely a weapon) in the cabinets. Hand towels, extra toilet paper, a little travel kit with a toothbrush and toothpaste under the sink. It’s decently stocked, but not helpful for anything beyond its intended use. Fair enough, you suppose.

When you finish, Ghost is waiting for you in the hall. Just like before, he walks you in front of him back to the living room. Soap is just starting to rouse, stretching and yawning widely. You immediately pivot to join him.

Two fingers hook in the side of your collar and tug, not hard enough to choke, but enough to stop you.

“Ah ah,” Ghost says.

You grab at his arm with an embarrassingly whiny noise, turning back to him in confusion.

“Why not?” you demand, frowning.

“Because you don’t have permission, brat,” he answers, voice turning dangerous. “Now, release.”

It takes a beat for you to realize what he means. Then you drop your hands, praying your little transgression hasn’t earned you another punishment so soon. Thankfully, he just tsks.

“Don’t give me that look. You two can play in a bit.”

You scrunch up your nose – not sure what “look” he means but knowing that he’s probably being condescending. Seems like his default.

“Back to bed,” he commands, jerking his head.

You huff and slink to your cushion, even going so far as to flop down. You’re being petulant, you know that, but you’re cranky. Ghost doesn’t say a word, just attaches your chain and leaves you with a patronizing little pat to the head.

“Morning, pup,” he calls.

Johnny squints at him for a second, scratching at the dark stubble shadowing his handsome jaw.

“Mornin’,” he grunts after a second.

Ghost snorts, stops with his boots at the edge of Johnny’s cushion. “I think we can do better than that. C’mere, pup.”

Johnny sighs through his nose but pushes himself up on his knees to shuffle closer. His eyes flick to you, looking for a clue.

Like a pet, you mouth as clear as you can.

His brows twitch with confusion. Then Ghost scratches encouragingly at the shorn hair behind his ear and understanding sparks in his sleepy blue eyes. He balances his palms on those broad thighs and presses his face into Ghost’s lower stomach. Your brows arch, impressed and a little envious – though you’re… not sure of who.

“Good boy,” Ghost rumbles, “my good boy.”

“Aye, mind taking me for a pish, then?” Johnny grumbles.

You cough a laugh as Ghost shakes his head with exasperation. But Johnny gets his wish, unclipped and led away just like you were. It sounds like he snips a couple more smart comments, but you don’t catch any of it as another yawn racks you.

When they return, Johnny returns to his cushion and allows himself to be secured again without complaint. Ghost scrubs a palm through Johnny’s overgrown mohawk, then disappears into the kitchen.

“How’d ye sleep?” Johnny asks. He seems more alert now, bright eyes giving you a thorough once over, lingering on your lower body.

“Like a wee lamb,” you tease, badly mimicking his accent.

“Haud yer wheesht, it gets worse every time,” he complains, rolling his eyes.

You snicker at his scowl, even when Ghost emerges from the kitchen. Helps that he has plates piled with food in hand. He delivers one to you and the other to Soap. Dips into the kitchen once more and returns with two mugs this time.

The rich scent of coffee greets you when Ghost sets one in your reaching hands. Peering at the surface, you’re pleasantly surprised to find it just the right shade. The first sip confirms; he’s made it just the way you like. Sugar, creamer, and even a hint of cinnamon.

That should be disturbing. It should chill you to the core and turn your stomach that your serial killer kidnapper knows exactly how you take your coffee. Maybe it will later. Right now, though, it’s a familiar bit of comfort.

“Thanks,” you mumble, balancing your plate on your knees.

Ghost grunts from the couch where he’s settled. No breakfast for him, apparently. Probably on account of his mysterious identity under the mask.

It would be degrading to have to eat on the floor – except you and Johnny have done this plenty of times. On missions, in safe houses, in the base common room. Hell, even to this day, the two of you have camped out on the floor of one of your flats, watching movies with takeout between you. At least you’ve been served on actual plates with utensils.

“Och, love a man who can cook,” Johnny groans into his eggs.

You stuff a bite in your mouth, humming when you find that the scramble is really good. Bits of bacon, onion, pepper, mushroom. Hell, it’s better than you or Johnny would have made for yourselves on a normal day.

“Okay, yeah,” you admit, “this definitely makes up for the kidnapping.”

Ghost doesn’t deign that with more than a droll look as he turns on the television.

There’s even perfectly browned toast with jam! What the hell sort of serial killer is he?

“Ye’ve got any other talents?” Johnny chuckles, mouth half-full. “Did ye knit these blankets yourself?”

“You two are awfully chatty all of a sudden.”

“Good food’ll do that,” you chirp, grinning across at him.

“Didn’t realize I’d nabbed a coupla hens.”

You exchange looks with Johnny. “Bawk bawk, Ghostie boy,” he cackles.

You nearly choke, flipping him off when he laughs at your ragged coughs. And Ghost, to your eternal shock, just shakes his head.

“Call me that again and you’ll be squawking for a different reason,” he warns.

It’s more than likely not an idle threat, but there’s audible amusement in his voice too. Like he thinks Johnny is funny in spite of himself.

Odd, you think.

From what you know of scenarios like this, stalkers don’t really want the people they kidnap. Not the actual person, personality and all. They want some ideal they’ve built up in their head. Try to twist and manipulate their victim into behaving the way they’ve deluded themselves into believing they are. So far, not the case with Ghost. He doesn’t seem disenchanted by Soap’s banter or your snark.

Maybe he did his “homework” after all. Or maybe you and Johnny are on an ever-dwindling timer. Eventually, Ghost’s patience will dry up. Your reactions will stop being novel and amusing, will become frustrating and wrong. He’ll decide you two are not his perfect pets after all and go looking for another pair to fantasize about.

And then, well…

“Finish eating, kitten.”

You blink, eyes darting up. Ghost is staring from the couch, gaze fathomless, like he knows exactly where your thoughts were spiraling. You hum and shovel another bite in. Past him, Johnny is watching as well, a contemplative frown tugging at the corner of his mouth.

It’ll do no good to fret about the inevitable right now, so you pointedly turn your gaze to the telly.

“Aw, the news again?” you complain around your mouthful.

Not much you want to see happening in the world. You used to make a game of guessing which international conflicts Price and Gaz would be deployed to. But then it made you sad and worried, and your therapist told you to stop – for once you’d listened.

“Saturday cartoons are always a winner,” Johnny chimes in. “I loved Looney Tunes as a bairn.”

“You are a Looney Tune,” you reply.

“Och, c’mere and say that, ya wee menace.”

“You’re lucky I can’t come over there.” Punctuated by an obnoxious slurp of your coffee.

Ghost points a warning finger at you, so you stop – though not without sticking your tongue out at Johnny. He responds with a rude gesture that makes your mouth drop open in faux outrage.

“How about a movie.”

Ghost doesn’t say it like it’s a suggestion, but Johnny is sure to impart his opinion anyway.

“Aye, let’s watch a horror movie. We can all compare notes.”

“I’m partial to slashers,” you add.

“Are you now?” Ghost drawls.

You blink at him once and stuff the rest of your toast – a not inconsiderable chunk – into your stupid, traitorous mouth.

“Good idea. Who’s that big bloke with the mask and the knife? Hunts horny campers down?” Johnny asks, a wicked smirk curling his mouth.

You tilt your head, point at Ghost with an arched eyebrow. Johnny’s shoulders shake with suppressed laughter.

“Jason Vorhees,” Ghost answers, flat and unamused.

“Aye, that’s the bitch,” Johnny crows, snapping his fingers. “Cousin of yours, then?”

This time you do choke, breadcrumbs straight down your windpipe. You have absolutely no business crying with laughter in a serial killer’s house – at that serial killer’s expense, no less – but here you are, trying desperately not to suffocate on breakfast.

“Right then,” Ghost sighs.

He rocks to his feet and lumbers to Johnny. His giggles taper off as Ghost approaches, though a shit-eating grin remains plastered wide across his face. He tilts his head back, opens his mouth to say something else obnoxious. Before he can make a single noise, two of Ghost’s thick fingers plunge past his lips.

He jolts, tries to jerk back, but Ghost just follows and pins him against the wall with a leg planted between his thighs, knee to his chest.

“If you bite down,” Ghost rumbles, “you won’t like what happens next.”

Biting looks like the last thing on Johnny’s mind. His eyes go half-lidded and hazy as Ghost’s wrist flexes, petting at his tongue and teasing at his gag reflex.

“You’re cute, pup,” Ghost coos, “problem is, you know it.”

You press your lips together; your input probably isn’t wise at this moment. But yes, he’s absolutely right.

He draws his hand back a bit, hooks his fingers behind Johnny’s bottom teeth and gives a little shake.

“I know you’re all riled up, but it’s not time to play yet,” Ghost condescends, like… well, like he’s humoring a naughty pet. “Now, be good or you won’t get to play at all. Understood?”

Johnny warbles an affirmative noise, tongue flicking over Ghost’s scarred and tattooed knuckles. He allows it for a moment, long enough for a droplet of spit to sneak down Johnny’s chin. Then he steps back to let Johnny breathe, wiping wet fingers on his cheek.

“Good.” He turns and catches your eye. “That goes for you as well.”

“I’m just sitting here!” you protest, offended.

He points at you again, fingertips still shiny with Johnny’s saliva. A (not) small part of you is sorely tempted to see what he’ll do if you push your luck. The ache in your ass dissuades you, but only just. You deflate, turning your face away haughtily.

“Understood,” you grumble.

From the corner of your eye, you watch him duck to collect Johnny’s plate and empty mug, then blink in shock as he crosses the room to do the same with yours. You stare as he takes it all back to the kitchen, followed soon by a telltale rattle of dishes in the sink.

When your eyes cut to Johnny, he’s also gawking at the doorway.

“Do you… get him?” you ask.

“Not a bit.”

Ghost ends up choosing the original 1978 Halloween. You curl up on your cushion with your blanket around your shoulders, bobbing along to the opening theme. After a moment, that creeping sense of being watched itches at your shoulders. You turn to find both men watching you with unnerving affection.

“What?” you ask, flustered. “It’s a classic!”

Ghost obliges to turn back to the screen, but Johnny’s eyes linger. You wrinkle your nose and make a show of ignoring him. Even still, you feel his attention on your profile. It makes you fidgety, so you force yourself to sit still until he finally refocuses on the movie.

It’s easy to settle in after that; Halloween is one of your favorites after all. Nothing like a big scary masked dude with an unrelenting and uncompromising obsession. You remember that Michael Myers was one of your first guilty wanks as a teenager, not sure why you found him attractive, just that you did.

