#completely cold unremorseful

[possessable]

There was a little debate going on in the Reddit about whether who qualified more for the descriptor "Just Straight Up Evil"--Jiequan or Eigong, and one person made the argument that Eigong was more befitting of that title because she had no sad backstory reasoning for doing what she did and also was "completely sane" the entire time and i mean. i mean like. I Think Saying She Was Completely Sane The Entire Time Is A Bit Of A Stretch,

[de-vespertiliones]

UtRH!Jason is angry, hurt, scared, and upset and he's coping with that by descending into horribly intentional violence and moral certitude. The events of UtRH are meticulously planned and executed and Jason is completely unremorseful about any of it. Do I think the boy is at his best? No. Do I think Jason's cold-blooded calculation is a coping mechanism? Yes. Do either of those mean he hasn't considered his actions or the moral implications thereof? No, and furthermore the idea that a trauma-driven response can be separated from the "actual" person in their "right mind" is weird as shit to me.

[oblivions-dawn]

Talon, Teeth, and Poison :3

✑ Share a snippet that tugs at your heartstrings- can be sad or happy!

But to her mother, Serana was always more of a protégé than a daughter. Her chest clenched as the memory darkened. Her mother, the only person she had left to trust, suddenly became a stranger. After Molag Bal’s ritual, after her friend—her mother would take no excuses anymore, and always shooed Serana away . . . until it was time to seal her underground for a thousand years. Her teeth clenched as she stared back at a blank, unremorseful expression, with eyes that seemed to deem her unworthy. “Serana . . .” She dropped the crest. Hands slithered and gripped onto her shoulders again. Valerica’s face morphed, cracked and flaked as they burned to death under the sun’s merciless rays. A hand, half disintegrated, reached between the bars and out to her . . . . “This is for the best,” her father whispered cruelly. “Hey!” Serana jumped. Ice-blue eyes glared at her like daggers, embedded in a freckled face with faint yet deep scars and rosy cheeks. It wasn’t her mother or her dying friend—it was Vigdis, the vampire hunter, who stared at her and clutched her shoulders as if to shake her from her nightmare. “I’m—I’m sorry,” Serana professed, her voice weak. “I don’t know what . . .” “I know,” Vigdis said. Her neutral tone, unnaturally, contained a tinge of empathy. “I know.” As Serana collected herself through quiet and uneven breaths, Vigdis let her go. She bent down and picked up the crest that Serana had dropped, then handed it to her. “We have to keep moving,” she admonished coldly. “You’re wasting our time.” The words were a slap to the face for Serana, but it brought her back into the harsh reality she stood in. Vigdis was cold and unkind, unsympathetic to a vampire like her. In those icy eyes, she was still a monster, and whatever empathy she might’ve had for that split second had been blown out like a candle. Their alliance was temporary, Serana reminded herself. Their goal was all that had ever mattered to Vigdis; and she would not tolerate stalls in their progress. [THIS IS THE BAD KIND OF TUGGING AT HEARTSTRINGS BUT TUGGED HEARTSTRINGS THEY STILL ARE LKJDGLSJGL]

✑ Share a snippet that was difficult for you to nail down/required a lot of revisions.

“It took two—TWO—bottles of poison! And seconds of the soup!!” she cried as she pulled off the helmet that disguised her features. “At least you’re dead now, you clawless, useless . . .” The Argonian descended into mutters as she kicked at the corpse. Vigdis hadn’t dropped her guard, and Serana merely looked on in bewilderment. Eventually, the Argonian turned her attention away from the bodies to Vigdis and Serana. A smile spread across her scaly deep pink and vermillion face as her indigo fingers fiddled with the straps of the armour. “Surprised to see me, old friend?” Serana’s dark brows shot up. A snarl rumbled through Vigdis’ throat, as if she hated being called a friend. “Why are you here?” Vigdis demanded. It dawned on Serana that they knew each other. She stayed silent, both curious and wary. The Argonian shrugged. “Killing my contracts.” Her silver slits looked pointedly at the hunter. “Tracking down my other contract.” The horse shifted its weight. The Argonian gave it a look, then continued. “I’m supposed to kill you now.” “You can try,” Vigdis offered seriously. “I’m sure you’d love that,” the Argonian giggled. “But, I won’t.” She finally stripped off the legion armour and revealed a midnight black and crimson red leather bodysuit, complete with belts, various metal fixings, and a hood. “Consider this . . . A debt repaid to Shatha.” Vigdis said nothing as Shatha pulled up her hood. She then threw up two fingers with a grin—and vanished. The hunter gave a deep, irritated sigh. “That was your friend?” Serana asked once the horse started to move again. “She’s not my friend,” Vigdis snapped. “She was someone I knew.” The vampire frowned. “She seemed to think you were friends.” “I don’t have friends.” The hunter clicked her tongue and the horse settled into a gentle trot. “Now shut up and watch the road.” [I remember struggling with this scene--particularly with the portrayal of Shatha, who's my Listener. I wanted to showcase that she was different from most people you come across, and although I'm not sure how well I did, I'm pretty happy with the end results all the same.]

✑ Share a snippet that’s all about relationships (good or bad).

Across the spring, Vigdis stared at her. For a moment, she was completely unreadable to Serana—until her red brows furrowed and her mouth slanted into a deeper frown. “What?” Serana asked, defensive. Vigdis folded her arms, her head tilted as she scowled. “Aren’t you too royal for this kind of shit?” “For—what—a bath?” she sputtered incredulously. “No one’s beyond a bath.” She thought for a moment, then sighed. “I’m not the princess you think I am.” “Really.” The doubt was so thick that Serana almost didn’t catch what she said. “I’m here now, aren’t I?” Vigdis, for once, was quiet. Her scowl was not as harsh as her frown eased back into a natural pout. After a long moment, she tore her gaze away and rinsed off any loose pieces of moss on her shoulders and face. She dunked her head under the water, then resurfaced. After she wiped most of the drops from her ice-blue eyes, she twisted her body around, sunk her hands into the earthy bank, and lifted herself out of the spring. Serana’s persimmon gaze trailed down the hunter’s freckled back and noticed even more scars. When Vigdis paused to swipe off more of the drops, the vampire frowned when she saw her wrists—scars upon scars, new and old. From the way they crisscrossed and dragged across, Serana guessed that she carelessly guarded attacks with her wrist, as if it were a shield. Her eyes flickered to Vigdis’ back again, and slowly traced the soft curves of her waist, the sharp dips of her hips . . . She looked away, her cheeks aflame. She casually swam around the spring, tried to focus on something else; alas, nothing she thought of effectively distracted her mind from Vigdis. Serana groaned to herself. She really needed to learn to not stare. [One of the softer and funnier moments between them that's just worth sharing <3333]

[azurefishnets]

AO3 Profile Fandom: Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective Words: 2649 Summary: Bailey and his coworker meet for dinner and dancing. Is it a date? Bailey's not sure, and the panic is rising...

"sissel and missile trying to put up party decorations using their little paws before remembering they have POWERS" "alma and cabanela going shopping—bonus jowd holding ALL the bags" "those two gay prison guards, dramatically getting ice cream or chicken together"

So see, these are all great prompts and I couldn't just pick one?! So I picked all three and then panic danced my way through writing this fic... I hope you enjoy the weird mishmash that resulted! Happy Ghost Swap 2022, @redwoodrroad!

Snow fell, flakes fluttering down and to the sidewalk all around him in dozens or hundreds of tiny, crystalline kisses. It fell on his ears, red from the cold, and on his hair, loosed from the unremorseful and not-terribly-special prison of his warm and wooly hat. The rowdies overcame the guards in this case; his hair blew freely in the cold wind. Bailey stomped his feet in place and blew on his fingers. It was perilously close to a dance, a good thing because he was cold:  dancing would warm him up. Yet it also meant that he was on the verge of panicking because his coworker was late. He was late for their date and that meant that he was held up! By… a woman! And she wanted something from him! Or something like that, anyway. Bailey’s worries were endless.  Maybe this wasn’t a date. Maybe they were supposed to meet somewhere else. He’d wanted to see dancing. Maybe they were supposed to have met at a club. Maybe… his feet sped up to a nervous shuffling and his fingers began, involuntarily, to wiggle preparatory to his hands rising into their too-long-accustomed vertical shuffle. 

He was on the edge of becoming a full on dancin’ fool, just like generations of Baileys before him. Yet, as he stood poised, his eye was caught by a small black kitten in the window of the storefront in front of which he stood. The little guy was frolicking with the ribbons and tinsel some enterprising clerk had left in the window to decorate a small tree. It batted the glitter into the air, then watched it fall with huge golden eyes. The tinsel glinted with the same rich, dreamlike light in sharp contrast to the white dazzle of the snow falling all around. Bailey’s movements slowed to a stop and he watched, distracted and enthralled, as the kitten caught tinsel with one curved, pink-beaned paw and shoved it at the tree. It wouldn’t stay where it was placed.. The kitten tried again. Tinsel fell, ornaments tumbled and rolled, but none went on to the tree. Bailey caught the kitten’s eye… did it look oddly sheepish? It was a strange look on a cat.

Bailey tapped a gentle finger on the glass. The cat put up a paw. There was a moment of communion between them before the moment was lost, the cat looked away, and Bailey’s coworker showed up at last. Bailey looked into his eyes and realized several very, very important things, here in this fraught and fragile moment. 

First, that man was terribly handsome here in the snow. He had pulled his own cap off and as he blinked up at the sky, his eyes squinting into the gloom of the evening, the glare of the streetlights, and the falling snow–it all made Bailey feel something soft and lovely inside, something he’d been pretending not to feel at work. Something warm, something all those generations of Baileys must have had a dance for and yet, it felt completely new.

Second, he was holding a small wriggling Pomeranian. The dog looked strangely familiar, but Bailey couldn’t focus on that. There was a third, important–the most important–thing he’d just realized. 

Bailey, who had worked with this man for ten years, who had talked with him about anything and everything in their long shifts, who had been teased and joked with by this most maddening coworker until it drove him wild with both confusion and frustration, and, finally, who had been asked out after much will-he, won’t-he… Bailey’s mind had gone absolutely and positively blank. White and pure as the snow. And in that white wilderness, one thing was plain; his coworker’s name was not there. He couldn’t remember it.

At all.

Ohhhh, this was bad. Horrifically bad! There was no way he was ever going to live this one down. His fingers started to twitch. He tried desperately to stop the shuffle. And still, his brain was tuned to only one, pervasive, intrusively loud thought.

Aaaaargh!

His coworker seemed not to notice Bailey’s incipient panic, preoccupied as he was with the Pomeranian.

“Hey, Bailey,” he said. “This is Lynne’s dog, isn’t it?”

“Huh?” Bailey responded intelligently. “Lynne?” He took a closer look at the Pomeranian, shoving his cap up so he could see better. The Pomeranian’s tail waved wildly and his tiny black nose twitched. “I guess maybe it is… why would I know? You’re the one–”

His coworker’s face twitched, an eyebrow raising. “I’m the one what ?”

Bailey drew himself up to his most prim, the tallest stance he could manage, stilling his feet as best as he could. “The one who has the dog,” he said with desperate, faked dignity. “You must have met Lynne somewhere on the way here.”

“Ooh, those the detectin’ skills that keep you working as a guard?” his coworker snarked.

Bailey reeled back against the window, groaning, “Aaaaargh!” It felt good to say it out loud, at least, and get back to their customary banter. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the kitten stop playing and sit up, interested. “Stop bringing up the detective’s exam! I studied so hard…”

 “Yeah, yeah. You really did.” The other guard winked at him. “But hey, ya failed, so we’re goin’ out for drinks and then you can show me “Dance Away the Pain.” That oughta be enough consolation.”

“I…well…” Bailey glared as his cheeks reddened. “I mean. If this is an actual…” He stopped, embarrassed. “No, it’s not a consolation prize at all!” 

His coworker waved his protests off. “Anyway, I did run into Lynne though. But she didn’t have the dog then, so…”

Bailey drew himself up again. “So you went out with her first!” 

