#eventual poly V relationship

[joannasteez]

tanks of blood (8) - muddy coffee & supermarket cake

pairings: biker!dean ambrose x june (plus size black!oc) | biker!cody rhodes x black reader (fluff) | biker!roman reigns x black reader (mature/explicit) warnings: mentions of criminal activity. descriptions that imply stalking. story dialogue that implies suicide, but not from any of the in-universe characters, reader being a little needy and making selfish decisions? unsavory language concerning addiction (cigarettes) which isn't present much but is mentioned with a one off line. description/talks of reoccurring panic attacks. authors note: multiple pov's in this chapter and intro-ing new characters! some world building. this chapter might take a long, thorough read, which is a bit time consuming BUT i think, for whoever reads it, you'll be thoroughly satisfied by the end... i hope... HAPPY READING! word count: don't get me started (17k) tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @kill-the-artiste @sortudademais

only at june's house, does this spooky, overworking buzz come. a dizziness. an undulation. like being caught up in the ripple of vigorously treaded water, but behind the eyes. the pull out before that tall, wavy, rush in, crashing over him in the morning. a float in his bones, in the body, his head drifting a ways away from him. from arms and legs and that grimy, nightly fearsome sense that sticks to him like thick summer air.

warmth covers deans face and his feet give an easy take to the floor boards. steps so light it's like he's hovering over. and fuck what a feeling it is. a feeling that yes, happens to only be a morning thing. a too bright summer daylight happening. gently giving a stir into a mug. having the type of patience and attention for such quiet work here that he teems with too much energy. almost like he can't hold the softness of it.

coffee thats not too light but not too dark either. an even brown with hints of sugar. because june likes it like this. likes the curtains peeled back to let the sunrise in. likes to nest under pillows and have her breakfast at her bedside. likes to wake up too damn early before her rush to leave the house because perhaps she'll cave under the pressure of the day if she just doesn't soak in that morning glow. 

the waft of the coffee curls up at him. blows in thick and homey. steams white over his bones till they ache from the weight of having to carry him up whole. brewing and lazying under the sunrise as it comes, a ritual he'd miss once upon a time to beat it entirely. a barely heard departure before the shutter of his car engine broke over the early morning day air. his walkings and his doings and his business better suited sunless. before june could ever have the chance to come from that sleep of hers.

but now he stays. stirs coffee filled mugs. bones and brains like feathers. high off that terribly spooky feeling that sweetens the blood just too much. makes everything sharp. the mint on his tongue. the emptiness in his belly. the break of light pass the window. that earthy coffee smell that pulls in strong. it's all just a little more here. the boldening of usual thin lines. a filling in, a filling over, till it's doubling to spill and flood and consume. only in the morning though, and only at june's house. 

"we playin house now?" 

june holds sleep in her voice well. so good that it makes dean shiver. like old, tired, almost too sad jazz. warm to him. cradling and soothening up against those dirty strong bits of resolve. an easy persuasion for him to come in further and further till he's setting down the cup of coffee and claiming her full soft cheeks instead. his lips trying to savor the life of this good sort of troublesome, spooky little whatever that rattles him whole. tongue unable to perform fast or deep enough, because this is june's house and dean can't work now, with the same ease and finesse that he uses on his bike when he's roaming about and doing club related business.

yeah, no, not on this street, in this house, where his precious little june stays. and she hates that name. precious. but he loves it. her body taking a smooth glide up and over the muscle of him till he's nestled under her and laying against the sheets. silently arrested. his fingers at her nape, running over short, tapered, coiled up hair, her touch curling into his chest. like carving into him to open him up wide. he groans, like he's content to rest here for sometime, moving and pushing against her till they lay parallel. pecking and licking and teasing at each other. 

her lips thick and gentle. meshing and pulling and the air that rolls out between them accented with bright thin sounding short caught up breaths. 

his chest does away, a hint of inconsistency. a beat that skips. fingers strong, curling into the warmth of her skin. her eyes so dark, they're near black, even when living amidst that spill in of shine from beyond the windows. eyes like the night, like the ether. 

dean nestles into her neck. nose running to get it's fill. something sweet with hints of spice. far too earthy to be wholly summer inspired. a groan lingering there as it escapes his throat. that swimming sensation behind the eyes still rocking with great force. lulling and caressing and coaxing him in. his tongue slipping over his lips. athirst. 

his teeth nip into her neck. fingers finding a home in the bend of her knee till they shift one of her thighs to fall over his waist. "this is premium domesticity", a mumbling sort of purr. oozing off the tongue like it'd been aching to leave him. mouth pursing to litter affection along that column of skin. "white picket fence, house on the prairie shit". reaching over to grab the mug he'd spent too much time stirring. because june hates when those bits of sugar remain at the bottom with the coffee dregs. her round cheeks grimacing, mouth full of unmixed sugar and coffee sediments. and dean doesn’t like the unhappiness of that expression. the way it casted over to rule with an unsavory air about everything. "two sugars and a splash of cream". 

june sits up from under his hard body. the sheets joining her to cover well as she rests against the headboard. eyes like obsidian. sharp and with a means, if hot enough, to cost him terrible ruin. cutting over him without delay. "this is a ploy", she gives. a smile thats all knowing. wry and anticipatory. "i'm gettin buttered up for grade A fuckery". 

he chuckles. palms running over thighs under the sheets. "fuckery requires plots and schemes and a whole lot of trouble honey. i got a maybe simple question for you at best, but nothing worth that look you givin me".

the air stutters. that dreamlike glow it'd helplessly soaked itself in dimming abruptly. june blinking. like the waking up from a daze. a blank destructive stare over the rim of her mug. like she's just gotten a mouthful of grainy sugar and those coarse grounded sediments. the porcelain of the cup clacking hard against the nightstand as it rests, a hardening of the eyes. this grand assessment. "so what?", she starts. a flare in her nose before it settles. "you couldn't inquire about nefarious little bullshit before sticking your dick in me last night?..." her fists balling and retracting. an edge to the voice, even in the permanence of its softness, these jagged corners about her words, shaped in a way as to mimic the dangerous work of shards of glass. a cutting sort of quality that pierces better than it should. better now than it would've some months ago. the natural dregs of him muddying her morning. something she has never been too fond of. "...and again after i woke up earlier?" the sheets ruffling, flipping over at the expense of such sudden anger. 

and dean is lost. dizzy still, like that ugly forceful jolt the body takes after an abrupt wake up. because they'd had a delicate passion before early daylight. something tender and skin burning. but this was not that. this was the beginning of its end. that harsh final moment of a dream, knowing the body will break and become alive again out of all that made up, distorted greatness. june's body naked now as she plucks up a robe to cover herself. giving the loose belt of it a mean, swift knot tie. 

"that's not what—"

"thats some wierdo shit ambrose", she cuts. a snarl of words that itch his skin in a bad way. and then they take on a smallness. like the low affections of their existence is too much to say loudly. "that doesn't feel gross to you? like—like a transaction?"

dean's palms grow damp. a slipping off sensation. the morning light stabbing his eyes. that lulling little swim behind them calming to a terrible stillness. like the receding pull in before a storm. "well...thats just wrong...", dazed and his words failing to meet strong. confusion forming still. because they were fine. wrapped up in each other and such. "thats not what this is". 

june scoffs. shimmy's into a pair of slacks that form over her legs just right. refusing to meet his eye line. the stark feel of something vicious in his chest, a pang that works so well he might bruise from it. going on with a greatness that he refuses to acknowledge the full brunt of it. 

"you have impeccable fuckin timing then", her voice gritting out. cold and loud. a steel impact.

and then comes a deep wavering, like the silent, disruptive ask for a reprieve. and this is no sign of some humble defeat no, but a tactical retreat meant to benefit them both. a fluid lift up off the bed to garner more space. to breathe in full, till the air encompasses his lungs enough to settle nerves. counted breaths. maintenance of a once piss poor disposition at the arrival of—of inadequate communication. the shock of her voice, the pitch and the height of it, jostling his belly. cold eyes a terrible opposition to how cute and full her cheeks are. but this abrupt elevation does him a shitty bout of violence. harsh bellows and mean crackling smacks against wood dirtying his ears. his fathers older brother, making it everyone's business to know of his wrath. memory working cruel. 

"hey", dean gives. eyes flitting up. the semblance of a warning. "lets keep it at an eight AM volume alright?"

"yeah keep your bullshit at an eight AM volume". 

"june...", dean sighs. restless in the space he's created. a cautious stepping up into her semi-walkable closet. fingers reaching for a touch. for that tender slip of skin that makes him feel high. 

she shifts hard. snatches herself away. "don't touch me". 

dean is grateful, he hasn't eaten yet. belly whirling about ridiculously. something akin to fear silhouetting already dark eyes. the hesitation of it cruel all on its lonesome. like she's unsure if her denial is sin. a punishable offense. the way his body holds up the space of the door, looking to envelope without any initial regard. like that way of being is something of a second nature to him. sewn into fabric. but dean steps back. releases the tension without much delay. closing in and crossing up his arms for good measure. "listen", watching her button up a collared shirt. "i'm not checkin in on you weekly and layin it on you raw just to tease little bits of information from you. i could do that with anybody that calls themselves a lawyer. especially greedy ones looking for a little extra cash—" 

"but you just implied—" 

"i misspoke, alright? i don't got the way you take coffee committed to memory cause i'm lookin to gain something. it's cause i like remembering stuff about you". 

june does that blinking she likes to do. assessing and reassessing. blank stares and wordless little evaluations. 

"look, lets drop it. i don't have shit to ask, ok?" 

"ok", she relents. meeting his eyes wearily. 

"can i touch you now?"

hesitation plays. performs in the fingers as she fiddles with the buttons of her shirt. mulling over the request. testing the weight of his desire to be near her—dean is sure—to see just how true it feels to her. something she does often. a short shuffle up to his hard body. peering up just under her feathery lashes. a gentle resignation she won't rest in for too much longer before her uncertainties take her again. because it's in june's job description to question and nitpick and pry and pull. but the tug of her lip under teeth is evidence enough of some wiggle room being granted in his favor. a chance to remedy. her own release of tension made despite poorly placed words and odd timing. 

"yes". 

stalling isn't dean's game. never has been really. the boots he wears too thick and loud to ever hesitate on anything. the vice president's patch on his kutte silver and too prideful about how long the stitching has lasted. a forever condition made by that earned worn leather, so surely theres nothing stopping him here. no hindrances in his spirit or ill skittish feelings that leave him unable. palming june's cheeks to kiss her firmly. lips meshing quick to dampen all that unwanted, shaky, shilly energy binding her up stiff. and when she's melting into him again, albeit slow and half committed, fingers running up his arms and her breathes short and pitchy, he peaks his tongue out for good measure. lures her into the beginnings of a dazing distraction. the wet slight of it along her full lips, drawing up a moan from her throat that sinks into him cunningly. like it's been formed and made as a counter to his own ministrations. her palm sweeping low. over the end his hard belly, just near his-

"how you gettin to the office?", thumbs over her cheeks. 

she pushes. slots her lips over again for delicate takes of affection. pats his arm dearly, a smirk playing as she steps back into her closet for shoes. "you're taking me. call it premium domesticity". 

"touche". 

but this all feels too easily done away with. surely the other shoe will drop soon. she'll rear back with something else. proclaim him guilty again of poorly chosen words given at terrible times. revoke her affections. point to the leather hanging over her dresser messily . cast a darker hatred over it. 

...nefarious little bullshit... as she so nicely put it. 

"hey", dean calls. that sensation in his hands again. a grief the palm feels after something has been dropped from the safety of it. "i'm sorry".

she hums. consideration. packing an accordion briefcase., with documents and slimmer folders. "it's noted". 

he dresses. a quiet efficiency. those harsh rays of daylight falling away to hide behind the build of the house to give his eyes neither that stabbing pain or the accentuation of some swimming daze of a dream. it leaned into neither extreme, but suffered the room to live as it did any other. with a normalcy. like the coming together to meet in the middle, the compromise of violence and a dream. because that's all there is to anything. violence and dreams. 

he plucks his leather off her dresser to put it on. the material heavy and singing in that odd scrunchy way that only leather can. eager maybe to fill the air. to attempt to conform to it, or have it be conformed to. who knows? 

"i'll be in the car when you're ready".

and remember? stalling isn't deans game. boots too thick and heavy and dark and worn and terrible to be anything else but sure footed. so why does his step falter, making to leave the bedroom, the house, foot hitching like it means to stop and retrace. waiting for another word of something to lighten the damn air. just a little something to re-brighten the room. restore it to former glory. an unrests of movements that usually live with a predetermined motivation. and he hates this. a calculated silence isn't it? punishment. torture. for letting the night in during daytime. for not keeping his boots and his leather far enough away from her bed. 

the summer breeze is as thick and mean and chill-less and disgusting as its ever been. the crown of his head performing dramatic like it's already been hit. like the other shoe has already dropped. something about his chest squeezing so odd, enough that it's troubling. the car air blowing hot and gross as he waits for it to cool. that inconsistency again. a skip near where his heart beats before its plummeting sorely into his belly. laying at the base there, spreading about to undo him messily. 'it's noted'. what the hell does that even mean? like she'd taken his sincerity and scribbled it on some feeble piece of loose leaf. words in the breezeless wind. the summer heat singeing the lined paper till it's a palms worth of billowing ash. 

...nefarious little bullshit...

..."its noted"...

he wants to bang his head into the steering wheel. feel it bluntly till that sweet swimming sensation is given back to him. 

the passenger door opens. a settling in accompanied with a long, thought filled sigh. like she's prepped for the ride. prepped to deal with the silence she's so graciously ushered in to sit between them. 

"what was your question?" 

dean can see the brown in june's eyes. curiosity fragile and warm. and he rather her eyes be darker, blacker like in the safety of her house. an unmitigated replica of nighttime. piercing him whole and sharp and without delay. but not this, an earthier blooming of a softer color. he doesn't like it.

"june...", like a plea to stop. 

"just ask". 

his throat thick and the words forming solid, almost cruel like. which is odd, silly even. because didn't there always live an intention to pick her brain? to ask? to meet at that middle place of a sweet dream and the reality of some always alive, waiting in the shadows violence. dwell in it for a moment before the easy retreat into a too beautiful thing. her lips and her skin and her hair and the smooth aching take of her words over his skin. a simple question that she'd answer without wait or overthought. a done up finely concession. dean huffs. his thumb and pointer squeezing to pull at his nose. a reprieve frustratingly sought after, in vain. 

he'll settle for a minimal thing. broach with a less worked curiosity. 

"had a car come by the shop recently. i think the plates on it might've been a clone. know anything about that?' 

she sighs. words cautious as they give. "i've heard some things, a few cases...", her lip skating to pull from under her teeth. mulling over her phrasings. "...charges for speeding, drag racing, red light runs. stuff like that...and then just clients disputing the fines, fighting charges...". her fingers pulling to press a scratch into the roots of her hair. brows pulling. everything of her unsure. a display dean's yet to witness till now. "...the cloning stuff, it's not new but, it's a bit more dialed for sure".

"ok". 

finally the air in his car blows cooler. rushes out hard and fierce. like it means to ache him quickly. 

"why'd you wanna know?" 

june's eyes are not so dark like obsidian. beautiful still but no, they are not colored with a nighttime darkness. june's eyes are burnt umber brown. an old, earthy, fine, warmth. it would be terrible wouldn't it? to ruin them. 

"don't make me lie to you". 

suffocating. roman is got-damn suffocating. a terrible issue since you were sixteen. hitches in your breath and small tremblings under the skin. and yeah, it was petulant then. a little gross in how full of adolescence it was. excusable behavior though for a young girl who'd never been touched by the crazed, racy desire of a boy. but this? this is stupid. that tight, airless feeling in the lungs still, after so much time. stifled and choking and helpless and weak. his mouth soft and his hands too strong for the body to do anything within them but succumb to that exacting tug and give. and yes, you were exhausted from work, delirious even, but it didn't mean you were supposed to like it. like the lazy slip of his tongue and the grip of his palm at your neck. his groaning and the flex of taut muscle under the pull over of your nails. teeth sinking into your lip to prick mean, like he was forcing you to remember him, to acknowledge the weight of his existence. his body tall and wide and fastening you to the wall and—

it's all your father's fault really. because kendrick greggs was a picture taker. kept memories stilled forever like any enthusiasts of a thing would. aimless photos of wheels and fenders and chrome, till the interest grew. his camera everywhere, clicking at everything. at his biker brothers, and his wife. so it didn't take long, for his lingering eye to catch you wrapped up in the arms of a boy amidst the reveal of the viewfinder. but not just any boy. roman and his fingers filled with finesse. mouth inching close and sneaky and faint. like that lewd twist of a kiss would give up everything. 

"don't pussyfoot around with my kid. if you gon kiss her, then do that shit with some balls!"

he'd made a fucking spectacle of it. the both of them did. KG smiling mischievously behind that metal little camera, clicking away as roman smothered your mouth whole. stealing the air from your lungs and humming. 

and he hadn't said much then after. your nerves split raw at the seams, waiting for him to draw up ballistic, because you'd heard the menace he could fall into. could feel even the darkness of it settling in, roman pressed into your body waiting just the same. but your father had only ever tugged a smile onto his mouth. something small. an acknowledgment that lived minimally. enough for recognition and nothing more. 

"i'll allow it", he'd given. turning to leave you be. 

it was enough for roman then. at seventeen and eighteen and nineteen and twenty and then at twenty one. it was enough for him to grow eager in how breathless he left you. and the time, the distance, did nothing to change it. 

it's a haunting really. something like a repossession. a mixture of both. the way he'd held at your nape, breaths cascading, like he'd meant to drape himself over you. it'd only been a week, but the impression of it stuck. nestled it's way to live in already terrible dreams. his presence troubling your sleep, rattling an imagination with a penchant for disturbed things. because the busyness of new york had done well in drowning out the older, terrible, unspeakable things. things riddled with blood and bones and dust that not many knew about. but your old house and the hot florida air and roman's everything, have all managed to fall into one another with this painful compliance of tearing you apart. a violent undoing that leaves you to break awake, sweaty and looking for air. 

you're sure, your heart would trouble itself with a dramatic rupturing if it were any weaker. 

and your phone bursts alive. a blaring little ringer and it does your head in. the morning's here at your parents' old house, too quiet. pin drops like the awful droning tumble down of an avalanche. 

but the number is unknown. (850) 201-7794. "hello", your throat dry. scrapping together to give weakly into the phone. a heavy breath plays. like it only means to listen. like it's waiting. "hello? who is this?" a growl gives. performing in the background. the snarl of a dog maybe. surely. disgusting, curt, barks echoing to punch into your ear. 

"who the fuck is this?", you grit. a small shake in your hands. a weariness from poor sleep and the disturb of this.

movement goes over the line. those heavy, painstaking breaths again, before an abrupt, nervy "fuck", is left, the dread of an accident already done, just before the drop of the call. leaving you alone to deal with the aching swim in your gut. a war of a headache at the forefront of your skull. pain just behind the eyes. 

8:22 AM. all this bullshit at 8:22 AM. 

a tired breath blows. surrendering to that sluggish, restless nag coddling your bones. a grogginess that leaves the eyes dazed and your hands slow. reaching for your phone again to tap at the screen. leaving it to ring in your ear. bottom lip tucking under your teeth as you wait for him to answer. and it's new york all over again. slipped under the cool of those too grey sheets, laying up in the bed of a cramped apartment amidst the dreary, rainy, bustle of the city. the drone of it lulling you in and out of a hazy sort of sleep. flashes of dreams but nothing sticking well enough to settle with a true definition. the disjointed blur of something awful, taunting. your hands shaky and unsure, the drag of your phone against the bedside table, a terrible fog behind the eyes as you make to call. looking for that thing, for him. for the sweetness in his tone and the warmth of whatever words would come with it. 

but that was then, the distance making it hard to reach him. clinging only to his voice, begging for it to settle your bones, and the aching cold growing over them.

now though, now is something else. something a ways more liminal and undefined. 

"yes?" a tired, deep drawl to his voice. skating delicate, seeping in, unfurling hot. 

you hum, nestling into it. "did i wake you?"

he's groaning in your ear and shifting about, the rasp of it taking you in whole. a small smile pulling even as you tug your lips still with your teeth. imagining all that taut muscle moving about. pale gold and herculean. the shine in his sky blue eyes and the slipping take he gives with his tongue over his teeth—

"i gotta get up anyways, s'fine", his throat clearing. trying to get away from the sleepiness of it. "you alright?" 

"yeah...", reaching over to the nightstand for a loose torn piece of paper and a pen. "yeah, i'm good", writing out that number from moments ago. "can you stop by before headin' in today?" 

"what's wrong?" 

a sudden shift into readiness, into urgency, this endearing little work that makes the nasty remnants of sleep and terrible dreams less awful and a little further away. phone tucked in to hold at your ear. rising up to throw on thin shorts and a loose—just on the precipice of too worn—flannel. tucking that piece of paper into the chest pocket. 

"might just wanna see you. is that allowed?", you play. 

"you'll see me then". 

the call drops comfortably. the air less thick. moveable, though remaining in it still is that almost silence. a just barely perceptible chord. this dull, bass filled, strumming hum. the compilation of everything far and deep and odd and unknown. the graceful taunting performance of a foreboding thing. or maybe you just need coffee. a bit of fresh air. some sun. the quiet of the house too quiet. from your bed to the bathroom, and then from your bathroom to the kitchen, a heavy stillness that is just too surrounding to live well enough in without the self given threat of going mad. but that's always been a condition of the house. the creaky hardwood floors and the walls and the air forcing you to fill in it's silence. to save it from itself. from the emptiness given to it. 

a light, sweet, melodic tune plays, setting an old record onto the player your father kept in the living room. 

...the deep rumble of his humming, taking against the air feather like. soothing and tender. his body sitting leisure on the floor, tall and upright against the couch. your mother tucked into his side. their fingers folded, one into the other...

fifteen and wondering then, slowly creaking in from that long stretching hallway, to watch them sit in silence. the florida nights not nearly as hot as they are now. the house smelling like lavender and leather and little bits of tobacco. sticking so well into the build of the walls that it still lives here. like a stain of fragranced oil on the skin.

there are remnants of it still. that lavender and leather and tobacco. earthy and old and thick in the nose. filling up the lungs like the rising in of a well. seeping into the cracks till its soaked to the core of that strong brick. and this is what that light, gentle work of the melody does faithfully. it fills in. brings life to dead things. folds over to embrace with tender touches, humming a soothing, ache-less song. carries over in the air like a breeze with sure directions. 

and kendrick greggs loved music. loved his wife, his daughter and his motorcycle. but God did he love his coffee. would pour out great, disturbing heaps of it to be filtered into water. a muddy, thickness to it. the smell filling up the house whenever he decided it was a good time to return. his palms holding the cup strong, despite the scars from old wounds over his knuckles painting the skin and etching in permanent like white inked tattoos. his silver rings clinking nearly everything they touched. leather over his shoulders like it'd been sown into the skin beneath it. the grays in his beard more white than gray and his eyes a mahogany brown that lives richly enough still to haunt your dreams. sipping his coffee and staring over everything. his kitchen and his couch and the walls cluttered with too many pictures. the patterns of the floor boards and his old record player and your face. 

sipping muddy, sugarless coffee, his eyes forlorn, prickling your skin.

"...you look like your mother...", he'd said. "...and i ain't all that pretty so...that's a good thing...".

you'd smiled tight lipped. sipped muddy coffee with him and dealt with the silence together. formed a thousand questions and had them die on the tongue before you ever mustered the courage to ask. because if you looked like her, enough for his sorrows to drown him whenever he looked up to meet you at the eyes, then it was true, you'd wind up leaving like her too right?  

the percolator rumbles to life. begins that process of making too strong, muddy coffee. the knob of the front door twisting as the lock clicks. heavy boots trying not to be too heavy. 

"it's me!"

the domesticity of it all runs a skitter under the skin. a comfortable feeling. 

"kitchen!", you throw over your shoulder. pulling draws to bring pots and pans up onto the stove. 

his approach is cautious and gentle. rounding the island as you maneuver about. his hand giving a squeeze to your arm, "good morning", before he's pecking your cheek gingerly. the touch of it safe and quick and not enough. 

"i got up, so i guess so right?" 

you wrangle a number of things from the fridge to set them aside. a line of a shiver drawing small down your back. those sky blue eyes trailing, and digging softly, looking. you can feel them working. cody's voice less horse from sleep but sure moving still. tired and sweet and low. 

"talk to me". 

"s'nothing...", trying to abate the mess of the morning. the aches and the shivers from unknown things. "...just a bad dream"..., turning to face him. "...it kinda fucked me up a bit but i'm good".   

"you shouldn't sleep in that room", his arms folding up to cross. a regard filled with concern. too much concern. "my mother sleeps in their bed still, says she can feel him at night, can smell him. thats not easy to deal with". 

"m'still cleaning up the others...", eyes squeezing tight. your hands slipping over your eyes and cheeks, as if it'd wipe away the full, overwhelming warmth stored there. "...it's a whole process". 

"cause you're refusing help, my help". 

you sigh. "i need to do it for me cody". 

"i hear you". 

and this, here with cody, is different. something like the deep pull of an inhale. tired muscles, tired still, but that faithful pulse of an ache, wavers. conceding for a moment. a strong, fine, tenderness that can only be made in the stillness of this liminal space. all the words of sharply defined things left to be nestled on the tongue and at the back of the throat. lodged for safe keeping. waiting to live and be spared from their silence, even if they're made to leave a little sputtered and awkward and graceless. and of course it's no different from that terrible suffocation, just as adolescent feeling under the skin. a frustration there too. like maybe you should have more finesse about this. not be so hesitant and artless. 

you reach for him. pulling at the fold of his arms, bringing him in to close up all that dead, needless space between the two of you. "be closer". 

he leans a hand against the counter, peaks of tattoos drawing up the arm, exposed by the scrunch up of his sleeves. fingers adorned with silver rings that used to be his fathers. his body leaning in so well that it fills the air in your nose with the spiced smell of his leather. his other hand pulling up under the baggy fall of your flannel, thumb nestling where the line of your spine ends. a shiver and a hum playing as you move to cradle his face. closer till he's nudging his nose and skimming his mouth to tease. his jaw cutting sharp, but the skin soft. your touch playing in delicate circles. shuddered little breaths that grow sore in wanting a better fullness. 

the splay of his palm, pushes in. brings you to flush against him. "m'following your lead on this. i don't wanna overstep and it takes us somewhere we don't want to be". 

you smile. "such a gentleman". 

"so i've been told", words licking into your mouth with the slight of his tongue over his lips. taking a small little taste before he's on you and pulling tender. warm lingering kisses that leave an essence of mint in your mouth. his throat humming again, deeper this time. not like contemplation, no, like satisfaction. like the enjoyment of this is too much for words and all his body can spare is the buzz and rumble of that noise. 

and then he sweeps in wet. teasing like. a sharp, fierce, excitement. lapping at your tongue in a thick, languid fashion that forces you to inhale. to breathe before pushing in for more. a purr bleeding hot and easy from your chest till it's alive in your fingers. clutching at the silver skull buckle of his pants. nipping his mouth and smiling delirious into his touches as his palm lowers and presses in. long fingers curling in at the fat of your ass. smothering there then with a kneading touch that makes you pulse between your thighs. 

another deep breath as you part to look at him. fingers having traveled into his hair. holding him so you can see that hot glimmer amidst all the soft blue in his eyes. "the coffee is almost done. you should stay for breakfast". 

"can't". apologetic. a short kiss to your mouth. then to the corner of it. "gotta be in on time. a lot of stuff to handle today".

your touch plays persuasive, drawing down his arms till you're guiding him to hold you closer. impossibly closer. hugging him in.

"you're handlin now". 

he chuckles. perfect teeth and all. a thumb of his raising to catch at your lip. your lips tender and swollen some. "i'd love to take care of you, i really would, but i can't stay that long". 

you kiss his thumb. short lingering little pecks. "that long huh?"

"it's been a while, a lot of ground to cover. i need time". 

"good to know". 

he sweeps your cheek. a gentle little strum along your face before it's meeting his other hand to rest comfortable at your hips. making a home out of the heat teeming there. "am i seeing you later?" 

a dramatic breath huffs, the evenings events forming back into a shapely remembrance. not just any welcome home celebration, but a bloodline welcome home celebration. the night bound to hold some fuckery to it somewhere.  dropping your head into his chest. "i don't have a choice", you grumble. "i was told to make a cake. m'being reeled in by naomi for hospitality duties". 

cody chuckles. rubs up your back. consoling. "like you never left. this is a good thing".

"is it?"

he takes your face. cradles it firm. forces your attention on him. "yes. stop worrying". stepping away to walk heavily towards the door. "walk me out". 

you follow. that spiced leather smell trailing in towards you still as you step behind him. the slim take of an emptiness growing in your belly, like a slow paced simmer, where the warmth had decided earlier to bloom and spread at the touch of his fingers and mouth. need. it's need. the same need that worked and curled in your voice with bits of persuasion to get him to stay. to get him keeping his mouth on you and his touch as firm as it was. the same need that fluttered your chest to live amidst the heavier morning aches and pains. that twisting in your belly after breaking awake hard and the unease beneath your skin after the strangeness of  that phone call—

"wait", pulling his arm to stop. his body standing tall in the doorway. "forgot to give you this". pulling out that torn piece of paper from the chest pocket of your flannel. giving it for him to take. "got a call from this number earlier...it was before you got here. something felt off, weird. look into it maybe?"

his eyes don't break from the paper. and he doesn't move in the doorway. giving short hard blinks. like he's gathered his thoughts away from you to be else where.  