Oh, if only you knew.

Halfway through, your hip starts to protest the extended stint on the floor. As soft as the dog bed is, it’s no substitute for a proper cushion or mattress. You try repositioning, legs extended, then folded, then bent. Nothing eases the building ache though, and finally you relent to stand.

It draws Johnny and Ghost’s attention again, the former frowning when he sees how you’re favoring your leg.

“Acting up?” he asks.

“Just need to stretch,” you say, waving away his concern.

It’s more than that and you know it. Between the fight at the cabin, crawling around yesterday, and a lack of meds, you’re lucky that your hip is only just starting to hurt. Borrowed time, at this point. If you sit down now, chances are that you won’t be able to get up on your own again.

Johnny knows it too, based on the tension in his jaw. But he spares your pride and pretends to believe you, turning back to the telly – though you know he’s sneaking glances at you from the corner of his eye.

Ghost is not so polite.

His stare is so heavy it threatens to knock your good leg out from under you. Like Johnny, you pretend to watch the movie, working through exercises the PT taught you. It helps a bit, though you neither lay down nor put much weight on it. You settle for leaning against the wall, absently fiddling with the chain of your leash.

Ghost abruptly stands, one of those uncanny fluid movements that remind you why he’s so deadly. He doesn’t say a word, just disappears into the back hall. Restroom, you figure, and turn round again. In the back of your mind, your spine prickles. That instinctual wariness of taking your eyes off a lurking predator. It’s not like it would do you much good to see him coming anyway.

Doesn’t stop you from startling when fingertips caress the back of your neck. You’re not surprised that you didn’t hear him, but you didn’t even notice his shadow this time. The weight of the leash disappears as it coils onto the cushion at your feet.

You still, shock and confusion freezing you to the spot. Is this another game?

Ghost saunters back to the couch, lounges closer to one arm rather than dead center like usual. He may be facing the screen, but you know he’s scrutinizing your reaction – or lack thereof. After an extended moment, he leans forward, elbow on his knee and hand extended towards you, palm up.

“Here, kitty,” he calls.

You hesitate, caught on distrust and pride. He wiggles his fingers a bit, makes a clicking noise with his tongue like he’s luring a stray. Another beat as you consider… but maybe you really are a cat because curiosity wins out. You slink across the living room until you’re hovering at the far end from him.

“That’s it,” Ghost croons, “c’mon.”

Slowly, carefully, you place a hand on the cushion. His eyes glint with satisfaction, so you settle more of your weight and place the other hand a little closer to him. He hums and leans back in a deliberate gesture to allow you space. You slide your knee up, all but entirely on the couch now – but you stop. Wait.

Ghost just observes, an amused crinkle around his eyes. He doesn’t coax again or try to reach for you. That, more than anything, lures you into crawling fully onto the cushion, scrunched up against the arm of the couch.

“’S alright, little one. Stretch out that leg.”

You blink, mouth parting on words he’s robbed you of. It is… an unexpectedly kind gesture. But then he hasn’t been needlessly cruel, has he? Okay, yes, he spanked you raw last night, but that was a clear chain of action-transgression-consequence. He’s sort of gone out of his way to make you and Johnny comfortable, even if he’s a manipulative asshole.

A glance at Johnny decides you. There’s a glimmer of genuine respect for Ghost in his eye.

You ease across the cushions inch by inch, letting your legs extend until your toes are centimeters from Ghost’s thigh. Only then does he touch you, a warm calloused hand curling around your ankle. His thumb rubs light circles over the ball joint, hypnotic little spirals that leech the tension from your muscles.

“Settle in, now,” he says, “we’re almost at the good part.”

And you have no reason not to, so you do. The extra padding is an immediate improvement and you’re able to enjoy the rest of the movie with minimal readjustments. Ghost never seems to mind, just waits until you’ve rotated the socket to your satisfaction and resumes his gentle petting.

As soon as the credits start rolling, Johnny sits forward and rattles his chain.

“Well now, I’m feeling left out. I’ve been perfectly well behaved,” he complains. “I want in on the snuggle party too.”

You perk up. Johnny is always a good movie companion.

Ghost snorts. “That’s what you call well-behaved?”

“Aye, and if you’ve been stalking us for that long, you know it.”

You hum in agreement. Johnny sitting quietly through an entire movie is something of a feat.

“It doesn’t seem fair,” you chime in. Ghost pins you with a skeptical look and you, in a moment of inspiration, widen your eyes at him. “Please? Sir?”

He squeezes your ankle, eyes narrow. “You’re not subtle.”

You wiggle a little closer, ignoring the twinge in your hip. “Please?”

“Alright,” he grouses. “Enough.”

He stands, dislodging your feet, and crosses to your cushion. At first, you’re afraid that he’s going to leash you again. But then he unlocks the chain from the wall anchor and crosses back to Johnny. He kneels down, fiddles with the links and padlocks for a second before grabbing a firm hold of Johnny’s collar and tugging.

“This is a privilege, you understand?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “If you act up, it’s not your ass I’ll be taking it out of. Clear?”

Johnny’s eyes flash, a stormy glance sent your way in understanding. “Aye, crystal.”

“Give us a bark like a good mutt.”

Johnny’s lip curls, but he delivers a sullen little “woof” that seems to satisfy Ghost. He releases the collar and returns to the couch. This time, he takes the side your upper half is lounging on. Before you can scramble to make room, he lifts you up, takes your spot, and drops your torso onto his lap.

“Hey,” you grumble.

His fingers bury in your hair, equal parts restraining and pacifying. You wriggle around, dig your shoulder into his thigh as revenge. It not that his huge thigh doesn’t make for a nice pillow – the issue is that it does. Warm and firm to support your neck, but still a generous layer of soft tissue for your cheek to snuggle into.

“Consider this a trade for letting the pup onto the furniture,” Ghost drawls.

You subside as Johnny, now on an extended leash with the addition of yours, takes the other end. He gathers your legs in his lap and immediately starts massaging his big, warm hands along the damaged nerve pathway. You make a quiet noise, mouth a “thank you” that earns you a warm look.

“What’s next, then?” he asks. “I’m still partial to that Jason bloke.”

You snicker, earn a tug to the hair from Ghost.

“Something spooky?” you suggest. “Ghosts?”

This time he pinches your cheek hard enough to smart. You whine, almost whack yourself in the face while swatting at him. He does end up putting on a supernatural movie next, much to your delight. It’s something generic that you’ve seen a million times, but the familiarity soothes you.

Twenty minutes later, it strikes you how domestic it all is. Ghost is still playing with your hair, Johnny is digging his thumb into a sore muscle – and despite everything, you’re warm and comfortable and… feel more at ease than you ever have alone in your own apartment.

Well, shit. That’s… that’s probably not healthy.

Thankfully, your thoughts are interrupted by Johnny’s clever hands finding a point that sends a shockwave down your calf and up your spine. You gasp, body jerking, and then loose a soft moan. Ghost’s hand pauses in your hair.

“Yeah?” Johnny asks, voice dipping low and rough. “That the spot, bonnie?”

You hum the affirmative, all you’re able to manage as his fingers press into it again. Persistent pressure, kneading tender muscle where the worst of the pain seems to originate. Every tiny shift ignites another round of sparks through that side of your body, plucking quiet noises from your throat. It hurts as much as it feels good, one of those weird dichotomies of the human body not knowing how to interpret stimulation.

Eventually he eases up, gently working out the last of the tension until you’re little more than a puddle spread between his and Ghost’s laps.

“Thank you, Johnny,” you mumble into Ghost’s leg.

“Any time, darlin’.”

His hands don’t stop moving, though. No longer massaging, just… touching. Not that you mind. You’ve always liked his touch a little more than you should as a friend, and after your pseudo-confession last night, you’re practically squirming for more contact.

He seems all too happy to oblige, one hand anchoring on your knee. The other edges further and further between your thighs, stroking tantalizing patterns across sensitive skin. Even through your joggers his touch is hot, sends tingles into the pit of your stomach.

Johnny’s good with fire, and the one he’s building in your body smolders like coal. Reminds you of underground mines, burning quietly beneath the surface until they finally erupt above ground, scorching everything.

You’ve carried a torch for him so long you wouldn’t even notice if you started to burn.

It becomes increasingly difficult to focus on the movie as his hand creeps higher and higher. You’re starting to react; it’s only a matter of time before the evidence becomes obvious. You pinch your bottom lip between your teeth, heart beating hard and fast in your chest.

When you sneak a glance his way, his eyes are already on you, knowing and heated.

“Johnny.”

You both jump at Ghost’s sharp tone, eyes flying to him.

“What did I say?” he rumbles. “Behave.”

“I am!”

“Are you going to settle down, or do I need to make you?” Ghost asks, implacable.

You swallow, try to sit up to diffuse the stubborn light in Johnny’s eyes. Ghost’s fingers hook deftly in your collar and keep you pinned down. All you can manage is to twist a bit and shake your head when Johnny’s gaze darts to you. His hand tenses on your knee, jaw twitching with the clench of his teeth. You can see him teetering on the edge of something rash; his temper is a glass threatening to tip over and shatter.

And if that happens, this tentative peace is over. Ghost will punish you both, and probably take away these comfort “privileges” as collateral.

“Ghost?” You murmur. There’s a beat where you think he’ll ignore you. And then his chin tilts, dark eyes glinting when he sees the shy turn to your mouth. It’s not entirely an act either, your face heats as you struggle to hold his gaze. “When the movie is over… could we… could we play?”

He grunts, eyes narrowing – though you can’t tell if it’s with amusement or aggravation at your antics. His thumb traces your bottom lip, tugging it from between your teeth. You let him glide the pad of it along your canines and then back to your molars, opening your mouth to accommodate his hand. Squeeze your thighs together and realize Johnny’s hand is still there, make a soft noise knowing that he can feel the effect this is having on you.

“That pent up already, hm?” Ghost muses.

You nod, careful that you don’t nick skin. He blows out a long breath as if you’re asking for something terribly inconvenient. Then he turns back to Johnny. He pulls his thumb from your mouth, only to offer it with an audible smirk.

“Well, pup?”

You purposefully flex your thighs around Johnny’s hand, a silent plea to mind his temper. It proves to be unnecessary. His eyes are locked on Ghost’s hand, his thumb glistening with your saliva. Johnny’s full mouth parts, tongue unfurling decadently over his bottom lip.