The other guard gave him a blank stare. “...no.” He shook his head; perhaps it was fond. “But, see, she asked me to find her dog and then it was just a crazy string of coincidences…”

“Which you just went along with, I’m sure,” Bailey said, nodding. After a beat, he added, “...that was sarcasm. In case you couldn’t tell.”

His coworker ignored him. “I don’t think I would have found the little guy if I hadn’t dropped my hat in the park, and then I couldn’t find it, so I went lookin’ for it and a sweet potato dropped out of the sky. In front of where that big weird statue used to be, ya know the one.”

Bailey gave him a blank stare. “...no.”

“The weird-ass one in the park, Bailey. With the creepy eyes? Where they arrested our special prisoner?”

“Oh. Where that street rocker guy hangs out.”

“And the pigeons, that’s the one. So I saw a blue pigeon flying away with my hat.”

Bailey twitched. “ What are you even talking about?”

“Of course I chased it; it’s cold out,” his coworker said reasonably. “And the pigeon led me to a burnt out campfire, and dropped my hat, and there the little guy was. He was real happy to see me too! You should have seen him dance. Speakin’ of which…”

“This whole story…” Bailey said slowly, “is ridiculous. You didn’t want to see my dance after all, did you?!” His feet involuntarily moved him to one side, then the other as his arms began to gyrate. “You just wanted to laugh! At my pain! I can’t believe! You asked me out! Under false pretenses! ”

“What?” Bailey’s coworker gave him a genuinely flummoxed stare. “Nah, it’s all true. Come on, Bailey. I’m beggin’ ya, not this again…”

“Oh, I’m gonna dance! Until the world ends!” Bailey panted. “This panic! And pain! Are intertwined now!”

His coworker sighed. “ Why are you panicking, though. I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“Because! You’re dating! Lynne! And you lied! And for some reason! I! Can’t! Remember! Your! Name!”

Bailey’s coworker gave him a stare. “Ya can’t remember my– Are you kiddin’ me right–” his attention was caught by something behind Bailey. “What is that?”

“You can’t! Trick! Me that easily!” Bailey huffed. 

“No, but–’”

“Ho ho ho!” came a booming, jolly voice from behind him. “And have you been good guards this year?”

“Isn’t the outcome the same as if they’d been naughty?” a light, amused voice said.

“Come ooon, baby, it’s about the look of the thing,” a third, more sardonic voice drawled. “Theatrics, nothin’ like ‘em.”

Bailey swiveled, still dancing, to find Detective Jowd sitting in a large, cloth sided red wagon, surrounded by beautifully, fashionably wrapped boxes. The wagon was being pulled by a tandem bicycle crewed by Inspector Cabanela and a long-legged woman Bailey vaguely remembered from precinct parties as being possibly Jowd’s wife. Was it Alice? Alma? Something like that… his dance intensified in his embarrassment at being caught forgetful yet again.

“Ho, ho, ho!” boomed Jowd again, the sound sounding more like laughter and less like acting this time. “Good guards get presents from the man in red and white!”

“Wait, but aren’t you the one supposed to be giving presents here?” The woman winked at Bailey. “Oh well. Cabanela, you heard the man.”

“So I did, baby!” beamed Cabanela. “Sooo I did.” With a grand flourish, he gestured at the wagon. “A present for two good boooys!”

“What the–?!” Bailey heard his coworker say as a crate next to the door seemed to instantaneously switch with one of the beautifully wrapped presents, then slide its way to Bailey’s feet. Bailey tried to step back in time, but tripped, landing in the fluffy white snow. His dance stopped involuntarily as the cold shocked him out of his panic. 

The other guard stooped to pick up the box. “It says to Bailey and …” Bailey heard, but the sound was muffled by his snow-blocked ears.

His coworker reached down a gloved hand to lift him up. “Ya good, Bailey?” When Bailey stood, the other man shoved the box at him. “Here, let’s open it.”

Bailey carefully unwrapped the ribbon while, to his surprise, the other guard equally as carefully took the paper off the box. They opened the lid, only to be inundated by a great wash of glitter and rose petals propelled by a small device. 

“Happy birthday, baby!” cried Cabanela. “For spending with friends and loooved ones! Just so ya know, Jowd’s daughter built the glitter machine.” 

The woman Bailey was reasonably sure was named Alma snorted, laughing along with Jowd, who truly was belly laughing now. “Did they need to know that? Also, It’s not both their birthdays, surely!”

Bailey and his coworker peeked cautiously into the box to find a gift card for the Chicken Kitchen, along with more glitter and flower petals.

“We thought you boooys needed a little help pickin’ a place to eat,” Cabanela said. “Not my choice, by the way.”

“Sorry,” said Jowd, sounding completely unrepentant. “And, by the way, the special prison’s being repurposed now that Yomiel is free,” he added. “Sorry about that too, but you boys are out of a job.”

Bailey felt his former coworker’s hand spasm, then reach for his. Wait… was he panicking now? Without needing to dance? Bailey resolved to ask him for his secrets. Right after he remembered his name. For now, Bailey squeezed back.

Cabanela took the Pomeranian from the other man’s unresisting and now free hand. “We’ll get this valiant little warrior back to our baby,” he said, and handed him down to Jowd, still in the wagon. “She’s probably just finishin’ dinner herself.”

“Oh, with Memry?” Alma said, smiling. “Guess we’ve got this matchmaking thing down to a science.” She gave Bailey a funny little salute. “Good luck! And thank you for being kind to my husband.”

“Huh?” Bailey said, flustered. “I’ve only met him once or twice…”

“Don’t worry so much about it, maaan,” Cabanela drawled. “Onward!” He and Alma began to pedal, somehow, magically, in perfect synchronization.. The bike, the wagon, the three humans, and the dog shot away as if propelled by a missile and disappeared into the thickly falling snow.

“What was that…” Bailey’s former coworker said blankly as he pulled away. “Hey Bailey. Are we… unemployed?” His hands flexed a little and he looked around aimlessly. “I had just finished my card tower…”

Bailey dug in the box and pulled out a note, which blew out of his hand in the wind. Expertly, the other man caught it. 

“What’s this? Lemme see that.” He read it and looked up. “We’re invited to apply for a job with the new special investigations unit,” he said, his voice stunned. “With personal referrals from Captai– Captain Jowd? He got promoted? And Inspector Cabanela..guess he got promoted too.” He shot Bailey a slightly shyer grin. “Sorry for grabbin’ ya. I got, er… nervous.”

Bailey peered at the card, oblivious. “I don’t even know what to think any more,” he said blankly. “I didn’t know I had to be worried about this too. My poor stomach…”

“Oh?” his friend slid him a narrow eyed gaze. “Nerves? Or hunger?”

“Ergh… maybe both…” 

“Hmph.” The other man drew himself up in what Bailey realized after a moment was a parody of his usual posture. “Well then, maybe it’s time to panic after all.”

“Panic?” Bailey blinked. “Why would it be–”

The former guard carefully placed a foot backward, then another. His hands rose and he made an awkward squiggle in the air, then he stepped forward, waving a hand up and down. 

“It goes like this, right?”

“Err..” Bailey watched him, mouth agape. It wasn’t right, at all, but generations of Baileys were standing and cheering in his brain. He was trying. What more could one ask?

“It’s not panic time,” he said, nevertheless. “It’s a different dance when your stomach hurts.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Dance Away the Pain.”

“Well, show me then.” Bailey’s ex-coworker shot him a slightly nervous smile. 

Bailey realized two more important things in that moment. First: heck. This guy was still handsome even covered in snow and dancing very badly. Second: In all that wilderness of white static in Bailey’s brain, the all-important name was back. It wasn’t even as if it was an uncommon one. The panic had just stolen it.

Bailey’s feet slid into place. His hands rose to the proper position. With one hand, he gestured. “This one’s done with two people. Wanna learn?”

“...yeah.” Bailey’s ex-coworker, current friend, possible partner, put a hand in Bailey’s and pulled him in a little closer. “But only if you remember my name.”

“Easy,” said Bailey, and said it. They both grinned fatuous grins and danced away into the falling snow as behind them, a Christmas tree in a window stood, perfectly decorated and leaves swaying gently in the breeze. Beside it, a small black kitten lay very still, probably exhausted by its efforts.

-

“Wait, that’s it?”

“Well, what else would there be?”

“Why were Jowd and everyone there?”

“Because it’s more fun that way!”

“Have you ever even met those guards?”

“Sure! Miss Lynne knows them, even in this timeline! They’re nice!”

“…Huh. So they just dance off and we never even learn Bailey’s friend’s name.”

“Well, I don’t know it, so…that’s just how my dream went, Sissel.”

“Well… at least it was fun. Hope they work it out in real life…”

“I bet they will! They’ve got us rooting for them!”

“Uh, sure. And like Cabanela always says, ‘ When in doubt, just keep movin’…”

“ So as long as they keep dancing, they’ll be fine?”

“In your dreams anyway. …and, sure. Maybe in real life too.”

“I’m gonna show them the dance Mr. Cabanela taught me, in that case! That should be perfect!”

“...You know, I think you’re right. They’re gonna be just fine.”

[minnesotabysamia]

uh um thoughts on the popular succ ships... so like (censoring to avoid search) t*mgreg k*nstew r*mangerri etc. also r*man & tabitha idk if that's popular probably not but ykm

hi kieran omg the way I have a note with my detailed thoughts on every succession ship .. very prepared for this q

tomgreg: it's fun & I get the appeal they're weird and insane but I'm personally not into it.. they're so fun as a dynamic and as sort of foils of each other they just have zero romantic chemistry to me 😭😭 also I feel like we are focusing on tomgreg but not enough on tomshiv can we talk about tomshiv I've been dying to talk about tomshiv .. wait this should be its own section

tomshiv: OBSESSED with them if you couldn't tell. every one of their interactions is like the most pathetic tragic embarrassing thing you've ever seen it's cringe comedy but it's neither cringe or comedy like it's depressing I ❤️ them. they both have an idea of what their relationship is in their minds and they like that idea so they want to make it work but are so completely detached from the other person that they don't realize it's been doomed. shiv is openly manipulative and it's one sided and tom wants to ignore that she's just like. a bad person. as much as he tries to match the unremorseful stone cold killer attitude of the roys he expects his wife to be a safe haven from that but she can't be she can't turn it off!!!!!

romangerri: I don't understand people who like want them to be in a relationship like that's not what it's about ... however their dynamic is so interesting it's about the uncertainty it's a means of tension that's so much more effective than a clearly like. purposefully predatory relationship where one person is in the wrong. here, it's so unclear to what extent each of them is manipulating the other AND he's her boss AND she's his sister's godmother maybe his too AND they still both seem to have some affection for each other. & the kind of sad discomfort of it all is doubled by that lack of specific intention. this just like. happened and it's unpleasant and you're forced to sit with that.

roman & tabitha: I love them tabitha so funny I love when she's mean. they're a couple of eunuch besties! literally would be so sad if they wrote her off also they should give her more characterization besides being bisexual <3 ... in part they're kind of comic relief but also interesting to see how genuine and matter of fact tabitha can be at times in contrast to the stickiness and facade of the rest of roman's world

kenstew:

kenstew getaway car edit. that's all.

(I like them, i'm not attached enough to kendall to really be invested but the themes of old friends/betrayal/lovers to enemies/the social network are very pleasing)

anyway in closing, the other day I lost my minddd abt the succession relationships and took a voice note of it & I'm literally just going to transcribe that: everything is tactical and none of it is emotional...none of the relationships have a single ounce of emotion except for when it's played for laughs, and if you do invest emotion into those relationships that's what kills you.. it's so gross it's all so unromantic and gross because it's never some sleek maneuver done from a heart of passion it's always just because they don't know what else to do ... it's nauseating. in everyone's essences there's just something so unromantic it makes you want to throw up to watch them attempt to perform love !!!!

[pastelninjaimagines]

ok, so, I've been wondering, let's say Tobirama, Sasuke, Kakuzu, and Sasori said something really really harsh to their S/O about something that the S/O is really insecure about(for example maybe about how they suck at a certain jutsu their clan in known to excel at) and while it all seems fine and dandy afterwards, they realize just how hard it hit their S/O later when they see them working themselves past what they can handle trying to get better and getting frustrated bc they just CAN'T.