"cody, is everything—"

he moves. quick. abrupt. out of his head. a firm peck at your cheek before he's stepping down swiftly to his bike just in front your house. "i'll see you later". he mounts. swings his leg over and secures his helmet. that playful, teasing air to him gone away so well, it's like it never was there. "call if you need anything".

the engine roars to life, a rumble forward till he's gone and disappearing down the street. 

sixteen and seventeen and eighteen, jitters all up in your skin from the slyness of him. that breathlessness of yours and those sweet bouts of trembling, nearly half his height way back when, just where his chest puffed out strong, but always having to look up to take him in. little flinches away but tugs to his belt loop to bring him closer too. hitches in your breath before that melt into the softest sound. a drawling, helpless little moan of a thing. like your needs and wants were playing too well against each other, warring and laying waste enough till there was nothing much left for you to do but grow weak and breathy for him. all the noises charming his ears. and it's natural isn't it? eventually growing out of all that unruliness in the body. being able to take the force of him without losing yourself. hell, by twenty four, trembly and overworked or not, you became real good about accepting the finesse of things. him handling your inner thighs and the hot whispers in your ears. his tongue pressing into your neck and his teeth pulling over your lips. the weight of him blanketing over. sounds he'd never heard before, sounds he fought to remember. 

but no, the unruliness of it all, that part of you is still there. a permanent housing that makes his chest swell. 

there in the bathroom of the clubhouse, grazed and bleeding and depleted of a long standing control, roman had done a not smart thing. throwing away nearly a decades worth of resolve and patience for ancient feelings. like the buzz of a taste after being faithfully cold sober. that slipping chill that courses the body. a too friendly reacquaintance.  

it was one of the dumbest things he'd done in a long time.

"can we see each other later?" a working there in giana's voice and in the run of her fingertips. gentle circling motions that attempt to root up a deeper intimacy. a leg thrown over his waist and her lips laying to kiss him. fingering with his beard and snuggling in closer every second. all this delicate allure draping over her, a thin veil to cover that growing necessity for other things. hooded eyes trying to claim him to a focus. a reel in from those far away thoughts—you— that plague him brutally in the mornings. "we could have a part two of last night", purring smooth and slipping over to straddle him more. her warm legs spread over him and her lips taking him in for another kiss.  

sharp quick flicks of tongue. exacting. like with the make of it comes too much method. too much forethought. like maybe it's all meant to please him. 

but bullshit begets bullshit. one dumb thing after another. a snowball of errors that roll into an avalanche. 

your face, the taste of your mouth, and the way your tired body surrendered with a faithfulness in the small corner of that clubhouse bathroom. memory sore as it corralled back into place under your skin. one image and then another, till he could hear and feel you too. his belly tight and his breath shuddering in that disgusting way. stuttered and weak and all consumed. loud and messy and lax all over. subdued and—

it was dumb. caught up in whatever throes of passion then, just last night, with a beautiful woman, with giana, but thinking about another. his everything haunted and possessed. crawling from the ground these undead things, pulling his muscles up taut to yank and prop and puppet him. his tongue curling in giana's mouth to find that taste again. holding her tight, and moving and doing, and these dirty little whispers in her ear, just the way you always liked it. a secret just for the two of you alone. shivering delicate in his hands so good, so sweet, that he'd kiss you sloppily from the drunkenness that came from him being all wrapped up in your embraces. nails in his skin, just deep enough there to make him groan and shake—God!— 

roman shifts, slips out of the sheets. the bed too hot and his chest racing. blood pulsing about the lightening draw of his veins, thundering hard there after. 

he slips on a pair of sweats, baggy and black and sitting low at his hips. fingers combing and tying his hair up into a knot. something untidy and loose and rushed, much like that curling feeling beneath his skin. eyes else where. trailing and cutting up and away and skating along but never meeting giana really. like coasting the borders of the bed where she lays still. beneath fluffy sheets all content and comfortable. 

his bedroom connects to a bathroom. flicking the light on quick. everything in his body, pressing out with a particular speed. that leather over his shoulders, resting over thick and black and absorbing, can't come fast enough. the rushing wind from the drive of his bike and the blurs of lights and bodies along the street. 

water over his face. a splash that chills the heat over his cheeks. his routine as efficient as it is hasty. like the time in the day here, in this bed-connected-bathroom, is passing too slow, forcing his bones to form over with metal. weighty and tougher to carry. a swirling in his belly, mint on his tongue and his eyes fresher now. is it horrible to leave her here like this? to deny her requests for something a little more? not extra, no, but more? padding back into the bedroom for a t-shirt. white and bright against the sun. plain but contrasty against that old, worn, black, grimy leather. 

this ugly little stomach feeling, it isn't new. no it's old. has upturned, pretty little defying eyes and a sweet mouth made just for him to feel. it presses his gut and roughs his nerves hard. almost like it's daring him to do something about the way it's living again to oppose him and all the progress he's made living without it. and so be it then. so fucking be it. 

"there's a thing happenin' tonight...", he gives. words working against that continuous twist in his belly, but against the other hesitancies as well. a war with many armies. "...one of our guys just got out, s'like a little welcome home party...", black jeans pulling up to rough along his legs. eyes flicking to giana in the large dresser mirror before he's moving and skating away from that lingering regard again. "...i'll be tied up there for the night if you wanna—but...", stopping hard to break course, because she doesn't want that. it's not really in the bounds of their situation, "...chillin with the club ain't all that appealin to you—"

"should i bring something?" 

no one ever really wins, when the war has too many armies do they? and if all the battles are within him—the work of keeping you undone from him, from his blood and his brain, something like the greatest brass shield and keeping giana's curiosities from lingering too far into a dangerous territory, like the finest double edged sword—housed in his belly so that it tatters him raw, then he becomes the only one to triumph and be defeated yes? right? a win and a loss just the same. 

but bullshit begets bullshit. one dumb thing after another. a snowball of errors that roll into an avalanche.

"a dessert or whatever...", looping his belt through his jeans. the buckle of it a snake. the head eating the tail. the silver metal of it so cold it tingles. looking to her finally. expectant, hooded eyes. "...nothin over the top, and no alcohol. punk doesn't drink". 

"punk?" 

and this is it no? the product of their agreement. a situation. because her eyes always slid over his leather with bits of apathy. flinching in his hold when he touched her with rings decorating his fingers. never remembering the names of his street brothers and cringing at the sweet nasty song of his bike engine. shuffling up to his door step only after the sun had set and leaving just before it rose up. there was never reason to know anything about anything. so yes, this was the product of a pre-determined wish. something she now so suddenly wants to break. to overcome and reset for whatever reason. 

roman sighs. a slight bristling effect in his shoulders. "thats what we call him". 

"oh..", eyes wide. a new understanding. settling into it before that full acceptance. "..uh, ok". 

and he waits after that. sipping coffee with a terrible sensation in his palms, in the fingers they stretch to, holding a mug. fully dressed and his feet begging for the mercy of leaving. for a reprieve. for fresh air and the way his bike cuts through it. waiting for her to ready herself. waiting for giana to leave. but it seems all her maneuvers vie for some form of normalcy. for an air that only settles comfortable with slow sips of morning coffee and talks about the weather. little pan sizzling pops and the steeping in of a heavy hot aroma that clues into the greatest breakfast. but this was not that. could not be that. and damn it, she'd agreed it'd never get there didn't she? so what was this? her lingering? her attitude at the funeral. a little brazen and curious then too.

when giana does go, she parts with a kiss. presses and holds at his mouth dearly. like his mother would his father. a tight look over him like an attempt to keep him hostage. some delicate arresting that never really takes him completely. 

and it irks him. he should want this shouldn't he? move onto something new and let those old failures be? 

the ride to the clubhouse isn't as comforting as he'd hoped it'd be. the air hot, always hot, but it seems that the mugginess of it all just presses into him so that it dirties everything. muddying up already terrible nerves. like that awful, grainy taste of the dregs and sediments left over at the base of good coffee. the goodness of it no longer mattering, because all thats there, sticking to tongue and teeth, are the loose, earthy bits. 

that slipping off sensation living in his palms still. like the dropping of some fragile thing is soon to come. looming to tease with a vicious smile. it flutters his skin when he handles the bars of his bike, hot wind zipping over, and when he bends the corner to enter the clubhouse lot, and even now, never leaving, as he moves to dismount.

and he shuffles up to hard, overworked, wooden steps. the face of the clubhouse like a porch. painted a black once that looks more gray now. a shabby, distressed, unreliable looking thing of a build to the eyes. an outward deception. but that seems to be the beauty of it. the way the wood and the work of it have all managed to survive in spite of. a consistency not known to many, not even to the most faithful of men. but it doesn't do much to help roman. no it makes that terrible grief in his hands worse. 

because it was sure to happen then right? all that beautiful rich color of control and command will wither and distress into a graying one day wouldn't it? ease out of his hands and crash into a sharp breaking. 

the wooden boards of the porch creek. roman caught out of his daze to find cody standing in the corner. his eyes facing out just opposite of where roman is, staring out somewhere far. here but not really. leaning against the banister and his cheeks hallowing to pull from the burn of a cigarette. 

the smell of it carrying over too well, roman stepping up the porch till he's just in front the double doors of the clubhouse. the acrid twist of it, thick in his nose and ugly feeling in the lungs. a grimace tainting his lips, his face, but not from the smell, no. it's from the way cody inhales the plume of smoke. the way his teeth clench to pull it back into himself. unrestrained and needful. like he's looking for a full consumption of it. that slip in roman's fingers again, like he's losing. because this is not such an unusual thing, but old things never are. habits and copings dying so hard they only really lose breath for sometime before reaching up again to feel the fresh air. yeah, roman has seen his before. stood in front the terrible reflection of this mirror. 

"i thought that was done?", roman gives. voice cutting hot, thick, air. 

cody turns. sighs. blue, far away, eyes coming back to the safety of this off-colored clubhouse. taking in the burning end of the cigarette before looking up to roman, "it is. just needed...y'know...something to carry me over till later". 

"you sound like an addict", roman cuts. annoyed because the anger becomes real in his belly now. because wasn't this over a long time ago? a fire snuffed out at it's core. "stomp it out. eat something", he roughs. trailing in with heavy thuds of his heel toe. the sound along the floors like a wordless call. like a command to move and do under the eye of his will. and it happened, as it always does. the guys all falling in behind him, wordless or loud or somewhere in between, till the double doors of the church push to their limits, accommodating that great big swell of men. 

the table still a polished perfection, ageless in that way really. the image of a snake carved at the heart of it. deep moving grooves and ridges that make the image of the soul of the clubhouse. 

the ouroboros. the head and the tail. the beginning and the end. one taken into the other to complete a never ending circle. 

roman sits at the head of the table. slips the handle of the gavel in his palm. the shine of it eternal. his wrist giving an upturn before it lays to knock the wood into the sounding block. a hard thwack! that silences the room. a call to order. 

"first order of business, before we get into all the ...extracurriculars...", he starts. eyes falling on him expectant. always expectant. "...we had a brother come out the cage yesterday...", the room erupting with a hasty excitement. fists banging the table and deep, doggish hoots. "...so if you gotta show up later filled with bullet holes and half yah dick in hand then thats what it is, but ya'll better show up. i need to be seein' all of ya'll there...", tone as meaningful as it is serious. "...punk did five for us, so we can take a night off from the shelf—"

the room breaks with a chorus of groans. childish little rumblings. teeth sucks and "boo's", thrown in the air. a semblance of a smile slipping onto roman's lips at the way they mock and scoff. 

punk's ideals were always a little more controversially charged than some others. a faithful way about him when it came to living his life completely dry one hundred percent of the time. 

those firsts taste for most of them, of whiskey or rum or tequila or vodka, as young boys woefully playing as men, like a baby's first ride atop a bicycle. 

"..you killin' me here uce...", jey drags. 

"...no bullshit...", jimmy chimes. 

dean scoffs, laughs, a mixture of both really. "cold sober and listenin' to seth whine about a bullet lodged up his ass for the tenth time this week like it's a day old IUD...", he jokes, fingers at his temple like a gun to pull the trigger. "...mine as well be showin' up with half my dick in hand. could give the people a real show, somethin' to remember".

"only half?...", seth rasps. a wicked sort of smile playing. "...figured you be dickless by now, the way june's got that shit choked up in a vice grip, you're givin' all the beta's with real commitment to the cause a bad name". 

the room "Ooo's". chuckles and grins spread about everywhere. dean flipping seth off before directing his attention back to roman. 

"speakin of june, if this issue we got is real, cloned plates and all, then it's not the first case of it". 

roman's jaw clenches slow. a pressing in that lives to stress that meddling skate beneath his skin. "what'd she say?" 

dean slouches, settling into the creaky wood of his chair. "s'alot of fraudulent games being played...of the vehicular variety of course. spooky petty stuff though", his hand smoothening over the reddish color of his beard, "red light runs, drag racin', etcetera. mostly with ghost cars". 

"rhea got pinched for racin' a while back...", the natural soothed drawl of jey's voice playing. "bad plates too. took the fall for mysterio's boy". 

jimmy chuckles. a wry little go of it. "you still messin' with screamo?"

and little noises of amusement ruffle the air. jey's eyes cutting to his twin brother. "she listens to metalcore dumbass, and we not messin with each other...", his neck maneuvering oddly. awkward. like the beginnings of a secret threaten to inch their way up his nape for some untimely reveal. "...it's just a calm..lil vibe".

jimmy points. "was". 

"was", he huffs. "…a calm lil vibe", arms dropping from that cool, eased, positioning. flustered and flailing down for some strained release. "...we just cool like that, damn". 

roman sighs. the sun breaking through the window behind him to heat up his neck and the leather draping him whole. "make your point jey".

"point being, if it's anybody that knows something about all of this, then it's her...", his fingers twisting the metal rings about his fingers as he thinks. "...it'd probably be better though to connect with priest. whatever the maneuver is, if we get in alright enough with him, she'll follow". 

"set up the meet then...", roman charges, to which jey accepts. "...i want a place and time tomorrow latest". the room falling quiet again. an inching in the air that forwards itself towards the head of the table. carries with it the eyes and ears of all these metal clad, leather born men. an expectancy that itches and delights roman in equal measures. sweetening his blood and aching his fingers. the impression of the gavel there still. always there. "what's the word on nico? he discharged yet?" 

the attention shifts in intervals. those fall of eyes staggering away from roman to cody. his bout of silence being urged to be done away with. 

and roman's words bite along the tongue as he speaks them. bits of a bitterness that form ugly and loose. something similar to bile. like the slip of it, is an admission only now given to live along the air, for, if given any earlier would cause for this taste in his mouth to live longer. breathe and rage and fester and spread and mold over. "you said before that she mentioned nico...", because mentioning nico, to cody no less, means that they'd had moments together wouldn't it? would affirm a fall they've taken, into a sort of vulnerable intimacy, where such unsavory things can be brought into question. his jaw pressing again, beneath his beard, where none are wise to notice. "...did she say anything else?" 

cody clears his throat. his eyes a cold blue. bright and unrelenting. softening at the mention of you. something in roman's belly jostling then as he listens. "i didn't give her anything worthwhile. she took the hint and stopped asking". 

a sharpness in his hand twinges. like the prod of a thousand tiny terrible little needles. that impression of the gavel still breathing to live in the skin. "...this shits gotta be flipped around quick...", his nails digging into the palm there, the ball of a fist that begs for it's own relief. "...i wanna know where this kid eats, where he sleeps, what room he stinks up when he shits, where his burnt skin peels and falls...", that wood and shape so true and longstanding in it's touch that it burdens him. wills roman into something hot and nearly unmodified. "...he's too unim-fuckin'-portant to be this much of an inconvenience". 

seth scoffs. grunts hard as he shifts in his chair. eyes narrowed and harsh and bordering on the promise of some ill-advised action waiting for it's release. "those assholes put a bullet in me. i'm sorry but i need a little more than some street espionage". 

"easy", dean pipes. "you'll get yours soon".

"solo", roman calls. his younger cousin stepping forward. "...the info, get on it".  

solo nods slow. a quiet steady air about him that promises.

the gavel catching up in roman's palm again. swinging to crack against the sound block. a call to order once, now a call to completion. but that usual wholeness of the moment is lost here. the bits of it chipped like too old, too dried up paint. the rich brown finish of the sounding block rubbed away to reveal the inner color of the wood and the head of the gavel slightly splintered with a faint crack. like a small break finally, from time and too much violence. from too many summers and schemes and leather bound meetings. words a little thicker and heavier in the throat and on the tongue. like the finality in them, the way it plays to be sure, is the greatest falsehood. 

"we're done here". 

sometimes he can't breathe. an exaggeration maybe, because yes, he is breathing. he has a pulse. can feel that intake that funnels the air into his lungs. but isn't it just easier to say he can't breathe when it feels like this? and well, he won't say it with his mouth, because no one needs to know he can't breathe. but here in the face of this bathroom mirror, he can tell himself he can't breathe, can rest odd in the terrible restriction of it. an ache in the chest like something there has decided to slowly tear him asunder. a meticulously drawn out clawing up to the surface. shuddered breathes and a running under the skin that goes on long with the fear of being caught. a marathon of anticipation. but this is not the first time this has happened. no, six days before his release he'd told the county jail nurse that his teeth ached and that he couldn't breathe. she said he was having a panic attack. he told her she was full of shit. 

the bathroom sink water rushes out cold. punks hands tight against the counter. for stability. he might fall if he lets go. because the weakness here in his knees, was not a symptom before. it's a new arrival. the toilet untouched. maybe she was right. fuck. maybe she was. 

a knock on the door, and then doom curling under flesh, giving a cold bite to his bones thereafter. his stomach lurching, from this coat of fear that comes with lack of breath and from the stomachs own emptiness. "m'takin a piss, gimme a second", grumbling. the water rushing still. coming down and out too fast, with too much pressure to ever successfully simulate a decent sounding ten-one. but he tries anyways, to hide behind this water white noise sanctuary, till it's no longer the sink of an old, still standing house, but the great pouring down of a waterfall. a flow strong enough that it undoes his feet from the ground and takes him in. takes him away. but that can't happen so swift and as easy as it used to, because it doesn't have to happen anymore. but whose going to tell his mind, his body, that neither need an escape to that drowning sort of safe space?  

another knock at the door. a quick steady pace into the wood. like it means to pry him from the closeting of this bathroom. like a call meant to will him up and out of drowning in that white noise waterfall. 

the door handle twitches. sharp and impatient. a warning before entry. the threat of seizing his space against his will. his shoulders hitching to tighten, squaring off. ready. that tingling in his fingers performing sorely, an exhausted guard that brings itself to work in spite of its age, as he holds his side of the door handle. "you wanna come hold my dick for me or you gonna let me finish?" 

"open the door punk". 

but it's not a command, no. not urgent or mean. it's something far worse. the type of plea that mixes itself in with a concerned sort of compassion. pity. fucking pity. and punk can't fight against that can he? not when the voice of a brother goes on with this tone of sadness. to work and war against it, would only serve to affirm his standing in this low place. so he opens the door. tries his hand at a deep breath. his palm slicking back his hair and the other twisting the knob of the door to open.

randy orton, the sergeant at arms, standing here in all his protective glory. tall and wide and with a look to his eyes that punk decides, leaving the full safety of the bathroom, he hates. the natural low sitting of them, always calling for the anticipation of something menaced and brutish. but they're far too tender for that here. too warmed over and patient as they wait. 

and this means the following in of an explanation doesn't it? his chest aching and the words lodged in with those shallow bits of air, needing to corral something together anyways to appease. to mend the confusion after his sudden disappearance. if so, then how does he explain this weak kneed, heavy chested problem without the exposure of that terrible fragility attached to it? 

"you got a bunch of people out back waiting...", randy gives. the voice of him deep and mellow and too cool to live amidst this awful, silent, ripple in punks skin. in his fingers and toes and about his bones. "...grand entrance out of the hole remember?"

punk scoffs. "oh?...", pulling air tight in his nose. his hands falling over his face to push in there. like if he wipes away at the skin, then the warmth in his cheeks will disperse enough to chill him. but that is not the case. the heat remains, pricks his neck and draws out into his shoulders. "...didn't realize the festivities were in my honor". a mirthless little chuckle. 

"you need another minute to bitch, or you gonna talk?" 

it's evident isn't it? the war, the silent hell in him. metal caged and immovable from the depths of this too low place. the smell of iron stuck in his nose and the repetition of that rattling song. the shuddered knock of the doors pulling to close in on him. "i did five years randy", he gives. hands resting on his hips and his head hanging low. the belief of it never taking him whole till this very moment. 

"i know". 

the darkness is clear. a nothingness that gives no rise for escape. "that's not a hole. holes have air. they have a way out". 

randy leans up against the wall opposite of punk. a resignation into something less protective. that faithful shield of a disposition waning till it's diminished enough for punk to breathe easier. without the threat of judgement from it's weakness. and this simple maneuver has somehow made randy appear less large. his eyes more curious than pitying. searching for the answer too. "what are you in then, brother?" 

punk lets his eyes meet here, and for the first time since his release, they linger. taking on the regard of another despite the turmoil of being seen, of being looked upon and read. "there's a book by this guy, Jerry Mayer, s'called 'the last man', you ever read it before?" 

randy motions with his hand, come hither like, curious to know. "tell me about it". 

"its a collection of short stories written by the last man on earth...", punk starts, fighting hard to hold randy's eyes. because maybe, if he keeps him here long enough, holds his attention, then all the novelty of the moment can be replaced with a question-less understanding. "...and he's just roamin' around. he's got all this air, all this space, but it's just him. nobody to share it with, and no rhyme or reason to do anything but be alone. in the last chapter of the book he digs a ditch. he said,

‘for the first time in a long, long time, i feel the embrace of something warm. the earth smelling strong as i lay, as my fists knock in, power in me once again, commanding the dirt to cave in over head. the sleep is good here, in this low place, and all the words i'd have to speak for how well this does me, stay laid, waiting in my throat. mixed in with that good bitter grain of dirt. finally, i am no longer the last man on earth'

"you remember all that?" 

"yeah", punk sighs, wearily. "i do". 

and randy hums. a slow, low, consideration that eats at the air. at the silence of it. his palm rubbing up at the stubble along his chin and his cheeks. and maybe this is too much. an overshare that unveils the scattered, caked up, muddiness of the mess sitting low in his underbelly. where all the other easy to break things lie. the pit beneath his stomach that rolls over sore, making him hungry and hunger-less just the same. yeah, this type of talk isn't for other ears is it? it's for those lonely, muggy, sheet-less nights. a deep stare into the ceiling as the fan whirls a janky tune. for him alone—

"well...", randy says. a drawling inflection to it like he's concluding his thoughts as he speaks. "...you're not dead till you're dead, and you're not alone". 

"five years...", chuckling mirthlessly. "...what do i have to show for it? gray hairs and shitty tattoos". 

randy smiles. "you'd be surprised, chicks kinda dig the grays now..."

"i'm being serious". 

randy pushes off the wall. standing to full height again. his palms coming up to rest along punks shoulders, as if, at one time or another, he'd been split into two halves. his heavy hands pushing in, thumbs into his shoulder blades, to will the two halves into a whole. and even if this isn't the intention, the burden of his hands and his height and his eyes, all speak for randy like it's true.  

"walk briskly to what you want. run to get the shit you need". 

punks eyes roll. "and what genius said that?"

"me". 

the hallway fills with small, comfortable amusement. punk's breathing not so caught up, and randy's eyes less pitying. 

"c'mon", randy patting punks back. "let's go get some cake". 

an error made by and against the self is the more terrible of the two, the other being, errors made against the self by others. yeah, the latter calling for a rich sort of righteous anger. done up so well in the blood that it draws in delicious. days, weeks, months even, settling to sit in high and justified. but this is not that, no, this is the sharp sickening twist of the former. a disgusting trouble that undulates the belly. makes it swim and swish and roll. because it was a funny little thing wasn't it? a short, sweet, silly little go of comedy to giana. because a guy could have enough morals to be straightedged, but not enough to keep himself out of jail? she needed someone to make it make sense. the store bought supermarket cake weighty in her hands. eyes slipping over the homey decor of the address roman texted her. framed photos littering everywhere, like the house was built to be more of a memorial sight than a living space. 

and the endless stretch of hallway connecting the kitchen to the backyard stands a little too lively for giana's taste. cluttered, maximalist bullshit. photos and paintings and plants. like the regressed, toothy smile, of some nostalgia ridden "remember when" story threatening to break against the air. a flavor so rich it becomes too thick in the mouth to handle. those little jogs to the past are terrible and lengthy, her feet a perpetual skate at the border, waiting for entry. to be folded in. on jokes and tears and old bouts of anger diffused now to underbelly deep bits of laughter. 

but this is the way in right? this is the key that opens the door. that settles her in more comfortably. store bought vanilla icing cake and a toothless smile. and how could she be any worse than him?, than punk—or whatever the fuck his actual name is—if she happens upon hypocrisy just as easily, making the mistake of a self made error. 

the photo at the end of the hall, just before the sliding door that leads to the backyard, works like an old, tired anchor. takes a joyful rusting to her eyes and her skin and the sure breaths in her chest. the patience in her body, stored in her fingers holding this cake, trembling, warming red and chemically undone. a tiny mahogany frame to enrich the delicate form of this memory. teenagers all lined up chaotically, drunkenly even along a sandy beach. the sun beating over harsh. twisted in an endless glee. and roman can't be unseen. his height and his face noticeable anywhere. a cheesy adoration about him. his arms holding a girl like she's his bride, eyeing her as she points to the camera. and he pays the picture no mind. seemingly enraptured and fine with his arrest. 

and the girl is not so unfamiliar. her face similar to the woman giana saw at the funeral some weeks ago. the same funeral she could not wait to escape. the same woman roman could not bother to speak to, but could not bother to look away from. 

surely, the hypocrisy of being here of her own free will without wanting to is no different from a straightedged man going to jail. it's just as laughable anyways. hypocrisy is always laughable. 

but the backyard is lively, loud and full in the ears enough to deaden that taunt of amusement she can't help but to give herself. bodies everywhere and a soft bass bleeding into the short grass so well it thumps into her feet. and this is ridiculous isn't it? the sudden shift. impatience. an appetite for more. feeling odd enough for an uncomfortable suffocation to come about amidst the boundaries she'd created. because they were fine. giana and roman were fine, albeit existing along a blurred line of a relationship in ways. not together but... together. ending and meeting where it only felt viable. so yes, only at night or, only when bored. 

that woman from the throwback photo, from the funeral. giana can see her face more clearly here, as she stares and stands intimately in front one of roman's boys. his hair cut a short blonde and his expression playing with notes of admiration. all of this she gets just next to the sliding door, but to decipher the skitter here in her skin is harder. theres no reason for hatred is there? for disdain towards a woman she doesn't know. but her familiarity is troubling. even as she moves away from him, floating almost and speaking and indulging about the grass and amidst this great guarding fortress of people, with hugs and smiles and those pretty shaped eyes. and God no, giana doesn't want to be her, but the comfortable way she goes about all this is envying. to have to not impress, is it's own nice little thing. 

the dirt and grass and wood chips crunch. roman and a new sort of color to his eyes as he comes up slow.

“you made it". a statement of surprise giana is sure. the way he says it, like he's trying to confirm more with himself than with her. like the possibility is so unbelievable. 

and he looks good. smells better. hair tied into a knot and those stray lines of gray in his beard like some tantalizing decoration. leather over his shoulders. an itch to touch him, to feel the worn texture of his jacket. to have it, for once, not tingle wearily and stress her nerves there in her fingers. but how do you find favor with a dead-lively sort of thing like this. his leather, just a tough little fabric stretching over skin, but the wrinkles and slim distresses like veins full of blood. pumping and beating to give life to something so far beyond her, but connected dearly to him just the same. this sort of urge new. rolling in with her appetite for more.

“i did". 

his eyes flit to the covered dessert. a blink-less stare that doesn't mean to offer anything but the blank of it. and maybe here, for the first time, or the second even, giana can feel it in the pit of her curiosity. this short, fast uprooting desire to know his thoughts. to look past the guard of his eyes and feel him wordlessly. forgoing the usual resignation that befalls her when he chooses to keep things close to the chest and undiscovered, for the sake of course, of staying within those drawn boundaries she'd made. but that was a while ago wasn't it? when she told him the conditions. made it so that they'd only meet to fulfill something lustful. but rules have always been made with the possibility they'd break. right? 

"you bought cake". 

the curt way it leaves him. like she wasn't supposed to. 

"you said to". 

and when the weight of the cake finally leaves her, giana is glad for it. roman taking it upon himself to set it along a table lined with other sweet treats. 

she could very well be wrong about this too couldn't she? those distracted little glances he'd taken at the woman from the funeral, the same ones he takes now, these could all be intricate looks of disdain maybe? a sharpness to his eyes that lends to some deeper hearted vexing. 

the grass and the dirt and the wood chips making terrible little impressions beneath her sandals. the air hot and thick. made thicker by this energy of celebration giana has yet to really settle into. like even the access of it is limited to just breathing. words and gestures too valuable for her to afford. 

and roman is there still, not at the center of the life of this thing but amidst it. orbiting close enough that his importance doesn't go without notice. but he's far away still. captured else where as he smiles and indulges in his own ways. like any president would. 

he's only abiding by the conditions isn't he? the rules of engagement made at giana's word. 

