#full length socks for men

[genshinluvr]

Marks of the Dragons

Pairings: Various Genshin Men x Isekai'd!Reader, Neuvillette x Isekai'd!Reader, Zhongli x Isekai'd!Reader, Zhongli x Isekai'd!Reader x Neuvillette

Summary: Zhongli and Neuvillette marked you— they marked you by biting you. What lead up to that situation? You went on a trip to Chenyu Vale with the Chief Justice of Fontaine and Funeral Consultant of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor.

Note: My work schedule has been very inconsistent that I wasn't able to work on anything :< This smut is probably awful since I haven't written smut in so long. Before anyone new asks, yes, Kinich, Sethos, and Ororon are officially in the harem! Since I unknowingly manifested both Zhongli and Neuvillette's banners have a rerun together, I had to write a smut with the two finest men in Genshin. This idea is partially from the unpublished Zhongli smut I had in mind two years ago, so I had to make it a thing for both Zhongli and Neuvillette >:3 MINORS, DO NOT INTERACT. Anyway, I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr), Ko-Fi (also Genshinluvr/Aaliah_exo), and AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warning: Horribly written smut, anal, oral, double penetration, blowjobs, hair pulling, choking, Zhongli and Neuvillette have two dicks, biting, marking, maybe mating???

Word Count: 7.1k

Everyone is lounging in the living room, sitting close to the fireplace, taking in the heat and cozy atmosphere—except for you. There’s an empty spot beside every man in the room, hoping you’ll cuddle up beside them. You’re still in your bedroom, preparing for the hangout. It’s freezing in the abode, which surprises everyone because who knew it could become freezing in the teapot? Heck, it looks like it might even snow by the looks of it. 

Scaramouche sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What’s taking [Y/N] so long? We’ve been sitting here for twenty minutes, and they still haven’t left their bedroom.”

“Maybe they fell asleep?” Venti suggests, looking around the room.

The lights in the living room are off. The only source of light illuminating the dark room is the fireplace, casting a warm glow. 

Kaeya yawns, stretching his arms before sprawling out on the couch, rubbing his eye with his knuckle. “If [Y/N] doesn’t come out of their room by the time the clock strikes eight, I’m going to fall asleep,” Kaeya mutters, leaning over to snatch the fluffy blanket from Diluc’s lap, earning a glare from the redhead.

Diluc sharply exhales from his nostrils, pinching the space between his eyebrows. “Why can’t you get your own blanket instead of taking other people’s belongings?” Diluc grumbles, reaching over to yank the blanket from Kaeya’s body.

Dainsleif rolls his eyes before getting up from his spot and heading towards the staircase. The men stop what they’re doing, watching the blond man walk up the stairs. “Since everyone is impatient, I’ll check on them myself.”

Upstairs in the estate, you stare at your reflection in the mirror, pulling up your turtleneck. You rarely wear turtlenecks, but since it’s freezing in the abode, you might as well wear one. You leave your bathroom and grab the nearest jacket. Your neck is aching, and it hurts each time you twist or tilt your head. You zip up your jacket, making sure the bandage is hidden beneath both your jacket and turtleneck. 

You peek at your reflection in the full-length mirror, eyeing yourself from head to toe as you walk to your dresser for your fuzzy socks. You dig through the dresser, searching for the specific fuzzy sock you cherish (it kept your feet warm well because the men would complain about your feet being cold every time it brushed against their legs).

A gentle knock from your bedroom door pulls you out of your thoughts. You quickly put on your socks before rushing to answer the door. You take a deep breath and open the door, your heart thundering in your chest when you see Dainsleif in front of you.

You smile at the blond man. “Hey, Dainsleif! Sorry for taking so long. I was looking for a comfortable jacket to wear along with these fuzzy socks, " you say, looking down at your sock-clad feet. 

Before Dainsleif can say anything, Childe pops up from the corner, placing a rough hand on Dainsleif’s shoulders, causing him to grunt and glare at the Harbinger. “You took your sweet time, snookums. Were you trying to look pretty for me?” Childe teases, winking at you.

You playfully roll your eyes, shaking your head, only to stop abruptly and let out a sharp breath. Dainsleif and Childe look at you worriedly, scanning you from head to toe for any injuries. You clear your throat, plastering a fake smile on your face.

“You two have nothing to worry about, I promise. I’m done getting dressed, and we can all go downstairs now. Let’s go before the others become restless,” you say, stepping out of your bedroom and walking past Dainsleif and Childe. 

As you’re descending the stairs, both Childe and Dainsleif trade looks with one another before following behind you. Once the three of you reach the living room, everyone sighs in relief and gestures for you to sit beside them. You raise your eyebrows, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“I’m not sure if I can sit with every one of you at the same time.” You say, waddling farther into the living room. “Who am I sitting with first?” You ask, sitting on the armrest where Dottore is seated. 

Dottore chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you onto his lap. “It looks like you subconsciously made your decision already, kitten. The others can wait.” He states, smirking at the other men in the room.

Itto shoots up from his spot. “Hey, that’s not fair!”

Dottore shrugs, shooting a shit-eating grin in Itto’s direction before continuing to have you wrapped up in his arms. When Itto opens his mouth to protest once more, Thoma pats his shoulders and shakes his head as if he’s telling Itto to let it slide for now. Itto grumbles and slumps in his seat, hugging the plush onikabuto to his chest with a pout.

Ayato clears his throat. “How about this? Each of us gets to have our turn with [Y/N] for twenty minutes,” Ayato suggests.

Ororon sighs, resting his head on the armrest. “There’s over thirty of us in the room. Do you really think we’ll be sitting here for hours just to have our turn to snuggle with [Y/N]?” Ororon grumbles, narrowing his eyes at Dottore.

Sitting near the fireplace, Sethos props his feet on the ottoman and chuckles. “Heck, if that means I get my chance to snuggle with my cuddle bug, I don’t mind waiting for my turn,” Sethos says, winking at you.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as you sink farther against Dottore’s chest. Dottore’s chuckle rings in your ears, causing your face to feel even hotter. Kinich sighs, leaning back against the sofa while Ajaw nags his ears off about who knows what. Kinich briefly glances at you before something catches his attention. Kinich suddenly sits up straight, leans forward, and squints at you for a moment.

You can’t help but squirm under his gaze, feeling slightly awkward now that the others are starting to realize what Kinich is doing. Everyone’s eyes are all on you, trying to see what Kinich is staring at aside from you. 

You awkwardly clear your throat. “Is there something on my face?” You mutter, subconsciously reaching up to your face, feeling around for anything. Aside from the skincare products Xiao and Zhongli bought for you a few days ago while in Liyue, you feel nothing. 

“Are you alright by any chance?” Kinich asks, now standing in front of you and Dottore.

You blink up at Kinich owlishly before nodding your head. “Yeah, I’m okay! W-Why did you ask?”

Kinich continues to scrutinize you, his eyes scanning you from head to toe— looking at the smallest details on you. Kinich reaches forward and caresses your face in his hands, catching you off guard. You gulp, internally praying that he doesn’t notice the bandaids hidden beneath your turtleneck.

Kinich tilts your head up and turns your head from side to side while inspecting every little thing about you. Your heart continues to race in your chest, and your face gets hotter and hotter by the minute. Due to the excessive movement, the collar of your jacket and turtleneck conveniently slide down, making the bandages visible to everyone. 

“What happened to your neck?” Thoma gasps as people start to gather around you.

Kinich lets go of your head and takes a step back when Capitano brushes him to the side. Capitano kneels before you, caressing your face with one hand while unzipping your jacket with the other. Dottore hooks his finger underneath the collar of your turtleneck and pulls it down, revealing more of the bandage wrapped around your neck.

Baizhu furrows his eyebrows, inspecting the bandage. Capitano moves to the side so Baizhu can take a closer look at your supposed “injury.” You nervously peek from Baizhu’s shoulders, locking eyes with Zhongli and Neuvillette. The two men stand side by side, not saying a word. Are they going to let you handle this situation alone!? How are they so calm when you’re internally panicking?!

Baizhu pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs softly. “[Y/N], sweetheart, if you’re injured, you do not need to hide it from any of us— especially me. Your wounds could get infected if they’re not treated properly,” Baizhu chides, sitting at the edge of the seat beside Dottore while eyeing your bandaged neck.

“I’ll remove the bandages so Dr. Baizhu can properly treat your injury,” Capitano says, reaching for the corner of the peachy-beige bandage, ready to peel it off when you suddenly grab his wrist, stopping him.

You shake your head, eyes wide. “You don’t have to! I’m fine, I promise!” You squeak.

Pierro crosses his arms over his chest, scrutinizing you. “If you’re fine, then you would be okay with us taking the bandage off to inspect the wound,” Pierro says gruffly.

You swallow the lump in your throat, hesitantly releasing Capitano’s wrists and letting your hands fall onto your lap. Capitano proceeds to peel off the bandage, only to reveal another layer beneath. Capitano pauses and looks at you, not saying anything.

Xiao huffs. “If you were truly okay, then you wouldn’t need to have more than one layer of bandaid around your neck,” Xiao grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.

Capitano continues where he left off, gently removing the bandage from your neck. You squeeze your eyes shut, knowing you will not be able to handle the other’s reaction to the marks on your neck. Once the bandage slowly reveals what’s underneath it, you hear sharp gasps from the men in the room.

Kaveh pushes Capitano out of the way while muttering an apology before ripping the bandage off completely, revealing two bite marks on each side of your neck. Kaveh gasps in horror, his eyes bugging out of his head.

“What kind of monster did this to you!?” Kaveh screams, cupping your cheeks in his hands as he forces you to look at him in the eyes.

Al Haitham sighs, pinching the space between his eyebrows while shaking his head. “For once, can you relax?” Al Haitham mutters, glaring at the blond architect. 

Kaveh ignores Al Haitham’s comment as he continues to examine the bite marks on your neck. Kaveh gently brushes the marks on your neck, causing you to wince and softly hiss at the contact. Kaveh looks at Baizhu, giving him a pleading look. 

Pantalone adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “I’m no doctor, but the bite marks look fresh. It looks irritated,” Pantalone mutters, stroking his chin.

“Who did this to you?” Tighnari asks.

You swallow the lump in your throat, heat rushing to your cheeks as you try to muster up an excuse. Surely, if the others knew who did this to you, they wouldn’t be too upset, would they? How are you supposed to explain this to the others when the perpetrators don’t look apologetic in the slightest? Heck, they look smug that the others found out about the bite marks on your neck. 

“Those look like deep puncture holes. I don’t believe normal human teeth could do this,” Cyno mutters, pulling you out of your thoughts. 

Gorou’s eyes widen as he nods. “You’re right! There’s no way any of us could have inflicted this type of… injury on [Y/N]!”

Heizou’s eyes light up as he walks toward you, his eyes remaining on your neck. “If you look closely, the teeth marks aren’t the same. One bite is larger than the other, and the canines don’t exactly match up. However, they seem to have a specific intention when leaving said bite marks on [Y/N]’s neck,” Heizou says, stroking his chin. 

For the next five minutes, the men talk among themselves, trying to figure out who or what could have given you the bite marks. They continue to look and examine you, making you feel like a strange phenomenon they have ever laid their eyes on. Well, technically, you sort of are one because you’re not from their world. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you get those marks on your neck?” Aether asks, plopping down beside you.

You shift on Dottore’s lap, clearing your throat. “Uh…” you trail off, rubbing the back of your neck while subconsciously looking over at the two refined men two feet in front of you. For once, they’re not avoiding each other (well, Zhongli was the one avoiding). They stand beside each other, gazing at you intently, their eyes occasionally shifting to the marks on your neck. Of course, they’re not speaking to each other. They’re trying to keep up an act.

Wriothesley raises his eyebrows. “Why do you keep looking at Monsieur Neuvillette and Mister Zhongli? Surely they’re not the ones who left those marks on you, are they?” Wriothesley sarcastically asks, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“So? Are you going to tell us how you got those marks on your throat?” Aether asks, shaking his head.

You have an inkling feeling that Aether knows who the culprits are but doesn’t want to say it. You look elsewhere, trying to come up with an excuse. While trying to find the excuse, you start to think about what led to you getting marked by the Chief Justice of Fontaine and the Funeral Consultant. 

- Less than 24 hours ago -

Zhongli has offered to take you to Chenyu Vale after hearing you rave about the tea set Shenhe and Ganyu have gifted you when visiting the abode. Of course, the trip Zhongli initially planned was going to be just you and him. However, the Chief Justice of Fontaine wanted to tag along, and since Zhongli didn’t want to be rude, Zhongli reluctantly agreed to turn the trip for two into a trip for three.

“Ooh, twenty Chenyu Adeptea for fifteen hundred Mora?” You murmur, stroking your chin while the vendor talks your ears off. 

Neuvillette grabs you by the shoulders before steering you away from the stall while clearing his throat. “While it may seem like a great deal, I wouldn’t recommend it,” Neuvillette mutters, ignoring the glare the merchant shoots in his direction.

“But it’s the same tea that Ganyu and Shenhe gifted me!” You protest, attempting to look at the stall, but Neuvillette shakes his head, turning your head to make you face forward.

Neuvillette sighed, muttering about merchants trying to lure unsuspecting victims into a scam— a scam he had once fallen for a year prior during Lantern Rite. Neuvillette looks around, searching for a certain idiot Archon Funeral Consultant around the area. Footsteps approaching you and Neuvillette grab both your and the Iudex’s attention. 

Zhongli raises his eyebrows upon seeing the expression on Neuvillette’s face. “Is everything alright?” Zhongli crosses his arms over his chest.

You point at the stall behind you and Neuvillette. “Someone was selling packs of Adeptea for a great price! I was about to buy some, but Neuvillette steered me away from the merchant!” You explain, visibly upset.

Zhongli opens his mouth to scold Neuvillette, only for the Iudex to move out of the way to show the merchant and his stall. Upon laying his eyes on the familiar stall, Zhongli sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. For once, Zhongli is glad that Neuvillette decides to tag along on this trip. Who knows how much Mora you’ll end up spending and getting scammed in the end?

You continue to pout at Zhongli and Neuvillette, muttering about wanting to return to the abode with large quantities of Adeptea. Zhongli gestures to Neuvillette, letting the Iudex know that he’s got this handled. 

Zhongli approaches you, grabs your hand, and tucks your hair behind your ear with a small smile. “Dearest, we’ve been out and about in Chenyu Vale for quite some time now. Are you hungry by any chance?” Zhongli asks, gazing at you intently. 

“Huh. Now that I think about it, I am a little bit hungry…” you trail off, feeling your stomach rumble. “Yeah, I’m hungry.” You turn to Neuvillette, “What about you? Are you hungry as well, Neuvillette?”

The Chief Justice of Fontaine nearly cries with happiness. Not only is your attention taken away from the scam of a merchant, but you three are finally eating something after being away from the abode for hours. Granted, he did eat something prior to the trip, but walking around for hours can make a person hungry. 

Neuvillette nods, “Yes, I am feeling quite peckish myself,” Neuvillette replies.

Zhongli ignores Neuvillette’s response to your question as he smiles and caresses the back of your head before slipping his hands into yours and pulling you towards a small pavilion. “I know just a place to satiate your hunger.”

Neuvillette sighs, rolling his eyes. Even though the idiot Funeral Consultant reluctantly agreed to have Neuvillette join in on this trip, Neuvillette does not appreciate the fact that he was the third wheel on this trip. Being the angel that you are, you make sure that both Neuvillette and Zhongli get the same shared attention.

Everything else after ends up being a blur for you. You don’t remember what you ordered at the small restaurant, but you do remember drinking a particular tea that is not of Chenyu Vale origin— well, it’s not grown locally. The tea has an earthy taste with a hint of sweetness to it. It’s not your cup of tea (hehehe, get it? Cyno would be so proud of you), but it’s not like you hate it.

After eating and taking a small break from your once-in-a-century exercise, you, Zhongli, and Neuvillette stop by various stalls around Chenyu Vale.

Despite the beautiful region being known for its tea, the three of you ended up coming across an interesting stall. The merchant is selling fragrances from all over Teyvat. Neuvillette and Zhongli have no interest in fragrances, but they’re quite intrigued by the ones you would pick up and examine with curiosity.

“Ah! I see you’re looking at the Glaze Lily and Rainbow Rose fragrance! It’s quite popular among the female population in Chenyu Vale!” says the merchant, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

You grab a slip of white paper from the stand and spray the perfume onto the paper before taking a whiff of the popular fragrance. You close your eyes, taking in the scent. It smells lovely. The Glaze Lily and Rainbow Rose scented perfume reminds you of the two men standing behind you— not because the flowers are from the two men’s respective regions, but because they go well together, if that makes sense. 

The merchant leans on the stall, gazing at you curiously. “According to my customers, the scent varies from person to person. One customer told me she can smell Glaze Lily more than the Rainbow Rose. On the other hand, a recent customer informed me that she can smell the Rainbow Rose more than the Glaze Lily!”

You open your eyes and tilt your head, confused. You can smell both the Glaze Lily and Rainbow Rose— none of the scents were overtaking the other. While the perfume is quite fragrant and lovely, you don’t think this is for you. Plus, it’s pretty popular among the Chenyu Vale women, and you want something a little more… original. You want a signature scent that no other person on Teyvat can mimic. 

“I can smell both the Glaze Lily and Rainbow Rose just fine. However, this fragrance isn’t for me. Do you have something unique? I want something original, something people cannot mimic,” you say, placing the perfume down on the stall.

The woman strokes her chin before squatting down, digging through the stall while you rock back and forth on the balls of your feet. Even though this trip is initially for the Adeptea, you couldn’t help but feel drawn to the fragrance stall. Something about it captivates your attention and makes you want to buy something— definitely not because the fragrance bottles are beautiful (it is).

You peek at Neuvillette and Zhongli, scratching the back of your head with a sheepish smile. “Sorry if this is taking a while. I wanted something unique for myself,” you mutter, feeling heat rush to your cheeks.

Neuvillette smiles and strokes your hair. “There is nothing to apologize for, my dear. It’s not like we’re in a rush to return to the estate,” Neuvillette replies.

Zhongli nods, approaching you and Neuvillette. “I have booked us an inn for the night. We will not be able to return to the abode around this time, especially in weather like this,” Zhongli says, gazing at the now gray skies.

Your eyes widen at the realization. If the three of you have to stay at an inn for the night, how is that going to turn out? Speaking of the inn, will you three have separate bedrooms? Since Zhongli booked the room, are you sharing a room with Zhongli, and does Neuvillette have his own room? Or—

The merchant’s head peeks from the stall, her eyes wide with excitement. “I have found just the scent for you, my dear customer!” The woman fixes her disheveled hair before handing you a round perfume bottle. 

The bottle is a periwinkle color with gold and silver flecks scattered around the bottle. Silver vines wrapped around the bottle, and on those vines are cor lapis and noctilucous jade carved to look like blooming flowers. Zhongli raises his eyebrows while scrutinizing the bottle in your hands.

“If you don’t mind me asking, miss, what makes this fragrance special out of all the fragrances you sell?” Zhongli asks, never taking his eyes off the bottle.

You continue to examine the perfume bottle, enchanted by the appearance of the bottle. It has a sparkly squeeze bulb, tempting you into spraying it onto yourself. You and the merchant make eye contact. The woman grins and gestures to you to try it out yourself. You shrug, not thinking much of it, before pointing the perfume bottle at yourself and squeezing the squeeze bulb. You wince when you realize you sprayed way more than you intended.

“This fragrance is unique because whoever is wearing this scent will not only smell enchanting on the wearer, but only a small handful of people will be… charmed by the scent and the wearer,” she says, nodding with satisfaction.