Tobirama

He’d really applaud your effort for trying to improve yourself at the jutsu that you’ve been working on, and he’d make sure that you know just how impressed he is with you, sitting you down after a session of training and letting you know that he sees your improvement already. But then he also sees how physically drained you are from your harsh training regiment and thats when he connects the dots. You’re worn out and pushed beyond your limits because of what he said. And he’d feel pretty damn bad about it. His face would grow very dark and serious as he looks at you. Tobirama would take your hand and say, “What I said the other day, it made you feel bad. I can see that now. That was not my intention.” He’d tell you that it wasn’t as big of a deal as you thought it was, that he’d only misspoken. You should know how harsh he can be sometimes (lmao sometimes? no all the time); how black and white he sees the world. But he apologies and tells you not to overdo it. That there’s no sense in hurting yourself. That you’ll get it eventually, just give it time. And not to worry about what anyone says bc you’re doing great.

Sasuke 

Sasuke would honestly be so confused. He’d realize at some point that you’re wearing yourself out, and he’d be like, why/‘re you doing that tf is wrong with you. And when you explain what’s been bothering you, he’d be like, what’re you talking about that you’ve pushed yourself passed your limit…bc of what he said?? That’s literally ridiculous…The only thing that really makes him understand is if you start to cry and break down in front of him. He still wouldn’t really get it, but he’d give you a sympathetic hug and tell you not to worry about it, and to stop pushing yourself past what you can handle bc he doesn’t like seeing you like this. But truly this boy won’t really understand why you’re like this. With his upbringing, he’s had to fight an uphill battle to prove himself (especially with his family back when he was a child) when it comes to mastering jutsu. It’s just something you do. You work hard and then move on. He doesn’t understand the fuss, but he won’t be a complete asshole and will try in his own subtle way to take off the burden from you. This manifests by him trying to help in your training. 

Kakuzu

Honestly doesn’t care, doesn��t flinch. If his words made you work harder, than good bc you should’ve been working that hard in the first place if you’re serious about learning your jutsu. For Kakuzu, he got through life through blood, sweat, and (possibly) tears. He knows no other way. So if his harsh statement pushed you to improve, he sees that as good. Nor does he see anything wrong with it. There will be no apology from him. Being in a relationship with him, you should know his temperament. It’s harsh, cold, unremorseful and violent; you should know by now not to take things he says so offhandedly to heart. He will never see what’s wrong with him saying such statements, nor will he ever change. Being in a relationship with him, you need to develop thick skin, even with something that is a sensitive topic for you. 

Sasori

He honestly doesn’t even notice if you’re struggling or that his words put even more pressure on you. And if you say anything to him about it he’d probably say completely stone-faced, “So what? You should just work harder.” Like Kakuzu and even Sasuke, Sasori comes from an environment where he had to do everything on his own, where if he didn’t improve he wouldn’t have been so successful. He doesn’t see the big deal. He’s cold and hard; his comments are often offhanded, flippant and biting. He knows that he hits you where it hurts, and sometimes he means it. He won’t apologize either. If you expect that of him, he’d tell you to take a hike and to get over yourself. If you don’t like his attitude, if you can’t handle him by now, he’d tell you to leave….if you don’t make such a big deal over it and accept it after realizing there won’t be an apology he might oversee your training and give you advice. That’s about it, and that’s only if he’s’ in the mood. 

[that-spider-witch]

PET Episode 3: My Thoughts

Tsukasa and Hiroki now owning a pet fish store is cute asf. We are also shown that Hiroki’s peak with Tsukasa involves fish tank imagery, but this episode also gives the feel that... Well, Hiroki just really likes fish, and as an animal lover I respect that.

Hiroki screwing over the dude who said that he would buy some guppies to feed them to his turtle by mindbending his girlfriend into hating him is both incredibly petty and hilariously awesome. It helps that the dude actually seemed like an asshole, even though we are never explictly shown if he was really abusive with said girlfriend or not.

Also, we get confirmation that Hiroki just... stops functioning when Tsukasa is not around him. That he has separation anxiety and worries sick when Tsukasa is out there working (Though given what we know about that work and what little we know about this so-called “Company”, he’s right to be worried) it’s the understament of the century.

Which makes it sucks harder that, after this episode, I’m not sure if Tsukasa is worth it.

“I’d do anything for Hiroki...” Aww, that’s cute... “When you find a pet like that, you do whatever it takes to keep them.” wait WHAT?!

RED FLAGS, RED FUCKING FLAGS

First of all, I get that it’s a cool title drop, and the word “Pet” probably doesn’t means what I think it means, but... It really sounds suspicious that Tsukasa refers to Hiroki as his pet after confessing that he just bought the store to keep him happy and that he doesn’t think he will be able to keep it running by himself.

It doesn’t help that... Yeah, Hiroki is completely devoted to Tsukasa. He’s literally a fish out of the water without him. It really makes you think whether Hiroki is really that in love with Tsukasa... Or if perhaps there will be an awful twist later on in that Tsukasa messed up a few things here and there in Hiroki’s mind to keep him that way.

At the same time, it could also be a plot to keep Hiroki safe, as apparently The Company doesn’t take it well when one of their psychic agents goes rogue, if that ending is any indication.

Tsukasa and Cigarette Asshole’s next mission (Yes, I know his name now. No, I don’t give a fuck, at least yet.) will be to hunt down Hayashi, the nice guy who helped out Satoru in the first episode and who’s apparently been on the run for some time now. And Satoru is being keep out of this for good reasons, he might not even know about this shit. It smells like another heartbreaking episode is coming.

Speaking of heartbreak... RIP Inoe. You might have been an unremorseful murderer and a killer for hire, but fuck man you didn’t deserved that. That backstory was... I’ll need to make a separate post just for that.

...I don’t trust Tsukasa after this episode. I have my reasons for that, but... Ok, we know that whatever he’s working for are not good guys, and there’s definetely grey morality all over the place, but what Tsukasa did on this episode was cold.

PROTECT HIROKI AT ALL COST, THIS BOY IS TOO PURE FOR THIS SERIES, SOMEONE PLEASE PROTECT HIM.

[rainstar-123]

They’re Gone.

Writing prompt via @about-your-oc​ that turned into 6 pages of depression, so here we go--

Uh, there’re mentions of death and blood, so do what you will with that information. 

- - - - - - - 

When he finally regained consciousness, he absently wished he could sink back into the calm and quiet blackness - at least, he wouldn’t have this debilitating dizziness that made his thoughts swirl around aimlessly in his head. His eyes were groggy when he sluggishly forced them open, and he was greeted with a ceiling that, had there been any lights on, would be a stark, sterile white.

He grunted softly. Where was he?

Something high-pitched pinged in his ears at frequent intervals, causing him to slowly turn his head towards the sound - a heartbeat monitor.

He watched the line jump up and down at a steady pace, and it was if he was entranced by the green peaks that recorded his life. There was something else apparently beside the monitor - a bag, filled with a deep, scarlet substance, with a thin tube that led down to his arm. He blinked, listlessly. Shakily, he exhaled, and he noticed something else again. A mouthpiece was cupped over his chapped lips, feeding him a dry air that trickled uncomfortably down his throat, and each time he breathed out, the plastic would fog up. This was...what was it? Oxygen, wasn’t it?

His head...why was everything so foggy…?

Voices - at least, he thought they were voices - came from outside the room, muffled by the walls. He couldn’t make anything out - what they were saying, if they were male or female, or if there were even multiple in the first place. The sound grew louder, and through the door’s window, he thought he could see the silhouette of a person. This time, the voice seemed more distinct - a woman?

The entrance was then gingerly opened, and the effeminate voice’s line teetered in with her: “...well, let’s see if he’s woken up yet - oh! Looks like he has.” He stared at the woman - clothed in a white uniform - leading another person in - a man in a suit with strange green hair. A twinge of recognition tickled his head, but for some reason, he couldn’t recall a name at all. It was just a murky, indistinguishable fog swamping his head.

“So he is,” the man responded, his vocals gruff and lips pulled into a troubled frown.

“I’m just going to go ahead and check his vitals, then, Yamaguchi-san,” the woman said casually, standing near his bedside.

Yamaguchi…? The name was familiar.

“Ah.”

The woman - a nurse, maybe? - finally averted her attention to him, and a smile lit up her plush face. “Neh, Ryuu-kun? How are you feeling?” Ryuu’s eyes fluttered as he focused dizzily on the nurse. “You’re probably feeling a bit disoriented right now, but that’s completely normal. You lost quite a lot of blood; luckily we had your type in stock.”

He had? Why?

She briefly turned away from him to check on his vitals. “Ah, this is good.”

“What’s that?”.

“He’s doing really well, Yamaguchi-san, better than I expected in fact.” The nurse looked at him with a smile, an understanding smile. “If things keep going like this, he’ll probably make a full recovery.”

“Is that so?”

“I suppose you don’t have to take my word for it just yet - we’ll see what the doctor thinks.”

Yamaguchi nodded, grunting in affirmation.

“Well, I have to go check on my other patients, Yamaguchi-san. If anything happens while you’re still here, please call.”

“Of course.”

She bowed in goodbye and exited the room, gently closing the door behind her. A few moments passed until Yamaguchi released a hefty sigh.

Ryuu heard the obnoxious - but he didn’t care, really - scraping of metal legs against the tiled floors as Yamaguchi pulled up a chair next to him, sighing once again when he brushed his fingers through his emerald bangs. The familiarity in his amber eyes was still odd to Ryuu - but why? Why couldn’t he remember his name…? “Hey, kid,” breathed out Yamaguchi. “Feeling any better yet?” Again, Ryuu merely blinked. “Right...she mentioned you’d still be sleepy from the drugs.”

Was that why his head felt so heavy?

As he leaned forward, Yamaguchi rested his elbows on the edge of his knees, interlacing his fingers together, and bowed his head - and again, he sighed. He seemed troubled.

“So,” Yamaguchi started, his voice noticeably rougher than previously, “after you’re discharged from the hospital - and after all the paperwork is filled out - you’ll - ” The slight break in his voice caused him to audibly swallow, the sound thick, and clear his throat roughly. “You’ll be living with me.”

This was odd to Ryuu - why would he need to go live with him after he left? Why would he need to go with him?

Yamaguchi…?

Yamaguchi.

Oh, that’s right. Yukiteru Yamaguchi - his godfather. Recognition slowly bled into Ryuu’s eyes as he looked at the man further. He was a close friend of his father from school - his father called him “Saber” as a nickname for some reason - oh, wait - because he liked Star Wars a lot.

Still...why would he…?

A soft sound came from the back of his throat, attempting to speak; however, his esophagus felt raw and scratchy from the constant supply of oxygen. Annoying. “...Ojisan…”

Immediately, Yamaguchi perked up at the name, raising his head to stare at Ryuu with slightly widened eyes. Yamaguchi was a weird guy.

His face wrinkling with strain, Ryuu frowned slightly. This didn’t make any sense. “...Where’s...my dad…?”

Yamaguchi froze.

Perhaps it was because of the drugs Yamaguchi had mentioned, but...he couldn’t…

Yamaguchi’s jaw worked, mouth opening in preparation to speak, but it closed just as quickly as it had.

“He’s...alright, isn’t he…?”

“...You should rest more, Ryuu.”

…

“...Is...he alright?”

His amber eyes flickered away, discomfort evident.  “Are you hungry? I can call a nurse to get you some food.”

Something twisted in Ryuu’s chest. “...No…” He shifted and tried again. “...Where’s Dad...?”

“...If you’re not hungry, there’s not much else for you to do then. Rest some more.”

That something in his chest grew - it felt hot, heavy, and -

Ryuu’s eyes slowly narrowed. “...Where is he?” His voice became stronger.

Yamaguchi didn’t respond.

It was quick and ruthless - the surge of boiling anger that welled up in his veins and made his blood curdle hotly at the detective’s blatant avoidance. The life sparked back into his eyes as he glared at Yamaguchi and slowly forced himself into a sitting position.