...only when bored, only at night....

giana could very well be wrong. the twirl in her gut. the warm prick at her ears. they all speak wordlessly, saying so with great volume....no, you're not wrong...these are not intricate looks of disdain, but the terrible masking of undead desires. and here, giana feels like nothing more than a bystander. a witness. watching on as roman gives away pieces of himself in the silence to be known to this woman. like a reveal of his hand, a proud little daring statement only made with the way his eyes bore into her. undressing and taking and spreading without ever moving from where he orbits the center of this celebration. 

giana's fingers tremble. the sort of shake that happens after a faithful endurance has waned from holding a too heavy thing. that store bought cake cut up and plated but somehow in her palms still. 

a coarse voice breaks. scrutiny and amusement bleeding. "...what dumbass bought supermarket cake?..." 

because her's was vanilla flavored. brightly colored and pristine in that professionally made way. packaged with the store label and too damn perfect. the other cakes and pies and pans and trays of food, housed in those homey little containers, like they came straight from decades-owned-home-kitchens and into cars and to this hot as hell backyard. 

her rules of engagement and conditions didn't involve fucking home made cake. fingers tingling as she moves quietly to the sliding door, a deep regret running to bed itself into the skin. the type of ruefulness that comes after the fall away from a not tight enough hold on a fragile thing. 

that old, hanging photo just inside by the sliding door, and this too long stretch of a hallway. minutes that feel like hours, till she can get to the front of the house. the air not so thick, not so filled and taken up by that overworking of a celebration she can't seem to break into. her temples pulsing sharp and an itch on the mouth. feeling her way into the bag slung over her shoulder till a box of cigarettes slip in her palm. an opaque orange lighter flickering before it burns the end. her cheeks hallowing for a deep generous pull. white plumes into the air to join the sticky heat. 

that dirt deep bass of the music, bleeding in faint from the backyard to the slab of sidewalk just in front the house, like it means to run under and loom over. have giana remember her failures. 

the front door opens as she drags long from her cigarette. hissing to pull in the smoke of it. hesitant steps that follow a gentle closing click. 

she looks over her cigarette like she would a fresh set of nails—a chilled satisfaction—and then casts a glance over her shoulder.

the woman from the picture, from the funeral. the one roman can't seem to stop eye fuck—

"giana right?" 

her throat clears. wrestling out the inconsistencies for something whole and uninterrupted. "yeah". 

and as she, you, step down the summer warm steps, giana wonders if this is a game. that when you stop at the step just before the sidewalk, do you mean to look down at her purposefully? to make it known without words what the balance of this is. or is this all by chance? coincidences and nasty, tired, angry tricks being played by the mind to ruffle her into some irate storm to punish her for trying to impress the black leather crowd with supermarket store bought cake and a silent disposition. another pull from her cigarette. a simple drag and a flick to watch the embers fall and die. the silence threatening to swallow them up whole less they say something. but giana's already failed once tonight, and never has such a thing happened before. she doesn't wish for that type of emptiness again. 

"look...", you start, shifting terribly odd till your arms cross up. throat clearing in that same way giana had done, to rid your words of inconsistencies. for something sure and measured. eyes carrying a serious weight. regret. "...m'sorry about that...the guys can be dickheads sometimes, but it was sweet what you did. bringing the cake". 

"s'alright". 

"you mind if i bum one?"

"uh..", frozen amidst the heat of the night. giana, of all the things she'd expected, had not expected this. "...yeah, no, sure". the silent intimacy of giving away a measly cigarette and reaching to burn the end of it with her lighter. your bodies so close for these little slip aways of some seconds. the fire of the lighter and your eyes meeting. 

"thanks".

there is no reason to hate you. to grow weary from a stomach troubling sort of disdain. not yet anyways. 

but you don't pull from the cigarette like you need it. small, dainty takes that barely get the end to burn. like maybe this is all for a better establishment of rapport. and giana wonders, as you look to the orange burn of tobacco, if your hands grow tired the way hers did. aching from the weight of supermarket cake. from a try that doesn't hold enough effort. 

giana smiles at all this. amused by your trying. "you don't smoke much do you?"

"i used to...", sheepish. like the call out isn't something worth defending much. "...or tried anyways. i think i wanted the addiction too much, so it didn't really stick". your eyes taking to every part of her. but not like you mean to commit to memory. more like, you're attempting to remember. to sift through the histories to place her face. a look thats unnerving. the way it lingers here. like her face is only good enough for some distant recollection, but not for a readymade decent into remembrance. a bystander on the peripheral too far away to leave a stark enough of an impression. 

"do you know me?" 

"i think i do". 

giana hums. chuckles a little. "is this the part where you ask me who my father is?"

you smile. understanding. "it is".

smoke pulls from that burning orange. tobacco full in giana's nose. "he's done with it now, but he used to make jewelry". 

your eyes light. forsaking your smoke to eat at itself as it burns the paper. "ronny right? simmons?" 

"yeah". 

"he made all my fathers rings... small world". something soft and wistful in your tone. notes of a somberness that cool over the heat in giana's belly. and it'd be terrible to decide on some resolute disdain now, wouldn't it? when you've gone about bringing yourself to the front of the house to mend up that awful attempt of breaking into the seams and vein like distresses of all this ancient leather. giana is unsure of where exactly all this goes. the pleasantries and silent tobacco filled air. adjusting the sling over of her bag against her shoulder as you go to speak again. "...the guys are good people...it takes time, they just—they take some warmin up to". 

the picture near the sliding door that leads to the backyard. how would you know that exactly?

giana's cigarette proves shorter as she holds it up to her lips. a patient pull before release. "how long did it take you?"

"we were all young when i met them...just kids...the history there, for me, is different". 

"so i guess you wouldn't really know then..."

"i guess not". 

"you looked real cozy with him, so i just assumed you and blondie were together", giana gives. "i guess that's why i asked".

"oh?...", pulling the cigarette to your lips finally. a longer draw from it than giana has seen before. cheeks hallowed and that white plume meeting the air with the strain of a laugh that dresses over a minor cough. "...yeah thats...thats complicated". the air in your throat restricted. the bane of every amateur smoker who feigns the need to look professionally verse and addicted. but maybe it isn't the smoke, giving another one of those lingering glances giana's way. thinking and sifting. that pull in of toxic air just a nasty blanket for the dirtiness of words that hesitate—"how long have you and roman been—"

"together?" giana wants to laugh. wants to feel the richness of this reversal in it's fullest fashion. because this isn't a pure streak of kindness is it? it's the heaviness of supermarket cake. that after taste of the too sweet icing thats coated itself on the tongue. the way it vies to impress the palette but fails from overwork. "we're not...it's just. it is what it is with us". a phrase he'd used before, when giana's appetite for more began to simmer hot, abruptly so, from a lukewarm staleness. flicking her cigarette to the sidewalk in what feels like some small victory. because theres room for some contempt now isn't there? "so should we get into it now? hash it all out or do we wanna twiddle our thumbs a little more for the fuck of it?"

"excuse me?"

giana's eyes roll. mirthful. "...we could make a schedule for it...something tentative...", body buzzing over. a frenzy. bliss. that faux clueless light about your eyes darkening slowly. "...we could meet up. exchange notes on how absolutely fan-fucking-tastic the dick it". 

incredulous. "wow, ok". your finger flicking away the cigarette you'd let burn to nothing. 

like you're suddenly unaware of such context. 

like giana is stupid. 

"or am i still pretending thats never happened ever?"  scoffing dirty. an annoyed disgust. "or that he hasn't wasted a second eye fucking you since we've been here?"

and here giana can see the dissipation of all that terribly built cordiality. the complete draw back of the curtain. an amusement to you that aches her belly and heats her blood. standing on that step above her still, looking down. "blaming me because the man you let hit it raw or otherwise has no self control is nasty work. very much, unwell behavior. lets maybe reevaluate who the issue is for you". 

"lets dead the formalities yeah? you thinking you need to play nice". the air hotter than it's been all night. and that grass deep bass of the backyard music finding it's way to her feet again. to pulse and disturb. "i don't need you rollin out a welcome mat, and i don’t need to be small talked 'cause you're all curious, and feel some way about fuckin' my man once upon a time, thinkin' now, that you need to connect with me. trust, it's no sisterhood here 'cause we both happen to know what he tastes like". 

your feet take to walking up back to the door. something wry and rotten spreading a smile on your mouth. "not to be that pedantic bitch but he can't be your man if you aren't together. thats not how those words work". 

this is all so damn silly, isn't it? the smoky burning taste still lining itself at the back of your throat from that cigarette you'd attempted to suffer through out of obligation. and yes, it was out of obligation, out of a sure founded kindness because the guys could be so brutish and exacting and ill-fit to empathy sometimes. just a little too comfortable in their insensitivities when it comes to the smaller, more trivial things. the apology was a nice thing to do wasn't it? an attempt at mending her feelings. to set over a new foundation after the careless breaking of the old one. because she was new and out of the loop on all the nuance. how would giana know that dean was being a dick, but in a simple, amusing, non-threatening way? a rough sort of fun making. no, what you'd done—trying to bridge the gap—is initiative is what it is. fucking initiative. right? right. 

and to think that you'd spared her from the details. eye-fucking is just the tip of the iceberg of whatever mischief she thinks her boyfriend-not boyfriend gets up to. 

a feverish buzzing, helped by the summer heat, sticking to your skin till its beneath it and melting over bones. talk about fucking audacity! being blamed for his lacking in decorum. it's pure bullshit. 

and was it so evil, to hold a bit of curiosity about the status of their...thing? considering roman had put in a sizable amount of effort into blurring the lines of your perception on it all. again...sparing her the details out of kindness. 

but there is another issue to all of this isn't there? a smaller formed thing, that lays at the base, waiting for some much needed uprooting before it can expand to a full truth. takes the burned bitter taste of that cigarette on as it's own till it's painting over your tongue and down low to bruise your stomach. but you were being nice, had left the backyard party with the fullest intentions of—then why did this feel so odd? an unsettling drive in the line of your fingers. something impending in your palms. like the endurance of them is sure soon to fail—

steps sound over the hardwood floors, inching towards the kitchen from that endlessly long hallway. heavy boots that make no qualms about their heaviness. and you know it's him, can feel it in the way the heel-toe drops into the floor. a patient swagger thats paced only to please himself. a sort of rhythm that conquers the time and space it walks through. 

an unsettling drive in the line of your fingers. like the endurance of them is sure soon to fail...

and you'd made it a point to engross yourself in the festivities of the night. break so deeply into the celebrations that you wouldn't have to face him. but now it all seems like a complex task done in vain. his leather dressing cooly over his broad shoulders and his fingers adorned meticulously. hair pulled out of his face enough that you can spot the edge to his eyes as he makes to pass the kitchen, phone slipping from his ear to his pocket. 

but this can't be ignored too much longer can it? someone will have to take a knife to the air eventually. cut through it deep enough for a compromise of the shared space. your arms folded up, and your teeth threatening to bite sharply into your lip as you lean against the kitchen counter just where the sink is. "can we talk?" 

he stops. bringing himself to the edge of the u-shaped counter space to lean over onto it. his leather singing as it bends and adjusts and touches up against the marble as he moves. the kitchen lights yellow and far too dim feeling here, or maybe it's just him. a moment of a drink in to really look at him. the night time rendering the homey space darker than usual even with all the small kitchen fixtures giving off their bits of brightness and warmth. the way they spill above him, shinning his hair but never really catching all of his eyes. a curl in your belly as you watch his jaw shift beneath his beard. like whatever he's thinking can't help itself enough to remain hidden away from his tells. that jaw tick did always give him away didn't it? 

'm'listening". 

"...we're in, maybe? stable situations right now...", fighting to keep that strength of voice. "...you have your person and i have—which...y'know, i'm happy for you", the waver of it just there. amidst the way the words tumble. forming as they air without much forethought. "...an i'd just—it'd be nice to co-exist without all the..."

he sighs. "say what you mean". 

you clear your throat. ridding it of all those nasty, bitter inconsistencies. "it'd be nice if you didn't stick you tongue down my throat again without permission". 

he scoffs. a dirtied sort of wryness to it. "without permission?" 

and maybe your wording wasn't the greatest in the world there. thoughts stuttered by the width of his presence. by the air about him and that ruinous look in the eyes. yes, maybe it'd be better to just have him leave you be all together wouldn't it? conditions of permission aside. a peaceful compromise of co-existence where you don't have to worry about the darker lustful streaks of his intentions. attempting maybe to relive something ancient and far away. yes. it's better this way. for all involved. especially for his girlfriend, whose not really his girlfriend, but wants or thinks the position is assumable off the basis of whatever bullshit she's got cooking up in side that smoked out brain of hers. 

that acrid taste on your palette again. less like burnt leaves and more like bile maybe. a small thing trying to expand to some bigger truth. but thats a worry for later, when you're alone enough to roam freer in all this uncomfortable thought. 

"...i spoke to giana". 

he stands to full height. leather sounding just the same. breathing to take bits of the air with it, with him. "about what and why?"

...say what you mean...he'd said that didn't he?...

"i've taken up so much of her attention tonight, i figured thats what she wanted...", a mirthless spread over your lips. all those former pleasantries and bids for something diplomatic and cordial, shedding off like a fast to slip second skin. because no one wants the niceties it seems, so why should you? "...i guess i didn't realize you fuck girls with no etiquette till now, so yeah, thats on me for trying to be nice". 

you hate his laugh. the way it plays snarky and oddly pitched. too high to be suited to his regular tenor. almost like the unusualness is on purpose. "nice?"

"m'not sure why she isn't, but she should be just a little more receptive when someone makes an effort to—"

"effort huh?", rubbing up along his beard. thumb and pointer tugging and combing through to play at a mull over. for some better take of amusement obviously. mouth spreading for a coarse smile. "you tried to take a big dick swing, i already know". 

"thats not—"

"that toxic nice bullshit". finger jutting out to point. the sharp precision of a dagger. nicking the air to poke at the thickness. like if he wanted, he could give it a less dull slicing for some fuller feel of relief. but he doesn't. heavy boots claiming the kitchen floor slowly. a steady-tempered pace. the patience of a snake. laughing in that way again that shivers your skin. "you played a game and loss". 

"you think everything is a joke". cutting thin through your teeth. 

"you tryin' to play the manipulation game for details on my dick is funny, so yes, it's a joke....", and where did all the light go? all those small bursts of warmth from the kitchen fixtures swallowed up as he makes to creep up closer. a devious streak against brown eyes. "...especially since it didn't need to be done...", those mellow notes of pine pulling in full to swim in the lungs. clinging to his leather for some years. now stretching out for an embrace, making to ruin your sense of—"...it's clear there's a deficit in attention being given if you're so curious". 

this is sixteen and seventeen all over again isn't it? the body outdone by history. that dangerous inability to do or be anything but weak and arrested. "i don't need a damn thing from you—", an abrupt press in. slotting up short to wedge you in place. your arms unfolding fast, fingers bracing against the counter. palms digging into where the edge starts, and his thigh slips out to nudge. breaking in to push between. "don't—"

and he's hot everywhere. his breath and those sly touches. or maybe its the summer air. that saturation of pine. ancient things sweetening your senses. arms like pillars for a fortress, holding the counter at your sides. that small, nasty, disturbed thing welling up so well in the body as it expands, you can feel it in your ears and behind the eyes. dazed and wordless from it. from him. from the way he uproots it. 

"the only thing new york made you is distant and delusional, but i see you. i know you. been knowin' you all your life, and this shit is so shameful you can barely look at me". his pointer curling beneath the line of your jaw to bring your eyes to him. "you left me, could give less than a fuck about what and who i was doing, but now that you're here, you gettin' real bold ain't you?" thumb sweeping in to roll over the soft line of your lip. his sights taken there. but taken at your eyes to. "got the nerve to feel threatened about a position, a space, you gave up" and then that pitiless streak, in his brows, in the firm touch at your jaw. triumph. "you can't get rid of me, and that eats you up bad don't it? because now you gotta remember how needy you used to be. so damn greedy for attention. you still are". 

and theres no fight really. not anymore. all that wrestling for air in the lungs gone and the small buried things you'd hoped saw no great uprooting, fully bought up pass the surface. nerves in disarray and his thumb pulling up to sooth over you cheek. hooking the other fingers under to hold your face. seated in his palm just right. but he had to be wrong. the cigarettes and small talk, it wasn't all a facade. there were bold enough streaks of  sincerity there. you felt for her. felt for that on the outs feeling. but it couldn't be helped. soft, pitched breaths, almost tasting the ginger beer on his tongue. no it couldn't. that nagging curiosity, a terrible need in the pit of your belly. having to know just what it all was between them. it'd make this better wouldn't it? or maybe easier even, to sit in. the desire and the suffocation. 

"i need that permission of yours". 

that dark tenor rumbling into a strong bass. rolling over till you're shivering. 

"we shouldn't—", pushing at his leather jacket. or bracing into it maybe.

"look here", tugging your face. 

a hum like thunder from his chest. meeting him whole at the eyes. a string together of silence to catch those deeper breaths. and you hope this fall into him is enough permission granted. slipping your tongue through to push pass his mouth. slow and languid and slightly messy. desperation corralling sharp in the skin, like all that space and time apart has no use for anything refined and modified. a drawling mezzo of a moan that spurs him into action. palms shaping down the outline of your body till he's pulling at and kneading in. something firm and testy just under the zipper of your jeans. palming to cup there as you grip into his jacket tighter. 

nose knocking into yours. a little more tender than expected. his tongue lapping over into a kiss to savor. "you're still the same", he hums. peeling down the zipper. smiling and so damn satisfied. "still so responsive", fingering pass the thin underwear to glide through slowly. your head falling into his chest. a warm embarrassment in your cheeks. "always been sensitive, right?", hooking in to swirl two fingers against your wet clit. breath hitching at the touch. that firm tenderness old but new. "real nice for me". adulation. his other hand bringing you back into him, cradling your nape to adjust for a lingering kiss. 

you can feel him breathing. stealing all of your air. your body trembling and clenching about nothing but that sweet anticipation. and he knows it doesn't he? smiling and tensing his teeth over your mouth. groaning long and lazy, rubbing sweetly into the tender beginning of your pussy. prolonging and biding time, like it's been made for him. like at any moment all those backyard eyes and ears wouldn't be turned to the both of you. 

"spent the last week wondering if you feel the same. kept dreamin' about it". 

"...please...", your hips twisting into fingers for better friction. clit catching to work along the length of it. lips falling open in that swimming daze. 

his mouth trails over your cheek. kissing and breathing to pull in the scent as he goes. tongue lapping into your neck, the wet slight of it just where your pulse is. a groan breaking through in attempt to mask the deep tremble that takes him. nose roughing in as he suckles and prods wet. "still smell the same". dipping his fingers in easy. gathering the drool of arousal to push in patient till he's nestling in at the base of his knuckles. 

"..ohhfuckk..", a tight breaking out from the throat. rutting into his palm again as he holds, cupped against your clit. a salacious little song playing as he drags out to just the tips of his fingers. stroking in shallow to tease and play before he's slipping in again to the hilt. nudging softly at that sweet, deeper place. resting and sweeping just how he used to. to elicit a more reckless tune. broken little things that just barely form. "..ah—rightthereee.." 

he grunts. scoffs. a mixture of the two and something a little lighter in amusement. taking the grip at your nape and placing it to guide and push into the back of your jeans. shoving off the fabric there to claw in and tuck his fingers where your ass curves under. steering the soft, tight, riding grind of your pussy as keeps his fingers slotted deep. "...after all this time and you still can't take much without makin' all that noise...", mouth breaking from your neck to kiss at your lips again. "..s'pretty though..". messy still and indulgent. but he'd always kissed you a little messy. not like he had no qualms about it, no, more like, he just couldn't help himself. like he couldn't make a more refined work of it, if he tried. 

your body seizes, holds in to clench dangerous about his fingers, nailing into his leather as all the breath you'd lost returns. funneling in fast with that hot take to bliss. the summer heat breaking over your forehead and cheeks and at the back of your neck. hushed little curses tipping off your lips in between the kisses of his. 

the backyard music cuts abruptly. voices carrying in loud. a rush in that breaks the ending bits of all that lingering pleasure. your awareness coming back to you in a less than steady fashion. shaky and drunk still. his hands easing out to let you fix yourself up. 

but you don't miss the way he suckles his fingers clean. like that course of action was somehow more functional and faster than using the sink just behind you. snagging a piece of tissue to wipe his palm before he's creating the distance again. heavy boots thudding against wood till he's out the door. 

[fumifooms]

Namalin

Namari x Falin

Easy short rarepair spotlight post for prosperity~ This one I didn’t think of on my own for once, I don’t know if it’s just I forgot the decided-on ship name or what but I remember seeing really nice art and a couple posts about it that I can’t find again 💔 Namalin warrior you are out there and not forgotten ty for making me see the light

I like that Namari’s critical of Falin! I have a whole character analysis on Falin if you’re interested, but it’s generally well noticed that people around Falin idealize her a lot. Laios, Marcille and Toshiro all put her on a pedestral of ultimate goodness in the world, a saintess if nothing short of perfection. Sounds like Chilchuck felt sort of creeped out by her vibes, uncomfortable because he couldn’t read her, so unlike Namari it seems he preferred steering clear of her rather than debate opposed ideologies like he usually does. Makes sense if unlike Namari his issue is with her cryptic aura rather than the stances she does show. "… The dungeon is no place for soft hearts" my ultimate namalin scene <333 It’s fun because while this scene is there to show us a lot of things, mostly to establish Falin’s characters better as it’s the first flashback of her we get, the conflict in it is more than anything else Falin vs Namari in how they contrast and clash and approach situations differently. Namari wants security in swift effective violence and thinks Falin too soft for her own good when she prefers a pacifist approach and promotes compassion even for the "undeserving" in Namari’s eyes. Falin steps between the battle ready Namari and the ghost, fearless. Falin effortlessly gently exorcises the ghost without one step back, quickly. Falin proves someone wrong. Falin proves someone wrong.

I love thinking of Namari being surprised when she learns new aspects of Falin. I like Falin having the power to shape people’s views on her. With Falin ships the most fun part for me is usually that point where Falin/the relationship becomes a clean slate: the person realizes they haven’t been seeing all of her, realizes there’s more of her they hadn’t noticed or that she hadn’t shown, that there’s change, a shift in the views on each other and the dynamic a bit.

Namari often feels like an external view looking in to me… I need to make a proper analysis on her but like. I made a lamari post once (analytic more than personally invested rip sorry) and I go with the same Namari take here, I think she’s someone who tends to have an outsider view on people and relationships if that makes sense, she’s a coworker before anything else and she’s content staying at a distance, she’s not objective per se but she tries to keep feelings out of her choices and how she sees people (her lil arc on not staying to save Falin despite the existing camaderie but in the end asking to work for the Flokes more because she wants to stay with them). She’s serious no nonsense on the job but friendly off the job and likes having casual friends, but she’s not… She doesn’t really feel connected to the group. She’s so focused on doing her job, even if she does get impulsive and passionate and too assertive for her bosses’ tastes, so focused on working her reputation and life from the ground up that that professionalism and attitude limits her social life. It doesn’t help that her reputation makes her widely judged, so she probably enters social spaces on the derensive. The closest person she was to pre-canon as far as we knew was Chilchuck and even they have a very "coworker I get along with" dynamic more than friends, with a similar sense of boundaries, humor and world view. Also like canon says a few time, the party didn’t really try to get to know each other well pre-canon, didn’t hang out after work often no one knew where Marcille was from and no one thought that was weird (also how no one had the instinct to ask about Senshi’s past) etc, the notable exception is we’re shown Namari and Chilchuck hitting taverns together and having a grand time. Everyone’s fine with things as they are, they get along decent even if not everyone considers each other friends exactly. Where I’m getting at is that to me, it feels like she tries keeping emotional distance. Emotional distance from people in general being something which in my interpretation of Falin is also present, which would make it a theme and common thread interesting to explore imo. But yes like, Namari looking at Falin, and how everyone treats her, and being more skeptical, seeing her for what she is a little more, maybe even uncharitable. "Why is everyone treating her like she’s all that? She’s gentle sure but seems like a doormat to me" and then one day she comes running up with her mace ready to cave in someone’s face to protect Laios. So yeah… Keeping her distance but one day Falin offering her some gentleness that feels very too personal for someone who’s not used to being genuine and simply showing that they care… Them talking a bit which leaves her stumped and mindblown in a quiet way when Falin defies her expectations. Namari growing on Falin when she stays and decides to open herself up more, or when Falin ends up reading her really well like she’s shown to do with her parents and Marcille’s worries. She’s very attuned to worrying and why and when different people do it especially when it comes to when they worry for others, perhaps because she does a lot of that too, so I think she’d nail down how Namari does care for the rest of the party and it’d make Namari feel seen both in a warm validating way and in a scared naked way.

We see in the tentacles chapter that she’s someone’s who’s very protective and looks out for her peers in a tough love way. She’s overbearing but it’s because she wants everyone to have the best chances. I like that she’s very confrontational and somewhat pushy and rude, but it’s tough love, it’s protective care: asserting herself to better protect and defend. The opposite of Falin’s type of care, quiet and self-sacrificial devotion. They’re barbarian x healer but they’re also bodyguard x bodyguard in their attitude and role. … What I want for them is slow burn slice of life of being coworkers and slowly getting to know each other better, pretty fluffy, but god, put this way they’d have the potential to be such a hot layered mess of insanely mutually devoted codependence… Falin taking a hit for Namari and Namari being scarred by it forever, lots of arguments about it, my god.

I like that she’s the fighter to Falin’s healer. I looove thinking of scenes of Falin healing Namari, necessitating touch and like, a moment of slowing down and sitting together in silence, too intimate, the perfect opportunity to connect that neither truly want to take until one day they do. I love how onesided I imagine the relationship would be at first. Again, as per my interpretation of Falin, I think Namari would have all these little observations and opinions on Falin meanwhile Falin really doesn’t think of Namari much at first. So Namari thinks a lot about Falin and thinks she’s got her pinned down but hasn’t (not that she’s fully wrong, she’d have credit and confront Falin on some of her flaws like the doormat thing), while Falin is very passive about Namari and doesn’t think deeply about her or anything but she read Namari’s insecurities and logic well. Not unlike how Laios was the one who seemed to understand Namari’s way of care the best in the party in the tentacles episode, and how he was very understanding of her choice and reasons. In Falin’s case it’s more like, the objectivity of passivity… She cares about Namari less than Laios who generally seeks to form bonds, so her lack of investment allows her a neutral perspective. In that way another parallel with Namari that I’m drawing, except Namari lets feelings from her opinions seeps in more… Onesided beef my beloved. I’m going insane save me this post was a mistake. I think Falin takes the crumbs of friendship and love where she can without expecting or asking for anything more than what’s offered, and I think her relationship with Namari (or anyone really) would start out the way it did with Marcille: the other takes the initiative and they end up spending time together, Falin is friendly but unattached until the bond gets gradually and wordlessly strenghtened through regularly spending moments together. So! I think Namari would need to take a lot of the first steps, which since again she’s confrontational & argumentative and doesn’t hold herself back on that front that could spark a lot of conversations I think. Ooor since Falin cares about Namari less than Laios and Marcille she allows herself to be bolder herself lol. Or also circumstances force them to spend time together like dungeon party getting separated shenanigans.

I think their personalities match cutely, I think falin would try to protect namari like she does others but also Namari simply doesn’t need protection, just support. And I think they’re complementary in that way that Namari’s friendly but also won’t sugarcoat things, and I think if she takes an interest in Falin it could go from there and she could develop some understanding of her and idk like an intrigued crush….

Namari wants stability & security & to, like, not be judged and rejected and exiled lol, to find her nest her pack the place where she feels good and wanted in. I think having a fitting partner would help in that (similarly to how the found family with the Flokes seemed to. Oh another parallel, Falin’s top priority is protecting Laios her brother and what Namari are a family figure) and I think Falin would fulfill that cozy protection and that warm ‘being seen and not judged’ feeling. But also Namari would run up to her and yell about her trying to sacrifice herself ever.

Another fun thread to explore: post-canon guilt for not having gone to save her. Sure, they weren’t close, but they had some nice memories, didn’t they? Namari cares, and it stings despite herself when it feels like people think she doesn’t. Oh it wasn’t a lost cause after all, oh it’d have worked out, oh I could have stayed loyal and it wouldn’t have compromised myself in the end. Wanting to apologize to Falin, or just ahnging out with her and sharing a moment after she wakes up. And tangent but that’s interesting to think about… Narratively, I think the purpose of Namari and Toshiro in the story, beyond strenghtening the theme of "seek to understand what is different from you and promote unity despite them" and fleshing the cast and worldbuilding, is Toshiro’s purpose was being a foil & tool in Laios’ arc (trouble connecting with people) while Namari’s was being and a foil & tool in Marcille’s arc (standing up for ideals without being out of touch with harsh realities and needs). They are the conflict that push our protagonists to grow— and they explore different ways of dealing with a situation or topic, different ways of growing into themselves on that end: Laios needing to listen to others more and Toshiro needing to focus on voicing himself more to be able to connect, Marcille needing to learn ideals sometimes cost too much and Namari needing to internalize that ideals are sometimes worth risks (not only to be able to find a reasonable but fulfilling life balance, but also to get in touch with their compassion: Namari restricts her own too much and Marcille is too harsh on people she deems to be breaking values, like Namari not risking her life and career for a friend with no promise of success, or even like how Namari is harsh on Falin’s way of doing things : too gentle, too soft, too idealistic) (similarly to Chilchuck’s arc with Marcille too, and he also plays a hand in advancing that arc in the Namari chapters). We are getting far from namalin sorry ummm preview for future analyses like Toshiro’s contrasting approach to grief and accepting loss.