You sniff the perfume, trying to figure out what the notes are. You’re no perfume expert, but it does have a bit of a unique smell to it. Zhongli and Neuvillette raise their eyebrows at the woman’s strange explanation of the so-called “unique” fragrance. 

“I don’t think this perfume is something I was looking for. Perhaps it’s not meant to be,” You sigh, handing the bottle back to the woman.

The woman frowns, taking the bottle from your hands and storing it in the cabinet of the stall. You, Zhongli, and Neuvillette bid the woman goodbye before heading to the inn. What a shame. You thought you were going to return to the abode with new perfume to wear, but you weren’t too fond of the scent of the perfume. It has an earthy scent, almost reminding you of what the air would smell like after heavy rain. If you remember correctly, there is a hint of mint and maybe Qingxin, if you’re not mistaken.

Zhongli wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him. “Mora for your thoughts?”

“Oh, it’s nothing! I’m just a little disappointed that I ended up not buying anything from the fragrance merchant. It’s a shame the ‘unique’ fragrance isn’t as nearly special as what she made it out to be,” you reply, allowing Zhongli to steer you to your next destination as the skies get darker.

Neuvillette walks beside you, almost sandwiching you between him and Zhongli. The Chief Justice of Fontaine drapes his arm over your shoulder, giving them a comforting squeeze. “I understand that you’re disappointed about the outcome, but think of it this way: you have plenty of Mora to spend before we return to the estate tomorrow afternoon,” Neuvillette says.

You stop in your tracks, letting his words sink in. Neuvillette’s not wrong, and besides, you still haven’t bought the Adeptea you’ve been wanting to buy. After all, that was the point of your trip to Chenyu Vale, but the three of you were sidetracked by the things around you. You guess this is what happens if you travel with men older than Teyvat. 

You take three steps forward before turning to look at Zhongli and Neuvillette. “What you said is true, but I guess that is tomorrow me’s problem,” you shrug, “anyway, let’s go to the inn! It’s starting to sprinkle out here!” You grab their wrists before dragging them towards the large building.

The gust of wind allows both men behind you to catch a whiff of the perfume you sprayed on yourself. They freeze in their tracks, and the grips on your hands tighten, causing you to stumble back into them. 

You blink, craning your head up to see what they’re doing. Zhongli and Neuvillette bend down to sniff your neck. Goosebumps appear all over your body when you feel them hover near your neck to smell the perfume you have on. The tip of Neuvillette’s nose pokes your neck, making you involuntarily freeze. Their hot breaths fan over your neck, sending shivers down your spine. Heat rushes to your cheeks as you try to remain calm while they continue to sniff your neck like a bloodhound. Without realizing it, Zhongli grabs underneath your chin and tilts your head up, exposing more of your neck.

Zhongli presses his nose against your neck, taking in deep breaths and breathing in the intoxicating scent of the perfume. Neuvillette closes his eyes, burying his nose into your collarbones and letting the smell of the perfume flood into his nose. You gulp, your heart thundering against your chest the more the two men press up against you.

“What’s gotten into you two?” You breathe, letting out a shaky sigh. 

Neuvillette and Zhongli ignore your question as they continue to bury their faces into your neck, occasionally licking and biting your neck. You lay your head on Zhongli’s shoulders while he continues to keep your head tilted back as he peppers kisses from your jawlines to your shoulders. 

“If you two want to have your ways with me, at least do it indoors and not where people can see,” you sputter, feeling heat pool into your lower regions. 

Upon hearing your words, Zhongli and Neuvillette stop what they’re doing and pull you to the inn. Zhongli checks you three into the inn and grabs the keys from the innkeeper’s hands before dragging you to the elevator with Neuvillette at your side. Once the elevator door closes, both men proceed with what they are doing.

Neuvillette stands behind you, his left arm around your waist while his right hand slips underneath your shirt. Zhongli stands before you, cupping your cheeks with both hands and pressing his lips against yours, devouring your lips. Zhongli grabs your right leg and wraps it around his waist, grinding against you. Your jaws drop, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Zhongli takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, grinding harder against your heat.

Before things can escalate, the elevator bell chimes, alerting the three of you that you have arrived at the floor where your rooms reside. Neuvillette and Zhongli drags you out of the elevator and to the room where you three will be staying. Now that you have some time to process what happened in the elevator, you can’t help but notice prominent tents forming in Zhongli and Neuvillette’s pants.

Neuvillette tosses you over his shoulders while Zhongli unlocks the door to the room. Once the door unlocks, Zhongli and Neuvillette step into the room. Neuvillette closes the door with his foot and locks the door without looking. You lay limp over Neuvillette’s shoulders. A wave of embarrassment washes over you when you feel how soaked your panties are.

Neuvillette tosses you onto the bed, making you bounce. You scan the room of the inn you’re staying at, realizing there’s only one bed in the room. Now that you think about it, Zhongli didn’t hand an extra key for another room at the inn. It seems like Zhongli never booked extra rooms— the three of you are going to sleep in the same bed for the night at the inn.

You prop yourself up on the bed, gazing at both men with wide eyes after seeing that they have removed their coats and are in the process of taking their gloves off and rolling their sleeves up to their elbows. 

“What has gotten into you two? You two are acting like you’re in a rut!” You squeak.

Neuvillette chuckles, shaking his head. “There’s nothing to worry about, dearest. Are we, your lovers, not allowed to savor this moment between us?” Neuvillette asks.

You warily look at Neuvillette. “I’m not against having intimate moments with both of you, but you two are acting strange,” you murmur. “It’s not like you two to display such affection in public. I am not against it, but you two are usually composed.”

Zhongli clears his throat, unbuttoning his shirt to expose his bare chest. “Forgive me, my dear. The perfume you have on is quite intoxicating. I cannot help but feel like I’m under a spell when I catch a whiff of the fragrance,” Zhongli says, now standing at the edge of the bed.

Zhongli rests one knee on the bed before grabbing you by the ankles. Without warning, Zhongli yanks you towards the edge, emitting a surprised squeak from you. Zhongli chuckles and rubs your cheek with his thumb before leaning down to pepper your face with gentle kisses. Zhongli grabs your hand and laces his fingers with yours before pressing his lips against yours.

While you and Zhongli kiss, Neuvillette kneels before you and spreads your legs apart. Neuvillette slides his hands underneath the bands of your shorts before roughly tugging them down to your ankles and tossing them behind him. The Chief Justice of Fontaine then loops his index and middle finger around the bands of your panties, sliding them down your legs, gulping at the sight of your dripping entrance.

Neuvillette licks his lips before spreading your legs wider, leans forward, and latches his lips onto your entrance. You break your and Zhongli’s kiss, gasping when you feel Neuvillette’s warm tongue lapping and swirling at your entrance. Zhongli takes that as an opportunity to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. You softly whimper when Neuvillette penetrates your heat with his tongue while pressing his nose against the engorged and throbbing nerve.

Zhongli groans after freeing his throbbing cocks from his underwear. Your eyes grow wide, completely forgetting that Zhongli has more than one cock. Fuck, how could you forget so easily? Wait, if Zhongli has two of them, does that mean Neuvillette also has two cocks? What if he has more than two?

Zhongli taps your lips with the tip of his cock, signaling you to open your mouth. You open your mouth and stick your tongue out. Zhongli slides his cock into your mouth, moaning when the warmth of your mouth engulfs his cock. While sucking Zhongli’s cock, you reach for his second cock and begin pumping it at a steady pace. 

You nearly choke on Zhongli’s dick when you feel something penetrate your wet heat. You turn to see Neuvillette gently sliding his index and middle finger into your entrance, slow enough not to hurt you. He stretches your entrance, making sure you’re ready for what’s to come. Zhongli pushes your head down on his cock, making you swallow more. You wince, nearly gagging. You pause for a moment and close your eyes, trying to collect yourself.

You pull away from Zhongli’s cock before bringing the other one into your mouth to continue where you have left off. Zhongli wipes the stray tear in the corner of your eyes, pressing a kiss on your head as a silent apology for being a teeny bit rough on you. Even though he wasn’t rough on you in the slightest, he didn’t want to cause you any discomfort while doing anything intimate with you.

Neuvillette pulls away from your groin, pulling his fingers out of your entrance. Neuvillette sucks on his soaked fingers, maintaining eye contact with you while your mouth is occupied with sucking Zhongli’s second cock. Neuvillette stands up and unbuckles his belt, unzips his pants, and pulls his pants and underwear down. Unsurprisingly, two cocks spring from the confinement of his pants, slapping his lower abdomen. The mushroom tips of his cock are bright red and leaking with pre-cum. 

Oh, you are not going to make it out alive. Hell, someone’s going to have to carry around Chenyu Vale and back to the abode after today. You subconsciously pull Zhongli’s cock out of your mouth and glance at Zhongli’s cocks, then at Neuvillette’s cocks. Who has bigger dicks between the two of them?

Zhongli raises his eyebrows at you, pulling your hair into a ponytail and tilting your head up. “What are you thinking about?” Zhongli mutters, his voice thick with lust.

You stare at Zhongli, trying to come up with an excuse. Neuvillette chuckles, rubbing his hands on your thighs as he parts your legs. Neuvillette grabs one of his cocks and rubs them against your folds, coating his aching cock with your slick. 

You shake your head, heat rushing to your cheeks. “I wanted to know what’s causing you two to act this way, that’s all,” you finally sputter out an excuse.

Zhongli continues to gaze at you with a raised eyebrow, tapping your bottom lip with the tip of his cock. You reluctantly open your mouth, still hoping that Zhongli bought your poor excuse of a response. While you are curious about what made Zhongli and Neuvillette act so strange, like an animal in a rut, you don’t want the two men to get competitive over who has a bigger package. 

After a few minutes of Neuvillette rubbing his cock between your folds, Neuvillette nudges your entrance with the bulbous tip of his cock. You’re too busy sucking and licking Zhongli’s cock to notice that Neuvillette is about to bury his cock inside you. Without warning, Neuvillette slides his thick cock into your pulsating entrance. The smooth and moist walls of your entrance clenches around Neuvillette’s cock, making him tense and bury his face into your neck, groaning. After Neuvillette is balls deep inside you, he relaxes and reaches for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. 

“You’re very tight; relax for me, dearest,” Neuvillette murmurs into your ears, his chest rapidly rising and falling. 

You whimper, taking Zhongli’s cock out of your mouth while writhing beneath Neuvillette’s body. “It hurts, Neuvillette,” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut as you dig your nails into his back.

Neuvillette kisses the side of your head as he reassures you. Neuvillette reaches down and starts pinching and rubbing your swollen bundle of nerves. You squeeze and pulse around his cock, both legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer to you. You and Neuvillette groan when Neuvillette is now buried at the hilt. 

Neuvillette wraps his arms around your waist before pulling you farther up the bed. Neuvillette lays on his back with you lying on top of him. He tangles his fingers in your hair before crashing his lips against yours. While you and Neuvillette are messily making out, Zhongli completely strips off his clothes and comes up behind you.

Zhongli lifts his hand and slaps your right ass cheek, causing you to jolt and break the kiss between you and Neuvillette. Zhongli chuckles and shakes his head, placing both hands on your waist before gently bouncing you on Neuvillette’s cock. You softly moan, slowly riding Neuvillette’s cock with the help of Zhongli. 

Once you’re used to Neuvillette’s size, you start to take over, increasing the speed. Neuvillette wraps one arm around your waist while the other is on your shoulder, forcing you to stay in one place as he pistons his cock into your wet heat. 

Your slick trails down your leg, soaking Neuvillette’s pubic hairs and lap. Neuvillette takes the opportunity to slide his second cock into the same hole, causing you to tense and dig your nails into his shoulders.

Zhongli spreads your ass cheeks and spits. He reaches down and gathers your slick and rubs your ass hole. You knew this day would come, but you didn’t know that it was going to happen today. You squeeze your eyes shut and bury your face in Neuvillette’s neck after feeling Zhongli’s cock probing at your ass. 

Zhongli slowly inserts his cock, stretching out your ass. You groan and bite down on Neuvillette’s shoulders, sending shivers down Neuvillette’s spine. As Zhongli continues to slowly sink his cock into your ass, Neuvillette licks your neck and takes a deep whiff of the intoxicating scent of your skin and the perfume. Neuvillette continues to thrust his cocks into your entrance; the sound of skin-to-skin and squelching fills the air, accompanied by occasional moans and whimpers from the three of you.

Zhongli gathers your hair into a ponytail and tilts your head to the side, revealing your neck to him. Zhongli leans down and presses his nose against your neck, taking deep breaths before letting out a breathy moan in your ears. Zhongli squeezes your chest with his unoccupied hand, rutting into your backside.

Zhongli and Neuvillette make eye contact and glare at each other. Zhongli looks away, gritting his teeth while Neuvillette continues to hammer his cocks into your heat. Zhongli stares at your neck for a moment, gradually slowing his pace. 

Should he do it? Zhongli shakes his head, trying to ignore the voices in his head that are trying to convince him to mark you— claim you as his and only his. Zhongli thrusts hard, causing you to jolt forward and moan like an absolute whore. 

“Fuck, Zhongli!” You whine, blindly reaching behind you to grip his bicep.

Fuck it. Zhongli buries his face into your neck and bites down on your neck. Your eyes widen, and you let out a strained gasp, whimpering in pain. Tears pool in your eyes the harder Zhongli bites down on your neck, drawing blood.

Neuvillette glares at Zhongli before mimicking Zhongli’s actions. The Chief Justice of Fontaine gently kisses the other side of your neck before biting your neck just as hard as Zhongli. You wail, thrashing in Zhongli and Neuvillette’s arms as they refuse to let go of your neck. You feel warm liquid gushing from your neck and streaming down your collarbones and chest.

It takes you approximately five minutes to realize that there’s a tight knot forming in your lower abdomen the more Zhongli and Neuvillette continue to piston their two cocks into your holes while biting your neck like a feral animal. Before you know it, the knot in your lower abdomen snaps, sending you into momentary bliss as you cum around Neuvillette’s cocks.

You don’t remember what happens after that. If you have to think hard, you’re certain that Zhongli and Neuvillette switch places to continue to rail you through the night at the inn. Whoever’s in the nearby rooms, you sincerely apologize for causing a disturbance with your two lovers. You really hope you won’t get a complaint letter or call from the innkeeper. 

- Present -

Kazuha waves his hand in front of your face after you blanked out for who knows how long. “Hello? Are you still here with us?” Kazuha teasingly asks, chuckling.

You snap out of your thoughts and clear your throat, looking away. There’s no way in hell you’re telling them the truth about how you got the bite marks on your neck. Albedo and Baizhu nudge the others away from you to give them room to inspect the bite marks on your neck. Baizhu sighs and tilts your head side to side to get a better look while Changsheng scrutinizes you— oh, the snake knows the perpetrators. You give the snake a pleading look, hoping she won’t rat Neuvillette and Zhongli out.

Changsheng shakes her head with disapproval. “It’ssss quite obvioussss how [Y/N] received thosssse markssss on their neck,” Changsheng says, twisting her head to glance over at Neuvillette and Zhongli, narrowing her eyes at them.

“Oh? And who do you think it could be, Changsheng?” Lyney asks, raising his eyebrows at the white snake draping over Baizhu’s shoulders with interest and curiosity. 

You contemplate whether you should lunge at Changsheng to keep her mouth shut, but you decide not to do it because you know that will make you look suspicious— well, even more suspicious than you already seem. Albedo hums, cleaning the bite marks on your neck before briefly pausing.

You look at Albedo, worried, “What’s with that look on your face?”

Albedo chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s nothing to worry about, [Y/N]. But the bite marks around your neck should be healed within a few days to a week. Depending on how deep the bites are, it could take up to almost a month for it to be healed,” Albedo says, handing the white gauze to Baizhu.

You’re not entirely sure if the bites will heal because when you glanced in the mirror, the bite marks were glowing. Even though the ache didn’t last as long, it does ache a lot— probably not as much as yesterday, but it’s aching. 

“The two of you bit [Y/N], didn’t you?” Wriothesley asks, raising his eyebrows at Zhongli and Neuvillette, the corner of his lips quirking up.

Neuvillette clears his throat, crossing his arms over his chest. “I would do no such thing,” Neuvillette replies.

Everyone in the room raises their eyebrows at the Chief Justice of Fontaine, not believing his response. Zhongli, on the other hand, sighs and chooses not to reply to Wriothesley’s comment. Despite choosing to stay silent, the red ears and cheekbones say another.

Childe pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, glaring at Zhongli and Neuvillette, steam practically coming from his ears. You shut your eyes, hoping no one will start a fight after discovering who marked you.

“I can’t believe you two marked [Y/N] before I did!” Childe exclaims. “I should be the first one to do it, not you two!”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, temples beginning to throb as more people start to shout in agreement. Great, now your body is going to be littered with marks from these men. It’s not like you mind it… you’re just worried about who will try to make theirs more prominent for other people to see. You peek at Zhongli and Neuvillette, only to see them subtly smile at each other. Your mouth is agape after realization dawns on you. 

They planned this entire thing.

Note: I understand that Neuvillette is probably not older than Teyvat like Zhongli, but for the sake of this fic, he is now. Wow, this is the final fanfic of the year and the first smut in forever. My goal for 2025 is to hopefully write and post more fanfics! And catch up with Genshin and HSR quests. The next fanfic I will be posting after this one is a Love&Deepspace one! Oh! Before I reopen my Discord server, I am looking for new moderators for my server! So, if you are interested in being a moderator for my server, here is the link to the form [HERE]! The deadline is January 7th, 2025! ^^ If you are chosen, I or one of my moderators will contact you through either Tumblr, Discord, or AO3 before the server is reopened! Anyway, To all my new and returning readers, keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr), Ko-Fi (Genshinluvr/Aaliah_exo), and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Taglist: @uniquecutie-puffs, @rubyninja1, @loveariel

Read more of my works on my Grand Masterlist, which contains every masterlist I have created! | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories there, too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^

[wakeup01]

hi i would love if you could transform me into your stupid foot slave.

Clean Slate

“What do you want to be in life?” I ask you as we relax at my place at the end of our date. You give a rather non committal shrug as I peel off my socks and rest my feet on the living room table.

“Huh. No career ambitions? Artist, scientist…cleaner?” I smile at you as you approach and sit across from me, scrunching your nose slightly while the scent of my feet wafts over to you.

“N—no. I guess not.” You reply sheepishly, your eyes leaving mine as they lower to my large feet.

“I’m sure we can find your place in life. You probably have lots to give. Talented at many things. Such as…cleaning.” I sway my feet back and forth on the table as I watch your eyes follow them. “Just keep watching.”

“Huh?” Distracted, you don’t even look away. My feet and their movements were utterly fascinating. “I—I don’t…”

“Cleaning.” I repeat bluntly. “I bet you’re good at cleaning.” Your back bends as you naturally feel yourself lean forward, your head lowering slightly as my feet take up more of your vision. I hear you take a tentative sniff, your eyes glazing over.

Cleaning.

“Cl—cleeaning.” You slur as a bit of drool slides from your mouth. I give a little snicker as I witness you lick your lips. Your head begins to sway along with my hypnotic sweaty feet. Mirroring it’s motion. The smell at this point was incredibly overpowering, burning away your feeble inhibitions. My feet are fucking your mind, my toes pushing to the back of your skull. Reshaping your soft brain like playdoh. Back and forth. Back and forth…

“See, I’m not so much looking for a ‘boyfriend’. Too much maintenance. But I’m sure we can find a use for you. Cleaning clothes perhaps? Maybe bathroom cleaning? No. Cleaning…feet.” I look down and validate you with a smirk.

Cleaning. Feet.