The green-haired man started, panicked, “Ryuu - ”

“Yamaguchi,” the boy growled, his voice hoarse and raw, “where. Is. My. Family?”

Amber eyes were wide and glassy, and the man before him look absolutely stunned, mouth agape. Eventually, his face furrowed, pained, and he glanced at the floor apprehensively. Yamaguchi soon sighed in defeat, squeezing his eyes shut. Raising his head, the middle-aged man met Ryuu’s hardened gaze and spoke, “...They’re gone.”

The clock’s incessant ticking was the only thing that filled the deafening silence of the hospital room, as well as the beeping of the machines hooked up to the injured 12-year-old boy.

Gone.

“M...Mama?!”

Red. There was nothing but red. Like a wretched halo, it enveloped the body limp against the wall.

Why wasn’t she moving?

Please move, please, wake up -  wake up! Why won’t you wake up?!

“Mama, please - ”

Wounds - small and circular - were littered across her body - her chest, her stomach - bulbous and swollen -

“M-Mama…”

Move.

The floorboards screamed beneath his feet - so noisy, so loud - were they always this loud?

“Niisan!!”

Eyes, milky, were focused upon the ceiling, wide and terrified.

“Niisan - ?”

So much red - so much red, why was there so much red?

A single hole crowned his forehead.

Why won’t you wake up?

“N-Niisan…”

There was a scream.

The door squeaked when he pushed it, and the scream became louder. Pain. So much pain. Shoes thudded against the stone stairs, and then the pavement, and then -

Red.

“D-...D-Dad...?”

There was a man - he didn’t know this man. But, the man’s gaze slowly swiveled away from his father lying on the bloodied ground to settle on him.

“RYUU, RUN!!!”

His father’s screams were pained and desperate, and if he listened closely, there was a slight gurgle.

“RUN, RUN AWAY, RYUU!!”

He couldn’t move.

The man moved closer to him. There was something so odd about the glow in his eyes - something - what was that thing around his neck?

“RUN!!!”

A step back, then two, then three - then nothing.

He couldn’t move.

He was scared.

So scared.

Why was this happening?

Why?

Why?

Something pulsated at the man’s fingertips in the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t look away from the man’s face - so cold, so cruel, so unremorseful.

“RYUU!!!!”

And then there was nothing.

“Ryuu…” Yamaguchi murmured, his expression suddenly pained. He reached forward, slipping from the plastic chair, and brought the young boy into a tentative hug, mindful of the medical equipment hanging from his lean figure. Ryuu sat there, motionless.

They’re gone.

He wondered who it was that was crying so feebly, and he wondered why his cheeks felt so cold.

- - - - - 

[mililiver]

Five Tips To Select The Right Painting Contractor

Some people love the winter months and love cuddling up with a blanket and hot chocolate. Many people are afflicted with winter blues in the cold months. No matter what time of year it's, we tend to spend more time in the house and this is an excellent time to lighten up your home. Perhaps you'll need an update of the paint to add some excitement and energy into your home. Exterior painting of houses is common in the warm sunny months. Painting interiors can be done in these gray months.

It is important to hire the right individuals to complete the Interior House painting project. Here are fives tips to help you determine the painting business you're thinking about hiring is likely to give you a satisfying satisfaction and an unremorseful experience.

The History of Quality Paintings in Your Area

It is important to find painting contractors with an excellent reputation. A history of good work in your region can provide you with confidence that the painting business is a good one to consider. You can view previous work done by contractors who paint on their websites. It is important to check whether the work they do is guaranteed and, if yes what time frame.

Happy Customers

Another sign that you'll be happy with a painting contractor is if others have been satisfied before you. When you are deciding who to entrust your house Interior House painting, make sure that the reviews are authentic reviews. You can find great places like Yelp as well as Angie's List as well as Google Reviews and Houzz.

If you've found an expert painting contractor conducting an estimate of your project, there are additional indicators to determine if this is the right painter for your needs.

Communication is the key to success.

Communication skills are essential during the estimation process. The company must communicate quickly and clearly. If they're unprofessional or unprofessional in the beginning, it's not likely to get better once they are in your home.

A complete and precise estimate

A quote can be a great indication of the professionalism and organizational skills of a painting company. A painting contractor who provides a detailed estimate will be the best option. An estimate that is accurate will clearly define what is included in the price, and what is not included. A disreputable painter might give a low estimate at first and then surprise you by charging additional costs for the most important aspects of the project.

Select Quality

Sometimes, the cheapest estimate is not necessarily the best. It is not always the most costly alternative to choose a trusted, experienced house painting contractor who makes use of high-end materials and does not cut corners. It can help make your project go smoothly and provide peace of mind. Painting with quality can save time and money in the long run.

Enjoy!

You're sure to have a fantastic experience while at home painting. It is important to enjoy the process, even if you have to deal with minor issues throughout the process.

AR Professional Painting Services

0478 056 572

info@arprofessionalpainting.com.au

Victoria, Australia

[moodring89]

Rabbit Season

Pairing: Jeongguk x Reader ft. Namjoon Genre: Smut Rated: M / NC17 Tags: Belt play, Rough sex, Cuffs, Brief Panty kink, Outdoor sex Warnings: If a rough, belt wielding Jeongguk makes you uncomfortable, do not read. Also if being called a ‘noona’ makes you cringe, please refrain.   Summary: Predator met prey like an Animal Planet rerun of lions devouring antelopes in large, unremorseful bites. He took every aspect of this game seriously. He was competitive where most might not think so in this particular arena. His behavior projected through television, even while in person, was an act, perhaps the best he’d ever performed in front of his every day audience.

A/N: Hello! So, I rewrote this story. The original made me feel uncomfortable. There were some very creepy, subtle hints of non-con. Jeongguk will still be a motherfucker, but we’re gonna tone down the uncomfy vibes. I worked hard on this story back then and I’ll work twice as hard on it now.   tw l cc Rabbit Season