“Is that it, mm?” Ghost purrs. “You just need to play? Need to get all that energy out?”

He smears the pad of his thumb down the midline of Johnny’s tongue and Johnny moans, like the secondhand taste of you is ambrosia. You bite the inside of your cheek and swallow back an answering noise; don’t want to interrupt the moment.

Ghost presses down, pins Johnny’s tongue.

“Puppy needs his exercise, or he gets antsy,” Ghost chuckles. “Alright, then. Be good until this movie is over and then we’ll set you right, yeah?”

Johnny hums agreement, tongue curling around Ghost’s thumb as his thick lashes flutter.

“Atta boy.”

Ghost indulges him a moment longer, then pulls his hand away. Johnny’s brow furrows like he’s going to protest, but then he clears his throat and nestles into the cushions, face pinkening.

The hand in your collar begins to stroke the skin around it, lingering on your erratic pulse and the bob of your throat. It’s distracting, keeps that flame burning bright in your belly. Johnny’s hand is still between your thighs, but even without moving, you’re all too aware of it.

“Goes for you too, kitten,” Ghost warns when you start fidgeting.

You tuck your face against his thigh and force yourself to lie still. The movie is a lost cause at this point. You’re just counting down the seconds until it’s over. Johnny isn’t in much better state; you can feel him pressing against your calf, thick and hard.

In your head, an entirely different movie is playing. Ghost toying with Johnny the previous night, big hands stroking his cock like they belonged there. The way Johnny’s face twisted with pleasure and desperation. You can almost hear the sounds he made, the way ecstasy shredded his voice.

And then you blink, and the credits are rolling.

It barely registers before you’re smothered. Johnny stretches the entirety of his body along yours, one long, muscular line of blissful heat crowding you into the cushions. His mouth smashes into yours, nothing neat or restrained about it.

A little, hazy part of you thinks that if you’ve been carrying a torch, Johnny has been tending a bonfire. At least that’s the way he kisses you. Like it’s the end and beginning of his whole world, like any second his tongue isn’t exploring your mouth is a waste of air. You can’t breathe without him filling your lungs, can barely even move to reciprocate.

And god, do you want to.

The best you can manage is to curl your fingers into his shirt and give him all the access he’s clambering for. He keeps pressing and pressing, wedging his thigh between yours and snaking an arm beneath you to squish your chests together. His teeth scrape your lip when you rock your hips, moaning as you finally get barest hint of the friction you crave.

He gets more frantic when you gather the brain cells to move your hands, sneaking them beneath his shirt. His stomach flexes as you trace the tempting lines you’ve admired so long, physically mapping the hills and valleys you memorized with your eyes. You gently scratch your fingers through the downy hair beneath his navel and feel him twitch against your hip. Do it again and get the barest, eager rock of his hips.

You’re lightheaded when he finally pulls away, though he doesn’t go far. His beard rasps along your cheek and jaw as he licks and sucks down to your neck. Your eyes flutter as you tilt your head back, trying to give him room.

You find Ghost’s eyes instead.

The reminder that he’s right there, that you and Johnny are making out like horny teenagers in his lap, sends a wicked thrill through you. It feels dangerous, like you’re provoking a wild animal, dangling food in front of a starving beast.

Johnny nips your collarbone hard; it’s going to leave a mark. Between one heartbeat and the next, Ghost tangles his fingers in Johnny’s mohawk, tugging him back from you with a chuckle.

“Easy now, pup,” he says, “play nice.”

“This is nice,” Johnny growls, flashing his teeth. His thigh flexes at the apex of yours, sending a shudder down your spine.

“Then we’ll just have to train you better, won’t we?”

With his free hand, Ghost rucks up your shirt. A tiny part of you thinks to protest his assumed entitlement to your body, but the thought fades when Johnny literally drools. You make a soft noise, get shushed by Ghost while Johnny’s pupils swallow the blue of his eyes. When your shirt can’t get any higher, you help Ghost shimmy it the rest of the way off, leaving your torso bare.

He presses against Johnny’s head, who gladly dips down to continue mauling your chest – only to be stopped just before he can reach you. His mouth hovers at the hollow of your throat, hot breaths puffing out against your skin.

“Well?” Ghost mocks.

Johnny’s tongue darts out, tasting, testing. When he tries to get closer, lips curling back from his teeth, Ghost stops him again. Only allows him close enough for the barest, sweetest brush of his mouth. Understanding, Johnny groans with annoyance, but Ghost is unyielding. He guides Johnny’s mouth to your nipple, hard and pebbled in the open air.

You moan as Johnny circles his tongue, spirals that get tighter and tighter until he’s flicking at it. He smirks when your eyes meet, laps with the flat of his tongue and then blows cool air. You squirm and pant, wanting more, wanting to lean into his mouth, but can’t with Ghost’s wide hand stretched across your collarbones.

Johnny’s teasing doesn’t last long either when he’s constrained to the smallest taste of you. Finesse devolves as hunger grows, his tongue losing its rhythm and technique in favor of sloppy, desperate licks. Saliva drips onto your chest and ribs, his appreciative grunts pitching into pleading whines.

“Something you want?” Ghost taunts.

“Let me…” Johnny breathes. “Let me…”

Ghost just chuckles again and drags Johnny’s face down your abdomen, smushing his cheek against the skin so that his beard leaves red marks in his wake. At your lower stomach, though, Johnny puts up the first real resistance. He turns his head and presses his parted lips to the angry red scars climbing over your waistband.

“Johnny…” you murmur, a little heartbroken at the way his face twists.

Ghost eases up a bit, gives him room to worship the injury that ended your military career. His tongue traces old suture marks, wide gashes where shrapnel embedded. He rubs his lips against the whirls of burns. You slip a hand from between your bodies, rub your thumb against his cheek until his gaze locks with yours.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your skin. It sounds like it comes straight from his soul.

Your chest hitches with a surge of emotion.

“I’m not dead,” you reply, just as quiet, but fierce. “Stop treating me like I am.”

His eyes flicker, ignite, and burn. He sinks his teeth into a clear patch of skin amongst the carnage. You yelp even through a grin, leaning into the bruising pain until Ghost tugs playfully at his hair.

“Release, pup,” he says after a moment.

Johnny does, but not without sucking first to ensure a livid mark is left behind. He licks his lips as Ghost pulls him away. You’re pulsing against Johnny’s thigh, wish you had even a centimeter of room to grind against his leg.

Ghost seems to notice, cooing at your flushed face as his free hand pinches your nipple. It’s a delicious sharp counterpoint to the sweet ache of Johnny’s earlier attention. You cry out, want to arch for more as much as you want to hide away, and you’re unable to do either. He does the same to the other, twisting as he plucks the flesh to aching sensitivity.

“Getting restless, kitten?” He mocks as you mewl and squirm. “I told you that you’d get to play too.”

You nod, blinking up at him as frustration starts to sting your eyes. He clicks his tongue and untangles his hand from Johnny’s hair, snaps your waistband.

“Off.”

Johnny, bless him, scrambles to help you strip, tossing your pants over the side of the couch. You hiss as your sore ass rubs against the cushions, less pleasant than the soft lining of your joggers.

Ghost outright laughs and manhandles you around onto your front, strokes a covetous hand down your back.

“C’mon, little one. Arch your back like a good kitty.” You’re already complying when he adds, “Show Johnny his toy.”

Syrupy heat washes over you, drips along your spine. Your moan twines with Johnny’s, lust drunk. You plant your knees as far apart as you can and tilt your hips, leaning your weight into Ghost’s lap. Johnny curses softly under his breath.

“Go on, pup. You can touch,” Ghost purrs.

Suddenly Johnny’s hands are everywhere. Your chest, your hips, your thighs, your ass. Stroking and kneading and pulling and squeezing. It’s an overload of sensation after that carefully controlled contact; Johnny’s like a kid let loose in a candy store. All enthusiasm, no restraint, so eager to glut himself on you.

Ghost’s hand cups the back of your neck, thumb caressing the sensitive skin beneath your ear.

“That’s it, sweetness. Let him have his fun, get all that energy out.”

You whimper as Johnny licks a hot stripe up the back of your thigh. Punctuates with teeth digging into the crease where it meets your ass.

“Wanna eat you out,” Johnny slurs, breaths heavy against you. “Lemme eat you out, Kit. Promise I’ll make it so good f’you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Feel like you’re going to shake apart and he hasn’t even touched you.

“Please, Johnny,” you whine.

“Fuck, baby, yeah,” he groans, spreading your cheeks. “Say my name jus’ like that.”

You gasp as he seals his mouth against your fluttering hole, spare syllables tripping off your tongue. He goes down on you the same way he kissed you. Near feral, licking and sucking, drool dripping. You open up for him embarrassingly fast, can feel droplets of your own arousal falling onto the couch below.

He massages his tongue against your walls, growls when your hips twitch at the too-much-too-fast of it all. His fingers hook around your thighs and yank you back into his face. You yelp, reach for something to feel anchored. Find a large, calloused hand and grip tightly as Ghost hums over your head.

“Doing so well, pup,” he rumbles. “Good boy.”

Johnny curses, wicked vibrations down your nerve pathways. His enthusiasm somehow doubles with the praise. He fucks into you with his tongue, curving the tip each time he draws it out, only to plunge as deep as he can again. Your mouth falls open on a silent scream when he fits a finger inside, pulling gently at your entrance, gaping you open a bit to give his tongue more room. It’s intimate and filthy and perfect.

“Don’t be mean, kitty,” Ghost says. The hand on your neck slips around to toy with your sensitive nipples, pinching and tugging until you’re writhing back onto Johnny’s face. “Tell the puppy how well he’s doing.”

It takes a second to remember what words are. And then another to gather enough air to speak.

“S-so good, Johnny,” you mewl. “Feels… feels so… g-gonna cum if you keep…”

He groans long and loud, twisting his wrist to press his thumb against the nerves past your hole. Your eyes roll back, realize you’re going to make good on your word even sooner than you expected. Then his finger crooks inside you, finds that spot that sends your brain into the stratosphere.

“There, there, Johnny please, right there, don’t stop,” you chant, plead, cry.

He abuses it ruthlessly, pressing and petting until your broken little “ah, ah, ahs” go up an octave and you’re cumming with a scream. You jerk like you’ve been electrocuted, rocking into it as wave after wave threatens to knock your legs out from under you. Johnny milks every last drop of pleasure from you, his rhythm not faltering once while you ride it out.