More post-canon namalin! Thinking about a timeline where… Namari is fond of Falin finding herself and going off to do her thing. "Finally!" she thinks. If she’s still for hire, maybe Falin would want her to come along, either as guide or bodyguard <3, she knows Namari has a lot of good avice on a lot of things to give, plus they’ve worked together before. She hires Namari and they travel for a bit. Travel would do Namari good too I think, even if her end goal is to settle and I think Falin’s would be too eventually. Seeing sights that light her wonder for the world and going places where people don’t know her story, don’t recognize her face or her name. Them, feeling free. Finding a companionship that feels uplifting instead of stifling or charged. Namari having been too in her head about reputation and social games and money that they hit the roads and spend time in nature and it’s like, woah. I’ve been living in a small world with made up rules.

Ahh yes romance, Namari and Falin kissing after 3 years of not really knowing each other despite seeing each other every day then 2 months of wanting to spend more and more time together until they’re an inseparable duo! Workwives. I want them to stand next to each other during campire time and Namari cracks little jokes and Namari laughs. I want Namari to gift Falin a bug caught in amber and for it to be their wedding/promised to each other thing.

TLDR

Rowdy but levelheaded barbarian x gentle healer that will also cave your face in with a mace I like it…… They’re an interesting duo of mixed stuff. Protection being your purpose and what you’re worth for, literally being a meat shield (Laios, Tansu), finding your individuality recognized and validated through a growing bond with the other. Sticking around as a love language. Also bug immortalized in amber and it being beautiful.

Nevermind this wasn’t short. Um! Anyways.

[doumadono]

Warnings: threesome, fem!reader, m/m/f, oral (m & f receiving), fingering, rimming, anal, orgasm denial, dom/sub, names calling, poly relationship, unprotected p in a & p in v

Synopsis: Bakugo's birthday is a special day, and you with Kirishima plan a steamy morning for your boyfriend

A/N: the prompt is: threesome for Bakugo's birthday ft. Kirishima I decided to post this one a bit earlier. Happy birthday, my sweet little gremlin!

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST BAKUGO'S BIRTHDAY EVENT 2024

Despite being pro heroes, Bakugo and Kirishima shared their flat with you, a sidekick working for their hero agency.

You weren't quite sure how it began, but eventually, you found yourself in a relationship with not just one, but both of your bosses.

And you didn't mind in the slightest. Both of them were such distinct personalities, and you felt privileged to know both sides of them.

Kirishima, known for his gentle nature, was not only as endearing and sweet as a puppy in public but also had a darker side that yearned to dominate those around him in his private life.

Bakugo, on the other hand, was the most snarky, driven, and grumpy man you'd ever met. Yet, behind the doors of your luxury apartment, he was quieter than his public persona, often letting Kirishima take the lead in decision-making.

Today, however, wasn't just any ordinary date on the calendar. It was April 20th - Bakugo's birthday.

Of course, Dynamight wasn't one for celebrations. He saw them as mundane and completely unnecessary ways to mark getting one year closer to the inevitable end, as he often referred to birthdays.

After all, it was Bakugo's birthday, and with a little help from you, Kirishima had planned a surprise that would leave Dynamight speechless.

As the first rays of the sun peeked through the curtains, Bakugo was rudely awakened by a firm hand gripping his already hard cock. He was having a vivid, wet dream about you and Eijiro when he was jolted awake by the rubbing sensation, growling in frustration. Katsuki groaned, his crimson eyes fluttering open to see Kirishima's smirking face. 

"Happy birthday, Kats," red-haired purred, his hand moving up and down Bakugo's shaft. "Were you having naughty dreams again? I bet you were, considering you were grinding your dick against my ass in your sleep," Eijiro chuckled softly, lying on his side and watching Katsuki.

Bakugo grunted, his hips bucking up into Kirishima's hand. "Shut up, Eijiro," he growled, his voice husky with sleep and slowly accumulating desire.

Kirishima leaned down, capturing Bakugo's lips in a searing kiss. Their tongues danced together, exploring each other's mouths with a familiarity that only came from years of being lovers. 

Bakugo's hands found their way into Kirishima's fiery locks, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.

Breaking the kiss, Kirishima trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down Bakugo's neck, nibbling and sucking on the tender skin, leaving marks that would last for days. 

Bakugo groaned, his head falling back as Kirishima's sharp teeth scraped against his collarbone. Kirishima's hand never stopped moving, pumping Bakugo's cock with a steady rhythm that had Bakugo writhing beneath him.

Moving lower, Kirishima licked and sucked on Bakugo's pierced nipples, causing Bakugo to hiss and arch his back slightly. Bakugo's hands moved from Kirishima's hair to his shoulders, his nails digging into the firm muscles as he tried to regain some control.

But Kirishima was having none of it. He pushed Bakugo's hands away, pinning them above his head as he continued his assault on Dynamight's body. 

Bakugo struggled, trying to free his hands, but Kirishima proved to be stronger, at least this time. "Eijiro," Bakugo growled, his eyes flashing with an anger that was quickly replaced by arousal.

Kirishima just smirked, releasing Bakugo's hands and moving lower. He licked a trail down Bakugo's stomach, his tongue dipping into the navel before moving lower still, along Katsuki’s blond happy trail. Bakugo's cock twitched in anticipation, and Kirishima blew a cool breath over the head, causing Bakugo to groan and buck his hips.

“Fuck,” the blond-haired man grunted deeply.

The birthday boy wasn't aware that you were seated in his armchair on the opposite side of the room, watching the scene unfold with anticipation.

You couldn't deny it, watching boys together was a massive turn-on. Especially when Kirishima took charge — he was always slow and passionate, unlike Katsuki, who went straight for the main event at the first opportunity.

Without warning, Eijiro took Katsuki's cock into his mouth, sucking hard. 

Bakugo's eyes rolled to the back of his head as he let out a guttural moan, his hands fisting the sheets as Kirishima's head bobbed up and down. Kirishima's tongue swirled around the head, lapping up the precum that was already leaking out.

Bakugo, who was usually so brash and aggressive, seemed almost vulnerable at this moment. 

Kirishima bobbed his head up and down, his mouth working Bakugo's cock expertly, his tongue swirling around the tip, making Bakugo moan louder. Kirishima cast glances at Bakugo's flushed face from beneath his long, dark lashes. 

Why did guys always have such great lashes? You pouted to yourself, pondering the unfairness of it all while fondling your breasts.

"Oh, fuck, Kirishima… Yes, just like that," Bakugo moaned, his hips thrusting forward, his cock hitting the back of Kirishima's throat. 

Eijiro gagged slightly but didn't stop, his hands now working Bakugo's balls.

Katsuki’s cock was hard as steel, his tip aggressively red, his entire shaft throbbing with desire.

Just when Bakugo thought he couldn't take it anymore, Kirishima stopped, releasing Bakugo's cock with a pop. "Not yet, handsome," Eijiro mused, trailing his tongue slowly up Dynamight's body. "You need to earn your orgasm," the red-haired cooed.

A frown creased Bakugo's forehead; the blond panted, attempting to thrust his hips to create friction against Eijiro's abdomen, but it was futile. "You're a fucking tease," Katsuki growled, then pulled Eijiro into a heated kiss, wrapping one arm around his neck.

Red Riot pulled back from the kiss after a moment, giving Katsuki's temple a peck. "We've got a spectator," he whispered in a seductive tone, turning to you with a wink.

Bakugo shifted his gaze, and you could swear his cheeks deepened in colour upon seeing you there, dressed only in your lacy, white underwear, watching them with a slight bite to your lower lip. "Hey, Katsy," you greeted him softly.

It wasn't the first time you'd been intimate with either of them, though. The arrangement was straightforward — you could be with each other whenever the mood struck, but it stayed behind closed doors - the boys didn't want the world to know they were in a poly relationship. The media would catch wind of it in no time, and it could actually harm their reputations. And you'd always respected that boundary. You found yourself leaning more towards Kirishima, appreciating the gentler nature of your sex with him compared to Bakugo's roughness. But you’d never been with both of them at the same time.

You rose from your spot with a sway in your hips, making your way to the bed. With a flick of your fingers, you unclasped your bra, letting it drop to the floor with a soft thud. Like a predator stalking its prey, you crept onto the bed towards the boys, planting a kiss on Kirishima's lips before turning to Bakugo. "Happy birthday, Dynamight," you whispered in his ear, teasingly licking his earlobe. You turned to him a second later, your eyes meeting his crimson ones, and you saw the pure hunger in them. You leaned in, your lips brushing his slightly chapped ones, a soft, slow kiss that promised a day filled with passion and pleasure. 

Katsuki’s hand reached up, cupping your cheek, deepening the kiss, his tongue exploring yours.

Your hands roamed his body, feeling the hard planes of his muscles beneath the pads of your fingers, your digits tracing the lines of his abs. You felt his cock stir against your palm, hardening even more with each passing second. You broke the kiss, your lips trailing down his neck, licking and nibbling, eliciting a low groan from him. You lazily stroked his shaft, gently sucking on the pulse point on the side of his neck, ensuring to leave a hickey behind, a sign of your fondness for one and only Bakugo Katsuki.

"You two idiots are spoiling me rotten today," Bakugo growled, rolling his head back on his pillow. “Goddamn, this feels so fucking good. Happy birthday to me, I guess," he growled, his voice low and husky. 

You felt his calloused fingers traced a path down your spine, sending shivers down your body as you started jerking him faster.

With one swift motion, he rolled on top of you, effortlessly pinning you down on the mattress and peppering your chest with kisses and nips. He then got off you, kneeling beside your head and stroking his own cock. "Be a good girl and open that pretty mouth for me," he commanded.

You complied without hesitation, welcoming the mushroom head of his cock onto your flexed  tongue seconds later.

Meanwhile, Kirishima took off his sweatpants, watching the two of you while lazily stroking himself. "Shit, you guys are so hot," the red-haired whispered, giving his own palm a lick before returning to stroke his dick.

Bakugo was surprisingly gentle with you this time, slowly moving his hips as he kissed you deeply. Of course, he couldn't resist fondling your breasts and slipping his rough hand between your thighs, rubbing your folds through the lace of your panties. “Someone’s wet, tsk!” he commanded with a grin that curled the corners of his lips upwards.

You used your hand to slide his foreskin a few times after pulling his cock out of your mouth to spit on its head. All the while, you glanced up at him, admiring the slight frown creasing his forehead as he hissed, watching you work. With your free hand, you gently cupped and fondled his ball sack between your fingers.

“Shit,” Bakugo rolled his head back a little. "This little minx is going to be the death of me one day."

Kirishima couldn't hold back any longer and knelt beside you as well, leaning in to playfully suck on Katsuki's nipples, toying with his barbells. "Kats, love," Kirishima whispered after sharing a passionate kiss with his boyfriend. "I want to... I need to fuck you, please," his voice was nothing but a plea.

Bakugo grabbed a fistful of your hair, gently pulling your head back, earning himself a sad pout from you. He glanced at Kirishima, giving the red-haired's cock a few quick strokes after spitting on its tip. "Go ahead."

Kirishima moved to kneel behind Bakugo, admiring his boyfriend’s tight ass. He licked his lips in anticipation, knowing that he was about to give Bakugo the best morning of his life. His strong hands spread Bakugo’s cheeks apart. He leaned in and licked Katsuki's hole, his tongue swirling around it, making it wet and ready for his fingers. He flicked his tongue against the puckered hole several times, humming. Then, Eijiro reached for the nightstand and grabbed a bottle of lube, squirting some onto his fingers.  

Bakugo moaned as Kirishima inserted one finger, then two, into his ass, moving them in and out in a slow and steady rhythm. “Suck my cock,” he growled, lightly tapping your cheek to grab your attention as you were completely engrossed in listening to his pants while Kirishima fucked his ass.

As the obedient girl you were, you ran the tip of your tongue along your lips to moist them and took his throbbing cock into your mouth again, gently bobbing your head back and forth as Bakugo resumed rubbing your pussy.

He pushed your panties aside, revealing your glistening pussy, juices already escaping due to your intense arousal you were experiencing. “Tsk, you naughty brat,” Bakugo growled as he pushed two of his fingers inside you, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit, eliciting a loud moan from you; your sounds were muffled by his throbbing member fucking your mouth.

Kirishima could tell that Katsuki was ready, so he lubed up his cock and lined himself with his boyfriend’s ass, gently poking the tight hole as he slowly entered Bakugo's ass. 

Bakugo's breath caught as he felt the fullness of Kirishima's cock inside him, stretching him to the limit. “Fuck.”

Kirishima's movements were slow and deliberate, allowing Bakugo to adjust to the sensation.

Soon, Bakugo's moans grew louder, and he pushed back against Kirishima, urging him to move faster. 

Kirishima obliged, his hips snapping forward as he thrust into Bakugo over and over again. “You’re so tight for me, handsome,” the red-haired praised.

Bakugo's hands gripped your hair tightly as he kept on fucking your mouth, his knuckles white as he felt the tight knot building inside of his tummy. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” the blond warned in a husky voice.

Kirishima's hand reached around, finding Katsuki’s cock and stroking it in time with his thrusts. Eijiro's thrusts grew more urgent, his own moans mingling with Bakugo's. "No, no, no, handsome. You'll cum when I say so. This time, you're not in charge here," Kirishima growled, nibbling at the back of Katsuki's neck, increasing his pace. Red Riot gripped Dynamight's hips tighter, pounding into him relentlessly, their bodies slick with sweat. 

Bakugo's moans grew louder, his body tensing as he neared his climax. With a final thrust, Kirishima nearly sent Bakugo over the edge, his cock throbbing inside of Katsuki as he spilled his seed in his boyfriend’s asshole, slowly pulling out, watching his semen trickle out and pooling on the sheets between Bakugo’s legs. “Holy shit, Kats, I love you so much,” Eijiro grabbed Katsuki’s chin and turned his head around to kiss him passionately. 

Bakugo's cock throbbed intensely in your mouth, and just when you thought he was about to release, he pulled away, muttering something about fucking you hard. You couldn't quite catch his words though; your mind was still foggy from watching the boys getting laid.

Moments later, all you felt was a rough tug at your ankle, causing you to slide towards the center of the bed. Bakugo leaned forward, planting kisses along the valley between your breasts and trailing his warm, wet tongue down your body. With his canines, he caught the edge of your panties and pulled them down your legs. Then, he nuzzled his nose against your moist mound, inhaling the strong, multifaceted scent of your arousal. Bakugo didn't hold back of course, eagerly licking your slit and lightly nibbling your clit, savoring the taste of your wetness on his tongue. “Fuck, you’re so delicious, little cunt,” he murmured, blowing cold air on your slick entrance which made you shudder in pleasure. He sucked your pussy lips into his mouth and let them go after a moment with a loud, wet sound.

Soon, you felt the tip of his cock rubbing up and down against your entrance, all hot and hard.

He positioned himself at your entrance and pushed inside roughly, making you cry out in pleasure and pain. He was monstrous, filling you up completely.

Kirishima lay beside you, slowly tracing his tongue along your collarbones before moving down your chest, flicking his tongue around your perky nipples.

Bakugo’s cock was slamming into your pussy  with a force that made you see stars.

“That’s it, slut, that’s it,” Katsuki growled, a bead of sweat forming on his temple as he kept on fucking you hard enough to make the bed creak to the rhythm of his thrusts. He was  relentless, fucking you with a ferocity that literally took your breath away.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your moans and gasps. Bakugo's thrusts became erratic, his grip on your hips tightening as he chased his release. He reached out to rub your clit, his fingers roughly circling it as he continued to pound into you, slapping your slit from time to time. “Who’s been such a naughty, needy slut?” He hissed through clenched teeth.

"I was, I was!" you whined, threading one hand into Kirishima's hair as he teased your nipples, while the other gripped Bakugo's forearm as if trying to anchor yourself.

Dynamight’s tip grazed all the right spots inside you, and you rolled your hips, craving more friction while moaning his name.

Suddenly, Bakugo gripped your hips tightly, lifting them off the mattress effortlessly. This forced you to arch your back as he thrust into you from a new angle, reaching deeper than before, penetrating the deepest parts of your sweet pussy. He turned his gaze towards Kirishima, pleading evident in his crimson eyes, silently begging for permission to finally reach his climax.

With a merciful nod, Eijiro spoke up, "You've been such a good, patient boy. You can cum now, handsome."

With a final, particularly hard thrust, Bakugo came, his cock spurting cum inside you, his orgasm ripping through him, causing him to cry out in ecstasy. “Ooooooughhh, God! Fuuuuck!”

Your orgasm followed shortly after, and your pussy clenched around his dick rhythmically, your juices coating his shaft entirely as you screamed his name, repeating it like a mantra.

You both collapsed onto the bed, your bodies slick with sweat and cum.

"Happy birthday, Katsuki," you whispered, your voice hoarse from screaming as you reached your hand out to stroke his slightly unshaven cheek.

"Happy birthday, my love," Kirishima accompanied, pressing a kiss to Katsuki’s forehead.

tagging: @shonen-brainrot @gold24fish @b134ch-m4h-ey3z @proherodabisballsack @bakugoscunny @misafiryanki @hornydynamight @pridefulbakugou @einexx @crystalwolfblog @doumaslotus

[wasawattpadkid]

Housewife

Part - 14

Summery: Billy and Stu have been planning these murders for quite some time. Everything is going to plan until you show up. What happens when they meet someone who is just as mentally deluded as they are?

Pairing: Poly! ghostface x fem!reader

Warnings for this series: ⚠️smut 18+⚠️ murder, blood, smut (will be more in depth on smut chapters), power dynamics, a dash of sexism, knives, stalking, perverse behavior, cheating, homophobic slang, explicit boyxboy, oral (male and fem! receiving), fingering (fem! receiving), the word "rapist" is used once as a joke by Stu way before any smut begins, p in v, safe sex, foul language, voyeurism (?)

Part 1

The car purred as they drove down the highway. You were cuddled up in the back with Stu as Billy drove home. "Do you love me?" The question was so random Billy almost thought he was hearing things. "Huh?" Stu patted your hair as he looked out the window. "It's fine if you don't, I just wanted to know." It wasn't fine if he didn't. Stu knew he loved Billy unconditionally. It was almost obsessive the way he adored that boy. As Stu looked at your sleeping form he started to think about how he felt like he loved you. It wasn't the same sort of love he had for Billy. No, he hadn't known you long enough to feel that way. Stu would kill for you but that didn't mean much coming from him. He knew if a car was coming towards you he'd push you out of the way even if it meant killing him. Was that love or just being suicidal?

Billy looked at his friend in the mirror seeing his gaze focused outside. "Why would you ask that?" Billy wasn't mad or upset by the question just startled. He didn't do feelings. Sure, he had them but he wishes he didn't. They tend to overcomplicate things.

"I don't see how this relationship is going to work out if you don't love me. I've seen the way you look at her. Tonight when we were playing games at the arcade you stared at her like she was the only person on earth. You don't look at me like that. I-I just need to know if it's because I'm not new or you don't love me."

His words were strange to Billy. Never in their expansive time of knowing each other did they have heart to hearts. Billy was raised not to cry and not to reach out. Being upset meant you were acting like a child. "To be honest I don't know." Billy tried to pick his words carefully not because he was trying to manipulate but rather because he was trying to tell the truth. After so many lies he found it hard to understand what the truth was. "You don't know?" Stu couldn't grasp how someone couldn't know if they were in love or not.

"I don't know. I thought I loved Sydney but maybe I did get bored. You know that scares the shit out of me. Getting tired of you and Y/n? What if I wake up one day and the smell of her cooking disgusts me? What- what if I can't stand the sound of your voice anymore? I don't want to lose this. I had the best time of my fucking life tonight but oh it might not matter down the road because I got too comfortable." Billy's hand hit the steering wheel in anger. The more Billy talked the more he pissed himself off. Stu tilted his head like a dog processing everything he just learned. "You love us." Stu said a smile playing at his lips. Billy's face contorted in confusion. He just hit the steering wheel in anger but Stu was in the back seat blushing.

"How do you know?" Billy turned the corner focusing back on the road. "If you're worried about losing us then obviously you love us at least a little bit." Billy doubted it was that simple. Nothing ever was. Stu was always an optimistic person. He thought everything would work out eventually. That's not how life worked. "If you say so." The car pulled into the driveway and then the garage. "She's still asleep should I wake her up?" Billy shook his head. "No she's been taking care of our asses all week she needs the rest. Just pack her upstairs and put her to bed." Stu gently pulled you out of the car carrying you like a bride into the house.

Carefully he made it up the steps watching so he wouldn't accidentally hit your head. He nudged your bedroom door open with his boot trying not to make too much noise. Stu laid you in bed as comfortably as he could. You looked so peaceful to him. He pulled the covers up over you making sure to tuck you in. Stu pressed a kiss to your forehead before he left the room shutting the door behind him.

"She still asleep?" Billy asked as he folded up the basket of laundry you left out. "I thought she was dead for a second." The joke went over Billy's head causing concern. "I'm kidding she's fine. She drools in her sleep." Stu said making Billy laugh. "Did you have fun tonight?" The dark-haired boy was trying to make this work. Stu sat on the couch leaving Billy to fold up clothes. "I had a wonderful time especially since I absolutely demolished your ass in Mortal Kombat." Billy just rolled his eyes telling himself he let his partner win. "You looked good tonight." Stu glanced up in shock. He wasn't the complimenting type and he sure as hell never complimented Stu.

Billy kept his eyes on the clothes not wanting to make eye contact with Stu. This was what actual couples did right? "Thank you." The room was silent. Stu thought of his words before he said them. "You looked handsome tonight too." Handsome. The word made something turn inside Billy. For a second it felt like he couldn't breathe. Maybe he was going to vomit? "Thanks." Was all Billy could come with. It was unbearably awkward but Stu couldn't help but smile. "Do you need help folding? I can't do shirts but I can do pants."

You woke up in a hot sweat. It felt like you had died. If someone asked what year it was you couldn't tell them. The last thing you remember was eating food at a restaurant with Billy and Stu. "Damnit." You rubbed your eyes trying to see in the dark room. The clock said it was 11 o'clock but it felt like you'd been asleep for days. You threw on an unflattering nightgown before you headed downstairs. The boys laughed while watching some loud TV show.

"She's alive!" Stu exclaimed like he was Dr. Frankenstein. "How'd you sleep?" Billy asked looking at your disheveled state. "Water." You rasped walking like the grim reaper over to the sink. Cold tap water seemed to coat your throat helping you wake up just a little bit more. You walked over to the couch throwing yourself on top of the men. "What are you watching?" You asked as Stu giggled at some guy getting hit over the head on screen. "The Monkees! It comes on your old lady channel. I haven't seen it since I was a kid." You looked over at Billy seeing him shrug his shoulders. "He's been laughing for the past 30 minutes."

"You're not hard to please huh?" Stu pinched the tip of your nose. "Obviously not, I'm with you aren't I?" You faked a laugh as you stared at the tv. Stu's hand ran up and down your leg just like it had the first night they came over. His eyes were glued to the TV laughing every time something even remotely funny happened. Billy would chuckle just because his friend was laughing. There was something different between them but you couldn't put your finger on it. The date night you had might've had some effect. All three of you felt closer, it felt more normal if that was even a possibility.

"I think I want to have sex with you two." You blurted making both men freeze. You immediately covered your face regretting speaking. "Like right now?" Stu asked ready to strip. "No, well, oh I don't know." You groaned with embarrassment. Billy stayed quiet letting you say everything you wanted to. You sat up on the couch looking at the two men sitting beside each other. "Couples have sex right?" They nodded in unison. "We're like a couple right?" They nodded even quicker trying to fill in the blanks for you. "So we should have sex-" Stu reached to take off his shirt but you stopped him. "At some point." You finished making the boy frown.

"Why'd you bring this up?" Billy asked. Between you and Stu randomly bringing up touchy subjects he was liable to get whiplash. You rubbed your face with your hands trying to get a grip. "I was just thinking about it. I have been... thinking about it." Stu knew if anyone could overcomplicate sex it'd be you. "Guys I'm scared."

It was the honest truth. You were terrified. "Of what?" The tone Stu had seemed to dismiss whatever emotion you felt. "Nothing it's dumb." You stood up only to be pulled back down by Billy. "No talk to us. What are you scared of?" Billy made demanding eye contact with you just to show he took this conversation seriously this time. "You?" The word came out like a question. That question seemed to negatively affect both boys. Stu was gutted that you were scared of him even worse that it was sex-related. You grabbed Billy and Stu's hands not wanting them to think it was all their fault. "Men in general are scary. I'm not scared of you exactly more of what you could do." That somehow made less sense to them both.

"Stu, do you remember the other night when we were wrestling?" He smiled remembering how funny that whole thing was. "Yeah, I beat your ass." He said proudly. Billy seemed to understand what you were getting at by Stu's response. "I could give it my all and you both could still trap me. I don't stand a chance and it's frightening. What if in the middle of it all you decide to-" Billy moved forward putting both of his hands on your arms. "We would never do that." Stu scoffed sitting up next to you. "Yeah we may be killers but we're not rapists." Billy looked at Stu like he could kill him making the boy sit back and shut up.

"Y/n I'm really trying," Billy spoke as you nodded. "I've noticed." He smiled continuing his speech. "I don't and would never want to hurt you. That night that Stu's place I couldn't put you through that pain." He gestured to your closed-up wound. "I know but I joke around a lot. I say I'm into chains and whips but I'm scared of all of that. I don't want to feel like I'm stuck and with two of you it's pretty damn intimidating." You had got this idea in your head that anything intimate with the men would leave you used and torn apart.

"I joke around like crazy you don't think I'm being serious do you?" Both you and Billy looked at Stu. "Wow tell me what you really think." You laughed making Stu smile at his accomplishment. "Hey." Billy's hand rested on the side of your face pulling your attention back to him. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Do you understand?" The words were sharp but they weren't angry. Billy meant what he said. As long as he was living no one would lay a finger on you besides him and Stu. You nodded as he smiled. "Wait so are we sleeping together or?" Stu was just really confused. Before Billy could smack him you stood up. "I'm going to take a shower and freshen up. You two can do whatever you want." Without looking at the men you walked upstairs heading to your bathroom.

Billy jumped off the couch making Stu sit up. "What? What's wrong?" Stu asked looking up at the man. "She said she's going to freshen up." Billy shook his hands for emphasis. He could see Stu simply wasn't getting it. "That's like the universal term for "we're going to have sex." How do you not know that?" Stu stood up a small "pfft" leaving his mouth. "No the universal term for we're going to have sex is "Hey we're going to have sex."" Billy's palm slapped his forehead before dragging down his face. "Listen just go clean up and change I'm going to take care of a couple things." With a nod, Stu went off to his room.

Billy waited on the stairs till he heard the water start to run. Your room was empty but the record you played was loud. The Smashing Pumpkins vinyl spun around letting Billy's favorite song play. He could barely hear you humming the words in the bathroom. You remembered. That fact made his heart seem to swell. It wasn't what you normally listened to. All he heard the past week was what you called "classics." Now there you were in the privacy of your room listening to his favorite album. With a smile, he got to work. The first thing he did was make your bed. Once it was neat he made sure the room looked comfortable. He noticed the candle you had sitting on your dresser. Billy headed downstairs to ask Stu for his lighter.

Stu's bedroom door opened hitting Billy with a cloud of cologne. "Jesus fucking Christ!" The boy cursed waving a hand in front of his face. "Too much?" Stu asked innocently. Billy huffed not having time to deal with him. "She's not going to let you in the room let alone her bed smelling like that." Stu thought he smelt good, you had complimented him on his cologne before. "Change your shirt and pants and air out this damn room." Billy was about to leave before remembering why he came down there in the first place. "Oh, I need your lighter." Stu dug through his dresser tossing the skull-covered lighter to the man. "What do you need that for?" Stu pointed towards the object. "I'm going to light a candle." Stu held up his hand covering his mouth with a laugh. Billy's face dropped at his friend's laughter. "Shut it fuckrag." Billy pointed at Stu but it didn't stop him from laughing.

Upstairs you had already stepped out of the shower pulling the cap off your head. You hung the shower cap up before wrapping a towel around your frame. You didn't know what to expect. Billy's little speech downstairs did wonders for your nerves. Were you still terrified? Yes but for some dumb reason, you trusted them. You had this nagging feeling you'd regret it. You willed yourself to believe in the fantasy land you've created. Sex wasn't something you'd grown accustomed to. That day playing truth or dare barely felt real. There wasn't much emotion behind it just teenage hormones. You weren't upset about it you just hoped this would be different. As your skin dried off you slipped a pair of underwear on covering them with one of Stu's shirts.

Billy sat at the edge of your bed biting his nails. He had to repeatedly tell himself he was trying to be better, to do what you asked. As you walked out of the bathroom he stood up. You could tell he was nervous by the way his eyes darted back and forth between you and the door. "I thought we could talk. You like talks right?" His smile was tight as he raised his eyebrows. You saw your bedroom door was closed completely leaving Stu out of the conversation. "I'm fine with talking but we made it a rule to include everyone when we talked." Billy watched as you walked over to your record player. The way you took care of the fragile vinyl said something about your character, at least he thought it did. "I know but I already asked Stu if it was okay and he said it was."

"I get that but we should have conversations together." Billy grew impatient. "Just!" The word was loud scaring him when he said it. You looked at him waiting for him to fix his tone before speaking to you. "Just.. please? I need to talk to you alone." You put the record on the shelf debating on talking to him in private. Billy was a complicated man. You didn't want to throw away the chance of getting him to open up. "Okay. What do you need to talk about?" You walked over to Billy's side sitting down with him at the foot of the bed. "You want this to be equal. Meaning this is a group effort right?"