Out of all the things you could have said ‘yes’ to, this was probably the worst. When the idea had been proposed initially, you’d thought that it was an appealing offer. It was practically PTO with the warm sun and fresh air. Here you thought you’d never get to enjoy such things ever again, having to follow the same schedule of seven busy guys. This was the perfect opportunity to wind down and relax, except – unfortunately, with the company of those same seven guys. You tried to ignore that last bit, doing well with keeping to yourself for the most part. Until a wild Namjoon appeared with his damn dimples on full display, resting a slender hand against his hip, “We should play a game.”   You were starting to regret not staying behind to help with Taehyung and Jimin. The photoshoot would require all stylists to be on deck. Last time you saw the two, they were trying to light a fire at the campsite that was used for their theme, accepting their failure as a personal challenge. By now they were probably dancing around the flames like primitives. Besides, you’d left behind your only coworker turned friend, which wasn’t cool. Namjoon continued, “Ever played Make-Out Manhunt?” What was he, twelve? There was a hint of mischief in the blonde’s deep voice, the leader’s eyes pinpointing you rather suggestively. You were quick with your rebuttal, “So, like, will you guys be kissing each other, then?” Jin declined, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Hoseok wrapped an arm around Jin’s broad shoulders, “Why? You don’t want to kiss me, hyung?” He sealed the MBC Drama Award winning act with a chaste kiss to the taller man’s cheek, and found himself being shoved a good five feet away. “How about we play it by the normal rules then? No kissing…” Jeongguk offered, being all doe-eyed and casual about it. “It can be three versus three. We set the time on our phones for twenty minutes. The team hiding will have a three minute head start, before the team seeking will have to find them. If all three members are found before the time runs out, it’s game over. If they aren’t found, then the team seeking loses.” That sounded reasonable. Those rules were a hell of a lot better than, let’s spontaneously make-out with each other. You were in mid-nod, being oddly agreeable towards the idea, when Namjoon twirled what looked like a pair of handcuffs one of his fingers. You’d recognized it as one of the props. A prop that they hadn’t needed to begin with and would not end up being used, so why was it here now? “We should use these when bringing back the last person we find. Think of it as extra incentive not to get caught.” What in the actual fuck? Hoseok’s abrupt fit of laughter startled you. The guy was practically on the verge of tears, pressing a hand to his to stomach to alleviate the cramp. “You stole those? Namjoonie, why? Yoongi hyung doesn’t deserve this level of humiliation.” Yoongi raised a brow at that, deadpanning, “You’re not cuffing me.” And no, Namjoon would never try his hand at restraining the eldest rapper. He’d get his fucking ass handed to him. Jeongguk snatched the cuffs away with ease, testing the heavy weight in his hands. He rolled the metal closed to open a few times, before he decided he was going to hang onto them. Truthfully, you hadn’t played Make-Out Manhunt or any form of Manhunt for that matter. Why would you? It was ridiculous. You asked, “So, how do you capture someone? You just tag them or what?” They laughed as though the real absurdity lied within your question, like you were asking the world’s most obvious thing, which okay – fuck you, too. It seemed to have amused all, except the golden maknae – the know-it-all maknae – the rabbit prince maknae. He was far too busy staring through you with the same unreadable expression that you were always met with. You didn’t get it. You couldn’t pinpoint when it had started, convinced that it had always been there. You did deny him snacks that one time. Maybe he’s hated you since? He was still just a boy in your mind. A boy who was now shamelessly dragging his eyes up and down the length of your body, the corners of his mouth twitching into a brief smirk, “It’s pin to win.” What the fuck was that about? You tried not to read too much into it. It wouldn’t be the first time Jeongguk was being playful, although it was never towards you, which made it a little…odd. Hoseok lightly patted you on the shoulder, “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.” You’d sooner feel safer in a shark tank covered in blood, but thanks Hobi. Namjoon laughed, “I’ll be too busy annihilating you, Hobi-wan. Hiding or seeking.” “Oh, my god!” The mushroom-haired rapper said, slightly appalled at being considered Namjoon’s easy target. You then watched as Hoseok slowly inched his way behind a tree, making it obvious that he had no real intentions of protecting you from anything. “Alright, let’s just set our friggin’ watches,” Yoongi snapped impatiently, clapping his hands together with mock enthusiasm. You could tell that the blonde would much prefer spending a lazy day full of catnapping, until he was needed for the photo shoot. You started flipping through the apps on your phone, setting up the stopwatch. The heat of Jeongguk’s gaze was still burning metaphorical holes into your skin, his head tilted in your direction. Unfortunately, confronting him wasn’t an option, and you didn’t have the nerve to stare right back, so you chose to ignore it. A few short rounds of Kai, Bai, Boh determined who would be the ones hiding and seeking. Not so lucky for you, since you ended up on the team that was hiding. Jin and Hoseok had already split up, referring to it as ‘tactic’, but you were too aware of the fact that you were akin to dead weight. Going in the opposite direction would be the least typical, so you went down that path – going as far as you could, before deeming it as too fucking far. It was in the direction of camp, anyway. If you could reach it, before anyone managed to find you, then it would just be a bonus. You honestly didn’t need to be standing out in the middle of the woods, terrified and weary of Jeongguk. You pressed a hand against one of the nearest trees, needing to take a short rest. Your breathing had already become ragged, side aching as though you’d run an entire marathon. Since living in Korea, you’d been forced to use your legs more often, so the strain wasn’t too bad, but perhaps you shouldn’t have used so much force. The forest itself was open, leaving several inches between each tree. You wanted to look down at your phone to check how much time was left, but you couldn’t afford to slow down, because of the ‘what ifs’ that plagued your mind. Realistically, Yoongi would probably give up halfway through chasing you down. Namjoon would motion you over, coaxing you with environmental facts. Jeongguk would… No. You wouldn’t allow that happen, because you had enough problems. First problem being that you used to actually like Jeongguk, a lot. It was borderline unprofessional how much you enjoyed your job as a stand-in stylist. Cosmetology school came through for you, even if it was your fallback. Being surrounded by seven gorgeous guys wasn’t bad, by any means. But you sure got an eyeful of what you weren’t permitted to have, never daring to go beyond finger fucking their hair. Right from the very start, handling Jeongguk was complete hell for you. He was far too attentive, while you were trying to focus on applying powder, or wiping the sweat from his golden skin. There were other times, where you would check his hair in the mirror and catch his gaze, dark and lingering. You’d blamed it on the makeup, deciding that Jeongguk wasn’t hardly that intense, or imposing.     An entire year later and you hadn’t been asked to step down from your position, even when the original stylist had come back from maternity leave. By some miracle, Big Hit had welcomed you into their family. It was that or they’d forgotten to fire you – didn’t matter. You were comfortable with your paychecks. “GWAAAAaaaa! HOOO-MAH-GAWD!” You were stopped dead in your tracks when the echo of what sounded like pre-captured Hoseok screaming reverberated throughout the forest. Your blood went cold with fear, despite who you were running away from. It shouldn’t have been so terrifying, but it was, as you felt a spike of adrenaline – your heart beginning to pound, rather than beat. The two members on your team were already found and it would only be a matter of time before you joined them in their misery. Snap. You spun abruptly at the sound, searching over the area behind you, and at each side. It was probably – hopefully – nothing. At least, that was what you’d wanted to believe. You cursed under your breath, as a set of chills spread over your arms and at the back of your neck, the small hairs standing on end. It was that same burning sensation from earlier, the one you’d felt whenever someone was staring directly at you, that made itself known. A shadow moved from out of the corner of your peripheral, confirming what your gut already knew to be true. Jeongguk was not even ten feet away from you then. You’d never even heard him approaching, agile and swift as he’d trailed after you, until it was too late.     Whether it was mimicking a hyung’s solo choreo, singing along to his favorite IU ballad, going on a headshot spree in Overwatch with Widowmaker, or chasing after someone he desperately craved for – these were all pleasantly thrilling to Jeon Jeongguk. So, it was without further ado, that predator met prey like an Animal Planet rerun of lions devouring antelopes in large, unremorseful bites. He took every aspect of this game very seriously. Jeongguk was competitive where most might not think so in this particular arena. His behavior projected through television, even while in person, was an act, perhaps the best he’d ever performed in front of his every day audience. All he needed was two seconds and for as immobilized as you were within that moment, it was all too easy for him to pin you to the nearest tree. A sharp breath was expelled from your lungs at the unexpected impact against the rough surface. He had you by the wrists, keeping you still when you tried twisting out of his hold. You gasped, “Jeongguk, you won…” The oak was old and splintered where it dug into your skin, making the firm press of his body all the more uncomfortable. “…you can let go of me now.”   “I knew you’d head this way, noona,” he mused, the Busan accent was thick in the heat of his tone. He chuckled then, the puff of air reaching your skin, “You’re tragically predictable. You know that you’re the last one to be found, right?” You were steadily growing impatient, “So?” Jeongguk stared down at you seriously, as he asked, “Have you already forgotten?” He then used his other hand to retrieve something from out of his back pocket. A dark smile flitted across his mouth – the same smile that had betrayed you on countless occasions, alluring and tempting on lips so red. Clink. Your eyes widened upon the realization of what he’d just done, the weight of the metal cuffs locking around both your wrists. Jeongguk stepped back to admire his work, taking in the precious look of shock on your face. You stepped closer, pushing your wrists towards him, “Kookie, get these off of me.” “About that,” he said, eyes dancing with dark amusement. This was too good – too much fun with the conflict so raw on you then. He’d gained your attention just the way he’d wanted it. The panic was evident in the way you grew on edge, as though you were about to throttle him, and oh, how he wished that you would. He tilted his head at you, voice light and unapologetic, “Namjoon hyung has the key.” “Then, why? Why did you…?” You sighed heavily, defeated. “Look – I don’t know what’s wrong with you lately. If you’re mad at me, just say so. You don’t have to play these games.” He pulled you by the inch of chain between your wrists, using his other hand to lower one of the branches. You’d realized his intention almost immediately, what he was meaning to do, when you slipped from his grasp, because – oh, hell to the no. You started making your way to literally anywhere else, knowing that he was faster – when a pair of strong arms curled around you securely. “You can’t be serious! Kook, put me down!” You shouted, trying to go full on dead weight, which did little to nothing to stop him.     Jeongguk handled you as one would a doll, maneuvering you up over his shoulder with unsurprising ease. With the new position, he didn’t even need to lower down the branch, as he dropped you so that the cuffs went over it. The branch lowered with your added weight, the tips of your toes just barely touching the ground. You couldn’t escape, not tall enough to inch yourself forward.     He took in how you struggled, expletives falling freely from your lips, cursing him until he started to speak, “See, that’s how I’ve felt for a whole year with you.” You grew quiet then, although your heart was still racing, and you felt dizzied by what sounded a lot like the beginning of confession, one of which you were not prepared for. “It felt like I was dangling, not really sure what would happen. The panic that comes with wanting to claim something as your own is so exhausting” “What is it…” you shook away the rest of the question, unsure if you’d wanted to hear the answer. You didn’t need to know that this brat actually had feelings for you.   There was a dangerously low and teasing lilt to his tone, as he pinpointed you, “What is it that I want, noona? From the expression on your face, I’d say you know very well.” “Let’s go back,” you said. Let’s get the fuck out of here, before Jeongguk says something that will destroy your every last defense. “I hadn’t expected you to be hired permanently. That kind of damned us both,” he laughed, while running his long fingers down the side of his neck. A breathy sigh escaped his lips for the theatrics, “While your hands were in my hair, my eyes were shut, envisioning what would happen if you’d noticed how much I was enjoying it. What if you’d noticed how hard I was?” And there it was, what you’d wanted to avoid. You looked to the ground for answers, trying to digest what the hell he’d just said – mouth parted to retort, when you’d thought better of it. Nothing you said could possibly diffuse the situation. This had obviously been building up for him for awhile. “You’re not innocent either, noona.” What the hell was that supposed to mean? Jeongguk approached you with purposeful steps, taking your chin between his fingertips, and forced you to look at him. “Namjoon hyung is under the impression that you’d let him fuck you, if he tried. He likes you, you know…” You tried shaking your head, but the short nails digging into your skin kept you from moving. Trembling with anger, you were quick to deny it, “That isn’t true.” “He’s just one of many. There’s practically a whole list of guys who showed real interest in you. They think they’d stand a chance, so tell me.” Jeongguk stared right through you then, the intensity of it imposing, and daunting – so unlike the wide-eyed bunny that you were used to dealing with.“What does noona do to give them that impression?” You were genuinely perplexed by the question. Any guy who’d shown interest in you had never seemed to work out. It was all flirtation that hadn’t even made it into the relationship stage. Flirting itself was awkward for you, so there was no way you were knowingly participating in such rituals the whole time. The guys who liked you never worked out… They never worked out. Never worked out. “Jeongguk, have you been meddling in my personal life? Like, are you preventing things from happening?” You paused, searching his dark eyes for the answer, wanting to see the lie there, but his expression was resolute. He couldn’t have possibly. Despite your obvious disposition, you felt as though you could hulk out,  break through the cuffs, and have a fair one on one with him. He confirmed the dread you’d felt, “I like to control everything.” “You’re an impossible bastard.” How quickly Jeongguk had been upgraded from brat in your book. If he’d been trying to make you take him seriously, it had worked. “Who the hell do you think you are? You can’t do that.” “Can’t and won’t – words like these were meaningless for how strongly I felt,” he said, shaking his hair out of his face. The hair you’d fucking styled this morning, which he probably got off on. Jeongguk almost pitied you for a moment. The basic concept of being a decent human being, this thing people seemed to have designated rules for tended to piss him off. The fear of losing you to someone else had outweighed the logic for him. He’d acted on impulse, steering away lesser men, keeping you available, and all for himself. You glared at him.  “And what about ‘don’t’ or ‘stop’?” “We’ll find out, won’t we? Maybe if you add a ‘please’ at the end, I’ll reward you with being compliant.” The fingers splayed over your jawline trailed higher into your hair, where he abruptly yanked your head back by the roots. The sharp gasp you’d emitted had a pleasant effect on him, when he’d quirked his lips, and leaned in towards your ear. The warmth of his breath reached your sensitive skin, as he murmured, “All you have to do is tell me you don’t want me. I’ll believe you and never pursue this again, but just so you know – the reason why we’re here right now, in this position, is because I don’t believe that.” He pulled away long enough to undo the buttons on his jacket, letting it fall to the ground carelessly. Holy fuck – this was how you lose your job. You were going to be caught with a just barely twenty year old working within the same company where dating fellow employees, especially idols, was strictly prohibited, and downright unprofessional. With that aside, you’d just watched him dirty his sponsored clothing. You were going to stylist hell. Jeongguk pulled the plain black shirt he was wearing beneath the button-up from his fitted slacks, fingers unfastening the leather belt around his hips. It slipped free from the hoops in one smooth motion. He grinned, a full set of bunny teeth on display, “Tell me you don’t want this…” You warned, “Jeongguk…” He tapped the leather against his palm, impatiently, “Accept or deny me.” You couldn’t deny him, but you couldn’t easily accept the situation either. If you were being completely honest with yourself, you didn’t want this moment to end. Hell, you wanted to go back in time, rewind his confession just to hear it over and over again, as though the memory wouldn’t be accurate enough. “This is a public place and not a real vacation. You have solo shots to take soon,” you reasoned, listing off possibilities, instead of answering his question. “I could be fired for this much, let alone whatever else you’re thinking of doing.” He laughed short, as he stepped closer to you, “You’ll just have to fix me up, noona.” You jumped when he skimmed the cool leather of the belt along your inner thigh, continuing, “And I doubt we’d be caught by anyone who would tattle, but sure, there is that possibility.” Shaking at the sensation, you inwardly cursed yourself for wearing shorts on a moderately cold day. It was the lightest of touches, whispers of rough texture over soft skin. Jeongguk looked down at your legs, where the few inches between you and him mattered, and asked, “Will you kick me if I come any closer?” If you’d wanted to kick him, you would have done so the moment you realized he was within reach. However, you wouldn’t hurt him – didn’t want to stop him, even if meant ignoring your better judgment. You shook your head, mutely, unable to use your voice. Not even you believed that you were about to go along with this – that a single taste of Jeongguk would be worth risking your job over. Seeing you strung up like this would be enough to stun any passerby into silence. The rest of the group would start to wonder soon and set out to find you both. He teased the belt up further, until it was pressed between your legs, “Does that mean you’ll be a good girl for me?” You squeezed your thighs together, unsure of whether or not you were trying to escape the leather, or keep it against you. “You like this more than I thought you would,” he said lowly, as he suddenly removed the belt to drape it over your neck. He used it as leverage to pull your faces close together – his breath reaching your skin. Quick fingers moved silver between one of the notches, loosely securing the belt around your throat. Jeongguk took the extension of leather that was left through the buckle and touched it to your lips. You swallowed thickly, meeting the intense stare he’d settled on you then, and parted your mouth for him. Allowing the tongue of the belt to slip past your teeth, he wet his lips at your easy compliance.   “You’re behaving so well for me,” he crooned, withdrawing the leather and pushing it back in, watching the way your cheeks hollowed eagerly. “Would you take my cock just like this?” He jerked you forward by his grip on the belt, feeding more of it into your mouth, pleased with how you’d adjusted quickly. “How many cocks have you had lately?” You weren’t sure how to respond to that, even if you could. You’ve had such few serious relationships and was never inspired to have a wild streak. It wasn’t like you enjoyed partying. If anything, you were lacking in experience. He removed the belt, expecting your answer. Okay, then, Jeongguk.   “Are you jealous of the thought?” you asked, shifting the conversation on purpose. “I bet you think your age excuses your immaturity.”     The muscles in his jaw bounced when he clenched his teeth, “So what if it is jealousy?” He roamed his hands down the front of your shirt, fingers barely grazing you when he reached the hem. You sucked in a breath when he curled the fabric in his fist and pulled it up to your neck, your chest heaving as the adrenaline rushed through you. Embarrassment and excitement mixed into an intoxicating cocktail, feeling his large hands immediately fall to your breasts, impatiently pushing your bra up, and exposing you to the hunger of his gaze. You were quick to close your eyes against his scrutiny, knowing that under the harsh rays of sunlight, that he could see you perfectly.     “Would you let just anyone do this to you?” Jeongguk husked, as he took in the way your skin burned pink – your breaths coming out shakily. The worst of the matter was the fact that you weren’t looking at him. He brought his fingers down in a quick descent, slapping a peaked nipple – the impact abrupt, and sharp. You cried out in surprise, startled by the sound more than the sting. He licked at his deep red lips, “Answer me.” Your response was almost immediate, “N-No, I wouldn’t…although, a guy usually wouldn’t think of cuffing a woman to a tree just to touch her.”   He tilted his head at you, the briefest of smirks tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I suppose you’re right, however, usually a woman wouldn’t be so complacent about it. What does that say about you, noona?” “It says that I must want this…” you breathed, the confession stopped short when Jeongguk leaned down the rest of the way. Placing his left hand at the base of your throat, he held you very still and slowly brushed his lips over yours, savoring his first taste of you. It was enough to send a pleasant shiver down his spine. It’d only taken a moment for the spell to be broken, for that gentle pressure to turn into something needier as a consequence. The pressure of his mouth was bruising, as he licked past your lips, deepening the kiss. He pressed himself more firmly against you, bare sensitive skin meeting the cotton of his dark shirt. His other hand started kneading at your back, your hips, and down to your ass – possessively digging his fingers in between the flesh of your cheeks to bring you even closer. You hummed against him, sucking greedily each time his tongue entered your mouth, pressing yourself further into his touch, giving into him completely. Jeongguk was the first to part from the kiss, eager to take in your flushed expression when the hand on your neck grew tight. He shoved his other hand beneath your shorts, the button popping open, and the zipper trailing down from the force of it. “Let’s see how wet you are for me,” he teased, as he started palming you through the flimsy cotton of your panties, where you were sure to be a soaking mess. Two of his fingers dug the material into you as he rubbed at, and parted your slick folds. “Wait, that’s really…” It was really embarrassing, despite your bravado from just moments ago. “It’s really what?” Jeongguk taunted, more than asked, pressing his long fingers in circles over your throbbing clit. You dropped your head to his shoulder with a gasp – hands itching to hold onto him for dear life, but with the cuffs it was futile. He offered you an adverb, the amusement practically dripping in voice, “Filthy?” You quietly shook your head, agreeing with him. He snickered, tone condescending, “Don’t you understand how men work?” “Do you?” you challenged, the ache in the pit of your stomach had just started to subside, when he stopped ministrations short. “You’re still just a boy.” He stepped back, no longer a support for your head – the fingers at your throat gone to instead busy themselves with removing your shorts. He hooked his fingers into the cotton of your panties, pulling them down past your thighs. You could feel the sticky, wet strings of arousal following the movement, the tender skin of your inner thighs covered in it, you were such a mess.             