“Foot cleaning. Yes, yes I think that’s your place in life. A mindless foot cleaner. Cleaning my rank feet. You’re very skilled at it.” I assert, placing my hand on your head and guiding you closer. “It’s okay. Some of us are meant to improve the world, some of us are meant to be productive members of society. And some of us, some of us are meant to lick the space between men’s toes.”

“I…no. Please.” You plead as your face enters my feet’s gravitational pull. The musk flowing up your nose and swimming around your emptied, foot fucked mind. They smelled just as you suspected they would, of feet. Your attention is captivated by a bead of sweat on my sole. It didn’t belong there, there on my perfect feet. You feel an impulse growing. A need. You needed to…needed to…

“Clean.” I answer for you. Making everything suddenly fall into place. It just made sense. “Clean my stinky feet.”

You shudder, any hint of resistance fading in an instant. Your mouth obediently opens and your tongue glides down the length of my sole, picking up all the sweat and grime that gathered from our long walk. The taste is sour and foul but for some shameful reason, that stirs your cock. You didn’t want this, but not wanting it made you so unbelievably hard. My feet had successfully hypnotised your mind, conditioning you to kneel at the mere sight of them. Seeing my sole was the only trigger needed for your mouth to water, for your thoughts to dissipate. For you to become no more than a rag to wipe my feet clean.

“Always glad to see someone enjoy their job so immensely.” I bend forward and pin a little badge to your shirt. The two words printed on it in basic typeface describe your entire existence ‘Foot Cleaner’. Now no one, including you would be confused about your role in life.

“Cweeann siiir.” You moan with a mouth full of my flavourful foot cheese.

I laugh above you, flexing my arms as you perform your job. “Good boy. Good foot cleaner. Lick every inch until they’re glistening with your saliva. Aren’t you happy I helped you find the height of your aspirations at the bottom of my feet. Dumb idiot.”

“Yusss, thank you sir.” You wanted to be a good obedient boy for master.

“Shut up and work.” I shove my feet into you, rubbing them across your face. “I expect my feet to be spotless slave. You will be here every evening from now on to fulfil your duty. And then you will pay me for the privilege like the pathetic foot slut that you are.”

Do I make myself clear?

[johnbrand]

Updated Employee Handbook

Ding! Ding!

Clark groaned. “Did you just get this email from Corporate?” 

“I think so,” Weston frowned. “‘Updated Employee Handbook’?”

“That’s the one,” Clark confirmed, the pair opening their respective emails. “Ever since this new CEO was confirmed, I feel like he’s been restarting and refreshing everything we do here.”

Weston scoffed, “We can’t even enjoy our 30 minute break outside the office without somehow getting looped back in. 

Click. Click.

“Are we sure we want to read this now?” Clark flicked a blond curl out of his face. “We could just enjoy the remaining minutes of our ignorant freedom.”

Weston chuckled, “I don’t know if we can, man. It’s flagged for mandatory reading, immediately.”

“I just hope they’re not revoking the jeans policy,” Clark commented. “I didn’t bring an extra set of clothes.”

Weston scratched at his man bun with an exaggerated sigh. “I did, but that’s because I knew I’d already be sweating through this shirt by now.”

Fwoosh. Fwoosh.

“Step by step confirmations?” Clark remarked. “This’ll be fun.”

“You know it,” Weston added.

Confirm. Confirm.

“‘The foundations of a man’s future are found in his wardrobe',” Clark began. “‘Traditional, full cut briefs are the center. Their stiff, starchy materials, blindingly white to showcase utter perfection, solidify the role of an employee. Their cotton fabric may appear inconsequential, yet they affirm that the employee is at the very core follwing instruction’.”

Confirm. Confirm.

Weston shifted his bottom uncomfortably. “‘A pristine button-down should expertly cover the upper body.  Depending on the weather, and the corporate setting, the following should either be a suitable pair of trousers or shorts. Trousers shall remain woolen and perched millimeters below the briefs and only be supported by braces. Shorts can be designed of lighter material, but must be of adequate length’.”

Confirm. Confirm.

“At least he’s letting our legs breathe,” Clark commented, itching at his own exposed limbs absentmindedly. “‘While the stiff shirt and particular cut of the trousers will keep the employee upright and tall, the jacket is designed for decorative purposes. The shape will reform the man as thick, strong, and uniform. Depending on the season, colors will remain modest. Blacks, grays, and blues for winter, with simple patterns and refined hues allowed for summer’.”

Confirm. Confirm.

Weston pulled at his striped lapel, thankful that his choice of attire today was not too exciting. “‘Accessories shall follow a similar suit. Silky black socks, generic yet tasteful tie, a handkerchief and or watch reflective of wealth, not personality. A highly polished pair of oxfords should represent every employee’s wardrobe; the gel holding his hair should represent how the employee is held to standards’.”

Confirm. Confirm.

“This better be the last page,” Clark moaned. “This is giving me more of a headache than refluffing my quiff.”

“It’s almost as agonizing as visiting an inexperienced tailor,” Weston quipped, to which both men laughed.

“Alright alright, I got this,” Clark finally said. “‘The foundations of a man are found in his wardrobe. Therefore, what is built upon that foundation should match. After all, the clothes do make the man’. There, that’s it.”

“Thank god that’s the last one,” Weston agreed.

Confirm. Confirm.

“Quite the peculiar update to our terms of service, wouldn’t you agree?” Clarence remarked.

“Well how so?” Wesley questioned. “I maintain that the boss’s wishes perfectly align with the standard workplace etiquette."

“My point exactly,” Clarence confirmed. “What is unordinary is how these quotations were not enforced before. The sense here is that I have already adorned this Cascade green jacket numerous times throughout these last two quarters alone.”

“And I with my own blazer showcasing these off-golden buttons,” Wesley added. “Perhaps our boss is tastefully solidifying our strong, traditional, classic values, even if we were already abiding.”

Meeting Invite for CLARENCE JOHNSTONBOROUGH, WESLEY LAUDER II 

“Bizarre how we appear to consistently be transported back to our duties, even while on intermission, is it not?” Clarence inquired.

“Indeed, it is bizarre,” Wesley replied.

[leviathanleva]

Sugar Bomb

Pairing: Findlay 'Hazard' Docherty x Fem!Reader

Description: Trying to court Hazard is tough. You nearly give up, thinking your methods have failed. Or have they?

[2.4 k words]

Chapter 5

“Listen, I’m an omnic and even I can smell your perfume.”

You purse your lips at Susie before averting your attention to the lava lamp on your nightstand.

How everyone but Findlay had noticed the changes was beyond you. You’d tried so hard to impress him, your wardrobe was full of cute dresses now, even knitted winter ones you tended to freeze in, but soldiered on just to try and catch his eye. Thigh-high socks had become a regular sight, squishing your thighs just perfectly. You’d even gotten your nails done, a pretty bubblegum pink.

A sweet candy perfume rested next to the lava lamp; one-third of the bottle was already gone because you never missed the chance to renew the aroma on your neck, hoping that the dumb blond would be lured in by the smell of treats. But no, the oblivious bloke instead checked the cookie jar every time you were together in the kitchen because he was too daft to realize the notes of vanilla and cinnamon were coming from you and not some hidden pastry.

“I just missed being girly.” Is the first lie you can think of to tell Susie and sate her hunger for being in on the secret to your sudden and drastic change.

You’d rather move out than tell anyone the pathetic reason why you abandoned sweatpants and leggings for short dresses and tight thigh-highs.

“And that’s why you spent half your savings on a new wardrobe when your clothes are perfectly fine?”

You cross your legs in discomfort and suppress the need to hide under your covers.

“Yes.”

Every morning you took a shower before starting an intensive skincare routine. From ampules to face masks and even a rose quartz face roller. You scrubbed yourself raw, used the best-scented body lotion you could find, and caked yourself with copious amounts of vitamin C and sunblock, made sure that every little imperfection and blemish was covered up, that your cheeks always had a ruddy tint to them, lips always hydrated and as plump as possible. Your skin was glowing, your hair was immaculate, your clothes were ironed to perfection, everything about you was as spectacular as you could make it.

And still, he didn’t notice a fucking thing.

Men…typical.

Each day you tried a new outfit, thinking maybe it’s not a color he likes, the length is wrong, the combination isn’t his style. And each day your hopes were crushed when he didn’t even dare to look in your general direction.

Were you that unfavorable in a dress? What were you doing wrong?

It was exhausting to be denied even a glance when a month ago you were holding each other like lost lovers. Granted he’d almost died and you were on the brink of a complete meltdown because of it, but still.

Now his eyes were everywhere but on you, his good mornings and good nights were rushed and dismissive as if he didn’t even want to speak with you.

It took a toll on your confidence.

“You know I’m gonna get to the bottom of this, right?”

You squint at Susie’s words and force out a nervous laugh before shifting slightly away from her on the bed.

It was girls' night again, it had been a while since you both had enough time and energy to have a proper sleepover. You had been ecstatic and in desperate need of a distraction from your failed attempts at courting Hazard. But of course, the sweet little omnic was perceptive and she knew you too well for all these sudden changes to go unexplained.

So here you were, being interrogated while you did your best to dodge the matter.

She was more headstrong than you though.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” She says delicately as if she was trying not to frighten a jumpy hare.

“I know Suze.” You sigh and look away when your expression changes from content, but slightly nervous, to utterly pained and dejected. “But there’s nothing to talk about. I’m just running an experiment, trying to boost my confidence is all, but so far…” You take a breath and continue. “…So far it’s felt like an utter failure.”

Her hands twitch in her lap before she rests one over your knee, kind and gentle like she always was.

“Is that what this is all about?” The omnic tilts her head slightly and then chirps out a giggle. “You’re not feeling confident?”

There’s genuine sympathy in her tone and you force out an embarrassed smile and brush your fingers you’re your hair awkwardly.

“Yeah…” Is all you manage before taking your pillow to squeeze against your chest and stuffing your face into it. It wasn’t technically a lie, your confidence was suffering, but it was more due to someone rather than diminishing by itself.

When you hear shuffling you look back up and see Susie sliding off the bed and slipping on her coat with determination you’d not seen in her before.

“Where are you going?” You ask, words muffled into the fluff of the pillow.

“I’ll be right back, trust me.” She calls back and closes the door behind her, leaving you alone in the dim atmosphere of your bedroom.

And so you wait, abandoned to solitude with a bowl of popcorn and a list of old corny movies you were planning on watching. Snow fell languidly outside your window, piled up on the sill, a friend to the frosted flowers decorating the glass. The heater blasting in the corner did well to fill the silence with a soft white noise, but it wasn’t enough to quell your self-doubt. You’re left to your thoughts which have been very unkind lately, it’s not a good place to be in. Your mind berates you incessantly and all you can do is squeeze yourself into a tighter ball of shame and just take it.

Not good enough. – It wasn’t a term you liked to use, you knew how detrimental to one’s mental health it was and in the past you’d managed to stray from it, well, mostly. But lately, it had kept nagging at the back of your head until you couldn’t ignore it anymore. Self-hate had slithered into your bloodstream and now there was no getting rid of it when all of your self-worth was unknowably put on the shoulders of a man who didn’t even want to acknowledge you.

You pat the pillow in your lap gently before puffing out a breath.

“Fuck this.”

You’re wiping the cat eyeliner off your lids and smearing the lipgloss into the back of your palm to get it off your mouth before you can process what’s happening. Once that’s done, you take the perfume bottle and stuff it in your drawer where you hope to forget it ever existed.

If he didn’t like you, that was that, no amount of makeup or pretty clothes were going to change his opinion. You’d just hoped that maybe…

“No.”

You shake your head, shake all the stupid thoughts away before standing to change out of the white knitted dress you were suffering in. A pair of khaki shorts and a large hoodie, a mouthful of popcorn, and a stupid romcom with Susie were all you needed to be happy.

There’s a ruckus outside your door, hissy voices that are scream-whispering at each other but the words are too rushed and belligerent for you to comprehend. You go still and strain your ears, leaning slightly towards the entrance of your room while trying to listen, but nothing comes of it, the voices are too distorted.

When the door opens you jump instinctively and grip onto your hoodie to steady your racing heartbeat.

There stands Susie, gripping Hazard’s arm and keeping him from bolting down the hallway and away from you like he was avoiding the plague. If it didn’t literally rip your heart apart, you’d find it funny. It was like making him eat steamed broccoli all over again.

“Great! Now we’re all here.” The sweet omnic starts and nudges Findlay in the ribs hard. “Now say what you think, Haz.”

“Wut? O,…right. I uh… I don’t – ” The poor Scotsman was stumbling over his words more than you were over your thoughts. He looked about ready to crawl out of his skin, it was torture to see him in such a state and despite Susie’s good intentions, you’d rather just set him free from your unwanted presence.

“Suze, really. It’s okay, he looks so uncomfortable.” You blabber out with a strained laugh and raise your hands up to motion for her to let him go despite the tears prickling the back of your eyes.

“No, no. He’s been dancing around this since you changed your style.” She interrupted and pulled Hazard inside the room before shutting the door to keep him from escaping. “Go on, Haz.”

It was a comical sight, the man barely fit in your small cozy dwelling. This was the first time he had ever entered your room and if the circumstances were any different, you’d be a nervous wreck, but right now, you just wanted this whole charade to be over.

“Susie, please…Just leave him be.” You plead, unaware of the small crystal clear droplets that are starting to weigh down on your lower lashes.

He’s tapping his foot in agitation and readjusting his tee every few seconds. His eyes skim over your bedroom – your lamp, the old TV screen, the popcorn bowl, your bed, everything and anything that isn’t you. You want to scream in his face:

“What the fuck did I do to you?! Why are you acting like this?!”

But you couldn’t, it wasn’t like you, confrontation was scary, confrontation with Findlay was even scarier.

“No. I’m done with you two playing the long game. Just say what you want to say and stop suffering – ”

“ – Susie!” You don’t realize you’ve yelled until it’s already echoing around, you don’t realize your voice broke halfway into pronouncing her name either. You swallow awkwardly, partly curl in on yourself, and speak in a rasp “Just let him go. He doesn’t want to be here.”

You’re sniffling softly, barely suppressing sobs and hugging yourself. It’s pitiful, you hate yourself for it, you wish you weren’t such a crybaby.

“Ey…No..No, no, no.” You hear him say, look up and meet his eyes for the first time in weeks. He approaches you hastily, ripping out of Susie’s grip to bend over you and tenderly wipe your cheeks dry. “None o’ this shite.” He gives the omnic a side glance. “Give us a moment, ye?”

When you hear the door shut behind her your lips part to form blubbery, wet words soaked with days of silent suffering.

“Why don’t you look at me anymore, Haz?” You wrap your fingers around his large wrist, craving his touch desperately after so long. “Did I do something? I don’t get it…You don’t even come close to me – ” A sob, a hiccup, a shiver wracking your body, cutting your mumbling off short. “ – anymore.”

“I’s Findlay. Fin for you. Kay, bonnie?” He speaks evenly, wraps one arm around your waist and gently tugs you into his wide chest. You practically disappear in his embrace, surrounded by warm, heavy muscle and it feels so right to stand like this. You relax, wipe your nose into the sleeve of your hoodie, mewling softly as he coos down at you. “Mah wee hen. Pretty li’le birdie. ‘M sorry…”

You cling to him, standing on the tips of your toes just to be able to rest your damp cheek against his prosthetic shoulder and still barely reaching. Your fingers trace the synthetic cords on his nape and you hear him gurgle out a curse before taking in a deep breath and choking audibly.

Then it dawns on you that your attempt at luring him to you might have backfired. You pull away slightly and cup his chin with unfathomable tenderness. He leans into your caress and closes his eyes to concentrate on stifling the hunger sparking to life inside his abdomen.

“Is it the perfume? I’ll stop wearing it, I thought you’d like it…I didn’t think you might actually be allergic – ”

“ – I’s not tha’, hen.” He struggles for words, a man barely restrained by his care for you and your dignity, because you simply deserved better than him. “Ah like it. Ah do…A bit too much.”

It takes you a moment to process what he means, but once you do, your whole body feels like it’s been lit ablaze. Your heart pounds in your chest, ready to leap through your ribs at any second. You dig your nails in his skin to try and keep from collapsing right there on the spot and earn a strained rumble from him as a reward.

“Prancin’ about in those pre’y li’le dresses. Could smell ya ‘round every corner.” He glowers, driven to the brink of insanity by your existence in his life. He kneads your sides eagerly, craving the flesh hidden beneath the thick fabric of your hoodie. He’s desperate, restrain runs thin and he’s had enough torture to be able to resist again now that you were in his hands, yielding and soft. “Wasn’t enough ta test me with them pre’y clothes. Had to use tha’ stench too. Lure me out like a wolf starved.”

“Fin…” You mewl out weakly, grateful for his solid hold on you because you were nearly ready to faint.

“I like ta think is all fur me, ya know?” He murmurs, it’s barely audible and you want to shout in his ear that it is, but it feels like there’s water in your lungs, you’re drowning in his presence, immobilized and pliant.

“Findlay…”

You manage to sneak a glance. His eyes are glowing in the dimness of your room, a threatening shadow cast over them and making them stand out. He looks like an apex predator about to feast, having finally caught his meal. And you’re right there, the willing sacrifice, ready to be swallowed whole if only to stay with him forever. You’re ready for anything as long as he’s there with you.

“Wonna eat ya up.” His nose is pressed into your neck, inhaling deeply, then you feel a wetness being dragged across your skin and a shiver wracks you entirely. “Cannae take it anymore…”

“Please, please, please…”

This is all you’ve ever wanted.

“You two alright in there?” Susie, bless her, the ever-caring friend that she was, but you really wished she wasn’t waiting for you to wrap it up on the other side of your door. He pulls away silently, regrettably, and spares you a last wanton glance before heading for the door and leaving you there thrumming and beyond overjoyed.

<<< Chapter 4

Chapter 6 >>>

Masterlist

[hurriane23456]

Through Another’s Eyes

Elliot Bennett had always thought his job was peculiar, to say the least. He worked at Mimic Studio, a company renowned for its hyper-realistic masks. These weren’t the kind of masks you’d find at a costume shop; they were masterpieces, crafted with such precision that they transformed the wearer entirely. Each came with a full outfit, contact lenses to match the eye color, and shoes to complete the look. Mimic catered to movie studios, high-end cosplayers, and a few private clients who didn’t explain why they needed to look like someone else.

Elliot was a junior marketing intern, responsible for social media posts. He wasn’t an artist; and never got close to the merchandise. That evening, he found himself alone at the studio, the whirring machines and half-finished molds silent around him. It was rare for him to have the space to himself, and as he walked into the Mask Room, he couldn’t help but feel the pull of curiosity.

The Mask Room was where the completed works were displayed—rows and rows of lifelike faces suspended on mannequin heads. The designs ranged from average-looking men to strikingly handsome models. The outfits accompanying them hung nearby, tailored to perfection. Elliot’s eyes landed on a mask he’d never seen before: a rugged, stubbled face with piercing blue eyes and a square jaw. The tag read: "Jason – Outdoorsman."

He hesitated but finally gave in, locking the door to ensure no one walked in on him.

Elliot unhooked the mask and carried it to the changing area. The accompanying outfit was folded neatly beside it: a flannel shirt, distressed jeans, and brown hiking boots. His fingers tingled with excitement and nerves as he stripped out of his work clothes, standing in just his socks before pulling on the jeans. They fit snugly, hugging his legs in a way that made him glance at himself in the full-length mirror.

The flannel shirt was next—soft, perfectly worn in, and rolled up at the cuffs. He slipped on the boots, their weight and rugged soles giving him the impression he’d just come back from a mountain hike.

Now for the mask.

Elliot picked it up, marveling at the detail: the faint freckles across the nose, the hint of crow’s feet at the corners of the eyes. He stretched it gently, noticing how pliable yet durable the material felt, before slipping it over his head. The inside was cool against his skin, and he adjusted the edges until they blended perfectly with his neck.