"This?" You asked as Billy's leg bounced with anxiety. That little voice in his head told him he couldn't do this. "Sex." Was all he said. "I would like it to be that way, yes. I don't want anyone feeling left out." He nodded understanding what you meant. You couldn't begin to grasp how difficult this conversation was to him.

"Look if you want us to sleep with you that's fine but I don't want this thing me and Stu do to disturb you." His wording was intentional. To him sex with you was normal but sex with Stu was just a "thing." It was shameful to him. "I-I um..." He ran a hand through his hair keeping his eyes on the ground. "I don't want you to look at me differently after this." You didn't know what to say to make it better. There was no easy fix. Billy raised his arms in surprise as you wrapped your arms around him. His arms slowly found their way around you hugging you back. It was comforting. Billy didn't like hugs. This one however made him feel safe. You had him and you weren't letting go. Who he is didn't seem to bother you and knowing that lifted a weight off his shoulders. "Should I let Stu in now?" He spoke gently.

You nodded pulling back from the boy. Billy stood up opening the bedroom door. Stu came tumbling into the room. "I didn't hear anything." He swore picking himself off the ground. "Not for lack of trying." You smiled knowing Stu was eavesdropping. Billy made sure to close the door behind Stu locking it in place. The action wasn't lost on you. Something was different. Billy had no problem with what happened in your living room just weeks ago. The fact he was locking your bedroom door knowing no one else was in the house was odd. It was for security you supposed. The reassurance that no one could walk in. Your curtains were also closed but you knew you left them open just a few hours earlier.

"Here ya go." Stu pitched Billy a small bottle. "What's that?" You asked getting a quick and easy answer from Stu. "Oh, it's lube." He pulled two condoms from his pocket sitting them on your nightstand. You were out of your element. "If you don't want to do this I need you to let me know." Stu said wanting your full consent. This was a first for all of you, he didn't want to mess it up. "I want this, it just feels like you're both prepping for surgery."

Billy held the bottle in tight hands hoping to warm up the cold liquid inside. Stu chuckled finding his spot next to you on the bed. "I get that trust me but none of us here want kids yet and the lube is just to make sure you're comfortable."

Yet. The word pulled at pieces of Billy's brain. The thought of having kids was not something he wanted to worry about right now. With a shake of the head, he walked over to both of you. "Listen, we don't have to do this." Billy still had this unremitting feeling that things would change. You'd see him as some perverted homo and wouldn't want him near you again. He was ashamed of who he was and what he did but if you wanted this he'd do it. Both men looked at you trying to pick up on any signs of hesitation.

Stu was careful about consent the last time anything happened between the three of you. His behavior hadn't changed any. Billy's new behavior was something to get used to. His nail-biting, soft-spoken nature was different than the rude and demanding one you had got to know. "I want to do this but if one of you is uncomfortable we can just go to bed. You don't have to sleep downstairs." The promise of just sleeping next to you was tempting for Billy. He knew this would have to happen sooner or later. "I'm ready whenever you two are." Stu said as he peeled his shirt off. Billy slipped the bottle into his pocket before leaning down to you.

"I need you to say it."

His face was serious but not cold. "Say what?" The air between you two was nearly suffocating. Billy's voice was low as he spoke. "I need you to say you want this, you want me." Billy's hands rubbed the soft skin on your thighs as Stu stripped down to his underwear. You looked at his hands the eye contact quickly becoming intimidating. "I want-"

"Look at me, please." With a shaky breath, you looked back up meeting Billy's eyes. "I need this. I need you, Billy." There it was. That possessive glint you'd seen before. Any minute now he'd be demanding and rough. His lips softly pressed against yours. The kiss was slow and careful. Billy tried to remember the way your lips felt in case you threw him out after tonight. His tongue swiped across your bottom lip signaling your lips to part. Billy pulled away smiling at the love-drunk look on your face. "Let me help with that." Stu helped pull your shirt over your head leaving you in just your panties. "I was right. You look even better out of my shirt." Stu said making your cheeks heat up. Billy's shirt was the next to go. Stu cupped your chin before leaning in to kiss you. It was hungrier than the kiss before.

Billy watched his two partners with some semblance of pride. They were his. For how long he wasn't sure. In the end, it didn't matter because right now in this bedroom, he had them and for some reason, they agreed to have him. Stu squeezed your breast making a small noise leave your lips. Billy went back to work pulling down the fabric that hugged your hips. You raised up just enough to make his job easier. He tossed the underwear in the same spot his shirt had landed.

Stu laid back on the bed taking you with him. For a split second, you forgot Billy was even there. He made his presence known by pressing a kiss to your abdomen. Then another on your hip. Stu broke the kiss watching the scene next to him. You looked down at Billy as he littered your skin with kiss after kiss. He eventually made his way down pressing a kiss on your folds. Stu saw the way your chest jumped ever so slightly. He wondered if he told you how beautiful you were today but even if he did it wasn't nearly enough. As Billy's tongue ran up and down your folds, his eyes flickered up toward Stu. Your soft moans accompanied by Billy's gaze made his cock twitch. Stu picked your hand up moving it where he needed you most. Softly you began rubbing him through his boxers feeling him strain against the fabric. The moan that came from Stu made you continue your movements. It was hard to focus with Billy going at you like a man starved. Billy's eyes would go back and forth mainly focused on the man you helped please.

Being watched stirred something in Stu and Billy noticed. The short-haired boy removed his underwear with haste needing to feel you against his skin. Your hand wrapped perfectly around his cock. The pumps were gentle at first not knowing what Stu liked. His moans and the quiet chant of your name kept your hand moving. Billy pulled your clit between his lips making your back arch off the bed. Stu let out a lustful cry at the feeling of your hand squeezing around him. You didn't mean to do it at first but the new information only helped you tease him. Every few pumps you'd gently squeeze his cock earning a beautiful sound from Stu each time.

Billy's tongue continued its assault as he slowly pushed two fingers into your cunt. Hearing the sounds you made mixed with Stu's was enough to make him cum right then and there. It took everything in him not to. Billy smiled against you feeling your hips try to meet the thrust of his fingers. He doubted you were even aware of what you were doing. Too busy pleasing the man next to you. Your free hand tugged on Billy's hair needing more of him. Billy pulled out his fingers before moving to stand up. You groaned at the loss. With his eyes on you, Billy sucked his fingers clean of your slick even a soft moan could be heard like it was the best thing he's ever tasted.

"We've got to take turns right? Everything has to be fair and equal?" He teased moving in front of Stu. The boy looked at Billy silently asking him if he was sure he wanted to do this. Billy motioned his head upwards telling Stu to sit up. The boy complied sitting on the edge of the bed. You sat up making sure you didn't miss anything. Billy took a deep breath seeing you watch him. He knelt in front of Stu grabbing the man's erection. "Ah!" Stu exclaimed looking down at the man in front of him. With a trained hand, Billy stroked Stu's cock.

You squeezed your thighs together at the sight. Billy leaned forward spitting on the tip letting the liquid run slowly down the veins. Using his hand he pumped Stu's cock the spit making it easier for his hand to slide up and down. He knew what spots to pay attention to. Stu's moans were louder than before. His abs were prominent as his muscles tightened. Billy with a sly grin licked a stripe from the base to the tip. He kept his eyes on Stu not being able to look up at you. Stu turned his head pressing his lips to yours. He moaned into your mouth as Billy wrapped his lips around the tip of his cock. His tongue swirled around making Stu's hips jerk. Stu's breath was uneven as his chest heaved up and down.

"Fuck." Stu cursed against your lips as Billy slid his mouth over the man's length. With a moan, Stu's head fell back leaving you to watch them without interruption. Billy could feel your eyes burn into his skin. That insecurity slowly started to creep back up distracting him from the man under his touch.

Stu grabbed your hand squeezing as his orgasm rapidly approached. "I-I'm going to cum." Stu warned with a whine. Billy continued sucking knowing if he didn't there would be a mess to clean up. His eyes closed tight as Stu cried out. Stu chanted a mixture of your and Billy's names. Billy let Stu ride out his orgasm before he looked to the floor swallowing the evidence of the sinful act. Stu laid back on the bed letting the newfound clarity wash over him. Billy's lips were swollen and his cheeks were red. You'd never seen him look like this until now.

Billy didn't dare look up knowing he'd see the disgust in your eyes. "Billy?" Hearing his name made him feel sick. You waited for him to look at you but he refused. He rubbed his eyes wanting to erase everything that had just happened. Billy looked up immediately apologizing for something he didn't need to. You cut him off grabbing his face and pressing your lips on his. You could taste Stu on his lips and it spurred you on more. Billy was shocked. You broke the kiss to look at him. "I need you." Your hands tugged on the waistband of his jeans greedily. How was he supposed to be calm and careful when you acted like this?

"Say it again." His voice was low and demanding making your cunt throb. "I need you." You happily repeated yourself seeing the way it brought his confidence back. Billy stood up unbuckling his belt right in front of you. You focused on the way his hands pulled the leather off with ease. He grabbed the bottle of lube tossing it on the bed. His jeans were quickly discarded along with his underwear.

You looked at Billy's naked form growing embarrassed by the view. "Baby throw me one of those." Billy pointed towards the condoms. Stu was happy to toss the package over. He was well aware of how hard it was for Billy to do what he did. Stu no longer felt like a dirty secret. You crawled up onto the bed as Billy opened the black wrapper. "Here lift your hips up." Stu grabbed a pillow slipping it between you and the bed. The feeling of your hips in the air was odd but you figured Stu knew what he was doing.

Billy slid the condom over his length with ease. The man debated on asking you once again if you were alright with this. You wiggled your hips impatiently. That small gesture was all Billy needed. Stu grabbed the lube squirting a little in his hand. He kissed your neck as his fingers smeared the jelly over your entrance. Billy crawled on the bed settling between your legs. Stu's eyes watched as Billy lined himself up with your cunt. You closed your eyes scared of the pain you've heard so many people talk about. Stu continued to smother you in affection as Billy slowly pushed into you.

It wasn't near as bad as you expected it to be. You tried not to focus on the stretch as he bottomed out. Billy cursed trying to hold still. "You okay?" Stu asked and you nodded. Billy's hips started to move to find a rhythm you were both comfortable with. Stu wrapped his lips around your nipple getting hit with a feeling of deja vu. Billy held onto your hips as he thrusts into you. He had to remind himself over and over that he needed to be gentle. Stu was used to his partner's fast and rough routine so seeing him struggle was almost humorous.

Your breath hitched as Stu tugged at your breasts. His teeth teased your skin making goosebumps flood your flesh. Billy watched as his partner left small hickies in places no one but the two of them could see. "Faster..." You moaned one hand squeezing Billy's wrist. The man's pace quickened making the sound of skin on skin even louder. It seemed the faster he got the tighter your muscles became. Stu abandoned your side sitting up to kiss the man between your thighs. Billy's free hand wrapped around Stu's throat squeezing just enough to keep him still. You moaned watching the men as Billy's thrusts continued to knock the air out of you. Billy's borderline whimpers did nothing but fuel your arousal. "Don't stop!" You cried out making Billy hold off his orgasm just a little longer.

Both men watched as you came undone around Billy's cock. It was one of the most beautiful things they'd ever seen. Billy's thrusts became rough and erratic as that familiar white-hot pleasure twisted inside of him. With one final thrust, his body trembled. Your name like a prayer was said over and over like it was the only thing he could say. For a brief moment, it was the only word that existed.

You winced as Billy pulled out. Stu fell next to you pressing a kiss to your cheek. "How was it?" He asked knowing the answer from previous experience. Billy tied off the condom before disposing of it in your bathroom. "I can't feel my legs." You giggled making Stu laugh. A warm fuzzy feeling covered your naked body. You weren't sure if it was the sex or the overall love you felt from both men. Stu helped move the pillow out from under your hips. Your legs and arms felt like jelly as you moved to cover yourself underneath the blankets. Stu followed suit huddling up next to your naked frame.

Billy left the bathroom grabbing his underwear from the floor. You groaned as you rolled out of bed needing to use the restroom. "Do you need help?" Billy asked seeing your wobbly legs. "Don't get cocky." You said with a laugh walking toward the bathroom. "I wasn't trying to-" You pressed a kiss to his lips silencing the boy. "I'm just messing with you."

He smiled watching your ass as you walked into the bathroom. The door shut behind you leaving both men to themselves. Stu grinned seeing the look on Billy's face. "You love us." He said feeling that bubbly feeling once again. Billy laughed to himself. "You know, you might be right."

Taglist (closed): @katie-tibo @agustdeeyaa @bowlofceral @gonnapermashift @tati-the-fangirl @kozumewhore @tatijoestar @illyanam1011 @c4rved-pumpk1n @msghostface @gojosbucket @sammanna @lokigirlszendaya @reneki @fetusharryluvr @kadu-5607 @pumpk1n-writes @lovekeeho @zeysartzone @life-of-music3 @flyestvenustrap @littleblondesoprano @loomiscorpse @nicciekawegosblog @reneemunson @miss-puregotti @ksgsfsgaj @zoleea-exultant @briefwinnerpersonaturtle @mistydreamscape @l4venderia @nex-crowley @ashreblogsnow @brynaa223 @your-desire666 @billyloomiswhore4 @holyladyofsorrows @megluv1 @ellieswifeiya @yoluvrz @forallthstarsinthesky @madsothree @youcantbesirius @lubunnii @captainhowdysseptum @geekygremlin @madneedshelp

Part 15

A/N: Sorry that this chapter took so long to unload. Theres some serious character development happening and I wanted to make sure I did the characters justice. Hope you're enjoying the series so far!💕

(if your name has a line through it Tumblr wouldn't let me tag you.)

[saintblk]

*ೃ— INDULGENCE | ROY HARPER + KALDUR’AHM

warnings: foul language, drug and alcohol use, mfm intercourse, dubcon (reader is drunk + nonconsensual creampie), threesome, p in v, double penetration, manipulation of you squint, unprotected sex (use protection pls!), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, use of pet names (all gender neutral), roy x kaldur (established relationship), college au — gender neutral afab reader, considered to be black + thick

word count: 3.9k

note: RAH ITS FINALLY OUT. i been wanting to finish this for sooooo long:0 if there are any pronouns please don’t hesitate to let me know ! i proofread like three times but there is a chance that i may have missed something. lmk what you think! i might do a poly drabble/series if ppl really like it🙈i think this was more for me than anyone else but enjoy;3

had to repost cause it wouldn't show up in tags the first time:(

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT

YOU WERE OUT of your element — that much you knew. in your three years of college, never had you been invited to a frat party and it seemed convincing yourself you weren’t missing out on much finally paid off. because you truly could not see the appeal of the environment before you. it was hot–no, humid. the entire house stunk of sweat, alcohol, weed, and something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on. the air was charged with hormones and filled with so much smoke you weren’t sure how there was enough oxygen. not to mention, the amount of times you nearly threw caution to the wind to fight the third guy who used the tight space as a reason to grope you.

it had to be a lie when people talked about how fun and crazy a party was. a ruse to rope other people in to make a big house feel like a small, stuffy room. the reason for your attendance that night and your very best friend was donning a screwface that went quite well with her dark red dress as her gaze stayed attached to the man who’d invited her. he had one hand wrapped around a bottle of beer, and the other around the neck of the girl he was sucking face with.

“i told you, he’s not serious about you.” you tried to reason with her over the loud music. “let’s just split and you can forget about him-”

“fuck that. i’m gonna stay and show him exactly what he’s missing out on,” she decided before eyeing the crowd of people. “you can chill, grab a drink or something.”

rolling your eyes, you make your way to the drink table and find mini bottles of tequila. packing several of the untouched bottles into your shoulder bag, you make your way to the more quiet, mellow staircase. finals had just ended; a reason for this raucous soiree, though you much rather spend the night and every night over the summer break locked up in your room, binging trash reality tv shows. you supposed you couldn’t expect everyone to be like you, to not want to spend their night trying to get around multiple people all standing in the same hot room, acting on impulsive desires and liquid courage.

you blew a raspberry and scanned the room once again, catching sight of your friend grinding on a man you hadn’t seen before, and you were sure she hadn’t either. certain you were going to have to keep an eye on her so she didn’t get into anything potentially dangerous, you leaned your head against the nearest wall and got comfortable. eventually, you’re joined by a couple who decided the steps behind you were as good as the privacy of a bedroom. you could hear the man whispering empty promises to his female companion. how he was serious about her and only her, with each one of her complaints shushed so he could continue his inebriated ramblings. after downing three shots and placing the empty bottles on the floor beside you, escape came in the form of the 6’3 hunk who happened to be in your poli-sci class. kaldur’ahm smiled warmly at you, taking note of the exhausted look on your face.

“are you enjoying yourself?” he asks anyway, standing in front of you so as to not block the staircase.

with a scoff, you look down at your perfectly manicured toes in a pair of heels you couldn’t help but think were being wasted on this event. it wasn’t as though you could ever look kaldur in the eyes anyway. kind soul that he was, he still managed to intimidate you with his build and height, and the only time you could appreciate his god-given looks were from afar when he wasn’t looking at you.

“i’d literally rather be anywhere else…” you drawl while fishing another nip of tequila out of your bag.

though you can’t see it, too busy avoiding his gaze, he feels bad. despite living in the very house, he could never really keep his friends from throwing insanely wild parties that always ran too long.

“would you like to join me upstairs? roy thinks it’s quieter there but i don’t think there’s a difference.”

a smile comes over your face, and without meaning to, you let your eyes flick up towards his. when he offers his hand you don’t see a reason why you shouldn’t take it until you catch sight of your friend, pressed up against the guy she was so ready to swear off not even an hour earlier. you open your mouth to argue that you should keep an eye on her only for her attention to shift for a moment towards you. the thumbs up she gives you is encouragement enough, and you keep yourself from rolling your eyes when you place your hand in kaldur’s.

he guides you through the bodies littered up the staircase and standing around the rooms none of the guests were allowed to go in. his skin is warm and surprisingly soft and you inwardly swoon when he squeezes your hand. you find that the once booming music becomes a low thump on the walls, matching the bass when he leads you into his room. still loud, but not enough to egg on the headache plaguing you. sure enough, roy greets you with one of his lopsided smirks while he busies himself with rolling a fat blunt. the involuntarily bashful smile you respond with reminds him of the reason why you’re really there and why kaldur had gone downstairs in the first place.

“hey pretty,” he greets with a quick once over of your figure. “you look like you been drinkin’.”

you shake your head and fiddle with your fingers, anxious under his gaze while he lights his blunt. “m-mm, i’m fine.”

“do you have to smoke in here?” kaldur griped as he approached the redhead.

“what, you gonna be mean to me in front of company?” roy shot back smoothly. “i’ll even let you take the first hit since you clearly need to relax.”

kaldur waves him off and bats away the hand that reaches towards his waist as he walks towards the couch on the other end of the room. you take the seat beside him and take out your phone to let your friend know where you are and to call when she’s ready to leave.

“be careful,” you hear roy warn. “kal gets pouty when he’s tired.”

“i’m not tired and i don’t get pouty,” he bites out much to your amusement.

“no? you weren’t just being fussy about wanting me to get ready for bed?”

fed up, kaldur simply sinks in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest. while thinking about how adorable their dynamic was, you notice roy’s gaze lingering on you again. it was no secret that he was just as attractive as kaldur and when the fact began dawning on you is when you began reconsidering your presence in their bedroom.

“you don’t look too happy yourself.” he gets up and plops down on the other side of you. “what’s got you down, sugar?”

your lips twist as you recount your night up until then. somehow, you suppose under the influence of alcohol, you don’t seem to notice or care how close the two men have gotten. roy’s arm found its way on the back of the couch and kaldur was sitting close enough for his knees to be knocking against your own. the cannabis from roy and the sweet vanilla just barely filling your nose from kaldur give you a heady feeling, the mixture of their scents nearly as intoxicating as the liquor in your system. somehow it’s just as hot as it was downstairs and your heart is starting to thump erratically in your chest.

“your friend is an asshole-”

“don’t say that.” you chide just before emptying another bottle. “she just really likes this guy.”

“she abandoned you,” kaldur joins.

at the thought, your shoulders slump and your eyes get just a little glazed. with a maudlin mind, you can’t help but consider their words ringing true. did she really care about you? about the fact that you were extremely uncomfortable at parties? social butterfly that she was, couldn’t she have taken one of her other, far outgoing friends? you sniffle a little, overemotional and perhaps a lot more drunk than you thought you were. but they’re both there to place strong hands on your thighs in consolation; squeezing and rubbing maybe a little too close to your hips, you’re too far gone to care. perhaps part of you knew what they were up to, how sleazy they both really were. but to have been wanted by two very hot guys at the same time was a bit uplifting in the moment. you turn to roy first who moves your braids back over your shoulder.

“y’know, we can make you feel better.” he husks and caresses your cheek.

you can feel kaldur’s breath fanning against your ear now as he hums an agreement. it sends goosebumps down your arms and an insatiable fire up your spine. a soft, breathy moan slips past you, encouraging him to press his lips against your throat and draw out more of your saccharine sounds. the upturn of roy’s lips against the corner of your own is what makes you close your eyes in anticipation. your eyebrows are furrowed and your hand is clutching desperately to his shirt, he’s sure there’ll be strains and wrinkles on the fabric. but he thinks it’s all worth it to see you practically on the edge of tears for a single kiss. when he finally does kiss you, it’s a quick, soft peck that forces a whine to erupt from you.

kaldur rolls his eyes at the sight, “stop toying with her. give her what she wants.”

“nuh-uh,” he snickers. “not until she asks for it. tell me what you want, y/n.”

“w-want you to kiss me,” you gasp when he nips at your jawline teasingly. “plea-please, roy.”

“so well-mannered,” he hums sarcastically. “think you should be rewarded for that?”

you nod frantically, just as he wraps a hand around your throat. you watch him wet his lips, following the movement of his tongue before he starts to pull you closer. roy kisses you once, then again, and finally presses the fervent kiss you so richly deserve on your waiting lips. you moan approvingly as you lean into him. all the while, kaldur’s exploring hands dance towards the jewel between your thighs. unconsciously, you spread your legs further and further until he has his hand up your dress, palm pressed up against and cupping your heated center. your moans are muffled through roy’s mouth, as you buck your hips to feel something, anything.

“so needy…i’m willing to bet you haven’t been touched in so long.” kaldur husks, slipping a finger past your damp panties to rub your throbbing clit.

a choked mewl fills the room as delirium begins to seep into your brain. he lets you grind against his fingers, frenzied and fiending for release. roy pulls away from your lips in time for kaldur to slide two fingers into your sopping cunt. the both of them relish in the sounds they’re drawing out from you while they work on marking up your neck. your senses go into overload when another set of fingers begin rubbing on your clit again. between the tongues dancing on the skin of your neck, clashing with one another every so often, and the assault on your lower lips, you’re being driven crazy by the two men.

your climax arrives like a wave crashing against your body, incapacitating you and forcing your every thought to be nothing but fuzz and static. the party has long since flitted from your worries; it’s simply you and two people who want you more than anything in that moment. the garble of nonsense you spew makes roy chuckle as he plants hot kisses up your jaw. kaldur is still going with slower strokes despite the way you burst on his fingers.

“look at the mess you made,” he breaths and pulls his fingers into your view. they’re coated in your essence, though neither of them seem to mind when roy tugs his hand towards his mouth.

you watch with glossed eyes, filled with arousal as he licks kaldur’s fingers clean. the lewd act has you clenching your thighs together to sooth the returning ache between them, only garnering kaldur’s attention once again. with a hum, he cups your chin with the hand covered in a light sheen of saliva and turns you towards him.

“was that not enough?” he inquires, gazing deep into your eyes and you can’t find it in you to look away. “do you want more, angel?”

all you can do is nod before leaning up for a kiss. his lips are soft and sweet and make you feel like you’re floating in the air. while kaldur’s tongue delves into your mouth, roy is helping shift you on the couch. you let them move your body as though you were nothing but their plaything, and soon enough you’re seated in kaldur’s lap with your back pressed against his broad chest and your legs spread. with your head twisted to continue locking lips with him, you don’t notice roy kneel on the floor in front of you until his hands come in contact with your thighs again.

simultaneously, kaldur’s hands flit from your waist up to your chest. tugging the straps of your dress down and allowing it to pool at your waist, he cups both your braless mounds and begins to massage them. your panties are removed next, abandoned somewhere behind roy. both you and kaldur pull away to watch roy press hot, open mouth kisses on his way up to your pearl. his hair tickles the skin near your knee but that’s soon forgotten when his lips come in contact with your labia. your mouth falls open with a sharp gasp, and for a moment roy considers drawing this out. but just the sight of you, in his boyfriend’s arms, pretty, and waiting and so very patient, he doesn’t think he could deny you of what you want any longer.

his tongue laps vigorously at your clit, only moving down to fuck your hole every so often. he groans at the taste of you, determined to make you cum again so he could share the taste with kaldur. your mind struggles to focus between the pair’s actions, only to allow pleasure to take over and blanket your senses. while roy indulges in your soaking cunt, kaldur pulls your head back so take your lips into his own.

you moan into his mouth with each of roy’s actions but kaldur doesn’t mind. he swallows your lewd noises, snaking his tongue past your teeth and seeking out your own pink muscle. calloused fingers tweak and twist your nipples before one hand begins to slide downwards. with your ankles locked behind roy’s head, the ginger struggled to feast the way he intended to. that was the case until kaldur spread your pussy lips for him, giving him full access to every part of you.

when your second climax approached, roy didn’t bother slowing down. he nipped and sucked on your clit relentlessly, watching with gleaming eyes as you were overcome with an earth shattering orgasm. you shook and thrashed in kaldur’s arms, whining as roy continued to abuse your overstimulated parts.

only when he needed to breath did roy come up from between your thighs. reaching up past you, he cupped the back of kaldur’s head and pulled him down. you watched hazily as the two met for a sloppy kiss. the taste of you on roy’s tongue found its way onto kaldur’s taste buds. he groaned, deep and low before delving his tongue into roy’s mouth.

“taste so good,” kaldur mumbled before pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“think you’re ready for more?” roy inquired as he gets up and rids himself of the white marina he’s wearing. you nod dazedly much to his disappointment. “use your words, pretty.”

“yes, wan’ more.” you blurt, “please gimme more.”

kaldur leans into your ear, lips brushing against the cartilage. “get on your hands and knees, angel.”

you do as he says without hesitation. before long you find yourself looking up at an equally naked kaldur while roy, who also stripped himself of the rest of his clothes, inspected your backside. a wad of spit fell from his mouth onto your swollen sex and his hand followed to spread his saliva. just as a moan fell from your mouth, you felt something prod against your bottom lip. looking up, you noticed kaldur easing his girth into your mouth. quickly, you began to suckle on his tip before he continued pushing into your mouth. he filled every crevice, pushing past your uvula and hitting the back of your throat.

“you can take us both, can’t you?” he asks, so soft you can’t bring yourself to do anything but hum an agreement.

as if on cue, roy’s thick mushroom head eased it’s way into your cunt. he parted your gummy walls, suppressing the noises building up in the back of his throat. your walls were quivering and warm and sucked him in like you wanted him to stay inside you forever.

“fuck…” he grunted, eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed. “f-fuck baby you’re so tigh-tight.”

incapable of replying, all you could do was let your eyes roll back and take both men. ecstasy enveloped all three of you, encouraging you to chase the high you all desperately craved.

so when roy’s hips began to stutter and his movements slowed down, you took it upon yourself to fuck him back. it only proved to help when kaldur found purchase on your braids and began thrusting into your mouth. the recoil from his movements were strong enough to help you send your backside into roy’s hips.

“bein’ so good.” kaldur grunted over you only to pull himself out of your mouth. “but i need you to look at me, angel.”

while he slapped himself against your lips, you managed to drag your eyes back up at him. the pleased hum he let out only sent you further into an oblivion you didn’t want to find your way out of. the simple thought of being able to satisfy both men seemed to take you to rapture and beyond.

with kaldur in your throat, all that told of your orgasm was the garbled noises you made around him and the way you clasped around roy. he groaned as you gushed around him, soaking the both of your thighs and the couch underneath you.

“already?” he snarked, pulling out as kaldur’s movements slowed. “what d’ya think kal — should we give y/n a break?”

“not yet; not until i get to be inside them.”

sea green eyes bore into your’s, making the depth of your abdomen twist with need. the hand that held your braids slid down to caress your face and ran a thumb over your bottom lip.

“you’ll let me do that, won’t you angel?”

an eager nod soon has you trapped between two large bodies, incapable of remembering what exactly led up to this. with kaldur below you, holding your legs open, he pushed into you until he was bottoming out. roy, who stood before you, took a step closer and placed his tip against kaldur’s shaft. the red headed man slowly worked himself into you.

“w-wait, i can’t–” you squealed once it dawned on you what roy was attempting, and proceeded, to do. “s’too much!”

“‘course you can, baby.” he grinned down at you. “y’said you could.”

the stretch came with a slight burn since your body had never experienced any of this before. your innocence was what previously kept you from indulging in desire, and what now allowed you to welcome it all the same.

you could barely breath as they lay inside you, granting you the chance to get used to the feeling. surprisingly, disregarding all the patience he possessed, kaldur was the first to move. with an unrelenting grip on your thick thighs, he thrust upwards, eliciting a groan from roy and a gasp from you. roy was quickly following suit, he and kaldur both eager to please you and one another.

you were soon reduced to a mess of nonsensical noises and high pitched whines. every touch sent a wave of heat through your body; it was too much and not enough all at once. sweet release came and left and came again, but it did not stop both men from fucking you like they were possessed. in that moment you were nothing but an object to them; a hole for them to use that happened to have a pretty face. and you were treated as such.

you had past the point of fucked dumb, incapable of doing anything but wailing from the growing intensity of every orgasm that followed. tears danced down your cheeks and attempting to form the simplest thought was fruitless. all that remained in your mind was the everlasting feeling of lust and gratification.

trapped in hedonism, both your companions increased their relentless pace. each of them were far too occupied chasing their own highs to worry about you. roy, who had wrapped a hand around your neck, kept his eyes closed as he approached release. meanwhile, kaldur nipped and sucked on your neck while thrusting into you from below. his grunts and deep groans reverberated against your skin, eventually filling your head along with roy’s guttural sounds.