You expected him to be more offended by your rebuttal. You’d even thought he’d perhaps consider your words as a partial truth, until his dark eyes narrowed at you. He was holding your panties into a tight fist, leaving you captive within his gaze as he slowly brought the soiled fabric up to his nose, and filled his lungs with deep, exaggerated inhales. It was worse than anything he could have said in response – it was both humiliating and arousing at the same time. You wanted to hide from the sheer mortification of it.  “Look here, noona,” he said, showing you the crotch of the material. It was covered in thick webs of clear arousal. You steadied your eyes on it, hearing him chuckle darkly, “Good. Now watch me.” He touched the mess with his tongue, a soft groan escaping the back of his throat. He tugged at the cotton with his teeth, sucking lewdly at your juices – tasting you as a new form of torture.   You were shook by it, tired arms trembling from above your head at the intensity of his heated gaze. It was enough to scorch you from where he stood. This new side of Jeongguk that you were currently being subjected to was a very, very dangerous thing you realized. It was no different from playing with fire and you were practically begging to get burned.   “I’m not surprised that you would smell and taste so good,” he said, dropping the panties from his fingers onto the ground of the forest. “Sometimes I could smell you. Very faintly. It used to drive me insane. I’d have to excuse myself, so that I could lock myself in a stall, burying my teeth into my lip just to keep quiet, while I got off.” You felt your stomach swoop with each word, the ache in your stomach growing more acute. Jeongguk was back to being in your space, intent on learning your body by reaction. The light graze of his fingertips against the inside of your thighs drew closer to where you needed it the most, before his touch was gone. He was acting as though he had all the time in the world to play with you.   “Jeongguk…” You hadn’t even recognized your own voice pleading for him. “I need your hands on me. Please.” “Really? That wasn’t the impression I got from you lately,” he said, while tugging you so that the cuffs moved further down the branch. Your feet could now touch the ground more comfortably. It was also less of a strain on your wrists. You sighed in relief, when he placed his hand between your thighs fast and suddenly, cupping you within his fingers more roughly this time. A hand at the back of your neck kept you from looking away from him. You moaned, choosing to close your eyes instead, as your legs clamped around his arm, “Ah, fuck...” He leaned in so that he could speak against your ear, “Oh, I am going to fuck you.” Your body proceeded to shake with chills, as he mouthed at your skin with each word, “By the time I’m through with this tight little cunt, you’re going to know exactly who you belong to.” He tapped his fingers hard against your clit in rapid succession, finding the bite of pain to also be pleasurable, as your entire body jolted from the stimulation. It was thrilling and terrifying. It was absolutely amazing. “How long has it been for you, noona?” he asked, bringing your head back by his grip on your neck. “Open your eyes and look at me. I won’t tell you again.” You did as you were told, a soft cry escaping when his palm came down one last time, the contact sharp and wet from your accumulated arousal. The question had purpose, as he teased a finger at your entrance, rubbing over it until you felt frustrated, needing to be filled. “Kookie, I swear…” He finally curled his finger into you, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips, “Is this what you wanted? Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, enticed by the resistance he was met with, despite how wet you already were. He was quick to add in another long digit, pumping them in and out of you slowly. You felt his words caress the shell of your ear, “I can’t wait to feel you squeezing around my cock. You already feel so fucking good…” You wanted to die on the spot – trembling from head to toe, as the pleasure started to coil in your stomach like a spring. A third finger joined the others, noisily – stretching you open for what was soon to come. You pulled at the cuffs when he ground the heel of his palm in circles against your clit, throwing your head back in bliss. It was difficult to ignore the fact that you were outside, where at any given moment someone could walk by, a member or one of the staff, which only made the situation hotter at this point.   If Jeongguk was at all apprehensive about being caught, he didn’t show it. No – he was far too busy with sucking marks into the soft skin along your neck. The sharp pinch of his teeth had you gasping helplessly, stuck between scrunching your shoulders and not wanting to escape it. The firm, wet repetition of his tongue swirling over each bruise pushed you so close to the edge. You rocked your hips into his working hand, crying out the moment he closed his mouth over an erect nipple, lavishing the sensitive bud with the hot sweep of his tongue. He was able to feel the beginnings of your orgasm. You hadn’t bothered with giving him a heads up, other than the natural fluttering of your walls around his fingers. It was becoming more frequent, as the pleasurable chills, and quakes claimed your body. You were growing louder. The hand at the back of your neck moved into your hair, where he wound the strands around his fist, and tugged on them in warning. One that you’d failed to heed, as you continued getting lost in the skilled fingers buried deep inside you – Jeongguk’s sinful mouth consuming you in its heat. It was too much, too soon. “No you don’t,” he spoke low into your skin, laughing somewhat cruelly when he withdrew his fingers from you, leaving you to clench around nothing. You could have sobbed, as you were now so empty, and annoyed with him. You raised your head at him weakly, ready to fix him with the best glare you could manage, when you noticed something…alarming. Namjoon. The rapper stood there, as still as stone, and at a complete loss when he stared at you then. He was still trying to process what he’d just witnessed. Usually, he liked to pick apart and dissect information logically; male, female, basic anatomy, pheromones, endorphins, sexual congress – the nine, which had all made sense, up until he reached the group’s maknae and one of the company’s stylist. The same stylist that he, himself had taken an interest in.  Namjoon had been watching long enough to feel his cock stir within the confines of his jeans. Jeongguk’s control wasn’t misplaced throughout the whole ordeal, and under different circumstances, perhaps he would have commended the younger for it. The blonde had been stopped dead in his tracks the moment he’d spotted them, thinking that the scenario was nothing more than a prank, and was getting ready to pull the key to cuffs out from his pocket. That was until he’d noticed that the woman he’d practically been pining over was utterly exposed right before him, naked and writhing in bliss at the hands of the youngest member. The small gasps and moans slipping past her abused lips was enough make his dick swell almost guiltily in response. He swallowed at the lump in his throat, trying to find the will to turn around and leave, pretending that he hadn’t seen anything, but he was unable to look away. Then your eyes met, successfully stopping his heart from giving its next beat. Jeongguk followed the line of her stunned gaze to find his hyung frozen there. A deceptive smile spread across the younger’s handsome face, as he neared Namjoon, “Look who found us.” You tried turning away with what little movement you were afforded, skin flushed a deep red as you attempted to escape from the leader’s view. Jeongguk’s body was no longer shielding you from it, when he placed a hand against Namjoon’s chest, asking you, “Would you like it if hyung joined us?” He lowered his eyes to the unmistakable outline of Namjoon’s hard cock, voice laced with amusement, “I’m sure he’d be very appreciative if you took care of his problem for him.” “I want to help,” you said, throwing away all inhibitions. Fuck it – you were already caught. It’d been obvious to you in the past that Namjoon had formed a small crush on you. Aside from that, you found him to be woefully attractive and this opportunity probably wouldn’t happen twice. “See? She can handle it for you, hyung,” Jeongguk said cheekily, before the smile on his face disappeared into something more sinister. The leader ignored the chill that crawled up his spine at that, opting to lean against the tree behind him. The weight of Jeongguk’s body followed, when he started kneading at the elder’s cock through his jeans. A quick breath left Namjoon’s lungs, “Jeongguk, the fuck…” He visibly shuddered at the way he was being managed with a questionable amount of sexual knowhow on Jeongguk’s end. He closed his eyes at the feel of the younger’s tongue pushing at his lips, immediately granting him access. Namjoon drew him in closer by his hips, holding Jeongguk flush against his frame, crushing the hand working between their bodies in the process. The rapper groaned throatily at the sharp nip of Jeongguk’s teeth, when he parted with a short laugh, “I didn’t think it would be so easy getting you off, hyung.” He then looked over his shoulder at you, taking note of how your legs were closed tightly, skin burning a deep red. You were turned on by the sight of them. Jeongguk drew away from the leader to approach you, eyes narrowed hot and accusatory, “I want to fuck you, while you’re sucking him off.” Your lashes fluttered against the feel of him nuzzling the tip of his nose into the side of your neck. “Even while his cock is down your throat, you’re going to learn that you’re mine, and that you belong to me.” You squeaked when Jeongguk scooped you up over his shoulder, helping the cuffs move down, until they were off the branch. Namjoon stepped closer, unable to deny the fact that he wanted you in any which way he could have you, even if it would be on the receiving end of a blowjob. He removed his coat and laid it out on the ground, where the younger placed you carefully. Namjoon could see the marks and bruises along your skin, signs of the maknae’s claim all over you – taking interest in the belt around your neck. He decided to keep you in cuffs for a bit longer, “If you want the keys, then you’ll have to work for them.” Admittedly, a part of Namjoon felt bitter about having lost out to Jeongguk, and he didn’t want to be particularly sweet towards you. He lowered himself onto the ground, spreading his legs wide to give you ample space.   You were guided onto your knees by a forceful hand on your hip. “Look at you,” Jeongguk said lowly, so very fixated on how you started crawling your way towards Namjoon. He pulled his shirt over his head, dropping it unceremoniously. His throat felt dry, the air thick with tension, as he adjusted himself behind you. Being this close, the scent of your arousal was heady, and it took effort on his part not to hold you down and fuck you right then and there.   The rapper lifted his hips when you worked on getting his pants open, allowing you to pull them from off his hips, his briefs down far enough to free his aching cock. You stared wide-eyed at how big he was, curved up against his stomach, the head already swollen, and leaking with precum.   Jeongguk stared at Namjoon, “This is what you wanted, right, hyung?” The maknae enjoyed the psychological aspect of it, receiving a pointed glare from the rapper. He tacked on a warning for no other reason than to stay in control, “Be sure to mind your hands.” Jeongguk knew full well that under such circumstances, one might be tempted to grab her by the hair, and force her down. He smoothed his hands over your hips and to your backside, spreading you wide with each possessive touch. The apex between your thighs was a tantalizing pink and glistening with arousal, waiting to be devoured. He buried his nose against you abruptly, short nails digging into your skin when you startled, unable to escape even if you’d wanted to. The cool breath of his laugh caused you to tense visibly with anticipation.   You tried focusing on the very hot, very hard Namjoon instead of your insecurities, grabbing him at the base of his cock, and bringing him to your mouth to give an experimental flick of your tongue. The muscle in his thigh bounced, both hands curled into fists at his sides in order to behave himself. You swirled your tongue over the head of his cock, tasting the salt, and sweat on his skin. The slicker you made him the easier it was to glide your fist over him, taking care of what your mouth wasn’t able to fit. Jeongguk had only allowed you to live for but a moment, giving you enough time to concentrate on Namjoon, and find a rhythm, when he’d closed his mouth down tightly, sucking greedily at your sensitive flesh. He teased back and forth over your clit with the point of his tongue, relentless in his assault. You moaned around Namjoon’s cock, the vibrations carrying throughout the leader’s body in a pleasurable hum. Namjoon swore low, “Fuck…” You relaxed your throat for him, taking him in deeper, cheeks hollowed tightly. “You’re so good at that…”   He wouldn’t touch you, as per Jeongguk’s warning. This had only made the act more exhilarating, as he tried finding inventive ways to maintain control. The belt around your neck would serve a purpose, as he grabbed at the end of it, curling the leather around his fingers to give a sharp tug. You stabled a hand on his leg when he’d offered it, meeting the heavy stare he’d fixed on you then, and felt herself pulse with need – Jeongguk’s mouth soothing over the ache you’d felt at your core. The firm hands on your hips kept you completely still, as he continued devastating you with the press of his tongue, delving the velvety muscle past your entrance, and fucking into you repeatedly. Another tug on the belt inched you further down onto Namjoon’s cock, slurping at the excess saliva and precum coating him. It would be easy to send him over the edge, as you rolled your wrist in a way that made his hips buck up slightly, being careful as to not choke you. The guttural moan that escaped the leader was enough to even affect Jeongguk. The maknae hissed low, willing himself to pull away long enough to trail the zipper of his jeans down over his cock, relieving some of the pressure. He pulled himself from his fitted briefs, stroking over his length a couple times. This hadn’t been part of his agenda and therefore, he was under prepared, not carrying around his wallet that held his condoms. “I know it’s difficult to answer me while your mouth is full, but how badly do you want me, noona?” he asked, hips coming forward to thrust his cock between your drenched folds, getting himself soaked with your juices. He gauged your reaction, carefully, “Mm? Enough to let me fuck you without a condom on? Bad enough to let me cum inside you?” “Jesus, Guk,” Namjoon gasped, tightening his hand on the belt. You tried your best to respond to him with a simple ‘mhm’, when you felt Jeongguk’s fingers gripping your hair by the roots, yanking you off of the rapper’s cock. He pressed his mouth against your, teeth grazing over the shell of your ear, “Answer me if you understand.” You nodded weakly, your heart about ready to pound out of your chest. “I understand.” He chuckled, breathily, “Good.” The rapper’s mouth parted into a broken moan when you leaned down to continue taking him into the warmth of your mouth, lips popping each time you pulled off of him. Namjoon’s eyes flickered up to the maknae’s, watching as a dark expression passed over his normally soft features. This was a new side of Jeongguk that he wasn’t familiar with. After today, it would be difficult to see him the same way. Not that Namjoon minded it all that much. Jeongguk pressed himself at your entrance, the thick, bulbous head of his cock fitting nice and snug against you, before he started pushing in slowly. He watched as his length sank into your tight warmth, overwhelmed when your walls clenched around him. Bracing a hand on your hips, he slammed forward the rest of the way, sheathing himself inside of you completely. You cried out, despite how ready you’d been for it. You knew within that moment that you weren’t wholly prepared for how stretched apart and full you felt then. He allowed you time to adjust to his length, as he was bigger than what you were used to lately, given the fact that you’d been inactive for so long. Being under the control of two men was proving to be too much, as one tugged you to swallow them down, and the other started thrusting into you hard and unforgiving. It was difficult to focus on both, your legs trembling under the impact of Jeongguk’s hips meeting your ass. The breathy sounds he was making grew harsher, moaning through clenched teeth. “You’re so fucking tight,” he said, voice raw, as he looked to where you were connected, how your walls clung to him each time he withdrew slowly, before slamming back in. He repeated the action, sending you forward with each intrusion. “So good for me, taking my cock so well. Your greedy pussy doesn’t want to let me go.”   The strong muscles of his thighs had spread yours further apart, driving into you as deeply as he could go, and filling you to the hilt. You were dripping all over him when he began pounding into you. He exploited your spot when he found it, hitting it acutely from then on. You clenched around him tightly, your screams muffled by Namjoon’s cock. Jeongguk slid a hand around your front, teasing his long, skillful fingers in firm circles over your throbbing clit. You twisted your wrist up and down Namjoon’s slippery length, watching him suffer beneath your touch. A thin sheen of sweat coated his tanned skin, as his jaw set hard with pleasure. He shoved his shirt up over this chest, getting it out of the way of where he might spill. You could see his abdominal muscles tense up and contact as he neared his climax. You wanted everything that he had to give you, as you continued sucking around him eagerly. “Ah, hyung-nim. You look done for,” Jeongguk breathed, taking in the vulnerable and erotic sight of the leader on edge. He licked at his dry lips, “Maybe I’ll have a taste.” Namjoon visibly shuddered at the younger’s words, envisioning what it would be like to have the both of you mouthing at his cock. He once again pulled at the belt, letting you know that he was going to come soon. In a synchronized fashion that three people could ever hope to achieve, you’d found your rhythm, drifting into a symphony of moans, affirming the mutual state of bliss that was steadily roping you all in. It was Namjoon who’d been the first to let go, his urgent warnings turning into incoherent murmuring, as his mind was wiped blank, filling your mouth with hot, sticky release. You showed it to him, allowing his cum to slip past your swollen lips – your fist still pumping him, until he softened. With Namjoon no longer preoccupying your mouth, your sounds grew louder as Jeongguk turned ravenous, pistoning his cock into your sore pussy. The fingers on your clit matched the rough, incessant snapping of his hips. Soon your walls were fluttering around him like a pulse, sobbing as your orgasm tore throughout your body forcibly – the intense pleasure you felt leaving you tingling, and sated.     Spurred on at the feel of you unraveling beneath him, Jeongguk dug his nails into your skin, holding you down, as he pushed into you a few more times. Growling low, he came in a stream of expletives, as he milked himself into you. You winced at the sensation of liquid heat filling you up. He pressed his hips against the soft cheeks of your ass one last time, before he withdrew from you carefully. A thick rivulet of cum trailed from your gaping entrance when you’d finally relaxed enough to unclench. The maknae was half-tempted to fuck it back into you, as he spread you apart with his thumbs – satisfied with how deep inside it was, before releasing you. Namjoon was in a temporary state of a coma, and was slumped where he sat. Once his breathing had finally slowed, he went to pull his shirt back down over his stomach. Jeongguk’s voice stopped him mid-action, “Leave it.”     Namjoon swallowed, thickly, “Guk…” You felt Jeongguk’s fingers slip through your hair, pulling you closer to him for a kiss. He parted your lips with the insistent press of his tongue, drifting over teeth, and exploring the roof of your mouth. He was able to sample the salty remnants of the other man, humming at the back of his throat, and was almost reluctant to pull away from you. Dark eyelashes fluttered open, as Jeongguk set his eyes directly on Namjoon, “I think I’ll have that taste now, hyung.” -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“And where the HELL were you?” Your fellow coworker demanded, throwing her hands up like she was about to take flight. “You’re lucky the first set of solo shots were cancelled. Although, it doesn’t change the fact that you had left me to fend for myself against this guy…” She pointed over her shoulder towards Taehyung, who was dancing wildly amongst a successful bonfire. “…and that guy,” she finished, pointing towards Jimin just in time for him to stroke his bangs back in a signature manner.   “I mean,” you started, trying not to wince as your body started to feel your recent activities. “This is how they usually are, no?” She sighed, exasperatedly, “Taehyung kept saying shit like, ‘I’m the reason the fire got lit, my body is why the fire got lit, and this night is gonna be lit.’ Then Jimin started dabbing and…wait, why do you look freshly fucked?” Namjoon ducked the raised eyebrows from the rest of his group, Jin being the more apparent one as to how much he disapproved. “You guys vanished in the middle of the game. We were worried sick.” Yoongi unfolded his arms, staring between the leader and the maknae, “Next time you two think it’s a good idea to abandon me during a game I didn’t even want to partake in – in the first place, you could try fucking yourselves first.” Namjoon shook his head at the irony, “Fuck, man…” Jeongguk moved as quietly as a phantom, slipping past the critics, until he was standing beside you. It was late in the afternoon and the sun was already beginning to set, while the orange flames of the bonfire glowed dimly. With the dark saturating your surroundings, he slipped his arms around your waist, and pressed his chest against you. A soft kiss at the back of your neck caused you to grow tense with worry. Someone might see you, although no one was paying any attention. His warm breath tickled your skin when he spoke, “Be with me, so that I can stop being like this.” If it hadn’t been for his arms, you were sure your knees would have given out by now. You decided to tease him, “Oh, you mean straight up predatory and without a doubt bi-curious?” He laughed, however the amusement absent from his tone, “Time to give me a real answer, noona.” “Honestly? I didn’t know that you were capable of any of this…” There were no words for how duped you felt. “Also, you were manipulative.” “You mean how I scared off lesser men and fucked you, until you were in tears?” He felt satisfied with how your body shook with chills from just his words alone. “I want you and it isn’t going to get any easier from here. The question is if you want me?” It hadn’t taken you very long to answer him, as you sighed in defeat, “Yes.” Why had it felt like you’d just signed your soul on over to Satan himself? He whispered into your ear, “Good girl.” You shut your eyes. Playing in the woods during rabbit season, the day Jeongguk won at everything, even you.  --------------------------------