Your orgasm finally ebbs, but Johnny is still going. Isn’t even slowing.

“Johnny, ‘s too much,” you whimper, trying to crawl away and failing miserably. “Please, please, ’s too – you have to…”

“Told me not to stop, love,” he reminds without pulling his face away. “I don’t plan to.”

“N-no, Johnny,” you start, but he dives right back in and steals the words from your mouth.

He drags you like a riptide into a sea of overstimulation, drowning you in pleasure bordering on pain. You can’t even get your muscles to cooperate enough to push at him, tortured with aftershocks that leech any strength or resolve from your body.

So you settle on your only hope for salvation.

“Ghost,” you sob, “Ghost, please make him stop. C-can’t take it. Please.”

He hums as if debating, lets the moment extend until you wail at the threat of another finger against your soaked entrance.

“Enough, pup.”

Johnny practically snarls, teeth grazing oversensitive skin and making you squeal.

“Enough.”

You feel him shift, though your eyes are closed so you don’t see what he does. All you know is that Johnny’s mouth and hands are gone all at once, leaving you wrung out and trembling. There’s a beat of charged silence. Then two sets of hands help you stretch out your legs, rubbing any lingering soreness from your hips.

You squeeze Ghost’s hand in silent thanks, receive one in return that makes you blush brighter than the orgasm did.

“Don’t pout, pup,” Ghost chides, amusement thick in his voice. “Show me how much fun you’re having.”

Fabric rustles behind you. You peek over your shoulder, suck in a breath when Johnny’s cock springs from his joggers. There’s a noticeable wet patch on the gray fabric. His head is flushed red, shiny with precum, so hard it looks painful. You bite your lip at the sight of him so close, so big. Half of you wants to climb on his dick and ride him until you pass out, the other half is still reeling.

“Let’s give the kitty a break, yeah?” Ghost says. Who would have guessed he’d be the voice of reason here. “Play with yourself for us.”

Watching Johnny fist his own throbbing cock is the singular most erotic thing you’ve ever seen. He’s gorgeous, lit by the TV screen and soft lamplight, hips rocking into his hand like he can’t convince his body to commit to the rhythm. The rosy head peeks in and out of view, pearls of pre slicking the way. Every few strokes, he twists his wrist and squeezes a little harder, and his thumb sweeps over the weeping slit.

“Pretty boy,” Ghost croons, “so good for us, isn’t he, kitten?”

“Fuck, you’re beautiful, Johnny,” you rasp.

He moans, head rolling back on his shoulders. Remembering how he reacted to Ghost earlier, you keep talking.

“I wanna choke on your dick, Johnny. Want you to fuck my throat until I’m crying.”

“Kit.”

He sounds gutted. You make a soft noise, part your legs a bit so that he can see the mess he’s made of you.

“Gonna make you cum in all my holes,” you continue, “drip with you all day.”

Every salacious thought you’ve ever had spills from your tingling lips, no filter or shame to stop them now. Johnny’s hand speeds up on his cock with each word, brutally fast. You can see him twitching, know he must be close from the way his voice is rising and breaking.

“Stop,” Ghost says like a gavel strike.

Johnny’s hand freezes, seemingly from sheer befuddlement rather than willing obedience. His orgasm recedes, replaced with frustration.

“Ghost, why—”

“You don’t want the kitten to get you off, then? My mistake.”

Johnny perks up instantly while your gut clenches – and you can’t even tell if its anticipation or dismay.

“No, wait, ‘m sorry. Please, Ghost.”

“That’s more like it.”

He snatches a fallen throw pillow from the floor – the same one from the previous night. Again, it goes under your hips, propping your ass in the air. This time, he nudges your thighs closer together. Johnny seems to catch on, makes a quiet, pleased noise. You don’t understand until he straddles your thighs and the slick head of his cock nudges at the seam of your ass.

You whine as his hand plants on your lower back.

“What?” Ghost mocks, “You didn’t think playtime was over, did you? ‘S not very fair to Johnny, is it?”

You make a vague noise of agreement. Johnny should be able to get off, and you’re pleased that he’s using you to do it.

“Sweet thing,” Ghost chuckles, petting between your shoulders.

You press your forehead against his thigh, sink your teeth into the muscle as Johnny’s thick cock sinks between your thighs. There’s hardly any friction, wet from his mouth and your combined arousal.

“Fuck, you’re so soft,” he groans. “Tense up for me, doll. Make it nice and tight.”

You squeeze your thighs together and cant your hips just so, making the perfect channel for him to fuck into. The head of his cock drags against sensitive, swollen flesh, bullies overworked nerves with each jerk of his hips. He’s not being gentle; don’t think he could manage it if you asked.

Even after your “break,” it’s still overwhelming. You struggle to lay there and take it, hands clenching and unclenching in Ghost’s pants. Find yourself mouthing mindlessly at the sizeable bulge pressing against your cheek. Reluctance and embarrassment long abandoned, you turn your head to press your tongue against the fabric.

“Ghost, can I?” you ask. “Please, I-I need something to… please?”

He chuckles roughly, sinks his fingers into your hair to keep your head in place as he rocks against your face.

“That what you need, little one? Need a cock in your mouth to distract you from how good the pup is making you feel?”

You nod as best you can, writhing beneath Johnny’s weight and the awful pleasure that sings through you every time his cock catches on your hole.

“S’pose you’ve been good.”

Ghost dips his other hand into his sweats, allows you to tug them down a bit. His cock is somehow bigger than Johnny’s, almost intimidating. Long and thick, curved towards his stomach, gratifyingly hard just from watching you and Johnny play. A pretty silver ring loops through the head – a Prince Albert, your mind supplies.

You swallow him down without a thought, moan at the way the piercing rubs against your tongue. It’s an instant obsession, you can’t help flicking at it each time you rise up. He seems to enjoy the special attention, grunting when you suck obscenely at the head.

“Oh fuck,” Johnny groans behind you. “You two are so fucking hot, it’s not fair.”

He thrusts harder, more erratic. Your thighs clench tighter as you take Ghost down as far as you can, gagging, eyes watering. He grunts, hips twitching, lodging himself just that little bit deeper. You can’t breathe, but you don’t really want to. Not when you can feel metal teasing the back of your throat.

“Fuck, Johnny, keep being good and maybe I’ll let you have this one day,” Ghost groans.

With the hand in your hair, he guides you into a proper rhythm. Not as demanding as you’d expect a man like him to be, but he’s not coddling you either. You have to get air when you can, actively swallow past your gag reflex. Hum and moan as Johnny continues to grind, getting wetter as his end approaches.

You’re distracted enough by Ghost’s cock ruining your mouth that Johnny’s rutting is almost bearable.

“Fuck, shit, I-I’m gonna…”

“Atta boy, Johnny,” Ghost growls, voice gravel. “Cum all over our pretty kitty.”

You shudder as Johnny buries himself one last time. Heat splatters across your stomach, then as he pulls back, all over your thighs, ass, hole. His breath stutters as he milks himself through it, then smears the head through the mess. One of his fingers toys at your entrance, massages his cum in there.

You keen, teeth accidentally scraping Ghost’s shaft. Thankfully, he seems to enjoy that, a ragged groan thundering through his chest.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he growls. “Get over here, mutt.”

Johnny, dazed and sated, stumbles off the couch and crawls between Ghost’s parted knees.

“Up, little one,” he instructs you.

You follow his guidance to the top half of his shaft, where it’s still easy to breathe and move your tongue.

“Well?” Ghost says to Johnny. “Pick up the slack.”

And soon you feel his breath caressing your face, his forehead bumping gently against your chin. It takes a bit of doing, but you manage to coordinate, licking and sucking and worshipping Ghost’s cock. Your lips meet in the middle, exchange messy kisses, Johnny moaning at the taste of Ghost’s precum on your tongue.

It’s messy and hot, humid with shared air and sweat and lust. You dip the tip of your tongue into Ghost’s slit where the piercing threads. He curses, hand tightening in your hair. As one, you and Johnny double your efforts, finding those most sensitive spots and working at them until Ghost pants, ragged, “Just like that.”

Your only warning is the noise Johnny makes in the back of his throat. Then Ghost’s dick jerks violently and salt explodes across your tongue. He pulls you off almost immediately, spurts across your nose and cheek, then yanks Johnny up to receive the same. The two of you lap up the remains, then, at Ghost’s urging, clean each other up.

In the aftermath, you drop your head heavily into Ghost’s lap. Beside you, Johnny slumps over, his arm looping tiredly around your back.

“Well done,” Ghost murmurs, a hand on each of your heads. “Better now?”

You exchange glassy, stupid glances with Johnny, twin dopey grins tugging at your mouths.

“Yes, Ghost,” you chorus.

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Masterlist

[soft-mafia]

Buggy Headcanons (NSFW + SFW)

warnings: mentions of female reader, the NSFW isn’t separated from the SFW it’s kind of mixed in

a/n: I wanted to do some more Buggy headcanons to get my creative juices flowing loool

• The man stress eats(and drinks), when he’s frustrated over another encounter with straw hat, or a failed treasure hunt, he’ll sit on his throne or in his quarters and shovel food into his mouth. Whenever you’re sitting on his lap he can accidentally get a whole lot of crumbs on you.

• He’ll have days when all he wants to do is fuck. He’ll have sex with you for hours, until the room smelled like sweat and raw sex. His hairy torso pressed up against your back while he’s holding you down, grunting like a bull as he cums in you for what feels like the millionth time. Of course he takes breaks after every round, giving himself a breather while he either holds you close to him, or plays with your sopping pussy.

• The most annoying thing about sleeping with him at night is when he’s spooning you, he sometimes snores right into your ear. And it’s loud, especially when he gets choked on his own mucus and goes into a loud coughing fit.

• As soon as he gets into his quarters after a long day of pillaging and pirating— his clothes as off. As soon as that door closes he’s already in his underwear flopped onto the bed.

• He always makes sure that you’re eating. Even when you’re full or not hungry he’ll shove some food into your mouth or hand feed you a fruit or something. And he’d always do it at the worst times too, whenever you’re talking to one of his pirates about something, or if you’re talking to him, he’ll his hold a piece of food up to your mouth like you’re an animal(or his floating hand will just show up beside you) and he’ll expect you to take it, and if you don’t he’ll just shove it into your face again.

• Buggy loves grabbing your ass, especially when you least expect it, he’ll pull you into a firm embrace, and when you think he’s just being all lovey dovey— your eyes go wide when you feel his strong hands gripping your ass, your face going red as you feel his deep laughter rumble in his chest.