“taking us so well,” kaldur praised in your ear. “ we should keep you around, huh? you want that angel?”

after receiving nothing but whines and moans in response, kaldur canted his hips and ground himself up into you. you shrieked in ecstasy, gushing around both men for the nth time. the only difference however was the feeling of roy pulsing against both you and kaldur.

the latter shifted his attention to the red head, “make them ours roy. cum in–”

your protests cut him off and came in the form of incomprehensible babbles that made it all the more easier to ignore. leaking from his tip, roy thrust inside once more and emptied his load inside you. kaldur was prompted to do the same, biting down on the nape of your neck as he finished off with one final stroke.

even when they pulled out, you still felt filled to the brim. the cum slowly seeping out of you was testament to that feeling. the two men who had just finished rearranging your insides stood over you, looking down at their work. their sexual magnum opus lay on their couch, breathing heavily and still attempting to come down from several orgasms.

kaldur took it upon himself to get you cleaned up and into some fresh clothes while roy returned to smoking his blunt.

“should we drive them home?” he inquired, watching kaldur gently wipe the tears off your face. “or were you serious about keeping them around?”

“have you ever known me to joke about anything, roy?”

chuckling, roy took one final drag from his blunt and proceeded to join them in bed after putting it out. you soon find yourself pressed between their bodies once more. this time it’s in an embrace that warms your aching muscles as you surrender to lethargy.

2023 ©️ all rights reserved by saintblk (me) | do not copy, repost, promote, or translate any of my works without my permission

[ink-flavored]

65 Question OC Polycule Ask Game

Do you have a bunch of OCs in a polycule? Do you have the burning desire to answer questions about them? Look no further for an excuse to talk about it!   There are footnotes under the cut to explain some potentially unfamiliar terminology. Remember to send an ask to the person you reblog it from to make sure everyone gets to play!

How many members are in the polycule? How are they related to each other? Feel free to draw a flow chart.

Did the relationship start polyamorous, or was it a monogamous relationship that eventually opened?

If it started monogamous, how did the process of opening the relationship go?

Are there any mono-poly1 relationships in the polycule?

What “shape” is the polycule? A triad, a “V”, a straight line of metamours2, or incomprehensible?

Where do each of the members land on the “solo poly” to “entwined” spectrum?3

Where do each of the members land on the “free agent” to “community oriented” spectrum?4

How did each member realize they were polyamorous? Did they always know, or was there some sort of epiphany?

Do any of the current members practice hierarchical polyamory5? Who are the primary partners?

If the polycule is hierarchical, what differs in the boundaries set for primary vs secondary partners? Tertiary partners?

Have any of the members been in a hierarchical polycule before?

Have any of the members been in a non-hierarchical polycule before?

Do any of the members have a preference between hierarchical and non-hierarchical polyamory?

What’s the craziest polycule drama they’ve experienced so far?

Have any of the members been the unicorn6 of a relationship?

Have any of the members been unicorn hunters7 in the past? Were they successful?

How does each member like to engage with their metamours? Do they want to meet every potential addition, or do they not care at all?

What are their “vetoes” for potential metamours? Do they have any at all?

Which of the members want to live with their partner(s), and which prefer to live alone?

How do each of the members deal with jealousy? How intense is the feeling?

How intense does each member feel compersion8 toward their partners and metamours?

Who has the strongest communication skills in the group? Who has the weakest?

Who does the most scheduling out of all the members?

How do they deal with feelings of loneliness if their partner(s) are spending time with their other partner(s)?

Does the polycule ever have get-togethers or dates where everyone is present? What are they like?

Of the members who live together, what are the household dynamics like? How do they split chores, manage finances, etc.?

Of the members who live together, do they all sleep in one bed too? All separate bedrooms? Something in-between?

What are their sexual dynamics like? Is group sex frequent, or is it purely one-on-one?

Do boundaries shift depending on which partners are involved in sex or romance?

What kind of boundaries exist outside of a romantic dynamic? Are friends-with-benefits considered metamours? Hook-ups?

Are any of the polycule members aromantic? How does that influence their relationship boundaries and their relationship to polyamory in general?

Are any of the polycule members asexual? How does that influence their relationship boundaries and their relationship to polyamory in general?

Do any of the polycule members consider their relationship(s) to be queerplatonic? How does that influence their relationship boundaries and their relationship to polyamory in general?

How have their members’ respective family relationships influenced their polyamorous dynamics?

Were any of the members raised in a polyamorous family?

Are any of the polycule members parents? How many kids do they have?

If there aren’t any kids yet, will there ever be?

How would the polycule deal with one member wanting kids, but another member never wanting kids?

If the relationship opened up after children were already in the picture, how was the change explained to them? Was it explained at all?

Do all members of the polycule raise children together, or are there designated “parent” members?

How does being in a polyamorous relationship influence how boundaries are taught to their kids?

How do the kids feel about their parent(s) being polyamorous? Are they supportive, indifferent, or actively opposed?

Have cultural dynamics played a part in how the polycule operates?

Are any of the members keeping their polyamory a secret? Why?

For mono-poly relationships, how does the monogamous partner see and experience their relationship with a polyamorous person? Their relationships with their metamours?

How did any monogamous partners deal with the idea of opening up a previously closed relationship? Was it a difficult change?

Did any monogamous partners discover they were polyamorous after the relationship opened up? How did they find out?

Do any monogamous partners still struggle to cope with polyamory? What gets them through the hard times?

Were any monogamous partners completely fine with polyamory from the beginning?

How do the polyamorous halves of the mono-poly relationships feel about dating a monogamous person? Is it a unique struggle or smooth sailing?

Do the mono-poly relationships have different boundaries than the poly-poly-poly-poly-etc. relationships?

How well do the metamours get along? Do they even know each other?

Do any of the metamours dislike each other? How does that impact their shared partner(s)?

Do any of the metamours hang out when their shared partner(s) aren’t around?

Do any of the metamours have specific dynamics and/or boundaries with each other? Why?

How do the members feel about marriage? Do they live in a society that recognizes polyamorous marriage at all? If marriage isn’t an option, what about legal protections?

What do any monogamous members think about their polyamorous partner potentially marrying someone else (either in addition to or instead of them)?

How does the polycule celebrate anniversaries?

How does the polycule celebrate birthdays?

If one of the members gets sick, who takes care of them? Is there a rotation of caretakers lining up, or designated partner(s)?

Has anyone experienced a particularly messy break-up while in the polycule? How did everyone handle it?

Which of the members, if any, would be happy in a monogamous relationship if having a polycule wasn’t possible? Would any rather be single than monogamous?

How insecure was each member when starting their polyamorous journey? In what ways?

How did each member overcome their insecurities about relationships? Have they at all?

Wild card! Ask anything you can imagine!

[1] Mono-poly: a relationship that contains both a monogamous and polyamorous person; the monogamous person is only dating one polyamorous partner, but that partner might have other partners in addition to their monogamous partner.

[2] Metamour: the members of a polycule who are dating the same person or people, but aren’t dating each other.

[3] Solo: presents to the world as single at first glance; may not want to live with any partner, or if they do, they may not choose to share finances or property.

Entwined: prefers relationships that are more entwined practically, financially, or both; values sharing living space, spending time in close proximity, sharing financial or household obligations, etc.; may see themselves as part of a unit, a single family that shares responsibilities together and approaches life together.

Definitions taken from “More Than Two” by Franklin Veaux and Eve Rickert

[4] Free Agent: values personal autonomy highly, places importance on the ability to make their own decisions, and presents to the world as able to act without requiring permission from others; places responsibility for decision-making, and for bearing the consequences, on each person individually.

Community Oriented: focuses on the interconnectedness of their relationships and their community; decisions are made with an eye toward how they might fit with the others.

Definitions taken from “More Than Two” by Franklin Veaux and Eve Rickert

[5] Hierarchical Polyamory: a kind of polyamory in which the members of the polycule are split into “primary” partners, “secondary” partners, “tertiary” partners, and so on. The higher “ranked” members are given more priority when it comes to spending time together, living arrangements, major life decisions, and overall have more control over the state of the polycule than the lower ranked members. This is in contrast to non-hierarchical polyamory, in which there is no ranking system, all relationships are treated with equal weight, and decisions are made as a group. There is no one proper way to practice polyamory, and both methods can be fulfilling for people who have different needs for their relationships.

[6] Unicorn: stereotypically, a young bisexual woman that is equally attracted to both primary members of a hierarchical polycule or a recently opened monogamous relationship, agrees to give both members equal attention, and agrees to have no additional partners. Referred to as “unicorns” because these strict requirements for a dynamic are basically impossible to find.

[7] Unicorn Hunter(s): stereotypically, the primary members of a hierarchical polycule or a recently opened monogamous relationship who relentlessly search for a “unicorn” to perfect their ideal polyamorous dynamic. Often have very strict requirements of their unicorn, which is why they’re constantly hunting for someone who can fulfill them.

[8] Compersion: the opposite of jealousy; the feeling of joy experienced when seeing your partner happy with their other partner(s).

[mychlapci]

seekers are really communal frame types. it's actually part of the reason why they trine together; they're like rats or pigeons. a single seeker left alone to their own devices will often slip into depression without companionship. it's actually a big idea i have for my fan continuity.

i've seen people saying that vosians are prideful assholes and while i think that's true to some extent, i also think that they're just generally very focused on their communities. within my fan continuity, certain areas of cybertron lended themselves better to certain frame types. the areas that eventually became the region of vos were pitted by steep mountains and deep canyons so only those who could fly were able to properly settle there.

due to this, vos is a very flight oriented region. most cities there are built high into the atmosphere and rarely accommodate other frame types which has led to the stereotype that all vosians are vain and only care about themselves which is very much not true!

vos, in my fan continuity, isn't a single city. it's a name given to describe a specific region of cybertron that has similar topography, and language families (similar to how we call the middle east, the middle east even though there's a ton of different countries and cultures there)

vosians are generally some of the most outwardly friendly cybertronians due to the wingspeak that the region developed as their main form of communication. this language is allows for far more nuance but it's not something taught across cybertron so when vosian's speak common, their tones often come across as intensely snooty because they tend to be very blunt with their words.

seekers in particular are distinguished from other flight frames by their specific wing forms and general likeness to each other in terms of kibble placement and other such looks, are very community based, often forming massive neighborhoods and colonies of up to 120 seekers.

these colonies function just by the sheer feeling of community that shows up between those who are part of it. members often share, sleeping, cooking, bathing, and living spaces and it's not uncommon for multiple different trines to form massive poly relationships with each other just because of close proximity

this is also my explanation behind why the only air force we see in the decepticons are seekers. because they're so communal, it only made sense for them all to join the cons. not doing so would mean that one left behind might become extremely isolated and depressed from lack of contact.

seeker colonies are highly complex and often feature a single trine as the main leaders (in this case it would be the elite trine) but it can often vary from colony to colony. smaller ones might only have one trine in charge, but the bigger ones might have up to five which create a council of sorts to make decisions regarding the community

going back to the city structures of vos. it varies highly on the area but generally cities that are built high in the mountains tend to build outward around the mountain and then upward. so you'd see a lot of scaffolding around the lowest layers, just general structural support dug directly into the rock, while the upper most layers are connected by a series of bridges and pathways.

cities that built into the canyons of the region tend to be a lot more spread out, with chunkier buildings that better accommodate cybertronians of other frames. however it is consistent that vosian cities are built at high altitudes, feature heavy use of spiraling skyscrapers, and generally focused on flight frames and their specific needs. so lots of perches to land on, runways to take off from, and open aired buildings to allow for better weather predictions since some cities might be so high up that the upper layers stretch above the cloudline.

i have thoughts about the winglord thing in fandom. i think it's really interesting but i don't think it's a seeker specific thing.

so in terms of the winglord for this version of cybertron, i think it's a ceremonial term used to describe the winner of a ritual that determines who will lead the vosian region for the coming millennium regarding religious leadership. it's kinda like if the pope position got chosen by a fistfight. so like the winglord doesn't have any actual political power, but they do have a lot of religious influence

starscream in my continuity never actually becomes the winglord because of that reason. he's not particularly religious and because he specifically wants to join politics to get vos more focused on unifying with other cybertronian regions, he never participates in the winglord fights. however, sunstorm does

skywarp is a cartographer and his teleporting abilities allow him to get into unmapped spaces without too much trouble. which is very useful since vos' topography does not lend itself well to scanning devices because of the unpredictability of the weather. the area is prone to sudden and very random tornadoes because of it's mountainous landscape and it's actually part of the reason why vosian cities are designed the way they are. they're built most commonly in the areas that avoid the paths of the tornadoes

once again this ask is getting out of hand so i'm going to cap it off on that

aaaaaa i can't believe it took me so long to get to this ask, this is literally the coolest thing ever. Though i might be biased because I have... well, not exactly a continuity, more like... it's flashes and, uh, images, in my head, barely headcanons, and they're not always nearly as pregnancy-based as i led everyone to believe. And in these barely-headcanons, i am a sucker for, first of all, the cybertronian "cities" being more akin to areas or states with more cities within, and second of all your idea of seeker communal society kind of reminds me of the way that the roman kingdom operated, and i looove to get inspired by rome for my cybertronian worldbuilding. mostly because rome was very fucked up and cybertron needs to be as well.

and yeah, the winglord thing, i do feel like it's possible that every city/state on cybertron would have a high ranking official that is technically "in charge" and vosnians simply call it a winglord, but it's not exclusive to them. sorry just the political arrangement of cybertron is so interesting to me, no.1 favourite thing to think about. it probably depends on the "area" but the official can be only religious in nature or fully tyrannical or anywhere in between. again, sorry, i have to stop thinking about this.

in love with your mind, i love communal fliers. i know people can get weird about seekers and trines but i love it when it's simply a cultural difference.

[sonic-fankid-showdown]

Poll 3, Round 1.

About Comet: (by @sonic-polis) He's 17, and he's a goofball with pounds of mental issues hidden behind a smile. Silver died when he was a little kid, and his relationship with Sonic is strained because Sonic was so depressed that Tails raised him more than Sonic did. He's naturally insanely powerful on account of being the child of two people with insane amounts of chaos energy (and a second unknown energy that fuels Silver and Comet's psychokinesis), so he has to wear two pairs of limiters on his wrists and a set on his ankles. Even with the limiters, he's always shimmering gold because he's constantly right on the urge of going super. He glows in the dark too! He loves flying, sewing and cooking, and while he's a little awkward around new people, he loves making friends! His best friends are my Knuxadow fankid, Wraith, and one of my Blazamy fankids, River. He's a disaster gay who's crushing on both of them. He has a hero chao named Meteor as well (I have yet to draw Meteor unfortunately). He spoils the everloving crap out of him. I don't have much actual story for him yet, but he's gonna be forced to step outside his comfort zone and step in as a hero when the adults are unable to fight.

About Sunny: (by @wereh0gz) Sunny is a chao that Sonic decided to raise on a whim. He grew very attached to them and became invested in seeing them become their best self, training them to be the greatest running chao of all. Shadow eventually helps out in raising them, spoiling them rotten whenever Sonic wasn't looking. Eventually, Sunny started to grow and evolve, and instead of gaining the traits of the critters Sonic and Shadow had them play with, they began to look more and more like their caretakers. They grew, and grew, and grew, eventually becoming not unlike a mobian child, perhaps due to Sonic and Shadow's love for them (and their strange Chaos Energy signatures causing them to mutate.) They tend to emulate their parents a lot (especially Sonic), as it's in their nature as a chao to mimic those around them. They're very innocent but have a bit of a mischievous streak. They are also a bit of a daredevil and love to throw themselves at danger whenever they get the chance. They're an excellent runner, almost as fast as their dads, and pretty good at flying, but are unfortunately an abysmal swimmer.

[joannasteez]

tanks of blood (6) - the trouble was always here - part two

pairing: biker!roman reigns , biker!cody rhodes (mentioned) warning: mentions of violence and explicit descriptions of blood. dialogue and descriptions pertaining to guns. roman talk to someone without being a jerk challenge. slight non-con moment but turns consensual quickly (its a kiss)! authors note: if ya'll ever watch sons of anarchy... you’ll know, im stealing little pieces of plot lmaooooooooo. imma give yall a spicy little flashback after this, i promise. will also attempt to not make the following chapters as long. just so that they remain relatively digestible. i'm working on being more precise with words. all the medical stuff in this chapter is half done research and my own brain. this chapter picks up where i left off in chapter 5. ALSO… if you want or dont want tags on this fic let me know! word count: 3k tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @thesamoanqueen @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @sortudademais @gg-trini @southerngirl41 @2-muchsauce

-wednesday night. the first week in june-

that marriage of ignorance and bliss did not last long. having to suffer as a lone soldier amidst silent dinner table battles. displeasured dispositions and their eyes performing like the greatly sharpened edge of well smithed daggers. and then came compromise, toiling through the thick of it to wave it's white flag. a surrender of a promise. your mother and fathers union holding as much sanctity as a soon to die vehicle's tank, holding its last dregs of oil but whose fuel gauge reads empty. running still, a quick speed into the darkness, wheels tired and the road too coarse to bare. an abrupt end of the engine as it slips against the asphalt at full speed. a collision terribly par for the course. their rings fettered to their fingers, pretty diamond but a prison, making forever impressions upon the skin. that marriage of ignorance and bliss did not last long. dying with the useless wear of wedding rings, and redeclaring itself with the overwear of leather kuttes. 

because there was more to the life than just that simple enthusiasm for motorcycles. your father transforming before the eyes. leather slipping over his shoulders, not so dissimilar to the tough metal, shrilly chime of chainmail. custom rings taking their homes over the marred skin of his knuckles. fingers worn and always just barely healed. scarred from one brutal splitting open after another. his eyes working to harden. the keys to his bike clutched in hand. 

"should i be worried?", your mother asking right on time. examining his pace. the work in and change over of his demeanor. 

and he never answered. never dignifying her question enough to speak to it. because then the trouble would be true, so much so that it would live, breathing well to make room in their home. no. KG, your father, only ever lingered by the door, a slip in of hesitation before he turned to kiss your mother gracefully. the small appearance of a forever ago passion. an i love you without the weight of words. and then he went, heavy steps leading out the door. 

so its almost second nature. those faithful coming together of words. cody slipping on his leather near the door. shoulders squaring as the material adjusts to his body. demeanor unsoftened. the ease of the words as they leave you filling your stomach with a burdening weight. memory working tedious and so terribly true. 

"cody, should i be worried?" 

he sighs. cold blue eyes hesitating enough to take the time to commit your face to memory. his palm warm as it cradles your cheek. kissing you firmly before he leaves. 

-early friday morning. first week in june-

there was, is, and will never be a time too early or too late for violence. for blood and that faithful nerve warp of adrenaline. and maybe that's why the hospital is so easy. old, early moments in your youth, piercing your fathers skin with a needle, sewing together split skin as he washed his tongue with the burn of his favorite liquor. a warmth in his belly till the pain from the prick of your fixing turned numb. a simple pressure in the skin there at his arm, turning inevitably, to pressure in his leg, a slit at his thigh from a brawl with which he gave no further information. bruises and gashes and deep cuts to him, more by the day, by the year. near quiet grunts and the emptiness of the house loud enough to swallow you both whole. cleaning his marred skin and bandaging the area's as best you could. the slow to ease push and pull of his breaths. his hands smelling like iron as he cradled your face, mouth kissing your forehead. "thank you", but a whisper, before falling into sleep. 

maybe that's why the hospital is so easy. the color of blood and caked earth, the silver of knuckle rings and the black of over worn leather more familiar than summer green trees. 

text message | cody r: in an emergency. need your help. 

it shouldn't come as a surprise, but the sudden rush takes you all the same. a deep plunge of the heart in your chest, something odd creeping beneath the skin and fevered steps. making to call cody quickly. a ring, and then a second, before he's answering. breaths labored some as he goes. "can't say much about it but it's medical. how soon can you get to the clubhouse?" 

you assess the long hallway. the trauma unit, quiet. a squeak in your sneakers that makes you cringe as you move to collect things. only minutes from the end of your shift. "uhm, in like twenty minutes". a series of grunts and yells that indicate the messiness of a situation he's all to willing to abruptly rope you into. "cody what's going on?"

he sighs. his patience a thinning thread. "what did i say before about becoming an accessory?" 

"you gotta give me something", you stress. continuing an awfully secretive journey to where you could gather some other helpful supplies. "i can't just show up not knowing what for". 

"think the worst". 

"that doesn't help-"

the call dropping on his end. the angst sticking to your skin making room for an easy to settle in frustration. like you were an early twenty something again. attempting too diligently to remedy that divorce of ignorance and bliss. a tedious washing away and stitching together, performing so well now that the pungent smell of iron threatens to stain your skin again. and here does the soldier pay the price for wielding a double edged sword. for pensacola was home, is home, and forever will be home, the desire to return running too wild beneath the skin not to act on it. but there are things here. vicious rumblings above sunburned asphalt and the bitter steeping of blood between the cracks. the dross and the dregs that stick so loyally to the air and the skin just after a brutish performance of chaos too commonplace to live without it.

trouble taking up permanent residence, riding in over the clouds and rolling in with the heat. 

and the clubhouse looks haunted amidst the beginnings of the friday summer sunrise. the dark colored build of it dreary against the beauty of the sky. the heat yet to reach its full potential but your scrubs and the exhaustion of a twelve hour shift do all too well of making you live with that thin sheen of sweat breaking over your cheeks. your car parked not too far from the clubs neat line of stationed bikes. true in how they've always done well to remind you of the clubs presence. after so long, living here and far away, that grimy power behind the roar of an engine, ever inescapable. 

the clubhouse doors swing open as you make to leave your car. a small bag of supplies in hand as you rush up. cody's hand slipping at the low end of your back to guide you in. a small "thank you", leaving him breathy as you make way to pass through the double doors of the "church". a room that never seems to lose its luster from the looks of it. the sanctity of their meetings as important as the shine of a new chrome fender finish. men and their worried eyes flitting over your entrance as you approach the church table. seth laid out face down, with his pants at his ankles. his skin wet with sweat and an awful paleness. bloody cloths surrounding him and randy's finger lodged in where all the blood could possibly be spewing from. a small metal tin cup resting in the corner, holding the whole of a bullet. 

dean taps seth's cheek. waking him up a little less than tenderly. "look alive sweetheart, the doctor is here to see you". 

"nurse", you correct, to which dean just winks. 

cody and a host of club members file out through the double doors much to your pleasure. 

initial shock of your current state of affairs rolling off your shoulders as you settle into the routine of caring for the wound. gloves slipping on before you're tossing the box to dean. his take up of them swift and unquestioning. because it was never unusual to spend a night—especially in their youth—caring for cuts and bruises and wounds, before turning to do the same for another. a task as regular as breathing air. 

seth groans. the drawl of it stressing the pain in his leg. "i don't know if you've noticed but i went to some extreme lengths to see you", he jokes. his little laugh coarse and overworked by the weariness of getting shot. 

you laugh. an attempt to break the over work of tension in the air. "what an interesting way of saying you love me seth". sliding up to stand next to randy. his demeanor as quiet now as it was during richie's funeral. 

you look to dean. "once randy removes his finger, you're gonna help me pack the wound, and then i want you to keep pressure on it till i'm ready to wrap it". 

"you know what you're doing?", randy asks. the dark color of his eyes disrupted with little slivers of worry. 

"no randy, i just wear the scrubs for fun". peering up at the hard set of his face. older now but his visage still holding that silent menace to it.  

"can we banter when seth isn't bleeding out by the pint?", dean asks. so obviously done with the whole situation. 

"on my three", you start. the both of them coming to a shared focus. "one...two...three". 

thick blood springs upward, randy's finger dislodging quick. dean rushes in with your guidance, packing the wound as instructed. your hand taking the reins of the procedure as you allow dean a moment of reprieve. the little levee of seth's composure rupturing as his body goes taut, his mouth loose and lax as he curses his fill into the shined up wood of the church table. groaning wearily as dean holds the pressure against his legs, randy lifting it casually, allowing you to wrap the middle of his leg with a fresh dressing. a dead silent relief settling the room then after, before you're moving again. running on the extra dose of adrenaline. 

you discard your gloves, peeling them off your fingers. picking through your bag to give dean a bottle of pills. "vancomycin, it's an antibiotic", you start. "give him two now and another two later tonight. keep going with that dosage for no less than a week". 

"our lovely little savior". dean's boots heavy as he closes the distance to kiss your forehead. "thank you. go get cleaned up". 

randy gives a quieter acknowledgement. a simple nod of appreciation that does you just fine. the double doors of the church room creaky as they swing with your exit. all the worried faces you'd met upon your arrival, taking up every inch of the clubhouse. their bodies drowsy and torn through by the chaos of an oh so terrible possibility.

your feet mindless as they walk down the infamous hallway gallery of framed photos. your last walk through of the area filled with a particularly horrible play of strife. twisting the knob of one of many of the little dormitory rooms to access it's bathroom. a deep breath releasing as you make to wash your hands, a slow thorough trail up over your arms to rid your skin of seth's soon to dry blood. your scrubs somewhat ruined and your shoes showcasing nasty little streaks of red. 

but it is only exhaustion that takes you so brazenly. a sleepy sinking feeling in the body and nothing else. hands used to providing all the remedy's it can. 

well maybe not nothing else. a fast to slip in weariness amidst the quiet. because he couldn't be too far away, lurking to siphon what he could again of the air about you in a means of suffocation. that faithful ability once upon a time, a favorite of yours for how sweetly it sought to consume you, now possessing a quality that unfurls something disdainful in your belly. a prick of a man seemingly beyond reproach, what with his positioning among all the others. surely it was never your simple exit making him this mountain of hubris, that streak of his character impossible to climb and overcome for the sake of reasoning with him. or even for the lesser sake of some cordiality. it was so obviously everything else—the grime and the chaos—giving the once duller edge of his pride a sharper corner. enough to will him into an endless keep of a grudge. 

heavy thudding steps strip you clean of wandering anymore into thought. it seems even thinking of the devil causes him to appear. his disposition reminiscent of some weeks ago. shoulders squared and seeming too tall for you now to bare without feeling small. and he says nothing, attempting to take his kutte off without the inconvenience of pain but he grunts regardless. grimacing as he rids himself of his shirt as well. 

a gash running against his naked arm, almost like it's purposefully found a heap of muscle to tear into. wanting to humble the strength of him. blood caked and running down tawny skin. 

"i got grazed". 

voice tired but oddly delicate. like the weariness of it is making him just that more fragile. 

you point to the bathroom, eyes never really having the courage to part from him. "sit over there". 

and your feet rush. tunnel visioned as they make to gather whats left of your little collection of supplies. fingers feeling less sure, and your body teeming with something akin to an unworkable angst. a realization long ago understood, and buried for the sake of a then wanted peace, unearthing itself to bring about a renewed sense of understanding. for he has always been the manifestation of this double edged sword. of home and of violence. wielding itself always but never one without the other. the slip of his skin over familiar in its warmth. doing your resolve the greatest amounts of violence as you clean his wound tenderly. the double edge of him piercing so well that you feel the damning effects. his eyes sharp, cutting over your face in a silent means to examine. like the appraisal of a curious stranger attempting to settle within themselves the validity of your existence. 

the soft tender pads of your fingers remember him well. gloves and all. slight throbs that liven the nerves. 

"you came straight from work", more like a statement than a question. 

"i did". 

he flinches. his arm flexing as he bares the pain. "thank you for being here", he gives. “for seth", like a thankfulness that includes him would hurt his pride too much to be made known. 

"i'm sure that took a lot to say", you joke. feeling light in your head. drained of the will to keep up a proper guard. "you’re welcome though". 

a hum of an acknowledgment is the only thing he gives you. and in an effort to savor the easy going nature of the moment you keep yourself occupied with dressing the wound splitting his skin open. your work of caring for it doing well enough that the bleeding has stopped. memory faithful as it nags, the wound of a forever ago accident pulsing to life about your hand. the scars there still, though faded, serving as a reminder of the former things. the heat of him, then, different as it sought to consume. brazen in how it dared to bring about affection. not like now, this flame threatening to flare, to show the lengths and widths of its destruction. 

you finish. gloves in the waste basket. making tedious work of washing your hands. to rid the skin of such an indicative sensation. 

his body does well in blocking the bathroom door. the whole of him bigger than the last time you saw him. scrutiny set some in his gaze. trailing over the ink that lays permanent at your neck. 

"you still have it"

"it's a tattoo". feigning nonchalance as you dry your hands. "you never really plan to get rid of them". 

he smiles mirthless. "well y'know, i figured a cover up, for you, would be worth the pain". 

as in, forgetting him would be worth the pain. which couldn't be more further from the truth. 

"and here i am doing a nice thing", laughing tired. "still gettin hit with the bitterness", a slow easy step that leads you closer to him. the own brazen make of your actions suffering you to fall into the scent of him. the note of it strong even as it lives amidst the pungency of blood. "you got some audacity too though, considering i could've half assed that clean up enough for a little infection to settle in". 

"but you didn't".