When he looked in the mirror, he gasped. Jason the Outdoorsman stared back at him. Elliot popped in the blue contact lenses, completing the transformation. His reflection didn’t just look like someone else—it felt like someone else. He smirked, tilting his head, running a hand over the stubble that felt impossibly real.

“Damn,” he muttered, his voice slightly muffled by the mask. He rolled his shoulders, suddenly feeling like he could chop wood or trek through a forest.

He could’ve stopped there, but the thrill was addictive. Elliot peeled off the mask reluctantly, placed it back on its stand, and scanned the shelves for his next choice. His eyes landed on "Mason – Business Tycoon."

The outfit was a three-piece suit: charcoal gray with a crisp white shirt, a silk tie, and polished black dress shoes. Elliot stripped down again, feeling a bit silly standing in his boxers in the sterile studio, but excitement overpowered his hesitation.

The suit fit him like a glove, the fabric smooth and expensive against his skin. He adjusted the tie, the Windsor knot sitting perfectly at his throat. The shoes, shiny enough to see his reflection, clicked satisfyingly on the tiled floor.

Mason’s mask was next. It had a clean-shaven jaw, slightly tanned skin, and sharp cheekbones. Once he slipped it on, he inserted the hazel contact lenses and stared at himself.

He looked powerful. Confident. Like a man who owned skyscrapers and never took no for an answer. He straightened his tie in the mirror and let out a low laugh.

“What’s my next big deal?” he joked to himself, his voice deep and commanding.

By now, Elliot was fully immersed in the game. He pulled Mason off, carefully reassembling the set, and reached for something more daring. His hand hovered over a mask labeled "Ryan – Rock Star."

The outfit was bold: ripped black jeans, a leather jacket, a fitted black T-shirt, and combat boots. There were even accessories—silver rings, a chain necklace, and sunglasses.

Slipping into the clothes felt like stepping into a different world. The leather jacket was buttery soft, the rings cool against his fingers. He placed the sunglasses on top of his head, letting them rest in his tousled brown wig—the mask came with hair this time, styled in perfectly disheveled waves.

Ryan’s face had a roguish smirk, a faint scar above his eyebrow, and piercing green eyes. Once he had the mask on, Elliot completed the look with the green lenses and stepped back.

He didn’t just look like a rock star. He felt like one. He struck a pose, pretending to hold a guitar, and laughed.

“This is insane,” he muttered, his voice raspy and full of swagger.

Elliot was riding a high. Each transformation was more thrilling than the last. He could feel the studio’s silence around him, but it only heightened the sense of intimacy with his newfound game. Placing the rock star set carefully back on its stand, he scanned the rows for his next choice.

His gaze landed on something unusual: a mask labeled "Liam – Athlete." The mannequin head sported a short buzz cut and a face glistening with sweat, as if Liam had just finished a grueling workout.

The outfit was a basketball jersey and matching shorts, complete with a pair of size-13 sneakers. A duffel bag sat beside the mannequin, holding accessories like a wristband and a water bottle.

Elliot couldn’t resist. He stripped down and pulled on the jersey and shorts. They felt cool and lightweight, clinging to his body in a way that made him acutely aware of every movement. The sneakers were enormous compared to his regular size, but they fit perfectly, thanks to the padding built into the soles.

The mask was different from the others—it came with a slight sheen, replicating the effect of perspiration. Elliot slipped it on, adjusting it carefully, and popped in the brown contact lenses.

The mirror revealed someone who looked fresh off a basketball court: a chiseled jawline, a confident smirk, and broad shoulders that seemed almost too big to be his own. Elliot flexed an arm experimentally, laughing at how the mask made his wiry frame appear like a professional athlete’s.

“Game on,” he said, his voice carrying a new edge.

As he returned Liam’s set to its place, Elliot felt something shift. The masks weren’t just disguises anymore; they were identities. Each time he looked in the mirror, he felt less like Elliot and more like the man staring back.

He hesitated, his hand hovering over a shelf filled with more masks. Should he stop? He shook his head. No one was here to judge him. He could stop whenever he wanted.

His fingers brushed against a mask labeled "Dominic – Undercover Agent." The face was rugged, with a five o’clock shadow and a slight scar running down one cheek. The outfit was a tactical ensemble: a black turtleneck, combat pants, and utility boots. A leather holster and fake earpiece completed the look.

This time, Elliot didn’t hesitate. He undressed quickly, feeling a rush as he pulled on the tactical pants and secured the belt around his waist. The turtleneck hugged his frame, making him feel both sleek and dangerous.

The boots were heavier than the others, clunking solidly on the floor as he paced. Finally, he pulled on Dominic’s mask, the material molding perfectly to his features. The scar added an air of danger, and the steely gray contact lenses gave his gaze an intensity that made him shiver.

When he stared into the mirror, Elliot felt like a stranger to himself. He reached for the holster, strapping it across his chest, and slid the fake earpiece into place.

“Agent Bennett,” he whispered to himself, testing the new persona. He turned sharply, pretending to clear a room, his movements sharp and precise.

Elliot’s exhilaration outweighed his caution. He scanned the shelves for one last transformation, his eyes landing on a mask labeled "Malik – Urban Legend."

The mask was striking, with smooth dark skin, a neatly shaped beard, and bold features that radiated charisma. The accompanying outfit hung nearby: an oversized hoodie, baggy jeans, and a pair of pristine white sneakers. A thick gold chain rested on the mannequin's chest, completing the ensemble.

Elliot hesitated for a moment. The set was unlike anything he’d tried before, and he felt a twinge of uncertainty. But the thrill was irresistible.

Stripping down, he reached for the hoodie first. It was heavy and warm, the fabric thick enough to feel substantial. He tugged it over his head, the hood settling comfortably around his neck. The jeans were loose, pooling slightly around the tops of the sneakers when he slipped them on. The chain was the final touch, cool against his chest.

Now for the mask.

Elliot picked it up carefully, noting the incredible detail: the texture of the skin, the subtle highlights on the nose and cheekbones, the natural sheen of the beard. Sliding it over his face, he adjusted it until it fit seamlessly. The brown contact lenses were a perfect match for the mask’s warm, expressive eyes.

When he turned to the mirror, the transformation was complete.

Elliot barely recognized himself. Malik’s broad shoulders and confident stance felt worlds apart from his usual frame. The oversized clothes emphasized a casual, effortless style that made him look like he belonged on a street corner or a music video set. He smirked, leaning into the persona.

“What’s up?” he muttered, deepening his voice. He laughed, shaking his head at how different he sounded.

He struck a pose, pulling the hood up over his head, and turned sideways in the mirror. The way the sneakers gleamed under the fluorescent lights added to the image, making him feel like someone who turned heads wherever he went.

Elliot was so absorbed in Malik’s reflection that he didn’t hear the faint click of the studio door unlocking.

-----

“Elliot. What are you doing?”

The voice froze him in place. He spun around, heart pounding, to see Mr. Calloway, his supervisor, standing in the doorway with one eyebrow raised. Calloway’s sharp suit and polished shoes looked completely out of place in the dimly lit studio, but his expression was impossible to misread: curiosity, amusement, and just a hint of annoyance.

“Uh… I… I was just, uh… testing the fit,” Elliot stammered. The deep voice of Malik spilled out of his mouth, making his excuse sound even more absurd.

Calloway took a step forward, folding his arms as he looked Elliot up and down. “Testing the fit, huh?” His lips twitched into a small smirk. “Well, you do look good, I’ll give you that.”

Elliot’s cheeks burned under the mask. He started to peel it off, fumbling with the edges.

“Stop.”

The command made him freeze. Calloway tilted his head, his gaze thoughtful.

“Put the hood back up,” he said.

Elliot hesitated, then obeyed, pulling the hood over his head again. Calloway paced slowly around him, inspecting the outfit from every angle.

“Hm,” Calloway said finally. “I always wondered how these looked in action. You wear it well.”

Elliot shifted awkwardly. “I-I didn’t mean to—”

Calloway waved a hand, cutting him off. “Relax. I’m not mad. But since you’re already having fun…” He gestured to the rows of masks. “Pick one out for me.”

Elliot blinked, unsure if he’d heard correctly. “What?”

“You heard me,” Calloway said, a glint of mischief in his eye. “If you’re going to play dress-up, let’s see what you can do with me.”

“You want me to… pick one?” Elliot asked, dumbfounded.

Calloway shrugged. “I’ve always been curious about these things. Might as well indulge.”

Elliot hesitated, but Calloway’s expectant look made it clear he wasn’t joking. Elliot scanned the shelves, searching for something drastically different from Calloway’s usual polished, buttoned-up look. His eyes landed on a set labeled "Jax – The Punk Rebel."

The mask had a youthful, edgy vibe: messy black hair with streaks of electric blue, a pierced eyebrow, and sharp cheekbones. The outfit was equally bold: a black leather jacket covered in studs, a ripped band T-shirt, tight black jeans, and heavy combat boots. A chain dangled from the pants, and fingerless gloves completed the look.

Elliot hesitated for a moment before pulling it down. He held it up with a small smirk. “How about this one?”

Calloway raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. “You want me to dress like that?”

“Well,” Elliot said, a little braver now, “you did say you wanted to try something different.”

Calloway sighed but took the set. “Fine. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Elliot stepped back as Calloway began changing. Watching his boss trade in his tailored suit for tight jeans and a leather jacket was surreal. The combat boots added a heavy stomp to his normally quiet, calculated steps.

Finally, Calloway picked up the mask. The punk's wild hair and defiant smirk were a far cry from his usual clean-cut look. He adjusted it carefully, making sure the edges fit perfectly before popping in the bright blue contact lenses.

When Calloway turned to the mirror, Elliot couldn’t hold back a laugh.

“Well?” Calloway asked, his voice a deep rasp that suited the rebellious persona. He adjusted the leather jacket, striking a mockingly defiant pose. “How do I look?”

“Like someone who’d get kicked out of their own office,” Elliot joked, still grinning.

Calloway chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ve got a strange sense of humor, Bennett.” He stepped closer to the mirror, inspecting the transformation. “I have to admit, this is… fun. A little ridiculous, but fun.”

Before Elliot could answer, the studio door creaked open again. Both he and Calloway froze, the playful mood evaporating instantly. They turned toward the sound, expecting to see a coworker or perhaps security. Instead, a man in a black uniform with the company logo stepped inside, clipboard in hand.

It was Frank, the head of inventory.

Frank looked up and froze in his tracks, his eyes widening as he took in the scene: Elliot still wearing Malik’s oversized hoodie and baggy jeans, and Calloway transformed into Jax, the punk rebel.

“What the hell is going on here?” Frank demanded, his voice sharp.

Elliot’s stomach sank. Calloway, however, didn’t miss a beat. He stepped forward, his combat boots thudding heavily on the floor, and gave Frank a mischievous smirk.

“Relax, Frank,” Calloway said, his raspy, rebellious voice a perfect match for the punk persona. “We’re just… testing the merchandise.”

“Testing?” Frank repeated, incredulous. His eyes darted between the two of them. “Do you know how much trouble you could get into for messing with inventory like this? These are high-value items!”

Calloway waved a dismissive hand, clearly enjoying the role he was playing. “Come on, Frank. Don’t act like you’ve never been curious.”

Frank sputtered, clearly caught off guard by Calloway’s brazen attitude. Elliot, meanwhile, stood frozen, unsure whether to defend himself or stay silent.

Then, to Elliot’s shock, Calloway grinned and gestured toward the shelves. “Why don’t you join us? Pick one out. It’s not every day you get to see yourself as someone else.”

Frank blinked, his indignation faltering. “What?”

“You heard me,” Calloway said, leaning casually against the wall. “You’re always talking about inventory this, inventory that. Why not take a closer look? I mean, really experience it.”

Elliot stared at Calloway, his heart racing. Was he seriously inviting Frank to join them?

Frank hesitated, his grip on the clipboard tightening. Then his gaze shifted to the rows of masks, curiosity flickering in his eyes despite himself. “You’re insane,” he muttered.

“Maybe,” Calloway said with a shrug. “But you’ve got to admit—it’s tempting.”

Frank sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “This is a terrible idea.”

“And yet, you’re considering it,” Calloway pointed out, his smirk widening.

After a long pause, Frank set his clipboard down and stepped toward the shelves. Elliot exchanged a wide-eyed look with Calloway, who winked.

“What’s the craziest one here?” Frank muttered under his breath, scanning the options.

Elliot’s anxiety began to shift into a strange excitement as he realized the night had taken a completely unexpected turn.

Frank scanned the shelves, muttering to himself as his eyes darted over the masks. He stopped in front of a set labeled "Boone – The Outland Ranger."

The mask was rugged and wild-looking: sun-kissed skin, a thick unkempt beard, and sharp, weathered features. The outfit hanging nearby was equally striking: a sleeveless leather vest adorned with various patches, a pair of tan cargo pants tucked into scuffed combat boots, and a wide-brimmed hat with a feather stuck into the band. A leather holster with a prop revolver hung at the side, completing the ensemble.

“This one’s ridiculous,” Frank muttered, pulling it off the rack. He turned to Calloway and Elliot, holding it up for them to see. “What do you think?”

Calloway smirked, crossing his arms. “Perfect. Let’s see if you’ve got what it takes to be a ranger.”

Elliot bit back a grin as Frank sighed, clearly regretting every decision that had brought him here, and began stripping out of his uniform. He folded his shirt neatly, shooting a glare at Calloway when he caught the boss smirking.

The transformation began with the cargo pants, which fit loosely but comfortably. The leather vest was snug, its patches adding a gritty, rebellious touch. Frank hesitated at the holster but eventually strapped it on, adjusting it with a scowl.

Finally, he picked up the mask. It was heavier than he expected, the craftsmanship so detailed it seemed almost alive. He slipped it over his head, adjusting it until the edges vanished seamlessly into his neck. The transformation was instant: the tired, middle-aged inventory manager disappeared, replaced by Boone’s rugged, outdoorsy persona.

Elliot handed him the hazel contact lenses, which Frank inserted with surprising ease. Then he placed the wide-brimmed hat on his head, completing the look.

When Frank turned to the mirror, he froze.

“What the…” His voice was rough and deep, entirely unlike his usual tone. He leaned closer to his reflection, running a gloved hand over the mask’s beard. “This is insane.”

Calloway chuckled. “Told you. Looks good on you, though.”

Frank adjusted the holster, his expression a mix of disbelief and intrigue. “I look like I just stepped out of a western.” He struck a mock pose, drawing the prop revolver from its holster. “Bang, bang,” he muttered, smirking despite himself.

Elliot couldn’t hold back a laugh. “You’re a natural.”

Frank turned to face them, crossing his arms. “Okay, fine. I’ll admit it—this is… kind of cool. But if anyone finds out about this, we’re all getting fired.”

“Only if you don’t look the part,” Calloway teased, adjusting his leather jacket. “Now come on. Let’s see how these characters look together.”

Frank groaned but followed as Calloway led him and Elliot to a larger mirror on the other side of the room. The three of them stood side by side: Calloway as Jax, the rebellious punk; Frank as Boone, the rugged ranger; and Elliot as Malik, the urban legend.

For a moment, the absurdity of the situation faded, replaced by a strange sense of camaraderie.

“You know,” Calloway said, grinning, “we could pull off one hell of a heist looking like this.”

The three stood in front of the mirror, their reflections almost unrecognizable. The transformation wasn’t just physical—it was as though stepping into these personas unlocked something freer in each of them.

Calloway adjusted the chains on his jacket, his smirk now almost cocky. “You know, I’ve been running this place for years, and I’ve never actually tried these on. I gotta admit, they’re pretty incredible.”

Frank snorted, tugging at the brim of his hat. “Yeah, well, I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you’re dressed like a punk rock delinquent.” He gestured toward Calloway’s combat boots. “Those are a far cry from your usual loafers.”

“Hey,” Calloway shot back, “at least I look good. You look like you just walked out of a survivalist convention.”

Elliot chuckled, finally feeling relaxed enough to join the banter. “And I look like I should be running a streetball tournament.” He spread his arms, taking in his oversized hoodie and sneakers. “Guess we’ve all got our alter egos now.”

Frank shook his head, but a small smile crept onto his face. “This is ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” Calloway said, raising an eyebrow. “Frank, look at us. We’re living the dream. For years, people have been buying these masks to become someone else, even just for a moment. And here we are, actually getting to experience it ourselves.”

Frank sighed, leaning against the counter. “You’ve got a point. It’s… kind of fun.” He glanced down at the prop revolver, spinning it idly before sliding it back into the holster. “Not gonna lie, I do feel pretty badass.”

“Exactly!” Calloway said, clapping him on the back. He turned to Elliot. “What about you, Bennett? Feeling like a whole new person?”

Elliot hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, I guess I do. It’s weird… but in a good way.”

The three of them fell into a comfortable silence, staring at their reflections. For a moment, they weren’t coworkers—they were characters, living in a shared fantasy.

Finally, Calloway broke the silence. “You know, we should make this a team-building exercise. Let everyone try on a mask, get a feel for the product.”

Frank groaned. “Please don’t. I don’t think I can handle seeing Jerry from accounting dressed like a Viking.”

Elliot laughed, picturing it. “Or Martha from HR as a biker chick.”

Calloway chuckled, shaking his head. “Fine, fine. But we’ll keep this between us for now. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Frank and Elliot said in unison.

“Good,” Calloway said, straightening his jacket. He turned to the mirror one last time, his expression softening. “Well, gentlemen, if nothing else, this has been a night to remember.”

Frank smirked. “Just as long as no one remembers it tomorrow.”

Elliot grinned, feeling a strange warmth in his chest. For the first time in a long while, work didn’t feel like work—it felt like an adventure.

Calloway leaned back against the counter, looking at Frank and Elliot with a mischievous glint in his eye. “All right, gentlemen,” he said, cracking his knuckles. “We’ve tried on our alter egos. Now let’s take it up a notch.”

Frank raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean by ‘take it up a notch’?”

Calloway smirked. “We switch. Each of us gets to experience someone else’s transformation. It’s only fair.”

Elliot blinked, his pulse quickening. “You mean… you want us to trade outfits and masks?”

“Exactly,” Calloway said, pushing off the counter. “Come on, don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little sweat.”

Frank groaned, rubbing his temples. “This is getting out of hand.”

“And yet,” Calloway said, pointing at him, “you’re not saying no.”

Frank hesitated, then sighed. “Fine. Let’s do it.”

Elliot swallowed hard, feeling both nervous and intrigued. He glanced at Calloway’s punk-inspired outfit, then at Frank’s rugged ranger look. Both felt so far removed from his own urban style that the thought of stepping into either was dizzying.

Calloway clapped his hands. “All right, here’s how this works. We’ll go one at a time. Frank, you’ll start by switching with me. Elliot, you’re next. Sound good?”

Frank shrugged. “Might as well get it over with.”

Frank unbuckled the holster from his waist, the leather strap creaking as he handed it to Calloway. “Here. Start with this.”

Calloway took it, slipping it on with ease before removing his own leather jacket. The studs glinted under the studio lights as he passed it to Frank. “And this is yours.”

Frank slipped the jacket on, the heavy material fitting snugly over his broad shoulders. The band T-shirt came next, and he grimaced as he pulled it over his head. “This thing’s damp,” he muttered, feeling the residual heat from Calloway’s body.

Calloway laughed as he tugged on the ranger vest. “That’s the price of admission.”

The pants were next, and Elliot couldn’t look away as the two men swapped. Frank struggled to wiggle into the tight black jeans, muttering under his breath about how restrictive they were. Meanwhile, Calloway adjusted the cargo pants, clearly amused by how loose they felt compared to his usual attire.