• He goes crazy over chin scratches, will literally go loopy when you scritch him.

• It’s hard getting all of his thick cock to properly fit into your mouth in one go, so he takes his time easing your lips around him. His muscled thighs twitching in his pants, grunts escaping him as he guides you through it. “Yeah.. that’s it, all the way down that pretty throat.” He chuckles gravely behind grit teeth, “You’d think you’d get used to it by now!” He laughs. Gently holding your head while watching your cheeks puff out with his cock is one of his favorite things about blowjobs.

• Gets jealous and protective whenever he’s around someone he sees as a threat to your relationship. It’s kind of a similar situation to his nose, where he’s so insecure he thinks everybody is out to steal you from him. You’re with him while he’s talking to somebody he sees as stronger and more attractive than he is(impossible), they’re speaking to him about something but he’s not listening to because he’s thinking about them stealing you and you running off with them. Buggy growls and randomly blurts out, “HANDS OFF MY GIRL, SHE’S MINE!” Which leads you, and the person in question confused.

• There was an incident where Mr. 3 sarcastically asked Buggy if he had to choose between Y/n and the one piece, Buggy just stood there with his mouth open, looking between you and 3, genuinely torn between the two options. You were rightfully pissed and didn’t speak to him for the rest of the day. While you were giving him the silent treatment, he was an emotional rollercoaster, going from whining, to straight up shouting at you. “Come on baby it was hypotheticalllll!!” “STOP BEING DRAMATIC!!” “At least look at me when I’m talking to you!!!” “LOOK AT ME Y/N!!!”

• Sometimes he does things to try and get you to laugh, and every time he does something that unintentionally makes a fool out of himself, and usually it always gets you to break and burst out into laughter.

• Buggy is by no means a 5 star chef but one time he tried to do something nice and surprise you with breakfast in bed. The typical bacon and egg smiley face breakfast. It was so adorable that you didn’t even complain about the burnt to a crisp, tasteless bacon.

• He lets you deal with his hair because it’s too much of a hassle for him, you have the honor of washing it, deep conditioning it, brushing all of the knots out of his hair(with the plus of him shouting and complaining at you during the entire process), and styling it into his hat.

• Buggy loves neck kisses, as if his neck isn’t just begging to be kissed. He’s a sucker for when you hold his jaw and lean in, then gently brush your lips over his thick, muscled neck before pressing a soft kiss to it, it makes him shiver and blush every time.

• You’re the only one who he has ever let touch his nose It’s a privilege you get from being his. He obviously doesn’t like it, and he never lets it go as far as a typical kiss or nose boop, he’ll turn away to grumble and frown about it, but it always leaves him flustered every time. It gets him to shut up as well, it’s like an off button, if you’re having a heated discussion with him and you know you’re right— just boop the snoot and he backs down.

[doitforbangchan]

It’s not fair - S.C

Masterlist

Changbin x reader (afab)

Summary: As your best friend, he can't just let you rot away... especially since he's in love with you.

This was an emergency request from my lovey Bumble Bee @ayejaii who I just adore. I hope you enjoy, my dear friend :)

Warnings: Angst, crying, hurt/comfort, fluff, kissing, suggestive, cursing, Bestfriends to lovers trope, Binnie being perfect. Not proofread

WC: 1.6k

There was a distinct melancholy in the air surrounding your apartment.  The curtains have not been drawn in days, making it seem mustier than Changbin had ever seen it. He had been calling you and texting you for days but you hadn’t answered once. Even though he had been your best friend for a few years, never once had you ignored him. He knew something must have happened and in his state of intense worry he sped to your home the second his recording session was over. Good thing he had the spare key you had given him in case of emergencies.

The first thing he did when he entered was scouring the room for you. The living room looked untouched from the last time he was here a few days ago. Right before your latest date with your dickhead fling. When he didn’t find you in the living room or kitchen he shuffled to your bedroom. 

The door was cracked open, a gap big enough for your cat to fit through. Changbin peered inside the dark room, finding a cocooned lump in the middle of your bed. Your fluffy cat was curled next to you but upon his entry into your space got up from her lying position, letting out a little ‘mew’ in greeting to her second favorite human. 

Changbin gave the cat a little scritch on the chin, before he sat on the edge of your bed. “Y/n? Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” You didn’t answer, he only heard a quiet sniffle come from the mass of blankets. “I’ve been worried about you, ya know. You haven’t been answering your phone. Not since you went out with Mike.” He said the man's name with a tone of disgust. Changbin had been in love with you since you first became friends all those years ago, and knew your fling didn’t deserve you. “Have you been laying here since then? It’s been 3 days.”

 At the mention of the name, you let out a sob, your body shaking as you did. “Stop, Bin.” You croaked out, voice sounding like you hadn’t spoken words in days. 

His mind immediately went to the worst, panic striking his body, ”Did.. Did he do something to  you, Y/n? Did he hurt you?” 

You peeked your face out of your cocoon just enough to meet his eyes. Your own eyes were puffy and red, as if you had been crying for hours on end. “No Changbin. He didn’t hurt me. Not physically at least.” 

“What do ya mean, sweetheart?” He was confused, he thought things were going well with the dickhead. 

“He..he broke up with me.” You sobbed, reburying your face in your covers. 

“Oh honey, come er’,” he laid on your bed with you and cradled you into him. “He was a fucking dipshit who didn’t deserve you anyway.” 

“I am so tired, Bin.” 

“What are you tired of, y/n?” He tried to keep his voice even and soothing.

“I am so tired of men treating me like trash. Like I’m some toy they can throw away when they’re done playing with me.” Your shaking got worse, hiccuping between words. “ I try so hard to be good for them, be who they want me to be, but it doesn’t matter. None of it fucking matters.”

“Don’t say that. None of it is your fault. You don’t have to change yourself for anyone, let alone some low life.” He had fury in his tone, though he was doing his best not to let it show. 

“But it is my fault!” you flung the blankets off you as you sat up. Your voice was hysterical. “He told me it was! That I- I wasn’t enough for him. That I wasn’t the kind of girl he could see himself with in the long run. Why am I so unlovable?” 

“That’s not true!” Changbin exploded. You were shocked at his outburst. “You are loveable! In fact I know someone who would kill to be with you, and treat you like you deserve!” 

“Who, Binnie? What kind of man would want to be with a mess like me?!” you cried. 

“Me, goddamnit!” Fuck, this is not how he imagined he would confess to you. It's too late now. “I am in love with you!” 

Your tears came harder, “ Don’t say things you don’t mean, Changbin. It’s not fair.” 

He cupped your cheeks, “What’s not fair, is how long I’ve spent pining after you. How long I’ve spent trying to show you how a man is supposed to treat a woman.” He was staring right into your eyes, being the most serious you had ever seen him. “It’s not fair that I have had to watch you go out with dirtbag after dirtbag, while I waited and hoped and prayed that you would finally see who was right here…me.” 

You paused, glassy eyes wide. “Why did you never say anything?” 

“What was I supposed to say? That I was in love with you while you were dating someone else? That I didn’t want you to be with anyone else? I couldn’t be selfish, not with you.” 

“Oh Binnie” You flew at him, burying your face in his muscular chest. Your fingers grasped onto his shirt, trying to bring him as close as possible. “I have seen you there. I’ve always known your worth.” 

“Don’t lie to make me feel better.” He whispered, his anguish showing in his voice. 

“I’m not lying!” you wailed, “I have been in love with you for years, since we first met at Hyunjins birthday party!” 

He remembers it so clearly, he often replays it in his mind. Being enamored with your soft smile and bright personality when Hyunjin introduced you a few years back. The pink dress you wore had hugged your figure just right, and your fluttering lashes had him in a trance. At the time, he was too chicken shit to ask you out for a real date, so instead he settled on being your friend. 

“You were always so good to me, Bin. It’s impossible not to fall for you.” You sniffled, trying to make him see. “You always treat everybody so well, I didn’t think you felt the same way about me. I didn’t want to confess and be turned down by you. I couldn’t bear to be on the receiving end of your polite grimace you always have when rejecting a girl. Or even worse, have you feel bad for me and agree to date me in some self sacrificing way, making yourself miserable.I guess that's me, unable to be selfish with you.” 

You waited with baited breath for his response. What you got instead was him wrapping his thick arms around you, and his face in your hair as he…laughed? 

“You’re telling me, I waited so long for you to see me there. For you to love me like I do you. And you’ve been over here, feeling the exact same way? For years?” His laughing mingled with his now teary cries as he took in the situation. “Maybe it’s us who’s the actual dipshits.” 

You couldn't help the watery giggles that escaped you. “ I think you’re right, Bin. We’re possibly the biggest idiots on earth.” 

You both just held each other for a while, cry-laughing together on your bed. Eventually he was the first to pull away. Changbin wiped his watery eyes as he gazed down at you. Even with a puffy tear stained face you were still the most beautiful woman in the world. 

His rough hands cupped your cheeks again, and he held your eye contact as he slowly leaned in closer. “If this isn’t what you want, I need you to stop me now,” he whispered. 

“It’s all I want, Bin. You’re all I want.”  You were the one to close the gap, your lips smashing into his with a delicate intensity. He reciprocated just as fiercely, almost as if this was a dream he would soon wake from. 

Changbin knew if you’d let him, he could swallow you whole. Make you his in every way possible. Your little whimpers that escaped you when you bit on his lip didn’t go unnoticed. But, as much as he would love to take it further, he understood it wasn’t the right time. Sex wasn’t what you needed right now. 

“Sweetheart,” he started, his words muffled when you wouldn’t let him pull away completely. you hummed, reaching for the hem of his shirt. “Baby, we can’t right now. As much as I’m dying to finally get you naked, there are more pressing matters.” he managed to gently push you off. 

“But Binniiiieeeee.” you whined with a pout. 

“I know, my love, I know” he cooed, patting your hair, before standing from your bed. “ first things first, you gotta eat something and shower.” He scooped you into his arms as you squealed a laugh. “And let’s get this place aired out, huh? It reeks of despair in here.” 

“Ugh fine” you relented, stomach growling at the promise of food. Plus if it meant you could stay in his arms longer, you would do anything he asked. “on one condition.” 

“And what’s that, sweetheart?” he asked amused when you plopped you on your bathroom counter. He then turned on the bathtub tap letting it fill up for you. 

“You have to take a bath with me.” There was a twinkling in your eye as you purred it. 

“Fuck, you can’t say things like that. It’s not fair.” He ran his hand through his hair, looking flustered. 