"and why do you think so?" 

creaks against the floor. the weird pitch of it roughing up against your bones. his body closer, forcing your back against the wall. his thumb reaching to graze against the ink tattoo at your neck. pulse thrumming harshly at the play of his touch. 

body outdone by history. 

and the way he holds you here, cradling your neck just at your nape. keeping you where he wants you to be. his eyes falling over slowly—at your nose and your cheeks and your lips—lingering as if he's gone down the path of a deep remembering. 

"for the same reason you still got the ink". 

unable to ever let yourself part with it, with the history staining your skin. the prick of a needle and the pain of it made simple for a full and the most earnest performance of devotion. your breaths shallow, overwhelmed by the thought and the domineer of him. 

his thumb running to sweep at your skin. hot with an intention you can't place. 

you make to warn him. “roman-”

but his tongue is quick, works with a faraway familiar passion as it curls between the soft seam of your lips. exhaustion and adrenaline, an effortful pair as they go about the task of stripping away your resolve. a return of this sudden fever of a feeling as your tongue makes to snake against his. lapping lazily, a mindless seduction as you fall into old ways. his throat groaning, surely taken by his own bout of reminiscence. nails racking dull over his naked skin, over the taut muscle at his belly. his palms cradling your face to deepen his kiss in spite of the pain. leaving you little room to breathe, his body fastening you harshly to the bathroom wall. making to suffocate you with the flick of his tongue and the fire of his touch. 

his teeth prick you mean, biting into the supple flesh of your lip. suckling the pain with the tender pull of his mouth. 

the harshness of it causing a whimper to break. instinct taking hold. subdued in an instant. 

and it is only when he breaks for breath that you remember where you are. pushing at his tired body enough for a full separation. 

you leave saying nothing. out of the bedroom, down the hallway and through the clubhouse doors. letting the silence of it speak for you. 

lol we might need a roman pov after this huh… smh

[evaslytherpuff]

Things That Go Bump In The Night

Dark! Sebastian x Dark!Ominis x f!OC

18+ MINORS, DO NOT READ!!!

!Forced Poly Relationship!

(Characters are all 20+ years of age!)

CW: Angst, memories of traumatic events, memories of violent events, smut, P in V sex, oral MIreceiving, 3some, blood kink!, Stockholm Syndrome

If any of the above warnings may be triggering PLEASE DO NOT CONTINUE READING!

Chapter 4

Vivian eventually found her way back to the opulent bedroom and was welcomed by the warmth and glow of the candlelight. Ominis was still sound asleep, his long toned limbs taking up the mattress, the only thing covering the lower half of his body was an emerald green sheet. She sat on the side of the bed and stared down at his serene face wondering what he may be dreaming about. Ominis was the only man she had met that could literally sleep anywhere. He would casually sleep in the halls at school, he would rest his head in her lap as she ran her fingers through his hair as he slept, he even passed out in her grandmother's tree unfortunately falling out of it where Sebastian had to catch him. She couldn't help but chuckle at that memory as she reached forward to brush his golden hair from his forehead. How could someone as beautiful as Ominis become so sinister? He looked so innocent and docile while he slept, his eyelashes resting on his high cheekbones, his breathing was soft and steady. Any witness would think this was just a loving and gentle moment between a man and his woman but Vivian was actually afraid of the being laid out before her. Who would she meet when he woke up, what side of him would she see? The side that was a hopeless romantic or the man who broke her wand without even thinking twice about it. She couldn't help herself and kept running her fingers through his hair, it was so soft as she smoothed it out. It felt as if she were in a trance and her eyes met his as they fluttered open. He looked up at her and almost seemed surprised to see her sitting on the edge of the bed. Then a smile that was so warm and welcoming spread across his delicate face.

"I want to wake up like this everyday." He said as he removed her hand from his head and began to kiss her fingertips. "Hello, Vivian." A look of pure joy formed on his gorgeous visage.

Without any notice or hesitation, he wrapped his arms around her torso and pulled her into bed with him, burying his face in her mess of curls. He shifted so she was slightly laying on him, her face against his smooth chest. He then grabbed her thigh to bring her leg up over his body.

"Stay in bed with me. I want to feel you close to me. I woke up a bit earlier and noticed you were gone, so I sent Sebastian to look for you. I heard what happened in the kitchen, here, let me see." He maneuvered her to look at her breast. His eyes grew heavy lidded for a slight moment before refocusing again.

"Look, all healed." He gently smiled.

"What?" She looked down at her chest and noticed that the bite Sebastian left on her had completely healed. "How's that possible?" She asked as her fingers brushed over where the wound used to be.

"Vampire blood has healing properties." Ominis said as he watched her examining herself. He licked his lips but shut his eyes and sighed heavily. Was he restraining himself?

"Is that... how you're able to see me?" She asked softly as she stared into his misty blue eyes.

He nodded. "Kristoff would force us to drink his blood regularly. The first time we fed, it healed any ailments that Sebastian and I had. Wounds, broken bones, including me being blind. When I opened my eyes and saw the world for the first time, I cried. I cried for hours because I was so ecstatic to see but heartbroken because all I saw was Sebastian and I locked away in a cell. When Kristoff's blood left my system, I was robbed of sight all over again. This continued to happen in a twisted cycle but Sebastian was there for me the entire time. I think it was entertaining to Kristoff to see this happening to me. He got a laugh out of it. I was plagued with headaches as soon as l couldn't see again then he would make us drink and I'd heal, it was just wave after wave of sight then blindness. Sebastian would beg the man to give me a break but he wouldn't, I was just a play thing to him." He said, staring off into space.

"You told me your mother did almost anything to heal your blindness, did she ever try vampire blood?" Vivian asked softly.

"No, it was something she wouldn't risk. If I was accidentally turned, I wouldn't be a pure-blood anymore, I would become a half-breed. My blood would be tainted and she wouldn't have that. So no, she never tried to use vampire blood," He said as his fingers began to trace up and down her spine. "Get comfortable with me, please. I want to hold you." He whispered as he pulled her close to him once more. She slid her leg around his and wrapped her arm over his chest. He pulled her into his side and continued to drag his long and delicate fingers along her back.

"Who changed my clothes, Ominis?" She asked, doing her best to not sound angry.

"I did. I was a gentleman, Vivian. I swear. I just wanted you to be more comfortable, yet still a vision of loveliness," He sighed against her. "Speaking of your clothes, we need to change you again, there's blood all over your robe." He said as he caressed the fabric.

He lifted her up in his arms and stood up from the bed. When did he become so strong? He picked her up as if she was light as a feather. She would have to get used to their vampiric traits and stop being so shocked when they displayed them. Ominis and Sebastian were not the same and it...hurt.

He set her down to stand in front of him and she placed her hands on his shoulders. He was only dressed in his underwear and she couldn't stop taking in his beautiful form.

"Ominis? In order to be turned...you had to—you had to die, didn't you?" There was a lump in her throat and she could feel tears prick at the corners of her eyes.

"Yes, we did." He said simply as he reached up to wipe her tears away. She took a moment to register that information. Her best friends, her lovers, could have actually died. What if the blood didn't work? What if their bodies rejected the change? She could have lost both of them and the ministry would have been absolutely right to pronounce them as dead. Ominis pulled her in for a tight hug as she sobbed into his chest.

"I know, Sweetheart. I know." He softly shushed her as he ran his fingers through her hair.

"I could have lost you both." Her voice was muffled against his skin.

"But you didn't, we're here with you, Vivian. You have us back and we don't plan on going anywhere. We are both so sorry for how we handled things back at your cabin. We just...we need you. We want you, desperately. Please try to understand. We love you with every fiber of our being. I've loved you ever since I heard you play the piano. Do you remember that day?" He asked.

She nodded against him. "You said it was as if my music was made for you. It was, I thought of you whenever my fingers would touch those keys. My songs were always dedicated to you and Sebastian." He shifted so he could clasp her chin between his fingers and tilt her face up to look at him.

"I knew I loved you from that moment on. I could listen to you play forever. I was so mesmerized by you. I still am." He said, his face moving closer to hers. He had her under a spell. It had to be, his aura was so powerful, she felt it in her very core. His presence was consuming, enveloping her in this ethereal warm feeling. He closed the distance between them, pulling her in for a crushing embrace, as his lips found hers. The kiss was gentle at first then slowly became a heated exchange of tongues and panting. He tasted so sweet it was intoxicating. His hands flew to her robe, frantically untying the knot, it cascaded down her shoulders as it fell to the floor. He stepped back with a growl to fully take in her naked body.

"Rotate for me. I want to see all of you." He said as he was trying to catch his breath. She slowly turned for him, nervously playing with the ends of her hair as she felt his eyes on her back. When she faced him again his eyes had flooded black, just like they did at her house. His look was dark and hungry as he locked his gaze on her pulse. In a flash he was on her again, his one arm wrapped around her waist, the other tilted her head to the side as he exposed her neck.

"Ominis, wait. What are you doing?" Her heart began to pound as she felt his breath glide over her skin, sending shivers down her spine.

"Sebastian got a taste, will you share with me as well?" He flicked his tongue across her skin and shut his eyes in sensual bliss. "Merlin, just your scent alone is mouth watering." He brushed his lips so deftly over her pulse it made her gasp.

"Yes." She blurted out without truly thinking about her answer. Ominis groaned, clutching her closer to his body, as he sank his fangs into her neck. She moaned loudly as he began to drink deeply from her, growling against her as his hands roamed all over her exposed body. Her entire being was wracked with a wicked tingling sensation. Is this what he was feeling? Was it her blood or her very being that caused this? He sucked on her neck even harder making her cry out as she dug her nails into his back feeling like she was holding on for dear life.

"Ominis! Too much!" She groaned as her body started to slump against his. He released his bite to lift her up and she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist. She knew that if she let him go, she would collapse onto the floor. He held her up against him, his arms wrapped tightly around her, he palmed the back of her head making her look directly in his eyes.

"I'm taking you to bed. I need you now, forget being a gentleman, forget taking my time. I want my girlfriend back." He was just a blur as he ran over to the bed, their bodies crashing down on the plush mattress. It was as if he had more limbs than she could possibly count, his hands were everywhere, grabbing and groping at her excitedly.

"This is everything. I'm truly seeing you for the first time and I'm just—I'm speechless." His eyes landed on hers and his were misty with tears. "I hated how we ended things. I didn't want to, if I'm being honest, we just didn't want to make you choose between us so we backed off. You have no idea how I longed for you though. I missed you, I missed your very presence being in my life, I couldn't settle with just being your friend. You were always on my mind and in my dreams. I never stopped loving you, never." His tears began to fall and splash on her exposed chest.

She cradled his head against her body and his fingers dug into her sides. He hugged onto her as if she would suddenly become smoke, drifting through his fingers and fading away. Everything was so confusing for her, she wanted to stay, she wanted to go, she was absolutely torn but...why couldn't she have this moment with him?

He sniffled as she ran her thumb along his cheekbones and wiped away his tears. He peered up at her with this primal look in his eyes as he shifted to fully lay over her, his hips wedged between her legs. His black eyes seemed to promise dark and wicked fantasies and a part of her wanted to give him what he craved so badly. A small voice in the back of her mind grew louder and louder as he gazed at her. Just let go, it whispered, let go and give in to him. At that exact moment, Vivian...did.

She wrapped her arms around his neck as he leaned down to kiss along her jaw then descended his lips to her neck. She sighed and her back arched slightly as he sucked and licked at her damp skin, leaving marks behind every kiss. His mouth left her body only to make its way to hers. His lips slanted over hers as their tongues danced around one another. He groaned into their kiss as his fingers brushed along her collarbone before descending to her breasts. He palmed and cupped her flesh as his other hand clasped around the back of her neck to hold her in place as he deepened their kiss. He teased and toyed with her sensitive nipple, pinching it between his nimble fingers. She whimpered into his mouth and he smiled against her lips. He pulled away from her mouth only to lightly trace his lips from her neck down to her other breast. He flicked his tongue against the tight peak making her gasp while he chuckled against her. He kept flicking his tongue against her hard nipple while his fingers played with the other one. She groaned and couldn't help running her fingers through his hair, holding his head against her chest. He opened his mouth ever so slightly to suck on her aching peak. He had her head in a daze as he switched to lick and suck on her other breast.

"Ominis! I need—I need more. Please." She was panting, begging for him to just take her. He eased away from her and a huge smile graced his beautiful face.

"You want more of me, sweetheart?" His voice was so lulling and sultry.

"Yes, please, Omi." She used the nickname that he used to love and he kissed her gently on the forehead before his hand began to glide down her torso, stopping just above her aching bundle of nerves. She could feel how sopping wet she was for him as her juices ran down to soak the bed sheets. He was taking his time, enjoying the fact that he was teasing her, leaving her a wriggling mess beneath him. His fingers ghosted over her folds and she moaned loudly before her hand flew to her mouth, embarrassed by her reaction. Ominis seemed to love it and did the same light motion a few more times before removing her hand from her face.

"No, I want to hear you. Every sigh, every whimper and moan, I need to hear it all." He said as his eyes focused between her trembling legs.

She couldn't take this anymore and snatched at his wrist, forcing him to touch her soaked entrance. He growled and began to palm her swollen bud as his cock twitched in his drawers. Her head tossed from side to side as she licked her lips, thrusting her hips into his hand. He slowly inserted his middle finger into her core making her cry out his name. Damn did she miss this, she missed them both so much and decided she was going to enjoy every second of this. Her legs were literally quivering as he began to thrust his finger in and out of her dripping heat.

"Fuck, you're so wet and ready for me, Darling. Will you be good to me, Vivian? Will you be my good girl?" He asked as he pumped his finger even harder inside her.

"Yes! I'll do anything!" She whined as he withdrew his finger with a sloppy wet sound. She watched as he sucked her slick from his fingers, his eyes closing in ecstasy, savoring her taste on his tongue.

"Merlin, Vivian, you taste so fucking good, but I'll save that for another night, right now, I just need to fuck you. I need to be inside you. Are you ready for me?" He asked as he slid his drawers off and tossed them across the room. Her eyes grew wide when she viewed his cock. Everything about it was absolutely perfect to his length, his girth, the beautiful vein that ran from his tip to his base. Everything about this man was simply stunning. She lifted her hands to pull his face to hers, pressing a searing kiss to his luscious lips.

"I'm ready for you, Love." She whispered against his mouth.

He pulled away to look down at their connected bodies as he gripped his shaft, aiming the tip at her glistening entrance. He rubbed the pink and swollen head along her folds, spreading her wetness so it would be easier to slide into her. She ran her hands up his chest and wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he began to press into her. He moaned with panting breaths as he fell deeper into her, inch by agonizing inch. He gripped her hip with one hand as he hoisted himself up above her with the other.

"Oh, Vivian! You're so fucking tight!" He huffed as he pushed deeper into her. She was panting under him, desperately wanting more from him, this was too slow and careful. She wrapped her legs around his waist, tightening them to yank him into her. They both cried out as he bottomed out in her soaking hole. The full feeling was entirely welcomed and she leaned up to kiss his strained neck.

"Don't hold back, Ominis. Please, I'm not some delicate flower." She smiled up at him as she moved her hips along his length, spreading her juices along his thick shaft. He hissed in a breath as the sensation rippled through his sweaty body.

"Alright, sweetie, you asked for it." He grinned as he rose onto his knees. He positioned himself where her thighs were wrapped around him and he could hold her hips firmly under his dexterous fingers. He stared down at her with those intoxicating black eyes as Sebastian burst into the room.

"Aww. You two started without me? Even after I've made breakfast." He whined as he set a tray of food down on a nearby table. She could feel Ominis jerk inside her heat as he did his best not to buck into her.

"Then get over here and help me love her thoroughly." Ominis grinned wickedly.

"You don't have to tell me twice." Sebastian smirked as he tore off his pants and underwear.

She watched in complete fascination as his muscular frame stalked around the bed, his mouth watering penis growing harder and harder with each step. He stood at the edge of the bed above her head and locked his gaze with hers. She stared as they turned black like Ominis’, the pupils seemed to bleed ink, spreading across his heavy lidded eyes. Their pitch black glares should have frightened her but oddly enough there was something about them that was so enticing and forbidden.

Sebastian reached down to place his hands under her arms and slid her to the edge of the bed so her head was slightly hanging over it. Ominis whimpered at the loss of her body but quickly crawled back over to her and wedged himself between her legs as he watched Sebastian work above her.

"Tilt your head back, Vivian. I'm going to fuck your throat, Darling. Do you think you can handle that?" His husky voice was enough to make her core clench, missing the feeling of Ominis' cock buried deep within her.

"For you, I'll try, I need to taste you." She licked her lips as his manhood hovered near her mouth.

"If it's too much, reach up and dig your nails into me three times, do you understand?" His demanding tone had her growing wet all over again, she could feel it running down between her cheeks. Ominis must have noticed because he swiped a finger out to catch some and suck it into his mouth, moaning at her taste.

"Do it, Sebastian. I need to see you inside her tantalizing mouth." Ominis hissed as he began to pump his hand up and down his length getting ready to enter her again.

"You need to breathe in between each of my thrusts alright, Viv." Sebastian stared down at her, his chest was heaving in anticipation.

"Yes. I just need you. Both of you. Please." She begged.

The men nodded in agreement as Sebastian wrapped his hands around the back of her neck, his thumbs caressing her throat possessively but still held a gentleness to them. The bed was just high enough for her face to be leveled with his waist as she opened her mouth to allow him to feed his cock to her. He groaned as she worked her tongue around his tip.

Ominis was tracing his fingers up and down the inside of her thighs which made her shiver and moan against Sebastian. He then pressed his palms into them, spreading them wide for him. She couldn't see what he was doing but she felt him breach her once more. This time he pushed himself inside so deeply his hips connected with hers. Sebastian began to pump in and out of her mouth very slowly, making sure she was comfortable the entire time.

"Breathe in with every thrust, Sweetheart. Yes!That's it, fuck, your mouth feels so damned good!" He growled as his crown slid further into her throat. Ominis began to thrust harder and faster, her whimpers and sounds of pleasure being drowned out by Sebastian bucking even deeper into her throat. The intrusion was a bit shocking but she did as she was told and breathed in when he thrusted in hard and out when he withdrew his hips.

"I can fucking feel my cock down your throat as I hold you! You're doing so good, Vivian! Such a good girl.” He was panting wildly as he reached for Ominis with one hand, still clasping her neck with the other. Ominis was pounding into her, gripping her hips so tightly, his nails dug into her skin. He leaned into Sebastian's touch as the two of them moved closer to kiss one another above her writhing body. The two of them were just railing her and she was enjoying every second of it. Sebastian deep in her throat, Ominis thrusting frantically inside her. They were pushing her over the edge, driving her insane, she was gripping the sheets so hard that she thought she would tear them.

"I'm loving this, you look amazing fucking her pretty mouth!" Ominis moaned.

Sebastian reached down to grab her hand and bring it up to his lips. He kissed her fingertips, her palm, and stopped at her wrist. Ominis lifted the other hand and did the same. She knew what was coming and groaned on her freckled lover as their fangs pierced her skin. They drank from her in unison, fucking her into submission, her core was clenching even tighter around Ominis' hard length. She was moaning so loudly around Sebastian that she knew he had to feel it vibrating through him. Her legs began to quake around Ominis as he found that sensitive spot within her that drove her wild. Sebastian released her wrist and groaned powerfully through gritted teeth as he reached his climax, shooting his load straight down her throat. He shuddered over her for a moment before he slowly withdrew from her mouth and she swallowed him down. He sagged down to the floor to sit beside her head. He smiled widely at her as he started to stroke her hair and leave kisses all over her face.

She was panting lustily as Ominis removed her wrist from his mouth and leaned forward to press his chest to hers as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He gripped the end of the bed on either side of her head as he began to pound into her, grinding his hips against hers, filling the room with the sound of their skin slapping together.

"Look at him, watch him fuck you, sweetheart. Isn't he magnificent?" Sebastian whispered in her ear as Ominis continued to rail her.

"Yes! Omi, just like that, l'm so close!" She cried out as she reached up to hold onto his shoulders.

"Me too!" He moaned against her chest. With one long and harsh thrust, he bottomed out inside her, painting her walls with his seed. His growls echoed throughout the room as he started to come down from their high. He collapsed against her and buried his face in her neck. The three of them stayed in that moment for a bit before Ominis rolled off of her and Sebastian climbed on the bed. He lifted her up to lay beside him as Ominis hugged his large form from behind. Sebastian cupped her face in his hands and caressed her cheek.

"You were so amazing, Vivian. How are you feeling? Are you alright?" He asked as he gently kissed her.

"We didn't hurt you, did we?" Ominis asked as he leaned over Sebastian's shoulder.

"No, you guys didn't hurt me, my neck is a little sore but other than that I feel great." She smiled at her boys.

"So... have you decided to stay?" Sebastian asked, his big brown eyes pleading with her.

"I um. I love what we just shared with one another, I do, I just feel like...there is something you guys aren't telling me. It's this nagging feeling, it's hard to explain." She sighed.

"We just want to be happy with you, Vivian. You can't say you haven't missed this, that you don't want this." Ominis said as he reached to hold her hand in his.

"I hope I don't regret this but...l'll stay. Because I do love you both so much and I have missed you two to the point where it pained me. I'm just—I'm trying to trust you guys." She wiped a little blood off of Sebastian's lip and moved her hand over to brush Ominis hair away from his face.

"You can trust us, Sweetheart." Sebastian smiled at her and moved to get off the bed. He stood and held his hands out for her and Ominis to take them. Once their fingers were entwined, the two men led her down the hall and to a door that was on the right, Ominis opened it to reveal a spacious bathroom.

He crossed over to the tub after releasing Sebastian's hand and began to run the water. He grabbed a vial of soap on a nearby shelf and uncorked the small bottle then poured the contents into the bathtub. She watched as fragrant bubbles started to form in the water. Ominis tested the water to make sure it was warm enough then entered the tub and motioned for her to come to him which she did with a small smile. She climbed in and sat on his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist, Sebastian stepped in after her and pressed his chest to her back as his legs were outstretched alongside Ominis.

"I want to try something. Do you trust me?" Ominis asked as he grabbed a rag hung over the side of the tub. She nodded and watched as he bit his own wrist, holding it out to her. "Drink, Darling." He said softly. She wrapped her fingers around his forearm with one hand and delicately placed her other hand in his to hold him in place. She brought her lips to the open wound before closing them around him to lap at the dripping holes. His eyes closed and he sighed as his head fell back. Did this feel good to him? Did it possibly turn him on? She wondered.

His blood was a bit sweeter than Sebastian's but still held that metallic tang to it. It was warm and soothing as it ran down her throat. She moved her mouth away from his wrist as Sebastian turned her head to the side to kiss her, licking Ominis' blood from her lips. His tongue entwined with hers as the beautiful blond watched his two lovers make out.

Sebastian broke away from the kiss and Ominis took his turn of having her face him and press his lips to hers. They each took turns kissing one another and her heart would pound every time she saw the two men enjoying one another's mouths. The moment wasn't entirely sexual, it was more intimate than anything, the three of them just exchanging their love for each other.

Sebastian rubbed her shoulders and neck, working out all the kinks and soreness in her muscles. Ominis took his time washing her and removing all the dried blood from her body. They were pampering her and it felt absolutely wonderful. After a thorough massage and cleansing, they escorted her back to the bedroom. Sebastian sprawled out on the large mattress with his hands folded behind his head, still choosing to be naked. Ominis walked over to a large armoire and started to root through it, picking something else out for her to wear. She looked down at the beautiful breakfast Sebastian had prepared for her which was now cold after sitting for so long.

"We're sorry about your meal, Love. I'll head back to the kitchen in a moment to make you something even better." Sebastian grinned at her.

"That's alright, just warm it back up using magic. I know how much you love to cast spells dealing with fire, Seb." She giggled but her joke was met with solemn expressions from both men.

"What? Why are the two of you looking at me like that?" She asked, looking at the both of them with concern.

"Vivian, um. We can't exactly use magic anymore." Sebastian said sadly.

"You—You can't use magic? Why?" She was shocked by this news.

"We think it has something to do with us being vampires." Ominis sighed as he walked over to her with a shimmery red nightdress. She lifted her arms above her head so he could slide the silk down her body, smoothing it into place. He then picked up his underwear and put them back on before joining Sebastian on the bed.

"It started gradually, our spells became weaker over time, then we weren't able to cast at all." Sebastian looked like he was holding back tears. Magic was so important to the both of them, this had to be devastating and very frustrating to deal with. Ominis wrapped his arm over Seb's torso and draped his leg over his thighs. Sebastian pulled him in close and planted a delicate kiss on his forehead. Ominis crooked a finger, beckoning her to join them. She crawled onto the bed and laid on the other side of Sebastian's warm body. He wrapped his muscled arm around her waist and held her tightly as she rested her head on his broad chest. She placed her leg near Ominis' and he started to drag his fingers up and down her thigh to relax her. Her eyes were getting heavy as Sebastian played with the silk of her dress.

"What are the two of you going to do?" She asked, feeling an ache in her chest. She couldn't even imagine what it must feel like to lose such an important part of herself. Magic was their very core, her heart was shattered knowing that this part of them was just...gone.

"I honestly don"t know...but I'm hoping to figure something out. Get some rest, we don't need to worry about this right now." Sebastian said as he leaned his head down to kiss her tenderly. He turned to Ominis and placed one on his forehead again, the golden haired man was already half asleep. She leaned forward to kiss his cheek and he smiled sleepily at her.

This felt so right and perfect as the three of them fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms. They were a tangled heap of happiness and her heart felt full after being away from them for so long. She was still a little guarded but chose to trust them, letting them back into her life, allowing them to love her again. She just hoped and prayed that she wouldn't be hurt once more.

Tag list: @littletealight @somethingiswrongwithme @wynterjai @dangerousdreamkitty @myrachondria @connorsoddsock @hotcinnam0nspicy @localravenclaw @froggyinaspen @underthenightskydreamsneverdie @moongurl95 @that-supernatural-world @pity-those-who-live-without-love @sevprince-91 Thank you all & If you would like to be tagged, just let me know. If I have missed anyone in the tag list, please comment & let me know.🙏🏽❤️

🩸Chapter 5🩸

[sokovianfortune]

hello . i would like to talk about my own sexuality/relationship headcanons for the wbn trio since it’s a topic of conversation today :3

jack and elsa are both bisexual. this is a semi-recent discovery for both of them, given that most of elsa’s sexual partners have been women and most of jack’s sexual and romantic partners have been men. had they been asked about their sexualities pre-special, they’d both probably identify themselves as some flavor of gay (here meaning same-sex attracted, rather than an umbrella term like queer!). there is a reason why i have referred to the two of them running into each other in the maze as The Bisexual Jumpscare.

jack is also asexual! he’s not particularly sex-repulsed, he just largely views sex as a bonding activity and a way to make his partner feel good/express romantic love. this is fine by ted because uhh. i mean. let’s all be honest with ourselves here, it is very doubtful that my man has a libido anymore or the hardware to make it happen.

on the other end of the spectrum, you have elsa who only rarely indulged in sex as a way to scratch the human need itch. most of her past partners were one-night stands and she never stuck around for long, either way. but, once she and jack got together, her libido went fucking haywire and now she’s constantly (willingly!) dragging him into ulysses’s old bed chambers. good for her. good for them.

ted only the other hand is Gay gay. he did have a wife pre-transformation as per comics canon but, at the time they were married, he hadn’t really realized or even explored that particular facet of himself. workaholic scientist, yknow. he was operating under the typical “oh i guess i have to get married now because that’s what people Of My Age do.” there also might have been some period-accurate comphet involved, depending on how old he actually is.

ironically and perhaps to metatextually lean into monsters being queer-coded, becoming what he is now, while obviously a traumatic experience at the time, eventually allowed ted the freedom to explore this facet of himself and become comfortable with it.

jack and ted call each other husbands. they are not legally married. it just kind of started as a bit one day and it stuck. at what point did it stop being a bit? they don’t know and have not addressed it. jack would love to wear a ring regardless but he’s very worried about accidentally severing a finger if he forgets to take it off before the full moon.

on the hand, if anyone refers to jack as anything less neutral than elsa’s partner, she Will start gagging. she is forty one years old, she is nobody’s fucking girlfriend. wife is also off the table. she’d get married for practical tax reasons or something maybe but it would have to just be signing a paper in a courthouse with one (1) witness. an actual wedding ceremony (having to bear her stupid soft feelings in front of everyone she knows!!!) would be akin to a particularly humiliating trip through the nine circles of hell for her.

i call them the people’s polycule but they’re really more like a poly v with jack as the midpoint. ted and elsa are decidedly not romantically interested in each other at all but they Are besties united by their love for their beloved little bow wow. i know we have confirmation of the “she’s not into dogs” line but my headcanon is and always will be that the thing ted says to jack to make him laugh at the end is only kind of a joke about being willing to try opening things up if he wanted to.

(jack immediately dismissed this as A Joke and that was when ted knew he was in for a whole lot of yearning. god help him.)

[polyamorousmood]

Hi! So like I'm fairly new to polyamory and I'm starting to think it might be an umbrella term for a range of different attraction dynamic types as opposed to people treating it differently purely by choice. I mean like yeah it of course covers lots of types of relationship, but do you feel thank lots of poly people have an innate preference for a certain dynamic that is their comfort zone or naturally best state and other types of dynamic might be harder the same way that monogamy is hard? I reckon it might go some way in explaining how people can be certain they're poly but then get intense displacement or envy or jealousy in certain contexts. and those contexts often conflict with what other poly people say is best and normal due to their own feelings. ie: some people need hierarchy but others need total equality, some people need anarchy but others need clearly defined rules, some people love a V or N but others need a triad, some people need kitchen table and closeness between metas and others need separation and distance or even DADT

starting to think my sense of stability in my relationship is sort of ruled by some of these dichotomies and I'm interested in whether that's a learned behaviour I can work on or if other poly people have a sense that some things are just the right way for them too. thanks!