Finally, they exchanged masks. Frank hesitated as he peeled off the Boone mask, revealing his flushed face beneath. The inside of the mask glistened with sweat, and he handed it to Calloway with a grimace. “This is disgusting.”

Calloway took it without hesitation, slipping it over his head. He adjusted it, the bearded face settling into place seamlessly. “There we go,” he said, his voice now rough and deep like Boone’s.

Frank picked up the Jax mask, grimacing at the sticky interior. “I swear, if I get a rash from this…” He trailed off as he slid it on, the punk’s sharp features replacing his own.

When they turned to face the mirror, Elliot couldn’t help but laugh. Calloway, now dressed as the rugged ranger, looked completely at ease, while Frank’s transformation into the rebellious punk was hilariously out of character.

“How do I look?” Frank asked, his new voice rasping like sandpaper.

“Like you’re about to start a bar fight,” Calloway said, grinning.

Calloway turned to Elliot. “Your turn, Bennett. Let’s see you handle Boone’s look.”

Elliot’s heart raced as he began peeling off Malik’s hoodie. The fabric clung to his skin, damp with sweat, and he handed it to Calloway, who took it without complaint.

“Man, this thing’s heavy,” Calloway said, slipping it on.

Elliot kicked off the sneakers and struggled out of the baggy jeans, feeling oddly self-conscious as he handed them over. Calloway, now fully dressed as Malik, adjusted the oversized clothes with ease.

Meanwhile, Elliot reached for Boone’s outfit. The vest was stiff and warm, the leather almost alive with the residual heat from Calloway’s body. The cargo pants felt rough against his skin, and the holster added an unfamiliar weight to his side.

Finally, it was time for the mask. Elliot hesitated as he picked up Boone’s rugged face, the beard still damp from Calloway’s earlier transformation. He slid it over his head, shivering as the sweaty interior clung to his skin.

When he turned to the mirror, he barely recognized himself. The rugged ranger stared back at him, and for a moment, he felt a strange sense of power.

Frank, now fully dressed as Jax, smirked at him. “Not bad, Bennett. Not bad at all.”

The three of them stood side by side, now fully inhabiting each other’s original roles. Calloway, as Malik, looked imposing and confident. Elliot as Boone, had a rugged ease about him. And Frank, as Jax, felt like a completely different person.

“This,” Calloway said, his deep Malik voice booming, “is what I call teamwork.”

[pinkmelodie]

First Miguel fic + 250+ follower special ୨୧

I’d like to start off by saying THANK YOU SO SO MUCH FOR ALMOST 300 FOLLOWERS !! And 2000+ notes?!? omg. I checked my inbox a few times and saw 99+ notifs every time, and when I tell you I SCREAMED. As a new writer I can’t thank you enough for all the notes and sweet comments ! I’m so grateful, so take this fic as a thank you <33

Warnings: Miguel is hinted to have slept with socks on which….is a trigger on its own apparently 😥, potentially botched ass Spanish……(no Google translate was used tho, my French teacher taught me better than that), p in v, making out, grinding, slight blood, reader has no chill nor filter but Miguels lowkey into it, degradation, bondage, banter, oral, praise, etc.

a/n: Takes place before the whole Miles incident !! I love Miguel but I can’t forgive him for doing that to my son 🤨🤨 This could also be imagined as König, since they’re both huge stubborn men <33

Pairing: Female reader x Miguel O’Hara 

Summary: Miguel is pent up and needs a release. Lucky for him, there’s a certain spider woman who’d do anything for him <3

Words: 4141 (DAMN I shocked myself w this)

. . .

Miguel runs his hand through his hair, grumbling when he feels it’s getting to a length that needs cutting again. Just another thing to add to his pile of responsibilities.

He pushes the fumbled blanket off to the side and lazily palms at his morning wood, finding the ministrations do little to help his raging hard-on. He’s shocked, mainly that he could still get one with how tense he’s been lately, but mostly that he’s actually annoyed that he has to jerk off. It feels like a chore to him now…though taking care of himself in any sense has since he became Spider-Man.

With a sleepy groan he drags himself up and to the bathroom. His mismatched socks are soft against the cool bathroom tiles where he turns on the shower. His muscles stretch when he tugs his white sweater over his head and tosses it onto the ground nearby, abs tensing and shoulders refusing to relax no matter how much stretching he did.

When the rest of his clothing join the heap on the floor he steps into the freezing cold shower, twitching at the icy droplets that felt like tiny icicles poking into his taut skin. 

He hoped the temperature would make the nuisance go down, but it raged on, standing proud at its full height. Miguel never thought he’d find himself glaring at his own dick, but here he was, horny and heavily pissed off. 

He reached down and tugged at his cock, rubbing his thumb over the angry red tip. He jerked profusely, yet all it did was leave him feeling unsatisfied and humiliated. 

“Fuck.” He cursed, washing his hand off before aggressively turning the knob to stop the flowing water. He tried to remember what he had to do today while pacing the bathroom, but he couldn’t focus with his erection clouding  his thoughts. Maybe if the blood would stay in his head…

He was an attractive guy, he knew that much. It would be easy to go out into the town and hook up with some stranger, but not so much so when he was in this constant sour mood. That sullen energy & resting bitch face paired with his looming height would scare any woman away.

Any sane woman.

You tied up the last of the criminals in your silky webs, smiling in victory. Unfortunately, the joy wasn’t long-lasting since as soon as you got home you felt boredom creeping up on you once again.

For weeks you’d been entertained by the intimidating founder of the spider society; Miguel O’Hara.You’d been bugging him for days on end, literally drooling at his feet and begging him to come back to your place.

He kicked you out multiple times, but like a cockroach you couldn’t be squashed—and neither could your need for him. You just couldn’t take a hint apparently. When he picked you up by the back of your suit and threw you back into your universe, all you focused on was how easily he carried you with just one of his big, veiny hands.

The way that suit hugged his defined chest so well, and his massive arms where you could see every vein…plus that prominent bulge? You were sunk.

He’d finally run out of patience for you when you ‘accidentally’ messed with the tech for his suit, almost making him go full commando in front of everyone in the spider society.(wouldn’t be the last time that happened…) He banned you for good, taking away your ‘multiversal gizmo’ without a second thought.

Your last words being ‘worth it!’ as you were flung back into your universe by the go-home-machine seemed like the icing on the cake to him despising you forever, but apparently that wasn’t the case because the man himself just appeared in your living room.

“Y/N.” He addressed nonchalantly.

You stared at him, jaw agape for a few moments before pinching yourself to see if you were dreaming. You had to be, he basically filed a restraining order against you. A really complicated, multiversal restraining order. Why  would he ever voluntarily come to you?

You couldn’t even respond since your throat felt so dry .. . It seemed your body had other ideas of where to soak.

“Why are you so obbsesed with me?” He suddenly asked, paying no mind to your awkward silence. 

“uhm-“

“I mean, you chased me around every day, eyed me down so intensively it was basically public sex and yet here you are, alone with me like you wanted, and now you’re speechless?” He stalked around your living room, circling you like a bird of prey.

You blushed up a storm and stood frozen in front of him, trying to discretely rub your thighs together.

He eyed you down, noticing your obvious ministrations but only chuckling. “Sometimes I had wished you were an actual spider so I could crush you under the soles of my shoes, but lately I’ve found myself feeling as horny and desperate as you.” He admitted with a smirk that revealed his sharpened fangs. 

That confession had your mind reeling to the point all you could muster up was; “I would’ve let you step on me regardless.”

His smirk grew and he started to approach you until his shadow covered you completely. You had to tilt your whole head up to look him in his glowing red eyes now—but you couldn’t handle making the eye contact anyway.

“You are just a small little thing, yet I didn’t expect you to be all bark no bite. All those filthy things you said lingered in my mind..don’t you want to take care of what you started?” He asked in a deliciously low voice. The almost mocking manner he said it in made you feel called out, and you looked down at your hands and picked at your nails to try and calm yourself.

A clawed finger tilted your head up by the chin and forced you to look into his eyes. How could you forget—in all your time spent basically stalking him you noticed how he never broke eye contact with anyone that he was speaking to. It was both exhilarating and intimidating to see, and you felt that full force while finally being on the receiving end of it. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you, arañita.” He ordered, and it sent tingles shooting up your spine.

You swore you heard your neck crack from how fast you looked up at him. He looked predatory staring down at you like that, eyes gleaming in the sunlight. “So? Will you finish what you started muñeca?” He asked, as if it was even a question to you.

“Fuck yes.” You agreed without missing a beat, making him chuckle darkly. “Needy thing.”

Before your mind could catch up you were suddenly being lifted by him and thrown on his shoulder with ease. He walked through the halls of your cozy apartment and waltzed into your bedroom without even searching for it, carelessly throwing you onto the bed.

You landed with a bounce on the soft comforter, feeling even smaller now with him standing above you. “Wha- how do you know where my bedroom is?” You asked when your brain finally decided to have a rational thought. 

“I’ve done my research—wanted to make sure you weren’t a spy. It was a waste of time, really, you’re just a horny stalker.” He shrugged.

You stared at him with an offended expression (tho it was 100% true) and went to argue until your lips were suddenly sealed by sticky red webs.

 “On your back.” He ordered. 

You crossed your arms at him first until he repeated the command in a low, dangerous voice. “Now.” Any defiance you had pretended to have quickly left your body and you laid down flat on the silk sheets.

He stalked over to you, all big and menacing as always. He leaned over you and forced your wrists together, twirling more glowing silk around them until they were bound above your head. 

He smirked down at you, leaning in to pepper kisses all over your neck. He sucked dark hickeys onto the sensitive skin of your throat, enjoying your muffled moans. While before he found your voice excruciating—he was now desperate to hear it crying out his name.

He stripped the webs off your mouth and you whined at the pain. The feeling resembled a bandaid being ripped off a fresh cut. He cooed pitifully above you and leaned in, whispering “Pobre araña, why don’t I kiss it better?” 

You nodded desperately until his lips met yours with a slight sting. He growled into your mouth, swirling his tongue around yours and exploring your mouth until you were squirming. He nibbled on your bottom lip, sharp canines threatening to break the skin. He pushed his muscled thigh between your legs and pressed down on your clit with his knee, the pressure making you moan under him. Your sweet sounds drove him wild, and he couldn’t help but bite down lightly on your lip until tiny droplets of blood dripped onto his tongue.

He groaned at the taste, his animalistic split-DNA going wild. When he pulled back—lips reddened, hair tussled and fallen slightly in front of his face— you couldn’t help but stare. His face looked so much more chiseled up close, cheekbones perfectly defined and a jawline sharper than the claws currently resting on your hips. 

His toned chest rose up and down steadily while he regained his breath, the familiar spider symbol on his suit growing bigger then smaller with each rise of his lungs like it was breathing. 

“Let’s take care of these, Cariño.” He addressed your clothing as if it were nothing but a nuisance for him before slicing your shirt right off you. He did this with ease, big claws moving onto your bottoms and clawing those off as well.

“Hey! Those were nice.” You pouted, though apparently he didn’t appreciate that comment because you were now being tied up even worse than before. Webs spewed from his wrist and circled your body like serpents, tying around your waist, arms, and thighs. “Don’t be a brat.” He ordered, webs tightening in warning. Once satisfied, he admired the way they looked pulled taut against your soft skin. “Red looks lovely on you, amor.” He praised, a quick switch from his previous comment.

He lifted you and reached behind your back, unclasping your bra with one hand. He threw it onto the ground somewhere with your torn up clothes, focusing his attention on your soft tits.

He hummed in content, playing with your nipples and letting his webs circle around the soft flesh of your breasts. He licked and sucked at one while tugging on the other, making you moan and squirm under him.

“Fuck Miguel- ah! more!” You whined desperately, coaxing a chuckle out of the behemoth. 

“Such a desperate slut.” He tutted, sucking marks all over your chest to match your throat. He kissed over the already forming hickeys, grazing his teeth dangerously close to your jugular. This man was massive, and made of pure muscle like a Greek god. He could easily hold you down without the help of his webs, but he wanted to focus full attention on you. 

He finally moved down to where you needed him most, going to rip your panties straight off you before you rudely slammed your thighs shut. “You take off your suit first….” You whined, embarrassed at being nearly completely nude before him while he was still covered. He was genuinely offended by this, feeling like he’d just had a door slammed on his face, yet he grumbled and messed around with his watch until the hologram started to dissipate.

Your jaw dropped wider and wider the more you took him in. The man resembled a skillfully carved statue belonging to Olympus itself. His biceps and abs were enough to challenge even Ares himself. Your eyes trailed lower and lower, leisurely mapping him out until your eyes locked on the weapon between his legs.

His dick stood loud and proud against his toned stomach, and it was massive. The man is 6,9, you knew he’d be big, but this thing was around 9 inches and looked like it could rip you in half. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from it even if you tried—I mean—the thing was basically introducing itself to you. We’re talking hello, how are you and goodbye.

Miguel basked in your ogling, his ego swelling more than it already had since he first noticed your obsession with him.

You finally snapped out of your trance when he bent down and slipped off your soaked panties, kissing up your leg as he did so. You spread both your legs for him and he took that as an invitation to lean in and lick a stripe up your wet cunt. You jumped, not expecting him to get into it so quickly, but you definitely didn’t complain.

He prodded a finger at your hole and pushed it in slowly, holding your hips down with his free hand. He made sure to be mindful of the claws adorning his fingertips since they wouldn’t go back down thanks to his clouded mind. The thick digit went in without much resistance thanks to how wet you were, until he pushed in a second and started scissoring them. 

You moaned and whimpered at the stretch, two of his thick fingers the size of nearly four of yours. He pumped them in and out quickly, the slick sounds your pretty hole made for him music to his ears. Your slick dripped down his ring and middle fingers that he was ruthlessly pumping inside you and dribbled down his veiny forearm.

He massaged your walls and pushed against them, scissoring his fingers to stretch you as much as possible. He couldn’t hit your g-spot thanks to his clawed fingertips, so he sucked at your clit to fill that extra stimulation until your head was rolling back. 

Something circled your waist and you figured it was his arm until you looked back down to see more webs. You would wriggle far too much without them, and he needed his other hand to spread your folds to drag a mix of his salvia and your slick around your twitching clit. You mewled at the overwhelming stimulation, bucking onto his face while he had a full on make out sesh with your pussy.

Only when he finally sunk four fingers into you and you were basically on the brink of tears with need did he pull away. Not without blowing on your sensitive clit, of course, just to see you twitch and squirm under the unrelenting grasp of his webs.

He stood up with a playful smile, freeing you from some of the webs just to pull you to the edge of the bed. Your ass met his pelvis with a slap when he yanked you by the ankle that quickly locked around his waist. He chuckled out something in Spanish that you didn’t understand, maybe along the lines of “Qué bonita putita…”. You didn’t bother to question it when he started to grind his rock hard dick on your drooling pussy, getting him all nice and wet to push into you. 

Only when he was coated completely in your essence did he listen to your pleas and finally line his fat tip up at your hole. Even with the all the stretching, your poor cunt had to stretch to accommodate the swollen red tip. His pre-cum mixed with your juices when it finally popped in after some resistance, and he groaned at the warm feeling.

“So fucking tight, your poor pussy can’t take it, hm? You were so confident when you were begging for it like a desperate whore.” He growled, degradation making you clench Impossibly tighter around his head until he had to bite back a groan.

“Please Mig, I can take it.” You begged, rutting your hips onto him and trying to coax him deeper until he swiftly grabbed your waist. His claws dug into your skin, threatening to break through. He pulled back and you immediately assumed he was going to tease you again for being desperate. 

Straight away you whined out apologies, stumbling over your words and pleas until he suddenly slammed back inside you, cramming 5 of his solid inches into your hole. You screamed, tears brimming on your waterline at the stretch. Your back arched off the bed and you squirmed away from the sting until he pulled back and rutted back in again, almost as if testing the waters.

With every drag of his hips his cock slowly got deeper into you until he was bottomed out completely. His tip kissed against your cervix and you looked down, amazed and horrified to see him crammed inside you so snugly. He gave you a moment to compose yourself—preoccupied on the bulge in your lower stomach. 

“My good girl, fitting around me so perfectly. That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” He teased, dick twitching at the fucked out moan you gave in response.

It definitely was hard, yet his dick was harder. You could feel every single vein and ridge pressing into you, rubbing against your gummy walls in a way that left you drooling. You suddenly understood why he’d prepped you for so long. It wasn’t just to tease you, this just was not an easy thing to take. 

“Move,” you pleaded, correcting youself when he raised an eyebrow, “please.”

He hummed, palming at the fat of your hips to see the way your skin sunk under his touch. “I don’t know Cariño…do you really deserve this dick?” 

You gave him your best “are you for real?” face. This man was not about to make you beg when he was the one to randomly show up in your home. You’d been begging on your knees for him for months, and now he chooses to acknowledge it?

You made it your personal mission to go against everything he’s ever ordered from you, and the grind never does stop, does it?

“Like you deserve to kiss my ass?” You jest without hesitation. 

You can see the way his whole face stretches; clearly dumbfounded at your response before he’s able to compose himself. With your cunt wrapped around him so tight and warm like that, it’s easy to forget the pretty spider underneath him is a little rascal.

“You were just whining a second ago, don’t try that,” He warned. “You’ve been begging for it for months, practically humping my leg in front of the entire Arachno-Humanoid-Poly-Universe.” 

You groaned at his insistence on calling it that, even while balls deep inside you. “I didn’t sign up to fuck a geek,” you mutter.

“With the way you approached me I’m sure you’d fuck just about anyone, puta.”

You wanted to be insulted, but your words caught in your throat when he leaned close to you to whisper right into your ear; “Quit acting like you had any dignity in the first place and beg.”

His warm breath on your nape left you shivering. Miguel wasn’t human—not completely. With DNA mixed with a spiders, he was a predator; one ready to devour you whole.

It wasn’t a surprise to anyone really when you gradually let quiet pleas spill from your mouth. Miguel had half the mind to make you speak up, but he was loosing his thin amount of patience as is. With a satisfied click of his tongue, he pulled back until his flushed head was right at your entrance “see, was that so hard?”

You knew better than to try and answer at this point when he rammed his cock back into you. Huge hands gripped your thighs and pushed your legs into your chest while he bullied his dick further and further into your cunt. 

Your pussy was embarrassingly loud for him, squelching with each brutal thrust of his hips. His muscled thighs were tense with the pure strength he put into slamming into you—beating your sensitive pussy in until it memorized his shape for life. 

“Mig- ah! Holyfuck!” You screamed, draping your arms over his shoulders and scratching at his back like a cat post.

“Go on princesa, mark me up.” He encouraged and got a better grip on your thighs, pushing your legs out to a full spread. He had you displayed like a dinner feast and bent you like a lawn chair with your lower half on his toned chest. He was actually impressed at your flexibility, yet like always he chose the worst way to phrase it.

“I’m shocked, I never expected you to do any real training.” 

“Fuck you.”

“That’s what you’ve been wanting, is it not?” He gloated with such a shit-eating expression that you just had to wipe off his face. He sunk deeper into you when you pulled him in for a kiss and it had you clenching around him.

His thrusts got more erratic until your mind was clouded with only the sounds of his dick disappearing into your cunt. His hands were dragging you back onto him by the hips at the same time, so you could feel him bumping against your cervix with each thrust.

You were too fucked out to say anything other than broken moans and mewls of his name, and he wasn’t too far off.

“So pretty Cariño,” he groaned, “all for me? mierda- yeah, all for me.”

A string of loud mewls along with shameless moans poured out of your bruised lips in response. He pounded your pussy with so much vigour that you edged forward on the ruffled mattress with each rough thrust.