 Finished

[isi7140]

flying on broken wings

Read on Ao3

Summary: The last few hours have been a nightmare for Dick. Kidnapped by the Crime Syndicate, his identity revealed to the world, beaten, broken, imprisoned in a deathtrap. He can’t move, can barely breathe--but Batman’s come for him.

He wishes he could believe that that means he’s going to survive this.

Notes: My contribution to @camsthisky's batfamcontentwar!

I’ve seen several people writing about the aftereffects of all this, but I haven’t seen anyone actually writing this scene. So I had to. You’re welcome.

Warnings… well, this is a Forever Evil fic, so canon temporary character death, suffocation, lots of thoughts about death, a character who isn't actively suicidal but is… not entirely upset about dying, etc… let me know if there’s anything else I should tag :)

(Gen with the briefest mention of DickBabs.)

“Dick? Everything’s going to be all right. I’m here.”

Bruce. His partner. His father. The man who saved him when his life shattered, gave him a purpose and a home. Dick hasn't been Robin for a long time, but he still knows how to see past Batman's mask. And right now Bruce is terrified.

“Batman?”

Bruce brushes Dick's hair back with his thumb, like Dick's twelve and has the flu, not twenty-one and about to die alone. And even now, Dick can't help but lean into his father's touch.

For a moment, he's home.

“I’m sorry I shut you out. All of you. I didn’t want you getting hurt…”

Bruce is apologizing. He’s actually apologizing, and Dick really wishes he had a video camera so he could save this moment forever.

“I’m going to get you out of this.”

His stomach sinks as he remembers where he is. Grid had dispassionately explained the prison to Dick as it sealed him in, he knows what this is, and if Bruce doesn’t leave now, they’re all going to die.

“No… you need to… leave. You need to go…” ...please, get out of here, before it’s--

The cell door slams shut with an awful finality, the wires on his chest sting as they buzz to life, and the familiar beep of a heart monitor fills the room.