Its kinda both imho. It is something many people feel innately, but that doesn't mean you can't work on it if you want to.

What'd you expect? A clear answer about polyamory? HAHAHA (if you thought you'd get that, that's only more proof how green you are, see. There's no one answer to anything here. That's the joke here. That's it.)

Anyway.

A lot of people are comforted by hierarchical things: they know where they stand in a relationship, and the clear definitions limit ambiguity. That can simplify things for many people. On the other side, something more relationship anarchy may feel fairer and less ruled by rules for the people that appreciate that dynamic. So on and so forth for any of the other examples you gave.

But the truth is, they're not dichotomy. Most people exist somewhere on a spectrum🤷. Keeping our example of hierarchical vs anarchistic relationships: maybe there's not formally a hierarchy, but functionally you have one partner you live with and therefore spend more time with? What if you want an egalitarian relationship eventually, but in the meantime you do prioritize the partner you've been with 4 years over the one you've been with 3 months because it kind of makes sense you'd have more faith in the much longer relationship? Real life complicates😵‍💫 these theoreticals. And once again, that's the case for any dynamic or structure. You're kitchen table until the polycule starts sprawling and your partner's partner's partner's partner lives an hour away and can't be bothered to meet all 20 of you. Etc etc etc. I could give 100 examples, but this is going to be long enough as is.

So with everything existing on a spectrum, and real life so often mucking up our theoreticals, it must be the case that we can adjust to these changes, at least somewhat, even when we feel strongly about a certain situation being what works best for us.

The first and most important step in that is to respect your partners. Listen to their needs, share your own, engage in good faith. The fundamentals. I admit, its hard for me to describe how to go about changing these things, because it is so fundamental to me that someone would compromise for the ones they love. What I can say for certain, is that in my life, what I have found works best is to treat relationship dynamics as a negotiation rather than as hard rules.

Let me give an example from my life. Being kitchen table🍽️ is my innately strongly preferred dynamic. The partner I currently live with and I started our relationship with the understanding we would be poly and kitchen table. It was (and is!) perfect👌. However, I got a metamour that initially thought kitchen table would work well, but later realized parts of that were deeply uncomfortable for them. By the standards we set years ago, I think I would have been within rights to say 🗣️"no, I need this, that's what we agreed on" but that's not what I wanted to do, so we started a negotiation instead. I told my partner how much I was confident I could stretch, and what I was willing to try but wasn't sure whether I could keep up or not. I told my partner what other things they could do to help me get the feeling I wanted without my metamour having to capitulate to things that made them feel really bad😣.

What we wound up settling on, for the remainder of the relationship, was that my live-in partner would keep me updated on that relationship as much as possible without getting into personal details the metamour didn't want shared. The metamour and I would only be in the same room together once a month 📅(even when they were hanging out at our house). And this felt a little strained, it was awkward at times, but that was okay. It was still workable, everyone involved put up with mild uncomfortable feelings but not severe ones. I grew🌱🌷 because of that metamour! I like to think they grew because of me. I am now more flexible in what feels okay to me, because I was willing to make other people I cared about more comfortable.

I don't know how helpful that is to you. You gotta just kinda fucking do it to some degree. You'll have to be willing to suck up some stuff in the interest of fairness. You'll have to be willing to do the therapy things to get over feelings that are a little out of line, and not do something just because your insecurity is asking it of you. You'll have to work with your partners to find other ways to get what you need out of a relationship.

So. To sum up. Yeah, I think most poly have a specific ideal relationship dynamic, and they compromise as needed in the same way anyone would with any relationship.

[sirthisisa-wendys]

I AM BITING MY FIST AND SCREAM ABOUT HAND HER OVER II. WE NEED PT2🤲🏻🤲🏻🤲🏻

Let's say what happened after pt - since Koko has money & connections, Inupi & his wife were able to escape safely (or maybe not)

Omi's relationship with his wife crashed really bad after what happend. As a big bro,he always took care & protected who was younger - so he felt very ashamed and guilty that he wasn't able to protect his little wife. He know deep inside that what his wife said wasn't true,she didn't blame him but feel that she doesn't deserve so caring and attentive husband and cries a lot. So he do what he should - make sure she know that he madly in love with her and his number one priority

Well, about Mochi. I am afraid of my imagination, so leave it to yours

I think I'm going to leave Mochi's as is! It seems pretty obvious what happens, no thanks to Sanzu.

Hand Her Over II Part 2: Hajime Kokonoi/Takeomi Akashi x Fem!Reader

Hand Her Over Megapost

wc: 2.1k

tw: angst, Koko is in a poly relationship with Inupi and reader, Inupi is the "hinge" in the V, angst, fluff, angst

masterlist

Hajime Kokonoi

Inupi sits on the couch, furious.

"It's gone too far," he breathes, holding you close. "Mikey's gone too far."

"I know," Kokonoi echoes, looking down at his feet. He can't be on the other side of the room with his lover. He can't even support the two of you like he wants to. It's a shame; he's not sure how things got this bad, but...

"Listen," you add, sitting up straight. "If Mikey can't control himself, we might be in more danger than we originally thought. I'm not sure we can run forever."

"We could," Inupi murmurs, looking over at you with a sad stare. "But it would cost us."

Kokonoi sighs. He shifts his head onto his hands and tries to think. Where did Mikey stop, and where did the real world begin?

"America." Inupi and you inhale sharply. "I have contacts in America that will help for the right price." Koko stands and twists his long hair around his hand briefly. A bad habit he has to get rid of eventually. "I'll send you both that way and then ensure your tracks are covered."

"You're not coming with us?" The question makes Kokonoi flinch. He could never travel with either of you without Mikey knowing. There was too much hinging on his importance to Bonten. Which is why he can't tag along.

"No," he finally admits. "I... I won't be able to go with you." You burst into tears. Kokonoi's heart wrenches in two; he loves you. He really does. And he loves Inupi. But there's no way that he can go with you two without putting you in danger.

"I'll make sure you two won't have to lift a finger while we're apart." Inupi pulls you into his chest, where you sob. "And..."

"Koko," Inupi breathes. "You don't have to stay."

"I do," he repeats, standing firm. "I'll stay behind to make sure the both of you have the best chance at staying alive and safe." Your tears don't stop, not even when Koko presses a kiss to your forehead and wipes them from your eyes with gentle thumbs. "Take care of Inupi."

You clutch him even closer, and that in itself is a comfort to him. He's felt loved before, but your reluctance to let him go makes him feel adored. "Inupi, take care of her."

"I'm giving you a month to come get us." Inupi stands just a foot away, but it couldn't be any further. Koko already feels the distance in his heart. And it's a raw ache, the type he knows he might never recover from in this lifetime. Inupi joins in, hugging Koko tightly and inhaling his scent one last time.

"Don't forget about us."

"Impossible," Koko laughs, though his eyes prick with tears. "I would never forget about my favorite people in the entire world."

Kokonoi wouldn't be a good partner if he didn't see you two off at the airport. He holds your passports with an iron grip, praying you two would turn around and stay and fight with him. But when he hands them over, Kokonoi understands he's to face his fines creation - Bonten - on his own.

"Call me when you make it," Koko murmurs, adjusting Inupi's scarf and your jacket. "I'll be waiting by the phone."

"Get some rest," you urge him, touching his cheek gently. The ring on your finger will stay there; it's still a symbol of the promise Koko made to your family to provide for you and keep you safe.

"And don't linger by the window," Inupi adds, his own hand sporting a golden band - from Koko, but to anyone outside of the three of them, it'd look like they were a married couple. Koko nods.

"Your flight will be leaving soon." Inupi ushers you away, and Koko watches wistfully, touching his own fake passport in his pocket. I could still go with them. Kokonoi looks at the ticket counter, eyeing the various people clicking away at the keyboards and weighing baggage.

"Wait," Koko whispers, looking back at your retreating figures. "Wait!" You hear him first, turning around to stare at him hopefully. Koko hurries up to the two of you, his hands shaking and his mouth forming soundless words. Inupi frowns as Koko stands in front of you both, his eyes trying to drink their fill of the couple.

"D-don't..." Kokonoi isn't sure if he can say it. "Don't..." You both stand there expectantly, and Koko can see the desire in your eyes. You want him to go with you. And maybe...

"Don't--" Koko's phone begins to buzz angrily. He stops, sucking in a harsh breath. "Don't forget about the time change." Your shoulders slump. Inupi grunts. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone, seeing the name scroll across the top. Your teary hiccup is the last thing you muster before pulling free from Inupi and walking toward security. Inupi, ever the cynic, exhales and turns around, but not before muttering,

"You'll always choose him, won't you?"

When Koko picks up the call, Inupi turns away, scrubbing the tears from his eyes.

Takeomi Akashi

It's not like Takeomi to come home drunk in the middle of the day. But he staggers over the threshold, holding himself up by a thread. He hadn't been this bad since Shin died, and yet--

Something shatters when he opens the door, and Takeomi swears. When he looks behind the wooden frame, he sees a little project of yours lying on the floor in a million pieces. Whatever it had been, it's destroyed beyond repair.

"I'll... I'll... fix it," Takeomi mutters, closing the door behind him and gripping the wall for the strength to stand up.

"Not again." An exasperated sigh comes from the kitchen, and Takeomi slides down the wall, trying to take his shoes off. "I'm caring for you every day," you gripe, stomping to meet him in the foyer. "You're a lazy, drunk old man."

Takeomi burps, forgetting his efforts to untie his shoes and leaving them on as he sprawls on the floor. You approach him, face set in a grim line.

"Shoes," he slurs, pointing at his feet. "Can't get 'em off." You silently fume, but your fingers pluck at his laces, untying and undoing all of the work he'd done on them before.

"You come in drunk every day," you hiss angrily. "I have to... clean up after you, and for what?"

"Thanks," Takeomi whispers slowly, feeling your hands tug his shoes off. "Thanks, beh-beh. Shoes were really tight. Hurt." You stoop low and pull him up off the floor - your strength never ceases to amaze him - and he stumbles along with you to the bedroom. He hiccups a few times as he drags his feet, but Takeomi's mind is working at a mile a minute. It's his body that isn't responding properly.

"Y'know," he begins, wiping his mouth. "I could... we should do that thing people do when they're... together." You slide him onto the bed without responding, your eyes averted from his face. "We could... should... watch some TV and trash talk... shitty people."

"No TV," you murmur, taking off his tie and tossing it aside. "You need to watch TV like you need another hole in your head."

Takeomi laughs, pointing at each hole - two ears, one mouth, two nostrils... he has five already! "Maybe I need an extra one to round it out," he replies, leaning back on the bed and sighing. "Could use another one for all of these thoughts." You don't reply again, shifting him onto the bed fully and covering him with the sheets.

"Sleep it off," you command Omi, and he obeys, pretending to fall asleep immediately while making loud snoring noises. You grunt, putting a pillow over his face, and he laughs as he takes it off.

"Funny girl." You shake your head, the look of displeasure still on your face, and get up from the bed all in one movement. So graceful.

"I'll be in the kitchen. Shout if you need me." Takeomi opens his mouth to shout, but you add, "If it's an emergency."

"It is," he whines. "It's an emergency when you're not here."

"I'll be in the kitchen," you say again. "Five-alarm level emergencies only."

"What about six alarms?" You roll your eyes and give him a playful swat before leaving the bedroom. Takeomi debates on whether he should shout your name for the hell of it or just keep quiet and let you work on whatever you did when he wasn't here. He opts for the latter and lays back in the bed. His head is thumping with the blood that's pumping behind his eyes.

"Ugh..." Right now, Takeomi wants to swear off drinking for good. The hangover is never worth it. Takeomi exhales sharply, then resigns himself to sleep, like he should.

He wakes up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat. It's hot in the room, and... his hand feels around in the darkness. You're not there.

"Baby?" Takeomi gets up out of bed slowly, trying not to trip over himself or anything else he may have left on the floor. "Babe?" His throat is parched, and he feels like death... but he needs to ensure you're okay first.

Something tugs in his gut when he hears a soft sob, and he opens the door fully before stumbling into the light of the foyer. He holds his breath and peers around the corner, finding you at the kitchen table, holding your phone to your ear as you cry.

"No, no," you choke out. "It's just... I know everything is weighing on Omi. He comes home drunk most afternoons, and I..." You break off, then sniff. "I take care of him because I know everything was so stressful, and I love him. I just don't think he loves me anymore." Takeomi clenches his jaw. Here you are, worried to death about him when your assumptions couldn't be further from the truth.

Takeomi enters the kitchen nonchalantly as if he hadn't heard what you just said. He yawns, wiping his face, then sees you wiping your eyes quickly and whispering, "I'll call you later" into the phone.

"You alright, Omi?" you wonder, standing up from the kitchen table. Takeomi shrugs, opening the fridge and grabbing a water bottle.

"Throat's sore as hell." He takes a few swigs, then turns to you.

"I can make you some tea if you want," you reply, smiling. Your nose is still red, but Takeomi can forgive that.

"I need a hug and a kiss." He opens his arms for you, and you oblige, leaning into his embrace and tucking your semi-wet face into his skin. "And a kiss?"

At his reminder, you lift your face, close your eyes, and pucker your lips. But Takeomi doesn't kiss you. Instead, he wipes your wet eyes, staring down at your puffy face in adoration.

"Why do you cry, my sweet?" he whispers, and you open your eyes. You look so sad, so forlorn, so dismayed. Takeomi's heart stops at the sight. "Are you upset with me?"

"No," you affirm, shaking your head. "Never."

"Then why are these tears running down my baby's face?" Takeomi wipes the fresh ones and clicks his tongue as you press your face back into his chest. "This won't do," he coos at you, stooping to pick you up. He scoops you into his arms and carries you to the bed, holding you against his chest even as he sits down on the comfy king. He positions you so your head is on his chest and you're straddling him; his hands run over your back and caress whatever he can touch.

"You know," Takeomi begins, regaining some sensibility. "I once had an awful time with my brother. Couldn't take care of him for shit. The guilt ate me up for years." Takeomi swallows hard. "Thought I had gotten past it." The unspoken fact that he still hadn't gotten past it didn't need to be mentioned. You knew already.

"Anyway, you shouldn't beat yourself up over all this." Takeomi strokes your hair carefully, leaning back onto the headboard. "This one was all me."

"Omi," you whimper, but he shushes you.

"I can handle it." His shoulders slump. "I'll take the blame for this. But you're my number one priority."

"But you'll drink--"

"No," Takeomi asserts. "It's not helping." You pull away from him, leaving his chest a wet, cold mess. You sniff and look up at him, holding his face between your hands.

"We should see someone about this. About everything."

"I'd do that for you." He takes your hand and kisses each fingertip, savoring the feeling of the unique fingerprint rubbing against his skin. What would he have done if you'd been taken away from him like Shin? "For us." He tilts your chin up with tender fingers. "And I still love you." And he kisses you like he means it.

[sona-aesthetic-07]

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ Looking for some RP / smau Partners ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

🔞 Adult Game RP post 🔞

(MDNI)

RP Slots taken: 5/5

Texting Slots: 0/5

You can apply for being a texting partner too, instead of RP partner.

ᝰ.ᐟ✮⋆˙ ABOUT ME

I'm Sona

20+, Female, GMT + 5:30

Poly

Have a little experience.

Can easily write 2 to 6 paragraphs, depending on the situation & my partner

✿﹕ ︵︵✧₊︵︵ꕤ₊˚︵ ૮꒰˵• ᵜ •˵꒱ა ﹕ɞ

ᝰ.ᐟ✮⋆˙ FANDOMS & CHARACTERS

{I won't play as idol}

Fandomless

TXT:

Taehyun, Yeonjun, Kai, Soobin, Beomgyu

Enhypen:

Jay, Sunghoon, Heeseung, Ni-ki, Jake, Sunoo, Jungwon

Stray Kids:

Lee Know, Changbin, Felix, Bang Chan, Hyunjin, I.N, Seungmin, Han

BTS:

RM, Jungkook, Suga, V, J-hope, Jin, Jimin

✿﹕ ︵︵✧₊︵︵ꕤ₊˚︵ ૮꒰˵• ᵜ •˵꒱ა ﹕ɞ

ᝰ.ᐟ✮⋆˙ PAIRS

mxf, fxf

member x OC, OC x OC

✿﹕ ︵︵✧₊︵︵ꕤ₊˚︵ ૮꒰˵• ᵜ •˵꒱ა ﹕ɞ

ᝰ.ᐟ✮⋆˙ SHIPS & PLOT IDEAS

{Bold is for the characters, I can play}

CEO x Secretary,

Professor x Student,

Rich boy x Poor girl,

Sugar Daddy x Poor (in debt) Student,

Mafia Boss x Savior,

Client x Escort,

Step bro x Step sis

Soft Yandere x His Love

Open to more ideas

✿﹕ ︵︵✧₊︵︵ꕤ₊˚︵ ૮꒰˵• ᵜ •˵꒱ა ﹕ɞ

ᝰ.ᐟ✮⋆˙ PLOT IDEAS

Enemies to Lovers, Class Rivals, Love at first sight, fake relationship to real, stepcest

Open to more ideas

✿﹕ ︵︵✧₊︵︵ꕤ₊˚︵ ૮꒰˵• ᵜ •˵꒱ა ﹕ɞ

ᝰ.ᐟ✮⋆˙ LIKES

DDLG (as sub), BDSM (as dom)

Princess treatment,

Body worshipping,

Jealous & possessive BF,

Whipped & Smitten behaviour,

Eventual smut

✿﹕ ︵︵✧₊︵︵ꕤ₊˚︵ ૮꒰˵• ᵜ •˵꒱ა ﹕ɞ

ᝰ.ᐟ✮⋆˙ TRIGGERS / TURN OFFS

Heavy Angst

Only Smut/ NSFW

BDSM (as sub)

Non-con

✿﹕ ︵︵✧₊︵︵ꕤ₊˚︵ ૮꒰˵• ᵜ •˵꒱ა ﹕ɞ

ᝰ.ᐟ✮⋆˙ EXTRA

Literacy: 3 to 7 paragraphs, 1/2 lines for text message plot

Where: Tumblr, Discord

✿﹕ ︵︵✧₊︵︵ꕤ₊˚︵ ૮꒰˵• ᵜ •˵꒱ა ﹕ɞ

Looking for:

Someone experienced

Age: 18 to 25 (for NSFW / SFW)

Underage (for SFW only)

Gender: F or M (doesn't matter)

Play as idol / oc

✿﹕ ︵︵✧₊︵︵ꕤ₊˚︵ ૮꒰˵• ᵜ •˵꒱ა ﹕ɞ

I will not respond to likes, comment "I'm interested" & I will dm you.

OR

Send an ask with:

Name, Age, Gender, Literacy, {genre}, {where}, {ship}, {plot}, {character}

[taones]

If You Can Hold On - A.A, S.K, S.D

a rewrite of my most popular series because my writing from two years ago made me cringe so bad <3

pairing ~ poly asadaisuga x gn!reader

warnings ~ pining, angst, negative emotions, not edited

You just considered yourself lucky that Asahi had decided to drive and not Suga. As much as you loved him, he drove like he hadn’t much to live for. The driving so far had been split between his two, more responsible boyfriends - Asahi and Daichi, something you couldn’t be more grateful for. 

Instead, the silver-haired man had decided to share the backseat with you. Small was a generous descriptor of the car, so it had been you two stuck closely together, the bags of snacks being the only separators between your thighs. You had been lucky enough to gain stereo privilege early on in the journey and the two of you were currently singing along, rather badly, to a song that Asahi considered rather inappropriate. Daichi had let you take control of the bluetooth considering you were going to be a backseat passenger the entire journey - something the taller man was beginning to curse him for.

By the time the first evening fell, your backseat companion had moved into the front and Asahi had reclaimed control of the music after some loud complaints. You could see Daichi and Suga holding hands through the gap in the seats. It was obvious that Asahi could too, if the content smile on his face was anything to go by. 

You felt your stomach curdle. A grimace took over your face but was quickly schooled into a cooler expression once you caught your long-haired companion flickering his eyes towards you. If it was any other person, you could hardly care less, but you were pretty sure it’s considered a sin to make Asahi anything less than perfectly happy. So you smiled. Even as your insides turned and twisted like waves in a storm.  Pretending to hum to the music, you curled up against the door of the car, pressing your face onto the cold window, and pretended not to notice the concerned looks. 

The condensation on the window did little to cool the horrible squirming feeling that had overtaken your entire body. You found yourself thinking about how you had even gotten into this situation in the first place. Falling in love with a friend, that’s bad enough. Falling for a friend you knew was taken, that was worse. Falling for your three best friends, who were all taken by each other? That had to earn some sort of award for most pathetic romantic occurrence. It was the summer of your last year at Karasuno, and you were all still reeling from graduation. It had become easier since you had left to deal with your feelings, not being around them all the time, so you’d thought maybe the road trip was a good idea. Primarily because you thought it would finally prove to yourself that you could get over them and spend some time around them without incessant pining. As it would happen, this wasn’t the case at all. Your relationship with the three throughout high school was like a child riding a bike. The wheels were Daichi, sturdy and unchanged. Suga was the handle bars, always herding and directing in the right way, making sure the right turns were made. And Asahi was the chain, keeping everything together and running smoothly. 

You were the stabilisers. Sure, you were necessary for a while, but eventually you would come away and everything would be unchanged, just fine. As if you were never even there. 

It’s not as if it was your fault either. The three men were all so amazing in their own rights, had aspirations and dreams - however different all three were. They all had little things about them that made you fall hard and fast, almost as soon as you had met them as a first year. Anyone would fall for at least one of them, you were just the lucky person who had fallen for all three. Perfect. 

As it turns out, the soft hum of the car did eventually lull you into a restless sleep. That is until you were awoken by soft grumbling voices in the car around you. Glowing amber numbers on the front console told you it was nearing midnight and you began to wonder if you would stop for the night and find somewhere to rest. Daichi’s voice pulled you back into their conversation. 

“It’s not like we can tell them now, we’re in the middle of nowhere”

Realisation dawned on you, they had no idea you were awake and listening. Considering you were still partially hidden by the hood of the jacket you stole from Asahi two stops back, you shouldn’t be surprised. What did they want to ask? Was it anything to do with you? It could be nothing, of course, but the urgency with which Daichi spoke sent you spiralling. There wasn’t much the boys didn’t tell you and it would be a lie to say it didn’t sting slightly that something wasn’t being said. It wasn’t like you got upset with them often. 

“What are we supposed to do then Daichi?” the softer voice of Asahi questioned, he was obviously being conscious of your sleeping state. 

“It’s not as if we can’t tell them, they’ll have to know at some point”

You almost smiled at the brunette’s gentle voice before remembering your sleeping facade and forcing it away. He really was a sweetheart. 

“We can’t exactly walk up to them and be like ‘hi sorry to bother you but join our poly relationship?” Suga’s voice rang out, a sarcastic tinge burning your ears slightly.

Ah. So that’s why they weren’t telling you. 

In truth, you hadn’t reacted well to the news of their relationship. Not that you were against those types of relationships, quite the opposite in fact. You didn’t exactly have the nerve to tell them you were hopelessly in love with them all and the only real issue was they weren’t carrying you into the sunset like the end of one of Suga’s cheesy drama’s. You could only let them believe it was a big step for you to be okay with and let them reassure you it wouldn’t ruin your friendship - as if you would ever think that. 

So you could perfectly understand the reluctance of telling you they were adding another person to their relationship. Searching your brain, you tried to think of someone it could be. Kiyoko would be anyone’s first guess but she had recently came out as a lesbian and began a relationship with Yachi - so that was off the table. They didn’t speak to many people outside of the volleyball club and you knew Daichi would be massively uncomfortable dating one of his underclassmen regardless. 

Could it be someone you didn’t know? Maybe they had met someone in the first few weeks of the summer and fallen head over heels. Maybe they were beautiful, funny, a perfect fit for the three of them to mould around and envelop in their relationship. 

The thought made you sick. 

It was hard enough dealing with all three of them being together but there was never any jealousy for just one person. You don’t think you would be able to say the same for the new addition, the person taking the place in the relationship that you had craved and wanted for so long.  Exactly fitting the missing space in the puzzle that you would never be the right fit for. The more you thought about it, the more you realised how much harm that would do to you. Would you even be able to spend time with your boys anymore? Would you be able to have your weekly movie nights without leaving their new partner out? It was obvious you couldn’t stand to be around them, and you didn’t even know this person. Would this mean the end of your friendship all together?

The others slowly faded into a comfortable silence but you felt as if waves were crashing in your head, slowly drowning you. At least, you thought, they would tell you who it was. Did they know about your feelings? Maybe that’s why they didn’t want you to know. Maybe this whole road trip was to let you down gently at the end. No, that was stupid. You knew they wouldn’t do that but it didn’t stop the thought from anchoring your mind further in its waves, pulling and dragging.

Tears glossed over your eyes and you found yourself burying your head further into Asahi’s hoodie, the smell of firewood and pine bringing you a bittersweet comfort. You only hoped you would be able to keep them in your life, even if the idea of seeing them with a new partner brought you to tears. The shimmers of tears that had dropped onto your hands were illuminated by the street lamps passing overhead. It almost made you scoff with the cliche of it all. 

A grown person, freshly graduated, sitting in the back of your friend’s car and sobbing like a baby. If only your friends could see you now. 

It honestly felt like you were 15 again. The feelings were so raw that it took you back to the days when you first met them. The grey haired boy that gave you his pencil in maths when yours snapped and sat with you at lunch when you had nobody to talk to. The vibrant smile he had when he complimented your haircut that day stuck in your mind even now, along with a high pitched ‘I wish my hair was as nice as yours!’. It was so simple yet so very Koushi. You couldn’t help but think it was a crime to not be at least a little bit in love with him. 

The sound of a changing gear stick made you think of when you first fell for Sawamura. You were walking across the school yard in spring, ready to pick up Suga from volleyball practice and walk home when you slipped on a pile of leaves and was sent to your knees on the gravel. He had caught sight of you while leaving and rushed over, pulling a plaster out of his pocket with little cartoon bears and placing it gently on your knee. That was when you had fallen, quite literally, for him.

Asahi was last, it was the winter of your first year and you had been walking home as a four. A soft meow interrupted your laughing and you looked up only to see a cat stuck in the bare branches of a tree. You knew Asahi was scared of holding small animals (he didn’t want to hurt them - something you found perfectly ridiculous) but you couldn’t help but turn to the boy, tall even then, and pout at him to get the poor thing down. Reluctantly, he had stepped up to the tree and pulled the furry animal right down, holding it against his chest for a second to check it was okay. Being so gentle with the cat and looking up at you with a triumphant smile caused your heart to flutter in your chest and you realised you had fallen for all three.

And now they were asking another person to join them. Another person they loved that wasn’t you, it would never be you. Eventually, the tears had dried up and been subtly rubbed from your face. The least you could do was be happy for them even if you were struggling. They didn’t need to know how you felt because it was just unnecessary guilt on them. It was almost the worst part that you couldn’t be angry at them, it was like you were physically unable to blame them even if it would be easier for you. The soft yellow of the street lamps caused sleep to overcome you again, their earlier words echoing around your head.

hopefully I actually finish it this time huh , reblogs are appreciated! ily all <3 be nice to me pls I am *delicate* when it comes to this series

original series on masterlist or here

[albywritesfiction]

ATE Frequently Asked Questions

Hello everyone!

Finally got the Frequently Asked Questions (as of now) all sorted out! This will be updated when necessary 😊

Current Version Post Date: Dec. 20, 2023

Can I romance Helene?

As of my current plans for ATE, I'll say no. If I ever do get around to making a Helene route, it would be after I've finished everything I had initially wanted to do with ATE (like making a v-poly route).

Note: A Helene route would most likely be set in an alternate universe because Helene's motivations in main ATE are not compatible with her eventually forming a romantic relationship with MC.

Can I romance Ædan?

Same as with the Helene route, minus the note because it's more plausible to have an Ædan route in the main ATE universe.

Can I still romance Cyfrin if I choose the Capital MC route or Ædric if I choose the Countryside MC route?

Unfortunately, no. As I said in a previous ask (link), Ædric is needed at the capital while Cyfrin is needed at the duchy so they won't have time to travel back and forth between the two locations throughout the story. MC will also be unable to travel back and forth because they will be too busy to do so.

Are the ROs gender selectable?

No, both Ædric and Cyfrin are set as male.

What are the main character customization options?

Gender (nonbinary, female, or male)

Titles (Laird/Lady/Lord, Princeps/Princess/Prince, and Sovereign/Queen/King)

Pronouns (with option to input custom pronouns)

Hair color (white included)

Hair texture

Hair length

Hairstyle

Eye color (gold included*)

Eye shape

Complexion

Height

*It will be possible to choose traits to have physical similarities with Helene; however, Helene will always look brighter than and outshine MC's appearance

How is Ædan and Ædric's relationship with each other?

The basic gist: link

How Ædan and Ædric were like when they were smol: link

How is Ædan's relationship with the rest of his stepfamily?

How Ædan feels about his half-siblings: link

How the younger half-siblings (Ræ, Mælianna, and Særina) feel about Ædan: link

The root of Ædan's indifference to his half-siblings: link

Ædan's feelings towards the happy Royal Family: link

If Ædric is better than Ædan, why didn't the king grant Ædric the title of Crown Prince from the start?

Answered here: link

Any lore about the magic in the world of ATE?

Right here: link & link

Helene's healing magic: link & link