He massaged your throbbing clit between his fingers, laughing at the way they kept slipping around from how much of your own arousal was dripping down your cunt. Heavy balls slapping against your soft skin filled your ears when you felt that coil in your stomach start to snap.

“Pussys gripping me like a fucking vice- you gonna cum for me?” he teased, “look baby- look at how well this sweet little pussys taking me.”

He took your hand and lead it down until it was tracing the prominent bump in your stomach - You could feel every brutal thrust and see the way he ravaged your insides. You pressed down on it, getting impossibly tighter around him and the broken moan he let out was what got you.

He quickly tore a mind-numbing orgasm out of you - thick cockhead still splitting you open while he worked your clit. You soaked his cock and squeezed against it, shaking and crying under him until you could barely take it anymore. 

He smiled in pride, sharp fangs showing and making him resemble the waiting mouth of a shark. “Such a good fucking girl, coming all over me like that. Look at the mess you’ve made,” he hummed, observing the noticeable white ring you left around the base of his cock. 

His thrusts stuttered before stilling completely inside you. He made a noise akin to an animal before spilling his hot cum inside your welcoming heat with a shudder and a broken moan.

“Mfhm- mierda.. .” He cursed, his warmth filling you up so much it started to spill out.

You felt like a rag doll under him, half-asleep and smiling dumbly up at him. He chuckled and admired one last time how pretty you looked in his glowing red webs, wrapped around you like his own custom lingerie. 

He sliced them off you and smiled warmly when you raised your arms out to him. He leaned in to let you wrap your arms around his massive shoulders with your legs now wrapping around his waist.

He picked you up with you curled into him like a koala - the warm sensation of his cum dripping down your connected bodies grounding you while he walked to your bathroom. 

He pressed soft kisses to your marked up-neck while he ran a warm bath, rubbing at the indents his claws subconsciously left on your hips. 

You didn’t remember exactly when you fell asleep; somewhere between when his large hands washed the cum off your skin or when he gently laid you down on your fresh bedsheets. 

All you knew was that you woke up to the smell of clean laundry and noticed snacks and a water bottle left on your nightstand. There was a note too that you had to reach over to grab. His handwriting was smudged but fancy, and it was so adorably him that it left you smiling ear to ear. 

“Had to leave early. Meet me in my office tomorrow and we’ll discuss how you’ll be living in my universe from now on ,seeing as how you’re now mine, mi vida.” 

. . .

[tameodesza]

promises

Bodyguard!Kevin x Male Escort!Shawn 

₊˚ʚ Summary: When Shawn feels down on Valentine’s Day, Diesel reminds him that he’s worthy of love. AO3.

₊˚ʚ a/n: gets smutty near the end 👀

Of all the holidays, one would think Shawn’s most profitable time of the year would be Valentine’s Day. His home should be flooded with gifts from lonely men. His phone should be ringing off the hook with clients begging for an ounce of his attention, fighting to be the highest bidder. 

However, Valentines Day also seemed to be the one day Shawn’s clients suddenly remembered they had spouses appease. Instead of spoiling the blond in riches, they were busy arranging apologetic floral deliveries, gifting shut-up rings to their significant others, or booking last-minute reservations at some nice restaurant. 

These men had a status to uphold, a facade to maintain. What well-respected executive would want to be seen on such a special day courting a whore? 

Yes, that was about Hunter. And yes, it still stung knowing that even Shawn’s favorite client didn’t have time for him.  

Hunter had called earlier that morning to squeeze in a round of phone sex. But the session was cut short when Shawn asked, “what are you getting me for Valentine’s Day, daddy?” Hunter had apparently forgotten all about the holiday, rushing off the phone to get some half-assed gift for his wife. Shawn was left there listening to the dial tone, wondering what the hell happened. 

Hunter had been the only client to contact him that day, which would normally be fine. Shawn was usually booked and busy, so any free time was welcome. But on a day where the significance of love was constantly shoved in his face, his free schedule only served as a reminder of how undesirable he was. He was just a pretty face. A good time. A great lay. But he wasn’t hubby material. He wasn’t someone to claim. And even on a day of love, he wasn't worthy of any. 

Shawn leaned against the door frame of his guest room trying not to look as sad as he was. It was odd being on the sidelines, watching as Diesel prepared to step out for the night. Any hopes of enjoying his free time with the company of his bodyguard was crushed ten minutes earlier when the man casually mentioned, “I got plans.” 

Shawn followed Diesel’s every move, never too far behind as the man styled his hair, sprayed on cologne, and adjusted his clothes in front of the full-length mirror. Shawn silently hoped he’d change his mind. That the holes he burned in the back of Diesel’s head would telepathically convince him to stay in instead of going out on a date.  

Shawn still couldn't wrap his mind around it. Maybe it was because he was too self-centered to believe that Diesel had anyone else in his life besides him. Or maybe it was because he thought his unspoken claim on his bodyguard was obvious. But the thought of Diesel enjoying the company of someone else left Shawn with mixed emotions. 

Part of Shawn was happy for him. Diesel had been by his side for over a year at this point, barely taking time off for himself. It was about time that he put himself first. But Shawn couldn’t help but be bitter about it. 

“Is she pretty?” 

Diesel’s hand froze on the cuff he was latching, Shawn’s question coming off stronger than intended. He looked in the mirror, catching Shawn’s eyes. “He. And yes.”  

‘He,’ Shawn mouthed to himself as he looked away, missing the subtle smile on Diesel’s lips. “Must be nice.” Shawn twirled his hair, trying to seem unbothered. But he was curious to know who’d managed to catch his bodyguard’s attention. “Do I know him?” 

Diesel moved to the dresser in search of a pair of socks. “Yes.” 

Shawn tilted his head, already thinking of the possibilities. If they both knew the person, he wondered if it was someone from his stripping days. There were more than a few dancers interested in Diesel back then. He was even more of a catch now, especially since growing out his hair.  

Or maybe, heaven forbid, one of Shawn’s clients had fallen for the man. But that was highly unlikely given how intimidating Diesel could be. They wouldn't have time to fall for him before Diesel scared them off. 

Regardless, it didn’t matter. Because whoever it was must've been special enough for Diesel to make a move. 

“What if this guy’s, like, a serial killer or something?” 

Diesel let out a humored breath. “I can handle myself.” 

Shawn felt hopeless as his hints flew over Diesel’s head. He sat on the bed with a loud dramatic sigh, waiting for Diesel to say something – anything. But the man seemed more interested in double-knotting his shoelaces. Shawn gave another sigh, this one louder than the last. 

Diesel wiped away a knowing smile before approaching Shawn. “Is something wrong?” 

“It’s nothing.” Shawn waved a dismissive hand that fooled nobody. 

“You and I both know that’s not true.” Diesel kneeled before him, placing his hands on Shawn’s knees. “What is it? You’re gonna miss me or something?” 

That had been Shawn’s cue to laugh, his chance to downplay how he really felt as he always had. Yet, he couldn’t. Not when he looked into Diesel’s eyes, wondering ‘what if.’ What if he answered honestly? What if he admitted that, yes, he would miss him? Not because Diesel was his bodyguard. Not because he was his friend. But because he didn't want to give Diesel away.  

Selfishly, Shawn didn't want Diesel meeting with this mystery man, becoming smitten with him, sleeping with him, or worse, falling in love with him. No, Shawn wanted Diesel to himself, no matter how hypocritical it was to expect that.  

But Shawn also couldn't escape reality. He chose a life of whoring himself out for nice things. He was a showpiece, a shiny trophy meant to be flaunted, but too shameful to take home to meet the parents. He couldn’t expect any man to seriously want him – not even Diesel. 

Shawn gave an unconvincing smile as he smoothed down a few of Diesel’s curly strands. “Don’t worry about me, Kev. I’ll be fine. Go enjoy your date with the lucky guy.” 

But Diesel was slow to make a move, holding their gaze as if searching for something. Shawn’s eyes seemed foggy, as if masking a truth too murky to decipher. 

Diesel stood tall with a slow breath. “Ok. If you say so.” 

Shawn felt instant regret, his eyes closing with a heavy sigh as he listened to Diesel’s retreating footsteps, not finding the words to ask him to stay.  

“Shawn. Look at me.” 

Shawn reluctantly opened his eyes, mentally cursing Diesel for dragging this on. However, he was stunned to see Diesel standing before him with a single red rose in hand.  

“Uh...what’s this?” 

Diesel raised the rose towards Shawn with a sheepish grin. “I figured you’d be busy tonight. But seeing as you’re not...will you be my valentine?” 

Shawn blinked once. Then twice before letting out a shaky breath of disbelief. “B-But what about your date?” 

Diesel inched forward, tugging Shawn’s hand to pull him up from the bed. “I’m looking at him. If you accept, of course.” 

A slow smile crept onto Shawn’s lips, his cheeks reddening from a blush he couldn’t contain. He grabbed the rose, careful of its thorny green spikes. He twisted the stem, sniffing the floral fragrance emanating from its petals. “Way to keep a man waiting.” 

“So, is that a yes?” 

Shawn looked past the rose to Diesel’s nervous grin before closing the gap between them. He placed a soft kiss on Diesel’s cheek, whispering, “Yes. I will be your valentine.” 

- 

The night was spent downtown, arms entwined as they blended into the sea of happy couples. The streets were bathed in pink and red decor. Heart-shaped balloons floated above the crowd. Rose petals lay sprinkled along the sidewalk, spilling from busy flower shops. Every restaurant was packed to the brim, fully booked by those who were wise enough to make reservations ahead of time.  

Diesel and Shawn rarely had moments out like this – moments of normalcy, moments that didn't center around the raunchy business they were running. For one night, they could forget about their obligations and enjoy activities that were usually reserved for couples. They intended on spending every second making the most of their impromptu date. 

Their first stop was at a shop to buy Valentine's Day cards. 

“We need cards, Kev! It’s tradition!” That had been Shawn’s reasoning to hide the fact that he may have been feeding into the idea of their night as a pair more than he thought he would. 

They searched the shop separately, each writing cute little messages on the inside of their cards before gifting them to the other:  

To Shawn,  There’s never a dull moment with you. Thanks for making my days a bit more exciting. Happy Valentine’s Day. - Diesel  

To Diesel Kevin,  Happy V-day, big guy! I hope you didn’t use today as an excuse to keep an eye on me, hehe. Just kidding. I know I’m not the easiest to work with, but I appreciate you always looking out for me. I wouldn’t want to spend today with anyone else. Love you!  - Shawn, your favorite blondie 

Diesel reread Shawn's message at least three times, lingering on the end. He’d heard ‘I love you’ from Shawn plenty of times, but it was always said in jest. But something about the night made it hit different for Diesel.  

When they left the shop, Diesel was nearly dragged across the street when an excited Shawn spotted a food stand selling chocolate-covered strawberries. The dessert was criminally overpriced, but it was worth the radiant smile Shawn gave when Diesel bought him the largest serving. 

“Aww, you really do love me, don’t you,” Shawn cooed, pinching Diesel’s cheek before biting into another delicious treat. 

Diesel chuckled along with Shawn, biting into his own strawberry to stifle a telling response. 

They left the stand to find some ‘real food’ – pizza and wings – before taking a stroll to Lover’s Bridge, a popular spot in town where couples placed locks on the bridge to symbolize their love for one another.  

“What are you doing,” Diesel asked, puzzled as Shawn began digging through his pockets. 

Shawn reached into Diesel’s coat, finally finding the Sharpie he’d been looking for. He uncapped the top with his teeth, writing on a padlock as he uttered, “Locking in our future.”  

He wrote both his and Diesel’s initials, adding a plus sign in the middle before drawing a heart around the letters. He smiled proudly at his masterpiece. “Anything you want to add?” 

Diesel looked at the lock for a moment as if studying art at a museum. Then he grabbed the lock and marker, adding ‘4ever’ below the heart. “Now, it's perfect.” 

Shawn smiled fondly at what he wrote. “Yeah. It is.”  

They attached the lock to the bridge together, the click of the metal sealing their fate. “There,” Shawn said with finality as he held up the lock’s key. “Now you can never leave my side.” 

Diesel’s lips curved into a smile, clasping his hand over Shawn’s before grabbing the key. “Wasn’t planning on it.” He chucked the key into the river, watching it ricochet across the water before sinking below.  

It was in that moment, standing by Diesel’s side as they watched the moon-lit river flow beneath them, that Shawn could no longer ignore the skip in his heart. He’d felt it ever since Diesel gave him that rose. All night, he’d explained it away as excited nerves, as anticipation of the fun he knew he would have with Diesel. Then came the realization – Shawn never felt this way with anyone before, not even his wealthy clients.  

The night had been far from the usual courting Shawn experienced, but it was everything he could have ever wanted. It was authentic, genuine, real. Diesel had been the perfect gentleman – not for an ulterior motive, not for the hope of getting into Shawn’s pants. But because Diesel respected him as a person, saw Shawn for who he was and not what he could gain from the blond.  

That meant a lot to Shawn, and he was done lying to himself – at least for tonight. He glanced at Diesel, the older man unaware of the blond’s pensive gaze. Shawn did something he normally shied away from. He allowed himself to wonder, to indulge in the idea of being with Diesel, to pretend like they weren't as complicated as they were.  

He acknowledged everything he’d felt that night – the pounding in his chest when Diesel gave him the rose, the butterflies in his stomach when Diesel held his hand as they crossed the street, the blush of his cheeks when Diesel dabbed pizza sauce from his chin, the tingly feeling that coursed through his veins when bystanders mistook Diesel for his boyfriend.  

Shawn never corrected them. And neither did Diesel. Because tonight gave them that excuse. 

Late into the night, Shawn crept into the guest room of his condo, slipping into bed with the whisper of Diesel’s name. The room was dark, the soft glow of amber streetlights his only guidance as he settled onto Diesel’s bare chest. Words weren't needed for Diesel. He knew what Shawn wanted, and he desperately wanted the same. 

Shawn peppered light kisses across Diesel’s pecs, navigating up his neck before running a wet tongue across Diesel’s Adam's apple. Diesel swallowed dryly, shifting his Adam's apple against Shawn’s tongue. The blond gave it a kiss before kissing up towards Diesel’s chin.  

He nudged upwards, bumping his nose against Diesel in search of the man’s lips. They both let out a content sigh through their noses when their lips met. Their soft pecks slowly progressed to interlocked lips, heads tilting as their tongues explored familiar territory. 

Shawn pressed his hips down, rubbing their crotches together in need of something more. Diesel gripped tightly onto the blond’s oversized t-shirt before flipping him onto his back. His lips returned to Shawn’s, a curious hand slowly traveling down the blond’s chest. He reached underneath the fabric, surprised and unbelievably turned on when he discovered Shawn wasn’t wearing any underwear. 

They became a mess of limbs, Shawn's shirt flying one direction and Diesel’s boxers flying the other. Their kiss grew greedy, arms clinging around each other, nails clawing at the skin, soft gasps leaving their lips as their dicks rubbed against each other.  

Diesel swiped a finger teasingly against Shawn’s entrance, the blond whining wantonly against his lips. His breathing grew ragged when Diesel inserted a finger, expertly opening him up. Shawn reached a hand down to grab Diesel’s dick, stroking it to match the pace of the finger pumping inside of him.  

“Ah, shit,” Diesel whispered, dipping his head into Shawn’s shoulder. His finger faltered in the blond, it being hard to focus with Shawn skillfully tugging on his dick.  

Diesel added a second finger, then a third, and soon enough Shawn was rocking his hips to basically fuck himself against Diesel’s hand. "Kev,” Shawn gasped as he felt the man's fingers brush against his prostate. 

Diesel bit his lip in restraint as Shawn’s hand quickened on his cock. He knew neither of them would last like this, so he removed his fingers from Shawn before pulling the blond’s hand away. 

Diesel began lining himself at Shawn’s entrance, but stopped when the blond urged, “Condom, condom.” Though Shawn got tested regularly, it was always best to play it safe. 

Diesel searched the room, Shawn watching hungrily as Diesel rolled the condom over his thick cock. Diesel didn’t have a chance to make it back to the bed when Shawn rushed towards him, pulling him into a heated kiss. Diesel was quick to take charge, pressing Shawn firmly against the wall before easily lifting both of his legs. 

Shawn quickly clasped his arms and legs around Diesel to not fall. Diesel held onto his hips, bracing Shawn before inserting his cock slowly into Shawn’s ass. The blond let out a sharp breath, his whimper cut off by Diesel’s lips.  

Diesel kept his pace slow, gently rocking into Shawn to get the blond adjusted. When Shawn began grinding back, silently asking for more, Diesel was more than willing to comply. He quickened the pace, sharply snapping into the man, nearby picture frames rattling as he fucked Shawn into the wall. 

“Oh..oh..oh fuck,” Shawn moaned, his eyes rolling back in pleasure. He could practically feel Diesel in his stomach at this angle. “Shit, your cock is so fucking big. Just like that. Fuck!” 

It was hard for Diesel to respond with how tightly Shawn gripped his cock. He grunted, “You like that, huh? You like the way I fuck you? You want some more, don’t you?” Shawn nodded with the bite of his lip. Diesel slowed his thrusts, demanding, “Let me hear you.” 

“Yes, I want more. Please, give it to me. Please, baby. Please!” 

Diesel’s hips stuttered. “Say that again.” 

Shawn was out of it, way past the point of caring about the slip up. “Baby...fuck me. Fuck me! Baby-ah!” 

Diesel fucked Shawn at a rabbit’s pace, the endearing pet name feeding something in Diesel, making him feel wanted by Shawn. The room was filled with the sound of Diesel’s balls mercilessly slapping against Shawn’s ass, competing with the intense moans pouring from the blond. 

Diesel dropped his head, giving an experimental lick to the blond’s neck. Shawn angled his neck, exposing the skin as he begged, “Mark me.” 

“But your clients-” 

“I don’t care. Make me yours, Kev. Please, baby. Please!” 

Shawn looked almost teary-eyed, his eyes holding so much emotion behind them. Diesel couldn’t tell if it was just dirty talk, or if Shawn even registered what he was saying, but the blond wanting him so badly fed right into his ego. 

Diesel bit into Shawn’s neck, sucking hard on the blond’s skin until there was no doubt hickeys would be left behind.  

Shawn held him close, nails digging into Diesel’s back. “Fuck! Kev, I’m close. I’m so fucking close.” 

At that, Diesel moved them back to the bed, placing Shawn on his back so he could finish comfortably. Diesel grabbed Shawn’s hands, fingers intertwining as he fucked into the younger man, pinning Shawn to the bed with no place to go. Shawn widened his legs, bringing Diesel as close as he could be, deepening his strokes.  

Diesel pressed his head against Shawn’s, looking into the blond’s lust-filled eyes. His dark hair fell over them in a thick curtain, shutting out the world as if they were the only two that mattered.  

A passing thought crossed Shawn’s mind – this is what making love must feel like. Something about him and Diesel just felt...right. Like this was where they were meant to be, who they were meant to share their bodies with. They fit perfectly together, hitting every pleasure point on each other’s body, creating a mold that no one else could fill. 

Unlike other men, Diesel didn’t need a reason to sleep with Shawn. He wasn't running away from a troubled marriage or exploring his sexuality. They weren’t transactional. He got nothing out of it aside from just being with Shawn.  

With Diesel, Shawn felt like he could be the truest version of himself. He didn't have to get dolled up, spending hours shaving his body or plucking his eyebrows like he did for his high maintenance clients. He didn't have to struggle deciding on which lingerie set to wear when Diesel liked him in something as simple as an oversized t-shirt. He didn’t have to check the clock, impatiently waiting for the session to end. Because when it came to Diesel, Shawn didn't want their time to end. 

Sweat trickled down Shawn’s temple as Diesel’s thrusts slowed to a gentle roll of his hips. Their lips met again, this time softer, more tender, as if they were savoring a taste they’d never have again.  