--Too late.

“What is that?”

“It’s a countdown. This isn’t just a fancy pair of handcuffs, Catwoman.”

Luthor explains what Dick already knows, and Bruce’s face turns hard and angry.

“It’s a bomb.” And Dick’s already dead.

Dick Grayson's life ended when the world saw his face, barbed wire around his throat and poison whispers in his ear, with his friends and family marked for death and his world destroyed and any hope he had left ripped to shreds.

No, that's not right. If he's being honest, he died months ago, in the lobby of Wayne Tower, with a sword in his little brother’s heart. He hasn’t been alive since that day, not really.

“You don’t understand…” He tries to explain, but he can’t get enough air and Bruce is speaking again before he can find the words.

“I’m going to disarm it and get you out of here, Dick.”

Alfred can't take another heartbreak, not after Damian and Jason and Bruce. He's patched them up night after night, their bruises and bulletholes, healing hands and quiet support--and he doesn't want to do this to Alfred, not again.

“Is the countdown monitoring his heart?” Selina asks.

“Yes.” Bruce’s voice is dark with fury--he’s figured it out, he knows how this works.

“Why?”

Barbara. Bright, shining, unstoppable Babs. The woman Dick's loved since he knew what love meant. Babs who joined their fight because she wanted to protect the innocent, who refused to fall to the darkness, who never gave up.

“The detonator is hooked into it.”

Dick breathes, forcing his voice to remain steady. He has to be strong.

“Batman… the bomb… it only disarms… if my heart stops. I die… or we all die.”

Tim, who's lost too much and too many people for his seventeen years. Tim who turned his broken edges into sharpened knives. The brother Dick betrayed, who still somehow trusts him with his life. The only Robin left who hasn't died. Please, Tim. Don't follow us. They'll need you...

“Please… listen to me… you still have time to get yourself out of here.”

“I am not leaving you, Dick. I am not abandoning you.”

Dick’s heart breaks at the undercurrent of fear in his voice. “You aren’t, Bruce, and you never have.”

“The only way we’re getting out of here is together.”

Jason. Dick doesn't know what Jason will do when he finds out. Laugh? Mourn? Look for revenge? He wishes--he wishes things had been different...

Bruce pulls the front panel of the bomb off. He starts to disconnect wires, looking for a solution, but even from his perspective Dick can tell it’s useless.

He wants to tell Bruce don't you dare. If I die here, I'm not taking you with me. The city needs you, the family needs you. Losing you nearly destroyed us before, and I won't let it happen again. I won't be the reason you die for real--but he can’t find the breath.

Bruce curses in frustration. “No… the wires… every time I disconnect a relay, it fixes itself.”

Bruce, just get out!

“Then there’s only one way to disarm this bomb, Batman.”

Bruce looks up. For a second, his eyes meet Dick’s.

Behind him, Luthor aims and fires, and Batman falls.

Selina yells and turns on Luthor, but the… creature wearing Clark’s colors knocks her away.

...Damian. The Robin to his Batman. Damian who died protecting Dick, Damian who will be there waiting for him. After.

Damian, who he'd promised never again.

But he doesn't really have a choice this time.  Or if there is a choice, it's not his to make.

Dying to save the world.  Not a bad way to go.

He flinches away against his will as Luthor approaches. Dick never asked Jason what this was like--he hadn't wanted to know, he didn't ask--and now--now--

“I’m making an executive decision, Catwoman. I’m saving our lives by ending his.”

--he can’t move, he can’t get away--

Luthor presses his hand over Dick's mouth and nose, and--oh.

(For all his fear, the decision is surprisingly easy to make.)

Dick looks at his father unconscious on the floor. I’m sorry.

Closes his eyes.

Time to save the world.

He swallows the pill.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Grayson.”

The next minutes pass in a blur, his heartbeat betraying him and racing faster than it should. Selina is fighting to reach them, and he’s weirdly touched, but the Super-thing keeps her away. Luthor’s green eyes are hard, unremorseful, and the lack of air’s starting to burn.

I’m coming, Damian.

Bruce groans and pushes himself upright just as a deep ache cuts through Dick’s chest. His heart hammers more frantically, the wings of a bird trapped inside his ribcage.

He'd been hoping this wouldn't hurt.

“Luthor, you hurt him and I will kill you!”

No--Bruce--

There's a hurricane in his chest, pressure building and breaking, rising up his throat

a missed stairstep, and something thuds to a stop

the world tilts violently around him

a long, harsh tone drowns out the shouting voices

a tear runs down his cheek

someone's saying his name

he can't breathe and there's--

--light.

He stumbles, the pain gone as quick and sharp as it came. His head rings with the dizzying echo of an empty gong. The first breath chokes off and turns into a broken gasp. Coughing, he reaches out to steady himself on the desk.

His hand is transparent, glowing a faint blue.

He almost laughs when he realizes. It's not like he was ever going to die in bed, and he knew this was going to happen as soon as the coffin clicked shut. Still, actually dying is a bit new to him.

(He only feels a little guilty for his relief.)

Warm afternoon light shines through the windows of Bruce’s study, the clock ticks quietly from its corner. A few Wayne Enterprises papers are scattered on the desk--nothing urgent. The room is quiet. Peaceful.

He’s still shirtless, but for the first time today he isn’t cold. His bruises are gone.

He thinks… this will be okay.

“Grayson?”

He turns around and-- it’s Damian.

The kid’s standing in the doorway. He’s wearing a hoodie, glowing softly, his face frozen in horror. He takes a step forward, then another.

“No, no, no, Grayson, you’re not supposed to be here, you have to go back--”

Dick crosses the rest of the distance, drops to his knees, and pulls Damian into a hug.

“I missed you so much.”

Damian hugs him back despite his protests, warm and real in his arms, and Dick’s heart breaks with the joy of it.

"What happened? Who--"

"Not right now, Damian. Just..." He holds the kid tighter, he never wants to let go, but Damian pushes away to look him desperately in the eyes.

“No, Richard, you have to go back, you can’t be here!”

He laughs a little. “I didn’t really have a choice, Damian. It looks like you’re stuck with me.”

Damian deflates a little at that. “I never wanted…”

“I know. I never wanted this for you, either. But we’re together now, and it’s going to be all right.”

Dick stands up, taking his little brother’s hands. Something like hope fills his heart.

"We were the best, Damian." The kid smiles at that, brief and bright as the sun breaking through the storm. "We're the best, and not even death will keep us--"

Pain.

Everything is pain and Damian is gone and a fiery drumbeat is hammering in his ears as he chokes on air. His chest burns like someone's poured acid into his lungs and heart, he can’t see, and he crumples forward--

--into his father’s arms.

Bruce pulls him out of the coffin and into a hug, tight but gentle, and Dick can almost forget the nightmare of the last few hours and the tearing in his heart of losing his little brother again.

Later, when Bruce asks him to stay dead, Dick can’t bring himself to refuse.

Deep cover, constant danger, completely alone--it’s easier than pretending to live.

After all, he’s already dead.

End Notes: I’ve been working on this for some time, and the war was exactly what I needed to get this done! Thanks to Cam for everything, and to @hedgiwithapen for looking this over for me. Also shout-out to @scriptmedic for helping me try to squeeze some accuracy out of comic book medical science!

Please let me know what you think!

[dreamlordmorpheus]

prompt - fighting a loved one for @grumpysealmom

“Please don’t do this. We don’t need any more lives lost.” As Siobhan spoke, she glanced towards the woods behind them, where she hoped the young werewolf was making his escape.

“Well, maybe your precious mutt should have thought of the consequences before he went on a killing spree!” Saoirse paced in front of her sister, words as sharp as the twin daggers she carried.

“It’s not his fault! He made a mistake. I can help him, I know I can.”

“You can’t protect him.” You couldn’t protect me was the unspoken addition, carried between the two like an electric current.

“Surely there’s some other way!” Come back to me.

“Stand down and let me kill him. That’s your other way.” No.

“I don’t want to fight you, sister.” Please. Come back. Siobhan had never been good at hiding her emotions, and now was no exception. It was obvious how upset she was, tears trembling on the edge of her light green eyes.

“Don’t you dare call me that.” Never. Saoirse’s face, marred by a deep scar across her cheekbone, gave away nothing but her deep, cold anger. “I don’t want to fight you either. But I’d rather break every bone in your body than let that monster run free.”

“He’s not a monster! He’s just misunderstood. He doesn’t know what he’s doing is wrong.” Siobhan’s voice wavered and cracked into a pleading sob.

“Oh, where have I heard that before?” Saoirse’s tone was caustically sarcastic. “Ah yes, right before you let that wild beast tear my throat open. You still haven’t fucking learned, Siobhan! How many more people are going to die before you figure out that your beloved woodland friends are monsters, just like the rest of their kind?”

Siobhan cowered before her furious sister, retreating back into the woods with tears streaming down her face. Saoirse strode forward, pressing her advantage. She was so intent on unleashing years of repressed anger and grief that she was completely unaware of where she stepped. As her sister’s foot stomped into the center of a grass-green cloth square, Siobhan’s face changed from distraught to focused.

“Inhero! Root!” She shouted, watching as tendrils of earth erupted from the ground underneath her sister. The earthen vines wrapped around Saoirse’s legs tightly, binding her in place. She tried to take another step, but was firmly rooted to the ground.

“You fucking freak!” Saoirse screamed, slashing at the unyielding roots with her daggers. “How dare you! Let me free!”

“I’m sorry, sister. The spell will wear off before nightfall, so you should be fine. I wouldn’t cut the roots if I were you, though. They don’t like being hurt.” Siobhan’s tone was apologetic but unremorseful. “You brought this on yourself. I told you I wouldn’t let you kill him.”

“You want to be responsible for more deaths? More bloodshed? Go ahead then, save your little friend! Maybe he’ll repay you by giving you a scar to match mine!”

Siobhan sighed, turning her back. Altering the root spell to last that long had taken a lot of her energy, but it was worth it.

“Run away, you goddamn traitor!” Saoirse shrieked, the binding around her legs tightening as she struggled. “You dare abandon your own species like that? You don’t even deserve to be called a human! A fucking monster, that’s what you are!”

As she retreated into the woods, already looking for the tracks of her canine friend, Siobhan’s expression of placid calm shifted into one of deep sadness. If one or both of the whites of her eyes shifted color to match the deep green of the forest around her, there was no longer anybody around to see. 

[ryanhoskinsartist]

     At this time, the majority of Warhol’s paintings were created through the same process. As Marco Livingstone explains, “Warhol’s paintings were made… by screen-printing photographic images on to backgrounds painted either in a single color or in flat interlocking areas that corresponded approximately to the contours of the superimposed images.”[1] Or, more simply put, silk-screening. This process was a complete embrace of the mechanical and soon became a defining element of the Pop Art movement. As Warhol explained, “The reason I'm painting this way is that I want to be a machine, and I feel that whatever I do and do machine-like is what I want to do”[2] In creating 32 Campbell’s Soup Cans, Warhol is trying to completely remove the hand of the artist, making the painting appear utterly industrial and cold. The painting’s mechanical repetition is also an undercut to the idea of the unique artwork, and is very likely a poignant criticism of abstract expressionism.

            In addition to the embrace of the mechanical and the loss of the unique gesture, 32 Campbell’s Soup Cans offers a commentary on consumer culture. The cans are an unremorseful appropriation of a brand name. Warhol, however, is not trying to undermine consumerism; he is, in fact, embracing it as a part of his life and as something of value. Warhol has always professed to a liking of commercial products. His famous quote on Coca-Cola suggests this appreciation, “What's great about this country is that America started the tradition where the richest consumers buy essentially the same things as the poorest. You can be watching TV and see Coca-Cola, and you can know that the President drinks Coke, Liz Taylor drinks Coke, and just think, you can drink Coke, too… All the Cokes are the same and all the Cokes are good. Liz Taylor knows it, the President knows it, the bum knows it, and you know it.”[3] Eventually, Warhol’s paintings became nothing more than appropriations of cultural icons. From brand names to celebrities, his work was a constant examination of culture and society.