You pulled your shirt off, flinging it at him.

“Who ever said I was fair?” 

Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!

©doitforbangchan

[kupakaa]

A Stupid-Ass Dream

A drabble/retelling based on a lucid-dream I had. Vi x... uh, me, I guess. Or masc/butch reader, if you're fine with first person. Only specific things mentioned is having a happy trail + pubes.

So because I’m suffering from pathetic yearning I’ve been having a few dreams about Vi. Thankfully, I have a really good memory when it comes to dreams (unless they're lame ones.) Had a funny one about two nights ago where I was laying in my bed and staring at the wall when all of a sudden she just burst into my room, holding my phone in her hand with the screen toward me. I sat up. I could see the layout of my Ao3 bookmarks tab.

“What is this?” she asked me, scrolling through quickly, stopping frequently to land and point at the Cait/Vi fics I had saved. 

For some reason I didn’t become lucid, so I was genuinely confused about why she was angry (though I still somewhat acknowledged that she was a fictional character.) I just told her that they were stories that I was reading. She tossed the phone by my side and ran her fingers through her hair.

“Jesus, well, can’t you just do something else?” she said. 

I asked her what else. Her face softened. There was a look in her half-lidded eyes. She walked toward me, kneeling down before holding my chin in calloused fingers and kissing me deeply. She slowly pushed me back until I was splayed out on the bed with her on top. 

She pulled back to let me breathe. A smirk pulled at her scarred lips. Her hands continued to trace my face, reaching up to ruffle my hair and scratch gently at my scalp. She spoke to me so sweetly, teasing me as her hands trailed down the back of my neck and curved up to my jaw. She gently scritched my chin and neck with her short nails. My head leaned back to give her more room. I don’t know why it turned me on so much to be scratched and pet like this. My thighs squeezed together to ease the tension in my hardening clit and loosening walls. I know she would have laughed if she saw how wet I was getting just from this. 

Something told me she could feel my growing impatience as she ran down my chest. She pulled up my tank top, gently squeezing my exposed breasts while rubbing my nipples with a rough thumb. She looked down to see me bucking my hips beneath her in an attempt to rub my clit against my boxers. 

She scoffed and shook her head. “Thought you wanted this slow,” she taunted. She pressed her weight against me, keeping my pelvis down on the mattress. A pathetic whimper came from my throat, which I tried and failed to turn into a frustrated growl. I gave a half-hearted push against her wrists, trying to make her move down from my tits. She raised a brow at my boldness. The glance she shot me made my heart flutter. 

“Oh,” she gasped. “Shit, sorry. You want me here, yeah?” Her fingers ran across my nipples one last time, making me shudder before coming down to my stomach. She stopped on the upper curve of pudge and continued her light scratches. I bit my lip, keeping in my laughter while pushing harder against her wrists.

She lifted her hands and shrugged. “What?”

“Quit teasing me,” I said.

Vi sighed. “Fine,” she huffed. And so she went down… Only to stop at my happy trail.

I couldn’t hold in my laughter anymore. I nearly yelled; “Dude, holy shit.” I reached out to grab her wrists and lead her hands for her. Instead, the tables were turned with her rough, bandaged hands wrapping around and holding my wrists together. My breath hitched. My chest tightened at the sight of her staring into my eyes. She wouldn’t free me from the tundra that was her glare. I could’ve pushed back. I could’ve tried to buck her off my body. But I was at the point that I wouldn't dare try to resist. I needed her to ease this ache, no matter how she made me submit.

After what felt like a year of eye contact, she tossed my hands to the side. Her eyes trailed down my body until it stopped at the hem of my sweatpants. Her fingers hooked into them. I could feel them curl into my boxers. She looked up at me. My cheeks were so warm. I almost broke the skin with how hard I was biting my lip. 

“So this is what you want,” Vi said. She got off my pelvis, grabbing my ass to lift my hips. She pulled down my pants and boxers; the room temperature hit my cunt like howling winds. My hand went over my mouth, my excited breathing tickling my fingers. Vi let my trousers rest at my ankles as she looked at my crotch, running her fingers through the trimmed hairs and seeing how my clit and entrance was slick with arousal.

“Fuck,” she hissed. Her thumb stroked my clit. I groaned as it throbbed beneath her. The wet rubbing of fluid against flesh tingled in my sensitive ears. “You could’ve told me you were this fucking desperate.”

“You couldn’t tell?” I teased. Another weak whimper escaped me as she pressed harder against my bud. I could hardly speak. I wasn’t much of a moaner but my god I was whining like a sad dog. My nails hooked into the bed sheets as she switched from her thumb to her middle and index fingertips. She stroked down my clitoral hood, lightly squeezing as she pumped slowly. She ran her digits down my vulva, spreading my wetness and teasing my entrance while understanding that I didn’t want to be penetrated. A haze fogged over my mind, making her speech nearly incomprehensible.

“You were bucking over fucking chin rubbing, how could I not tell?” Vi said. She gave my cunt a light pat, pushing down on my lips and pressing her middle finger against my clit. “But you being this wet? This fucking hard? I mean, not that I wouldn’t have teased you as much, but, y’know. Might’ve sped up a little.”

Vi shifted, moving my hips and backing up so her head could be between my legs. She sighed, her warm breath making my nerves flutter as she bathed in the scent of my arousal. She tapped my thigh, signalling me to look down at her. 

“How about this,” she said. “You keep still, keep your voice down, and I’ll let you cum. No edging, none of that. Got it?”

“Vi…” I whimpered. Her thumb went back to rubbing circles on my clit. My head fell back as a wave of pleasure went up my belly. “Got it,” I said with a flustered giggle.

She laughed softly. I felt her wet lips kiss just above my cunt. “Good.”

(I never got to cum, because I lost focus and the dream turned into an adventure through the woods and into Ikea. Also I turned into a manticore and ate popcorn.)

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Can you imagine giving foul legacy like a mini plushie of him... its like the nui childe doll but foul legacy. Grabable, portable and squeezable

hhehheeheheehhooohohoho return of the Foul Legacy plushie

you've been thinking for a while that the narwhal plush you gave to Foul Legacy all those months ago is looking a little... lonely. still wonderfully soft and squishy, done in a sweet, rich blue fabric, but Archons, does it look lonesome whenever you see it sitting in Legacy's empty blanket nest. a small little narwhal, against the world all by itself. no no no, that won't do at all! you simply must give the plush a little friend so they can keep each other company! the real question is who. you mull over it, idly running your hands through Foul Legacy's hair and scritching behind his horns. maybe a fox? Ajax reminds you of a fox, especially during the few times you've visited Snezhnaya with him- his hair looks like fire against the snow

Legacy purrs under your fingers, tilting his head and craning his neck in hopes that your hand will move under his chin. you blink before a slow smile spreads over your face, cooing at him and scratching just the place he wanted, knowing exactly the plushie you want to make

this plush you can't go and buy, unlike the narwhal. Foul Legacy is both complex and an enigma to most people of Liyue, and you're not about to put him and yourself in danger just to potentially commission someone for a plushie. you secretly make your own when you're not at work, usually right when the clock strikes his dozing time and you're left as a pillow for his head. it takes several weeks to make and more than a couple accidental needle pricks, but you're finally able to gingerly tuck the tiny, soft Foul Legacy into your Abyssal monster's arms while he's sleeping, right next to the narwhal plush already being held tight and lovingly

his gradual confusion that morphs into surprise, then delight, fills the air with chitters and trills once he awakens, and the look of adoration he gives you makes the stabbed fingers and knotted thread all worth it

[whumpsoda]

wb marsh going into the ‘polite boy’ thrall stages for the first time much to evangelines surprise

“Well isn’t this just a delightful little surprise!” The vampire exclaimed, clapping her hands in delight.

Marshall’s body swayed along with the weight of his mind, pulled by the gravitation of her magnificent spell. “Wh- um, what… isss…?” He asked, brows furrowing in the immense confusion rattling his brain as he intensely studied her nearly shocked expression.

“You’re such a nice little one all enthralled! I never would have guessed!” Tenderly, she  scritched at the underside of his chin, blissful touch that only scattered his thoughts further.

“R… really…?” Any semblance of praise strangely blossomed warmth through his chest, a sensation he’d rarely ever felt.

Patting him atop the head, the vampire’s power filled him to the brim with bouncing bubbles and cotton candy clouds, drool falling right from his parted lips. “Oh yes, my dear. All that kicking and screaming seems to fly right out the window when your brain goes along with it. Who would’ve thought that under your feral state there still lies a gentle little boy who only wants to please?”

“Uh, um… s- sorry, I… um, can’t-,”

“Poor thing,” she pouted, “your brain is so heavy right now that you must be having much trouble understanding all my big words and fast speech. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, though, thinking is not your job. You just be all sweet and polite while I get you ready.”

He nodded along, no clue what he could be agreeing to. Marshall simply craved more of her approval and enthrallment that did so well at squashing his head to mush. “Mmm… okayyyy…”

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

The Arcana HCs: Asra and Faust's Birthday

~ it's June 13, so here's how MC might celebrate Asra and Faust's birthday with them. Enjoy! - brainrot ~

You let them sleep in until they're ready to get up

You, on the other hand, sneak out early to collect supplies. For what, some might ask? Well, he's not the only one good at keeping secrets ~

Faust is happy to accompany you while her master snoozes, especially as you promised her unlimited chin scritches and she is determined to get as much out of that as she can

You want them to enjoy a slow morning, so you leave any plans for the afternoon and work on breakfast while the golden morning sun lights up the kitchen

Faust keeps watch so you can focus, and you know Asra's opening his eyes when you hear her excited little voice shouting Awake! Awake! into your mind

This is your cue to climb back in bed to snuggle with them. Breakfast can wait ...

When he is ready to get up, you'll be able to bring him breakfast. One of your errands involved swinging by Selasi's stall, and the lovely baker has given you samples of all his test recipes because he knows how much Asra adores new and unusual things

Selasi also helped you fashion a mini paper party hat for Faust

Now the three of you are piled on the overstuffed, rumpled bed, eating and giggling and watching Faust pose with her hat

You also have to keep coming up with excuses for why Asra isn't allowed to look around certain parts of the shop - pieces of your surprise are stashed in several different corners

"MC -" they're giggling at the edge of the bed, only pretending to struggle against where you have your hands pressed over their eyes to keep them from getting up or peeking. "Tell me what it is!"