Sometimes Diesel would slip, his kisses becoming too passionate, his thrusts too careful, his thumbs brushing over Shawn’s hands like he was afraid he’d break. Shawn allowed himself to notice, mirroring Diesel’s gentle approach as if to say ‘It’s ok. I know.’ Though they both feigned ignorance, they knew they were connected by something deeper, even if they were too afraid to say it. 

The moment went as soon as it came, Diesel picking the pace to what they were accustomed to. Shawn broke from the kiss with a loud cry when Diesel hit directly on that sensitive bud of nerves. He clenched hard, his ass tightening the grip on Diesel’s cock. 

“Shawn,” Diesel breathed a quivering voice. “Oh, shit. Shawn, I’m-” 

“Me too. Please, don’t stop! Ah!” 

Shawn turned his face into Diesel’s shoulder, but the older man placed a hand on his cheek to pull him back. “Look at me. I want to see that pretty face when you come.” 

Shawn threw his head back when Diesel gave a hard thrust causing heat to pool at his stomach. Diesel latched his lips onto Shawn’s neck, forming another hickey until the blond came shortly after, spurts of come smearing between their chests. Diesel pulled back just in time to see Shawn’s face contorted in pleasure. That was all it took to send him over the edge. He kissed Shawn sloppily, pounding in the blond as he filled his condom. 

He rode out his orgasm, slowing to a stop before pulling out of the blond. He flopped over in a huff, pulling Shawn onto his chest. They stayed like that for a while, holding each other as their breathing evened out. 

This was Shawn’s favorite part. Diesel didn't run off in a hurry to get back to his family. He didn’t scramble for his wallet to slap money on the table for Shawn’s service. He stayed, running his hands through Shawn's hair until the blond began to doze off.  

They fell back into their normal routine – Diesel nudging Shawn awake, carrying him to the tub, placing him on his lap as he ran a bath to get him clean. Except this time, it was for the both of them.  

“I could get used to this,” Shawn sighed, leaning back against Diesel’s chest as the man scrubbed lavender-scented shampoo against his scalp. 

“What, being pampered?” Diesel chuckled, cupping a handful of water to rinse the shampoo out. “That’s nothing out of the norm.” 

“No.” Shawn shifted as best as he could in the small tab, turning so his head’s on Diesel’s shoulder. “Being like this. With you. I like it.” 

There was a meekness to Shawn’s tone, his voice barely above a whisper as if he were hoping Diesel hadn’t heard him. But of course, he had. Shawn could tell by the soft thud he felt against his hand on Diesel’s chest. 

It was hard for Diesel to tell if Shawn was being serious. The blond was a tease, always knowing the right words to say to a man. Diesel had seen it plenty of times with the clients Shawn entertained, oftentimes rolling his eyes at how easy they fell for it. Yet, he couldn't help but fall for it as well. Because the sincerity in Shawn’s eyes told him it wasn't an act.  

“I don’t want tonight to end,” Shawn said in gloom. 

Diesel brought a wet hand to Shawn’s temple, wiping away a few lingering suds. “You know, it doesn’t have to just be tonight.” His hand traveled down Shawn’s neck, brushing past the very visible hickeys he left behind. “We don’t need some holiday to be together...like this. I’m here whenever you need me.” 

Shawn bit his lip, failing to stop the smile from spreading. “I know.” Shawn trailed a finger along Diesel’s chest in thought. “Can you promise me something?” 

“Anything.” 

“If you do manage to find someone, don’t forget about your ol’ pal, ok?” 

Shawn lifted his head with a sad gleam in his eyes, one that Diesel wasn’t sure how to interpret. “What are you talking about?” 

“It’s just...you’re a catch, Kev. You’re nice, handsome, protective, considerate. You’re gonna make someone very happy one day. Just- I hope they’re fine with sharing.” Shawn sure wouldn’t be.  

“Shawn, I don’t-” 

“Just promise me.” 

There was vulnerability in Shawn’s tone, a desperation in his eyes that made Diesel want to chase his worries away. Diesel looped his pinky around Shawn’s, their prune-like skin letting them know they’d been in the water a while. “I promise.” 

Truth was Diesel had no intention of finding someone. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind since working full-time for Shawn. Most of his days consisted of making sure the blond was safe and sound. A relationship would be a distraction – or at least that was what he told himself. 

“Do you think you’ll ever settle down,” Diesel asked out of curiosity. 

Shawn stilled at the question. Honestly, he hadn't thought that far ahead. Settling down, getting married, possibly having kids – it all seemed far fetched and out of reach for a guy like him.  

Shawn shrugged, “Don’t know. Maybe if I find prince charming.” 

“What if you already have?”  

There was a pause, a heaviness in the air as the question seemed to echo around them. Shawn felt as if he were under a microscope, Diesel’s intense gaze never leaving him as if expecting a certain answer. An answer Shawn had almost been willing to give. 

“Then I guess I’ve been too blind to notice.” 

There was a looming silence, their words dancing on a confession. They were both playing with fire, drifting closer to the inferno of what simmered between them. It was only a matter of time before one of them ventured further, daring to get burned. 

Just then, they were interrupted by the sound of Shawn’s pager going off, the annoying beep notifying him that a client was trying to get in touch. And just like that, they were back to reality. 

Shawn sighed, “Duty calls.” 

He exited the tub in naked glory, grabbing a towel on his way out. Before walking out the door, Shawn stopped and turned to Diesel. “Thanks for tonight, Kev. I mean it.” 

Diesel nodded, returning a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. At that, Shawn headed to his own room to call the number that had been displayed on his pager. Diesel sat in the tub a little longer, the water feeling colder without Shawn in his arms. He’d spent many nights like this, alone to his thoughts, but he felt the immense weight of it right then. 

After being on such a high, he felt so low. Like his life vest had been ripped away, making him fight to stay afloat in rocky waters. Shawn was that life vest, his lifeline, and there was only a matter of time until Diesel could no longer ignore that fact. 

Luckily for him, his lifeline always seemed to come floating back. That much was true when he left the bathroom to find that Shawn had returned to the guest room, sleeping soundly in bed.  

A smile tugged at Diesel’s lips as he slid under the covers. He pulled Shawn close, gently lulling him back to sleep when the blond stirred awake. In the morning, they’d pretend that the passionate night they shared never happened. But for now, they held on tighter, promising to be there when the sun rose.

[bleachbleachbleach]

Our favorite free online film festival is BACK! It runs for the next two weeks and features *twenty three* films, which is tragically a lot more films than we'll have time for; we've watched every offering in past years, and have watched some real weird films, but also some true gems (and some that were both).

In the second half of June, the festival will transition its lineup to two dramas, one of which I'm pretty sure we commissioned in some past life, because the summary is, "A moving drama about a “tabi” (Japanese traditional socks) manufacturer’s rise to the challenge of developing running shoes."

Anyway, the four films I am personally most intrigued by, based on a quick scan:

Single8 (2023)

The year is 1978. Obsessed with Star Wars, a high-schooler called Hiroshi (UEMURA Yu) attempts to make his own sci-fi film featuring a big space ship. His film-loving friends also join him to begin building a fake space ship and shooting it with an 8mm camera. Eventually, they learn that a film is not only about the shooting but that the story and themes are important. Working hard, they write a script and show it to Natsumi, a girl in their class (TAKAISHI Akari). She agrees to appear in the film and they begin production!

School Meals Time Graduation (2022)

Japanese public schools provide lunch, and it is normal for teachers and students to eat together in the classroom. School meals are unique elements of Japanese culture and education. Popular menu items include “Napolitan” spaghetti flavored with ketchup and “koppe” bread. Amarida (ICHIHARA Hayato) is a middle school teacher who lives for these school meals. He is secretly competing with his student Kamino (SATO Taishi) who has been experimenting every day on the best way to make their lunches taste even better. One day, they are threatened by a decline in the flavor of school lunches when a new revamp that prioritizes healthiness is suggested. Amarida rises to the challenge of protecting the flavor of school meals!

My Broken Mariko (2022)

Tomoyo (NAGANO Mei), an office worker, learns from the television news that her best friend Mariko (NAO) had died falling from an apartment building. Tomoyo knew that Mariko had been terribly abused by her father since childhood. She steals her best friend’s bones away from the father and runs. Mariko had also been physically abused by her partner while she was alive—she constantly had her life ruined by men. As Tomoyo remembers her memories with Mariko, she heads towards the sea, where Mariko had always wanted to go. While on the road, Tomoyo meets Makio (KUBOTA Masataka) who she involves into her final journey with Mariko, as she carries her bones.

Japan Horror Film Competition (2022)

The Japan Horror Film Competition began in 2021 with the goal of discovering and supporting new talents in Japanese horror. The competition, which had an open submission and focused on the horror film genre, was the first of its kind in Japan and the inaugural edition received over 100 submissions. The Grand Prize winner was given the opportunity to direct a new full-length feature film in a commercial setting.

[malegains]

Hey malegains! Let me say first off your images are incredible! I don't know how you get the results you do but they're just amazing! I'm also loving the text/stories you assign your pictures, really adds another level to them. I think it's great you've shared your methods and detailed tips, I'm really grateful you've done this as I would never have known Bing was capable of such wonders! I've had a go myself and come up with some, er, interesting results! A few really good ones and a lot of weird stuff! It's so funny what it churns out! As you’ve noted, it's also odd what it's happy with and then what it will suddenly block, weird! Can I please ask, one of your images has, in particular, really caught my eye, it's captioned 'Caught ya staring, didn’t I?' and it's the guy in the leather shirt and grey sweatpants smiling at the camera with his MASSIVE biceps/triceps going on! I mean, WOW! There's something about that arm that just does things to me! I've tried to create an image like this but whatever I try I'm not getting this kind of result, the guys are either 'tiny' (for my taste anyway!) or cartoony and out of all proportions, nothing like the monstrous but almost believable image you've managed to create here. I was wondering, just for this image, would you be willing to share the specific text you used to create this wonderful guy? Once I can see the kind of language/form required I can have a serious go at creating some monstrous men of my own! Anyway, wonderful work and I hope you continue to create as long as Bing will let you! Take care, JH

Hi there!

I’m so glad you’re enjoying this. So I don’t have that specific prompt, I only save prompts when I’m particularly thrilled with the outcome, but I can share a typical prompt which gives really enormous muscular guys fairly reliably. There will always be some disproportionate freaks and some rejects, it’s always a roll of the dice; there’s a lot of curation of the raw results involved too. Keep tinkering with your prompts, this is a word game and the rules keep evolving.

Here’s a sample prompt:

side view, polaroid photo, full length photo, freakishly massive bodybuilder, cpap mask, pyjamas, athletic socks, huge quadriceps, huge hamstrings and calves, gargantuan biceps, large triceps, enormous muscle gut, old t shirt, dramatic lighting, harsh downlighting, crammed into his bed at night with his cpap mask on, 25 year old bodybuilder with impossibly large pectoralis muscles, giant belly, high body fat

And one of the pics it gave me:

[sgt-seabass]

𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒓

✧˚ · . 𝘉𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵.

pairing — ceo!bucky x reader w/c — 1.3k this is a explicit fic. 18+ only. listening to — ♫ closer warnings — smut (stuffie riding, handjob), pet play, puppy!reader, pet names (pup, puppy, baby), daddy kink, the reader doesn't talk in subspace (is that a warning? idk) bucky in that blue suit i stg a/n — written on my phone. not beta read. we die like men. idk seeing Seb in that suit made me horny and then this happened.

“C’mere, pretty girl,” Bucky’s voice called to you as he stood in front of the full-length mirror. He’d just finished getting ready for a fancy corporate function.

From your spot by the bed, you crawled on all fours to him, stopping a few feet away to let the sight of him sink in. A stunning navy suit, fitted perfectly, with satin appliques and a satin band around his hips.

“Closer, puppy.”

You followed Bucky’s direction, the tag on your collar jingling as you shuffled yourself further along the dark carpet. Knee-high socks with puppy paws on the bottoms covered your legs, stopping you from getting carpet burn since your short dress didn’t cover much.

“A little bit closer. Don’t get shy on me.” Bucky looped his fingers through your collar, pulling you until you were flush against his leg. You whined, the distinct scent of his cologne filling your nostrils. He always smelt divine. “You’re upset because you can’t come with me, aren’t you?”

When in subspace this deep, you couldn’t bring yourself to speak much, so you nodded. You wanted to go with Bucky, stay by his side. It was lonely in the penthouse without him.

You leant up, pawing at his stomach as you nuzzled against the satin band. It reminded you of when you were a child, and your baby blanket had satin lining around the edges. The feeling against the tip of your nose instantly soothed you, and when you looked up, you were met with Bucky’s darkening gaze.

“You’re a needy one today, aren’t you, pup? Hm? Just a silly little puppy needing some attention.” Bucky’s voice had grown hoarser, and before he’d even finished speaking he’d picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Puppies didn’t wear panties, so you could feel the satin against your thighs and core, making you whimper.

“You’re going to ruin my suit, sloppy pup.” Bucky’s chastisement had no heat to it. He could buy a million more if he wanted to. Bouncing you in his hold, Bucky brought you to the bed, sitting you down on the edge. “There is something else I want you to ruin, though.”

Your curious eyes watched as Bucky picked up your white and blue cat plush, the one you cuddled with at night while snuggled against Bucky’s side. There was a plethora of stuffies around the room, and you alternated who you slept with since you didn’t want them getting jealous, but the cat was one of your favourites. Instinctively, your grabby hands reached out for the toy, causing Bucky to laugh softly. “Daddy needs you to do something really important while he finishes getting ready, okay? It’s a super important task.”

That caught your attention. You lowered your hands and yipped, nodding your head and eagerly bouncing on the bed.

“Good girl. Daddy needs you to ride your little stuffie until you cum.”

It wasn’t the first time Bucky had you do this, but your toes curled against the carpet nonetheless from the order. Heat pooled in your core instantly, and you rubbed your thighs together.

Bucky smirked, placing the plush on the bed before looming over you. Your mouth watered. You wanted him, bad.

Puppies were meant to be patient. But you were always bad at waiting.

“Daddy wants to see your pretty puppy cunt before you hump your toy, baby.” Bucky pried your thighs open, pushing your knees to your chest as you leaned back against the bed.

“Look at that,” Bucky hummed, spitting against your cunt, the saliva dripping from your pussy to your ass. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever laid eyes on. Why don’t you give me a bark, pup? Daddy loves seeing your hole clench when you do it.”

You complied, letting out a whimpered moan before a bark. It was humiliating and liberating at the same time. Heat rushed up your neck and into your cheeks.

“Aw, is puppy embarrassed? You should be. Look how wet you are.” Bucky ran his fingers across your slit, collecting your wet before bringing his digits to his mouth. He moaned at the taste of you on his tongue. The sound you let out at the sight was obscene, your pussy practically throbbing for any kind of touch.

“Do you want daddy to violate your little holes, puppy?” Bucky licked his fingers clean before returning his grip to your thighs, pushing your legs open wide.

You nodded.

“Ah, but you were bad this morning, remember?”

A high whine left you. You’d interrupted Bucky while he was in his office with the door closed. It was his rule – if the door was closed, then it was serious business, and he wasn’t to be interrupted. But you couldn’t help yourself. You knew he was going out tonight and were already so bored. So you’d entered right in the middle of an important call. You’d distracted daddy when he needed to be entirely focused.

“Bad puppies don’t get daddy’s bone. But since I’m feeling nice, you still get to put on a little show for daddy.” Bucky shoved the toy against your pussy, the soft fur brushing against your clit as he ground the toy against you with his palm. “Close those legs and get to work.”

Bucky moved away when you closed your thighs around the stuffie, moving back to the mirror to fix up his suit. Through the reflection, he watched you, his cock visibly hard against his slacks.

It made you needier, if that was possible. You knelt on the bed with the plush between your thighs, lazily grinding your hips against it, your eyes fluttering from the pleasure.

“Faster.” Bucky’s gruff baritone sounded, and you started to move faster.

Your cunt clenched around nothing as you humped your toy, with Bucky’s watchful eyes on you as he adjusted himself. This was torture for himself as much as you, as if he was punishing himself for leaving you for the night.

Moans spilled from your mouth as your back arched, nipples peaking against the fabric of your dress. Having Bucky watch you like this was divine. The exhilaration amplified the bliss that was blooming in your core.

Heat flooded your body as you kept rutting against the toy, the pressure on your clit causing your breathing to quicken.

“That’s it, puppy, good girl. Keep going.”

You gasped when you looked at Bucky. One hand was splayed against the mirror to stabilise himself, the other holding his leaking cock. He ran lazy strokes up and down his dick, his eyes sinfully dark.

It was hard to keep the momentum as you watched Bucky begin fucking into his hand, his hips thrusting forwards as he moaned. You were both completely engrossed in each other, the air thick and full of lust.

You whimpered, struggling to keep going with your burning thighs, but you couldn’t stop. Not while Bucky was fucking you with his gaze. A tightness began forming in your abdomen, and your noises got louder.

“Fuck, fuck, just like that. Daddy wants to see you cum, baby. And you better fucking bark for daddy when you do.” Steam mottled the mirror where Bucky’s hand lay, heat radiating from him as he fucked his hand faster, matching the speed of your hips.

Seconds later, the tightness snapped you and barked out as you came. Your thighs tightened around the poor stuffie as your pussy clenched hard. You’d have to apologise to the plush later in case you hurt it.

But for now, you watched as Bucky came with a shout, his cum spurting against the mirror. It was a sight to behold as the white dribbled down the reflective surface.

Bucky caught your eye line, a smirk on his lips as he put himself away. “Better get this cleaned up before daddy leaves, don’t you think? Come put that tongue to good use, puppy.”

To be updated on when I post please follow @sgt-seabass-library and turn on post notifications.

[brittsekland]

"When I was first introduced to Ringo in Tramp, the London nightclub, I didn't see anything but his big, beautiful, deep blue eyes. He asked if my waist-length hair was my own, then tugged it to check. I replied: 'You could never buy hair like this in a store.' Somehow over that drink the conversation got around to how Ringo hates New York because it's full of cockroaches, so we clinked glasses and toasted the death of all cockroaches. I said he reminded me of Humphrey Bogart. Ringo - by this time I was calling him Richard - suavely lit two cigarettes in his mouth and gave me one. I couldn't help giggling. I thought he was doing a Bogart. Then I realised it was Paul Henreid who did that for Bette Davis in Now Voyager. As we held hands under the table, he asked if I would go to Vienna with him next day. I couldn't make up my mind. Ringo took me to a Mayfair disco and gave the doorman £100 to open up in the wee small hours so that we could dance for an hour. When Ringo toasted us with champagne he joked, 'The bubbles tickle my nose.' He has quite a large nose. It's quite adorable but his whole nose seemed to go right down into the champagne glass. Then Ringo's ex-wife Maureen happened to come up, stared, looked me up and down and joked: 'Who is this, Ringo, the next Mrs Starkey?' Ringo answered gently, 'Maybe Maureen, but be sure you'll be the first to know.' She was dismissed. He mentioned Vienna again, assuring me he wasn't in the habit of picking up girls and flying of with them."

      Stephanie made her mind up this time, collected her clothes and moved into Ringo's Dorchester Hotel suite.

      "I thought 'My God, I'm going to have to sleep with this man tonight.' I stared at the two double beds. I didn't want to sleep with him, have sex with him. I wanted to get to know him first. 'It's alright darlin,' Ringo said. 'That's your bed and the other one's mine.' I usually sleep in a football sweatshirt with knee socks but I thought, 'I can't put them on.' So I put on a nightgown..Ringo looked over the top of his newspaper and said, 'On second thoughts, darlin', that's your bed and it's my bed too -but only if you want it to be.' I said yes I want it to be that way for now. But I fell fast asleep and an hour and 15 minutes later I woke up to find Ringo standing over my bed. I honestly thought I was dreaming. He said it was time to get dressed and leave for the airport.