Never tell! Faust is wriggling along his shoulders in her own intimidation game, trying her best not to be dislodged by Asra's happy laughter. Friend surprise!

"A surprise, hm?" They get suspiciously still. "How about this?" And the cushion they swing at you is the start of a pillow fight that turns the whole bedroom into a mess

You're trying to figure out how to keep things hidden while cleaning up at the same time when you hear a knock at the door

Right on cue, Aisha and Salim are standing in your shop with beaming smiles on their faces. You bundle Asra out the door to spend lunch with them and spend the next hour or so tidying and closing up

The next stage of your surprise begins when Muriel arrives at your doorstep to help you carry several things up to the palace. Most of what you bring gets whisked away to the gardens under Nadia's watchful eye, and Portia takes the last few bundles with a wink

You stick around for a few hours, helping to set up the majority of the more magical items and finalizing the evening plans. As it nears tea time, you collect a new bundle from Nadia and set off for Aisha and Salim's house

So far things seem to be progressing even more smoothly than you expected. Asra opens the door for you, confused because their parents told them to wait here for you while they went to "run some errands"

"MC?" He eyes the bundle under your arm curiously, a bemused smile on his face. "Is it time for the next part of your mysterious plan?"

"Not yet." You drag them to the couch and pull them down next to you. "Now we take a nap."

He's not arguing with that. You doze with him, knowing that the coming night is going to be longer than he can guess. You shake him gently awake as the sun begins to set, brewing him a quick cup of tea before you hand him the first bundle

"I can open this now?" They smile teasingly and purposefully fumble with the wrappings

Inside is a lovely new set of clothes, Nadia's gift. They're styled and tailored perfectly enough to be suitable for any party, and yet as durable and practical as the best traveling gear

It's twilight when you walk across the palace bridge hand in hand. You can hear and smell the festivities wafting from the palace gardens, and even better is the thrill of curiosity and excitement in Asra's fingertips when he squeezes your hand

They're prepared to be dazzled by whatever delights you and Nadia have clearly conspired to create, but they don't expect the number of people present when the two of you enter the grounds

All of them people he knows, all of them people he's friends with, but so many he assumed he didn't mean anything to. He was expecting to see under ten people, but this number is easily over thirty

They can't remember a time when they were considered a part of a community. For as long as they can remember, they've been a wanderer who found home with the two people they felt most connected to, with no permanent place or support system

This is different. Seeing all these recognizable Vesuvian faces in one place is the proof that there is a community around him, and that this community has a spot for them in it

The evening is magical. There's all kinds of food laid out with puzzles to solve to unlock different dishes, there's floating magical bubbles which play out different comical scenes in whorls of colorful light when they're popped, and there's a game of riddles that lead him on the silliest scavenger hunt Vesuvia's ever seen

Eventually it becomes late enough that even the night owls are beginning to get tired. Muriel disappears briefly and returns with two traveling packs, which he trades with you wordlessly for the shop key

Asra watches in delighted confusion. "MC, there's more? Where are you taking me?"

"Where do you think?" You bid everyone your goodbyes together, Aisha and Salim adding their own mysterious "see you soon"s, and then you're taking their hand and walking through the silvery moonlit fields to meet with a familiar beast

A very sleepy Faust curls herself up under Asra's shirt as the two of you take off. His head turns so he can speak in your ear over the rush of the wind

"We're going to Nopal?"

"Nopal first," you murmur back, "and Zadith after. Your parents say they want to show us where they learned alchemy - and where you got your name from. We'll meet them on the coast in a few day's time."

You won't always be able to plan elaborate garden parties or a month away from the shop for Asra's birthday. But for the dimples that keep appearing and the contented love and joy in their eyes? You'll do it as often as you can

[ask-theredcrown]

A small white and grey kitten with black stripes suddenly appeared before The One Who Waits.

"Whazzat?"

The kitten looked fairly young, barely a year in cat's age. She looks up at The One Who Waits in confusion upon realizing her surroundings.

"Well, hello, little one... What such a small being is doing in this realm?"

The One Who Waits reaches a claw to scritch the kitty's chin, almost pitying it.

[cookie-crumblr]

G/N! Royal Reader × Yandere Prince OC

If the Crown fits👑✨

Part 1, 2~

His Info 🕯️📜

!!!MINORS DNI!!!

Synop: You are a royal, expected to marry the realms’ crown royal. You don't like him at first but he wins you over, yada yada~ It's SMUT✨

CW: GN! Reader, no bodily or genitalia descrips for reader, arranged marriage(more so encouraged), i don't think any for this part????? lemme no! love y'all darlings! Short part!!!

"But father, you can't truly expect me to marry that-”

"You will hold your tongue, child.” The tall man interrupts. “and you will marry Prince Kastriot." He slams down his gilded cane so that it bounces back up to his grasp. As he storms out, the queen, your mother, flits in like a six foot three butterfly that more than aced her elegance training.

"Now, how you go about it, darling... Just don't do anything I wouldn't have done," she kisses your forehead.

"Mother... You assassinated an entire retinue comitatus to get to father.” You roll your eyes.

"I said what I said." she dainty wiggles her fingers as a wave while she departs from your bedroom's antechamber.

You fall onto the plush furs covered sofa, the fireplace across from you crackles, usually soothing, are far too loud at the moment. You're grating your teeth when your pet fox bounds up to you.

You let out the air you hadn't realized you were holding. How can you be stressed while henry is here?

You can't.

You scritch his chin, his leg kicks the air signifying you're on point.

*We should get some rest, Henry, it's my coming out tomorrow." You sigh and pat his muzzle affectionately.

Later~

"The moon's still out, Henry, it's fine," You can almost hear the fox saying you need sleep through his wines.

You're still up.

Unable to sleep, you started sifting through most recent political setbacks of your kingdom. People need liberated here, more housing there, while the year's social season starts.

You glance out the window, and instead of glittering blackness, you are greeted with the deep tell tale pink and orange slash across the horizon.

"Oh gods!! Now!?" You grab a thick, old tome, and fill it with some important receipts, then slam it shut, stuff it into your satchel, and rush out of your father's office.

You're retainers rush around the room with an undeniable vibrancy. Everyone loves the social season...

But your stomachs in knots.

You aren't "being forced to marry Prince Kastriot, but you are definitely being forced to marry him.

You don't even know the man! You always had the typical dream every royal shares... To marry for love.

But like with most royals, that dream is squashed like insects beneath the boots of your parents.

You zone back in when some one punches you as they tie a ribbon, their face is twisted in absolute horror and it confuses you.

"What’s the matter, Eliza? You inspect her further, hoping she's unharmed.

“Y-you know my— I’m sorry, I pinched you... Your royal highness”

You almost bark out a laugh but with your own training you manage to keep it fully hidden. "Oh, my, uh, listen, you don't have to worry too much here, it's not even in a visible place, let's move along please,”

You raise your arms for the other retainers and courtiers.

She looks relieved as she gets back to tying and fastening little bits and pieces of your outfit.

You stifle an overwhelmingly strong yawn.

Fuck.

Your second wind is already dying out, and it's not even time for brunch and touring the park.

"What is the attack plan for the day, darling?" Your mother asks politely, between small sips of her tea.

"Mom, No." You go to stand it's almost time to prepare for the tour anyway.

She predictably stops you, but just briefly, "Do take care, your highness."

You roll your eyes with a groan.

Henry trots along, happily trailing you. Tongue lolling and tail wagging like a dog's.

It's almost a picture perfect day really.

But...

Where's your father?

Presentation Time~

Now you know where he was, because regardless of alphabetical order you are in the last place.

Most likely so that you have the optimal chance to leave a lasting impression.

They'll be tired and bored by then, If you want to go along with it you should be exciting and flamboyant, but be careful to not overdo it, this is a proper event in from of the two kings of kings, and their son, after all.

Then again…

You could also try and sabotage your presentation to court… It might possibly ruin your chances with the crown prince… That would save you from marring someone you don’t know, but that would also bring forth your kingdom’s downfall.

[minisugakoobies]

Best friend’s bro trying to cheer OC up when they come home

🥺🥺🥺 Oh my god, YES, that is definitely something San would do!

So here's 700+ words about it. No warnings, other than PINING oh my god the pining!

******

Meetings with your editor are never your favorite thing. But today's meeting was especially stressful, given all the "cutting back" going on at work. The staff size is shrinking and you feel like your neck is on the chopping block.

It feels like you've run the gauntlet by the time you get home. Mentally exhausted, back aching from holding yourself upright so rigidly during the meeting, trying to look interested, like a good employee.

But to get into your apartment, you need a key, and right now, yours appears to have fallen into the Bermuda Triangle via your purse. Swearing profusely, you dig through your bag for a few minutes, before finally finding what you need.

The door opens, then stops suddenly, like there's a weight on the other side. "What the f-"

Nero greets you. Not on the ground. In the air.

You take a step back, baffled laughter leaving your lips. Your black cat is suspended in the crack of the doorway, bright green eyes blinking at you in similar confusion, San's hands gently wrapped around his middle. Around Nero's neck is his little fish-spotted bowtie, the one that makes him look like a proper gentleman.

"Nero?"

“Mrow?” 

"Good afternoon, sajangnim," San's voice says from behind the door. He shifts Nero slightly, like he's snapping to attention. "Welcome home."

"Thank you," you giggle, giving Nero a chin scritch. You push on the door slightly, and San steps back, bringing Nero into his arms.

"Hi Noona," he grins. HIs fingers stroke the back of Nero's neck, which is one of Nero's favorite spots. Which San knows now, too. He and Nero are inseparable. 

“When did Nero get a job as our doorman?” you ask, sliding your shoes off before slipping into your house shoes. 

“Just today. And he’s doing such a good job, isn’t he?” San rubs Nero’s ears, earning a loud rumble in return. “Yes, he is.” 

It’s too cute, the way San fawns over your cat. Like he knows Nero has a piece of your heart. So he protects him. Protects it. 

It’s too cute and it’s too much to think about. 

You don’t lay down so much as collapse onto your couch, a loose pile of bones sprawling across the cushions. San takes a spot on the floor, leaning back against the couch. Nero leaps from San’s arms up onto your legs, where he proceeds to bake biscuits in the meat of your thigh. 

“Where’s Haneul?” you ask. Normally when San’s sister is working third shift, she’s up by now, zoning out in front of the tv until she has to get ready for work. 

“Jongho took her out for breakfast slash dinner,” San informs you. “Just me and Nero home.” 

“Well, good thing he’s here to keep you in line. And he got a promotion today, so I think someone’s earned an extra treat tonight.” Nero’s purring grows, ears pricking up at the word ‘treat.’ 

San passes you the remote. He watches you scroll through your Netflix queue for a few minutes. As your fingers run over Nero’s smooth coat, you wonder idly if San’s hair feels as soft as it looks. 

“What about me?” San tips his head back, letting it rest on the cushion beneath your hips while he glances at you. “It was my idea to make him doorman.” 

He pouts, but not his usual pout, not the one that makes you want to give him everything in the world, but a comic pout, bottom lip stretched to its limit, meant to do nothing more than to make you giggle. Which it does.

“Why’d you do that, anyway?”

Something shifts in San’s eyes.

“You said this morning that you had a meeting today. I remember how stressed you were after the last two. So when I heard you in the hall, cursing like a sailor, I figured maybe you could use a laugh.”

“Oh.” Looks like San knows other things now, too. “Oh, yeah, that’s - I did have a meeting. And it sucked. So, um, thanks.” Too many emotions swirl through you, your voice shrinking as you speak, unsure how to express how you feel. Or if you even should. “I appreciate it.” 

“Of course.” When he smiles, your chest physically aches. “Anything to see you smile, Noona.” 

There goes another piece of your heart.

*********

Previous installments of bff's lil bro San: one two three four

Tagging a few people who I think are interested @moni-logues @kiestrokes @augustbutwinter @sweetnspicy-noona @krystal-a @yeontan-my-love

[dawnbreak-daily]

Got a silly scene idea based on some discord convos :D

Would you still love me if I was a Wyrm?

“Huh,” said Noon examining a piece of paper that got exposed from under the pile of scrolls in his efforts to clean the desk. “Those look like my old notes from before the wedding.”

Hollow looked up from their lazy sprawl on the bed. 

“Notes?” they asked.

“Yeah.” Noon grimaced. “I was trying to do research to prepare myself for the marriage.”

It seemed so silly now. 

Hollow propped themselves up on the pillows and tilted their head with amused curiosity. “What kind of research?”

“You know, Hallownest traditions and such. I didn’t want to accidentally say the wrong thing… For how much that helped.” 

They considered it. “You had studied our sign language. Before we first meet.” 

“Yes, I…” Noon started before hesitating. “That was one of the few things I had managed to learn about you. The others… Well… There wasn’t anything in the official records…” The topic was steadily wearing towards an uncomfortable territory, so Noon searched for something else to focus on. “Ah!” He smiled. “For a moment there I had thought that you might actually be a Wyrm, like the Pale King used to be.” 

Hollow paused and blinked in clear surprise. 

“A full-blooded Wyrm?” they signed in halting confusion. “That… How would that…”

Noon had to laugh. “Right? You wouldn’t have fit inside our rooms!”

“I wouldn’t have fit inside the temple!” Hollow corrected emphatically. “I would have had to live in the wastes and hunt to feed myself!” 

“Aww, I would have still brought you food,” said Noon and then hesitated, thinking about the logistics of such an affair. “Although I don’t think I could ever carry that much… It would have to take trips… Or some sort of delivery system…”

He trailed off, seeing Hollow’s expression grow pensive. 

“Would you…” they began to sign just to stop.

“Would I what?”

“Would you still have married me if I was a Wyrm?”

“Well, it’s not like–” Noon, was about to say that he hadn’t had a choice in the matter of their arranged marriage in any case, but Hollow’s expression made him reconsider. They seemed to be asking about something else, something more important. “I… I think–” he tried, “I think, knowing you now, I would have married you as a Wyrm with no hesitation.”

There was a momentary silence and then, Hollow blushed. 

As Noon watched, they sunk down in bed and blinked rapidly at him. He couldn’t help laughing at their sudden bashfulness. 

“Not only would I marry you as a Wyrm,” he said to tease them further, “I’d also love you as a Wyrm and give you many kisses on your massive scary maw.” This seemed to work because Hollow was now burying their head into the pillows. Noon stepped towards them, carrying on, “I would fly up to scritch you under the chin and make you a huge blanket–” He squeaked as, without looking up, Hollow extended their hand and dragged him onto the bed. 

Noon found himself pressed tight against their chest. He chuckled and hugged them back.

“You know,” he said after a few moments of thought, “I always found it very exciting to be married to such a skilled and dangerous knight. But then… Being married to a whole Wyrm might be even more–” Hollow’s face reappeared out of the pillows to stare incredulously at him. “Just kidding.”

[whitegoldtower]

NPCs if you tickle them:

Ancano: is extremely ticklish and will smack you across the head with a book before you can even touch him. If you sneak attack him, though, he will let out a very undignified shriek, drop whatever is in his hands and give you an absolute earful.

Ondolemar: Is mildly ticklish, but hides it well. He forces himself to stand still and asks you if you’re done yet. If you catch him off guard, he will turn around with a face like thunder until he realises it’s you.

Vingalmo: isn’t ticklish at all. Takes your hands, places them back in your lap and tells you not to touch what you can’t afford. Or, he takes it as flirtation and tickles you back with a purr and a wink.

Serana: jumps and slaps your arm with quite a bit of force. She does see the funny side of it, though, and asks if your arm is ok.

Babette: do you want to lose your fingers? It might be tempting to see the eternal child and go “tickle wickle!!” but I’d strongly advise against it. Nobody knows whether she is actually ticklish or not because nobody gets away with it.

Lydia: Isn’t ticklish, is just confused. Unless you tickle the front of her neck, then you’re going to find her fist in your face. Don’t put your hands near her face, she really doesn’t like it.

J’Zargo: touch his belly, you die. Touch him in general, you die. However, provided that you’re good friends, if you get his sides or back, he will ask you to scritch a little. Tickle him under the chin and he will start purring. He might even dribble a bit and then be horribly embarrassed about it.

Cicero: will piss himself. And I mean that literally. Don’t tickle the poor man, he can’t handle it.

[astrojamin]

Unfortunately I now deeply believe I need to takea 48 hour rest from listening to podcasts because I had a very convincing dream where I was kayne from malevolent and having a very fun time torturing arthur by dropping him into a universe where faroe had survived to adulthood and I'm assuming in this one he was either dead or absent considering she absolutely did not recognize him and went "who is this weird blind dude".

And it panned out to me in a body that was VERY much not mine with another person who's appearance was hazy sitting next to me, and a dog bear man person who was apparently very close to me because his head was in my lap and I was giving him scritches.

Dog bear man started laughing and asking me if I could help the man out some, as he already 'had most of the puzzle', and dog bear man who's name I don't know said he was rooting for him so much he'd even give me a few years of servitude for me to lend the man a hand.

Now THIS is where it gets super fucking weird and out of character which means my brain switched gears or something while maintaining visuals into a very weird mess. I was thinking, about how if he asked, I would help the man out. I would sabotage my own game because this man was giving me a lopsided grin and laughing with his head in my lap while I asked, and then it hurt, because i knew in a fee short years he would be elderly and infirm (exact thought process quote!!!) While I would be young forever if I wanted to.

I doubled down, still scratching under his chin and the top of his head, and shot him. While I was crying the third person put his soul in some kind of mirror and the dream started to flash back to the three of us running some heist on a mansion where we had gotten back the mirror, but my alarm went off before I could tell whether or not he wanted to be put in the mirror, or if it would have been something he hated. Both were equally likely

Now this is wildly out of character for kayne malevolent who I do not think would do any of the second half. I think the crying bit was just my brain Making Things Up however props to Mt subconscious for opening this random side plot with the torturing of John and Arthur. I guess. I woke up incredibly confused at five am and got up fir the day. It was very fun actually to drop ppl in Situations

[dreaming-of-lu]

Hi I’m so sorry if this seems like I’m just doing this bc someone else did but I didn’t notice emergency requests are open and I got some really horrible news yesterday and haven’t been able to hold myself together

So if it’s not much trouble could I maybe get a fluff scenario with Wars 😭 feel free to ignore this iyw and no pressure at all to answer and I’m sorry if I’m bothering 😭😭😭

Hey doll, it’s no worries! Sending virtual hugs and support your way! I hope the days get better for you and for you to heal. Do take care of yourself 💚even if it’s baby steps. 

Warriors is your cheerleader all the way through.

Hope you enjoy!

A sharp hiss and a yelp caught your attention, drawing it away from your task to the sight of a cursing veteran wagging his hand and a snickering ranch hand. Swiftly standing to pat off the dirt from your trousers, you made your way over to see what the scheming boys were doing.

"What's going on?"

They jolted, both their heads snapping in your direction with neck-breaking speed. A sheepish grin painted on Twilight's lips and a grumpy frown on Legend morphing into pain with a loud yelp leaving him again. He shook his hand once more while looking down with a curse and a death glare that drew your gaze to the small, furry animal wiggling in his grasp. Brows furrowed as you glanced between the boys and what looked like to you, a ferret in Legend's hand.

"Why," you trailed, "why are you holding a ferret?"

"Is that what this thing is? ARGH, DON'T BITE ME, YOU LIL'-"

"A ferret?" Twilight snickered, "How fitting."

"What?" Now you were really confused about what was going on, watching the ferret squirm in Legend’s grasp, twisting their head back and forth to land a bite on his thumbs.

"Good goddesses, who do you think it is?" Legend hissed while holding the feral ferret away from his body.

You stared at the ferret, slowly piecing together the familiarity of the ferret and feeling the dawning realization.

"Warriors?!" A wheeze leaves you as the ferret slumps in Legend's hands; you somehow feel the radiating waves of embarrassment coming from the ferret. Legend dropped the captain into your arms with a grunt before walking away with a grumble of 'getting Sky' and 'healing the tiny bite wounds the feral little shit gave him.'

With the angry chitters and hiss that left the captain made after the retreating veteran, you coo at how cute he was while taking the time to look him over. Blondish white fur with a few dark markings marring his body, his tiny paws gripping your arm, and his tail that flicked irritably.

"Oh, how ferocious," you teased, running a hand down his back, "such a scary ferret."

A chitter leaves him while digging his head into your elbow; you press a kiss against his head with a gentle scritch to his ear. A small giggle leaves you when feeling him huff, melting into your touch, nuzzling into your hand to make you scratch him underneath his chin.

"So, how did this happen?" Not looking up from the captain to address Twilight.

"He unknowingly touched it when flailing like a cucco to gather his balance, you should’ve seen the look on his face when he transformed," Twilight smirks when hearing your roaring laughter and the angry chitter that left Warriors again.