      "Later as we drove into Vienna from the airport, I wanted to use the bathroom. So we stopped at a little bar. Ringo insisted on coming with me and standing guard outside the ladies. Can you imagine? He has such good manners. Like the time he was in bed and found he had his back to me. He apologised and turned to face me - even though we were in the dark. Though we were already 'in like with each other,' as Ringo put it, that's where our days and nights of passion started, in that kingsize bed in the Bristol Hotel, Vienna... It suprised Ringo that I was so inexperienced, I think he was pleased I hadn't slept with many men."

- Stephanie La Motta on her relationship with Ringo Starr.

[khazadspoon]

Fuck it if I’m doing this I might as well share it.

Flirtatiously drunk Tuco and Blondie featuring Blondie’s ridiculously long legs.

———

Somewhere between towns, tucked away from the dusty road behind rocks that tower up into the sky, Tuco questions his sanity. He isn’t the most sane of men as it is, he knows that, but there is a clear difference between making bad choices as a criminal and a man.

Bad choices as a criminal mean higher bounties to be proud of, maybe even a new scar to show off to the ladies in town. Bad choices as a man… they can get you killed.

Currently, he thinks the only witness to this particular bad choice is the moon. Clouds are covering most of the stars, so there are far fewer eyes watching than there could have been. They’ve been drinking a bottle of strong clear liquor that Tuco forgets the name of, passing it back and forth between them. It’s mostly empty now and Tuco knows he’s drunk because when he turns, throwing a lopsided grin to his companion, his vision doesn’t quite catch up with his head. Blondie, and he still hasn’t asked the man’s actual name, doesn’t think he ever will, has a lazy smile on his face. He’s leaning against a boulder at an angle to Tuco with his coat draped over his torso like a blanket.

This is the bad choice: drinking with a man who could kill him in the blink of an eye, putting trust in this cold, dry-witted, charming killer. But he’s making the choice anyway, and damn the consequences.

His drunken mind decides it will be fun to pull Blondie’s legs into his lap, his spurs jingling and joining Tuco’s laughter. Blondie just tips his head back, the length of his neck broken only by the strip of black fabric around it. That slash of black is eye catching against the tanned column of skin. Everything about Blondie is long and tempting, drawing you in before putting a bullet in you.

“You’re too tall, Blondie,” he slurs into the firelight, “how’d you ever manage to sleep in a bed? Your feet probably hang off the end, eh?” His hands, steady but uncoordinated, run up and down the long denim-covered shins over his knees. Blondie just shrugs and stares at him with those enigmatic green eyes. He doesn’t move to take his legs back, doesn’t lean forward to push Tuco’s hands away, doesn’t do anything but smile and watch him. “If I were you I’d pay for a second bed, push them together for a little extra room.”

He glances up, the world spinning a little, as Blondie makes a little sound that could almost be called a laugh.

“Too expensive. I make do with a chair at the end of the bed most times.”

The image is ridiculous: Blondie laying in a bed, tucked up to his chin in blankets, his feet in socks full of holes resting on a rickety chair. He laughs again, the sound coming from deep in his belly and he sees Blondie’s smile widen.

“What’s so funny?”

Tuco shakes his head and wipes the tears from his eyes, takes a long drink from the bottle and passes it over to his sort-of-enemy-sort-of-partner-sort-of-friend. He finds himself watching far too intently as Blondie raises the bottle to his lips, tongue peeking out to press against the glass rim before tilting it back to let the liquid flow.

His laughter fades as he stares. Blondie stares back, lips still curved in a slow smile as he drinks, and Tuco wonders how many bad choices he can make in one evening.

More than one, it turns out.

He reaches out, pushes the coat out of the way and rests one hand on Blondie’s thigh, further above the knee than a friend and definitely further than a business partner would ever touch. Blondie watches him curiously, head tilted to one side as he lowers the bottle to rest between those thighs, close to Tuco’s hand. Blondie’s thighs is warm under his palm.

“What’re you doing, Tuco?” Blondie asks, his voice as soft and calm as it always is, no hint of anything in those words.

Tuco shrugs one shoulder and moves his thumb across well-worn denim. “Maybe something,” he presses his thumb down and catches the way Blondie’s throat bobs as he swallows, “maybe nothing.”

The seconds drift by. Blondie shifts, pushes his thigh up into Tuco’s hand, settles a little lower against the boulder.

“You want me to make the decision for you?” The man whose name Tuco will never know nearly whispers. “I’m a patient man, Tuco, but not that patient.”

Tuco grins. He plucks the bottle from between Blondie’s spread thighs and tucks it safely out of the way.

“That makes two of us.”

[therealslimshakespeare]

hello, hello! I really adore your writing, they are *chefs kiss* Can I ask on what's your thought of the MOTA boys with someone who has a poor sense of time and sees large lengths of time as too brief for them to form meaningful connections? Meaning that when they went into some sort of things for several years, they thought it was just that and went on with their life, not knowing that they remember every single thing that has happen. (This was based on the character called Frieren from Frieren: Beyond Journey's End. I'm not sure if you watch anime, but it's a really good show! and I may or might not will use it for my new ideas on the new MOTA fic I'm currently working on, hehehehehe- )

Anywho, sorry if this went off rails, I just woken up briefly then my brain remembered of your exquisite writing and just thought 'Hey, how about we send an ask?' Yeah, very randomly, it happens every day.

Have a nice day! -Sincerely, Akatsuki (*✧×✧*)

Oh this is massively interesting -perhaps more so because I have never watched anime, legit know next to nothing about anime and this entire plot is new and a bit nebulous to me. Very interesting premise, for sure, my friend.

I hope I understand it, and in so far as I do, am happy to try to attempt it. We are talking about a character who lives longer or has a sense of time that is longer than the men they connect with? Yes? So their bond is stronger than the character’s? I hope that’s right, going off of that, here are my rambling thoughts. Very much my gut reaction for each boy, I don’t know if this feel remotely true to them. 😏

John Egan: a man who tries very hard to convince himself he is the personification of easy come, easy go. Nothing could be further from the truth, however, for he is devoted and invested in people and he was in you. looking back on it he’ll find no fault in you leading him on -he’ll lay his hidden heartbreak squarely to account with himself and his oh so eager devotion. But make no mistake, he’s a bit devastated it wasn’t reciprocated fully

Gale Cleven: won’t really be the same ever again, because he thought it was something and he doesn’t go around making something of nothing. So he’s rather blindsided and betrayed by the fact that intimacy isn’t shared. Don’t think he’ll blame you or be bitter in any way, but he may wonder if he ever knew you, and become a bit more resigned and reserved than even before.

Rosie Rosenthal: a tenacious man, he won’t agree with you and honestly? It comes out in loving frustration that hides some heart sickness. This one will probably call or contact you for years after, even if it’s just to check in, even if he’s sure you really meant your “no”. His attachment wasn’t conditional and it was a life sentence

John Brady: thinks about you at 2:37 AM on a Wednesday when he can’t sleep and he’s packed his pipe and he’s sat on his front porch in his new life with his new people and his new job in a new world and for all that, it feels like you never left and that old closeness he thought you shared is as tangible as ever for a split second in the dead of night -if only in his mind

Benny Demarco: full on proposed to you and that ring is still rattling around in his sock drawer as if to haunt him. Most days tho, he thinks of you fondly and with less pain as the years go by. You’ll be in the stories he tells his grandchildren, but always as lovely and innocuous as a fairy

Alex Jefferson: can never stop drawing you, every commission and every little sketch, wether of a patterned tree trunk or an armchair -always your face finds its way in it somehow, showing up like a motif again and again amidst lead swirls and domestic scenes. Some things aren’t meant to be, he knows, doesn’t mean he loved you any less for it

[rugtopper]

CONFESSIONS OF A FETISH BARBER

BY RUGTOPPER

Sam picked up the telephone after it rang the second time.

“Adonis Hair Replacement Salon, Sam speaking.”

“Sam? This is Troy. How are you?”

“Troy! I’m fine. Good to hear from you. Why are you calling? Your regular appointment is still three weeks away.”

“I have finally decided to take your advice and change pieces. Is there room on your schedule to see me at 2:00 this afternoon? I’ll be through at the station by then.”

“Sure, Troy. I have an appointment at 1:00, but he is my last for the day. My afternoon is yours. I’ll see you at 2:00.”

Sam hung up the phone in the waiting room and went back into the styling room. He picked up a broom and finished cleaning the hair clippings on the floor. Sam had a very traditional barbershop right down to the black and white linoleum tiles on the floor. In the center of the room taking its pride of place was an enormous chrome barber’s chair with fire-engine red leather on the seat and back. This was the chair that Sam’s dad had used for nearly fifty years. This was the chair where Sam had his first haircut. But Sam didn’t have time to dwell on that. He had to finish cleaning up, have a small lunch, take care of his 1:00 appointment, and prepare for Troy. Troy Duncan. What a great guy. Everyone loved Troy. Everyone thought they knew Troy. He had been a fixture at the local TV station for nearly twenty years. Now he strictly did the morning and noon-time broadcasts, but was still a well-known local celebrity. “I wonder what made him decide to switch from a toupee to a full wig,” thought Sam. Troy Duncan had worn a toupee for nearly twenty-seven years. In fact, Sam’s dad had actually done the first fitting on Troy when he was only twenty-two years old. “That was just before Dad retired to Florida,” Sam said out loud to no one in particular. After Sam finished sweeping, he checked his own hair in the mirror before he went back out to the waiting room. Every silvery hair was in place. Of course it was; it never moved. It was made and styled that way. Still, before he left the room, he did give his hair a quick mist with wig hairspray. He knew Howard, his 1:00 appointment would notice. Howard noticed things like that. Howard was a relatively new type of client for Sam. In the last ten years, Sam had had an increase in clients who wore toupees or wigs. Among those were several who were a somewhat unusual because they really wanted to wear a toupee or a wig. In other words, they had no physical lack of hair precipitating the need to cover it up. Howard was one of those men.

As Sam was finishing his lunch at the reception desk, Howard walked in to the salon. He was early.

“Hi, Sam,” Howard said as he closed the office door behind him.

“I know I’m early. I'll sit over here while you finish your lunch.”

“Thanks, Howard. That would be great. I’ll be done in just a bit.”

Howard walked over to the sofa, tugged up his pants legs, and sat down. When he did this, he crossed his right leg over his left knee flashing a short jet-black sock, and the clip of his garter. Howard loved to do this. Sam chose to ignore it. Howard Gunson. Howard was only thirty-one, but he did everything he could to look like a man over sixty. Howard had on his usual barbershop attire. He was wearing hideous pale yellow beltless slacks, a thin-knit white short-sleeved dress shirt, and white patent leather loafers with a gold bar. This would have been marginally okay except that Howard was wearing an athletic undershirt which was clearly visible through the top shirt. Other undergarments were noticeable as well. When he sat down, Sam observed the knee-length boxer shorts with the tiny multi-colored diamonds underneath the beltless slacks. Also, the short dark socks held aloft by garters were clearly, but unnaturally outlined through the pants. Sam had given up trying to figure out why Howard wanted to look like this.

“Okay, Howard, I’m ready if you are.”

Howard came into the styling room.

“Howard, before we get started, don’t you think you’d better undress so we don’t have an accident like the last time?”

“Sure, Sam.”

Howard went to bathroom and undressed. When he returned, he was wearing only his undergarments. His tiny dick was already trying to poke itself out of the oversized boxer shorts that were hiding it. Howard walked across the room and got into the chair. As Sam put the cape around Howard’s neck, he looked at Howard’s hair. It either had to be the worst looking thing Sam had ever done for a client, or the best job Sam had ever done in making something nice look cheap. Howard’s toupee was coal black with a sheen.  It covered most of his head. There was a left-sided part, but it was only simulated. You couldn’t see the scalp at all. Sam called this type of part a “pillowed part” or a “carpet part.” Basically, it looked like where two pieces of carpet came together, like on a staircase. The base of the toupee was mostly mesh with just a strip around the circumference for tape. The front of the rug almost embarrassed Sam. There was no  lace-front hairline or anything fancy. This was old-school front under venting. Even at 100 yards, you knew this thing wasn’t real. Howard was sheepishly proud of this.

“Okay Howard, let’s get started.”

Sam put both of his hands on the base of Howard’s neck. Just above the neckline he felt for the plastic strip and loosened the tape. Howard moaned just a bit. Sam knew what was happening and stopped for just a moment to give Howard a chance to catch his breath. He put his hands at the base of Howard’s toupee and slowly peeled the toupee forward. As the toupee was removed, Howard moaned again and shot a tiny wad onto the underside of the cape.

“You know, Howard, if you were married, your wife would be so disappointed. We haven’t even started, and you’re already finished.” Sam laughed as he said this. Howard only gave an evil little smirk.

“Don’t ask me to explain it, Sam, I can’t. Just trim what I have and put me back together. I have to be at the newsstand at the airport by 3:00 this afternoon. I’m working a later shift today. You know how much I love working at the airport. It is the best place for rug spotting.”

This was something else Howard loved to do: look for toupees, and be spotted as well. Sam got the hot-lathered foam and put it on Howard’s stubble. He observed the flawless, but man-made Norwood seven horseshoe pattern on Howard’s head. With several quick strokes, Howard’s faint shadow of hair was gone. Sam trimmed the fringe with a four guard as Howard always requested. After this, Sam picked up Howard’s toupee, and placed it at his forehead. He slowly rounded it back into place. He did his best to comb the synthetic hair over the real, but too-short hair. This look made it even easier for it to be spotted.

“By the way, Howard, I hope that at your next appointment we can finally start on your laser hair removal.  It will make the mpb ring look more natural when you remove your toupee.  Now, up, out of the chair. Get dressed. I have another client coming at 2:00, and I need you to be gone.”

Howard got dressed, paid with a huge tip, and left. Sam swept up and waited for Troy.

Straight up 2:00, in walked Troy Duncan. To the unknowing, one might think he and Howard were alike. They both wore toupees and had the same fetish for undergarments, but that was where it ended. Troy was 48, handsome, fit, well-read, and a genuinely interesting person.

“Get in here, Troy. I did not expect to see you for three weeks much less get a call from you today.” Sam said this as he sat down on the sofa. “Sit down,” Sam said as he patted the sofa. Troy sat down and crossed his left leg over his right knee. Unlike Howard, he did not flash his garter clip even though he was always tempted to do so.

“Now Troy, why have you decided to go with a full wig? I’ve only been trying to get you to wear one for over a year.”

“Well Sam, I remember when you told me that I was losing more hair, that I was slowly but eventually going to move from a six to a seven on the Norwood scale.”

“Yes, and at that point you really need a custom-made piece. Granted, the stock pieces I get for you are good, but they won’t cover the baldness when you get to a seven,” Sam intoned.

“I know,” agreed Troy, “but my reason has less to do with a custom piece and more with the custom price attached to it.”

“You know I’d cut a deal for you. You are one of my most loyal clients . . . and most famous, well, even if no one knows that you are a client.”

“Well, I don't know about people not knowing, but I’m going to make the transition because of work.”

“Work?” Sam asked.

“Yes, work. You remember a while back I sent an audition tape to San Diego for that network job? Well, I finally heard from them yesterday. They went with Justin McKay.”

“Justin McKay? Wasn’t he that kid who interned for you a few years ago?”

“Eight years ago to be exact. Justin McKay interned for me and then the station manager actually hired him to be a researcher before he went to Atlanta. Anyway, when I found out about losing the job in San Diego, I decided just to stay here.”

“What do you mean stay here?”

“The station manager has been wanting me to sign a ten-year contract for over a year. I haven’t because I kept thinking I would move up in the market to a larger network. This was the fourth time I have been passed over. That is one of the things I hate most about news broadcasting: always having to look for the next market job. Anyway, when I signed yesterday, I just decided that now was the time. I have a worn a toupee since I was 22 years old. I just want something that's a lot easier to take care of.  I'm getting older.  It is time to graduate, so to speak, to a full wig.”

“I remember Dad telling me how nervous you where when you came in for that first fitting.”

“I was a wreck, mainly because I didn’t know what I was getting into. I really wasn’t that interested in wearing a toupee at that time.”

“Really, Troy, I didn’t know that. You seem so comfortable wearing one.”

“Your dad, and later on you, really helped me get comfortable wearing a toupee. My advisor was the one who really guided me to get one. He told me that if I wanted to move from behind the radio microphone to being in front of a camera, I needed a full head of hair. I didn’t think I was that bald, but I was lying to myself. By the time I decided to deal with my hair loss, I think I was almost a four on the Norwood scale with a lot of fuzz. Your dad just shaved me clean so I had a smooth surface for my first toupee. I can tell you I walked out of here with my head held high for the first time in nearly two years. When I made that first appearance for the campus news, I felt like a million bucks. I realized that I had been hiding under a silly plaid riding cap. Anyway, after I lost the job in San Diego, I signed the ten-year contract with the station. It is the same pay, but with lots of bonuses. Also, on the bright side, a full wig every two years costs far less than a toupee every six months.”

“I want to hear more about this Justin what’s-his-name. You said he interned with you?”

“Yes, about eight years ago. I guess the people in San Diego wanted someone younger than me. They can have him and his overly-permed hair.”

“Oh, my! Did you say it was Justin McKay?”

“Yes, what about him?”

“Now, I remember him. Troy, that’s not a perm.”

“What! You mean that awful hair is natural?”

“Only part of it,” Sam hinted.

“You mean Justin McKay wears a rug?”

You got it, Troy. He was one of my first fetish clients,” Sam confessed.

“Fetish clients? What on earth is that? What do they do, suck their toes or something disgusting like that?”

“Well, not exactly that. Nearly ten years ago, I started getting phone calls from men who wanted to be fitted for a toupee. It was only a few, but when they would show up for the consultation, I would discover that they had a full head of hair.”

“You mean these guys were not bald? They weren’t losing their hair at all?”

“No. They just wanted to wear a toupee.”

“I can’t imagine someone who had hair wanting to wear a toupee. I understand being bald and wanting to cover it by wearing a toupee, but to make yourself bald on purpose just to put on a toupee is a little too farfetched for me.”

“You would be surprised, Troy, just how many men actually want to do just that. My last client, just before you came today, is one of them. He is 31 and has worn a toupee on purpose since he was 25. Justin is the same way.”

“Tell me more about Justin and this other guy.”

“Let’s move to the studio so I can start on your new wig while we talk.”

“Okay,” Troy said, but neither of them moved from the sofa.

“Less than a month after you told me Justin had been hired as a researcher,” Sam continued, “I got a call from him. He told me that you had recommended me. He told me he wanted to be fitted for a toupee. I asked him how bald he was. He told me that I would need to remove a lot of hair in order to have a proper fit.”

“How did he find out I came here? Did he follow me? I know he was always asking me where I got my hair done and then he would correct himself by saying, ‘I mean. . cut.’ That always bothered me. Well, keep going.”

“So the day of the appointment came and Justin arrived on time. He had all this unruly hair. He also had a very expensive toupee in a box. He told me that he wanted to wear a toupee and that he had always wanted to wear a toupee. I told him that I just couldn’t wave a magic wand and make him bald. He got hard as a rock when I said that. I told him it would be unethical to make someone bald on purpose. I told him that he was being silly, that he didn’t need a toupee. He was not moved. He just kept begging. Finally, I told him to leave. I told him that I would think about it. He called me the next day crying. He told me that his therapist had suggested that he get a toupee to face his fears of going bald. I told him he wasn’t going bald. He said that he was. I asked for the name of his therapist. He wouldn’t give it, of course, because there wasn’t one. The day after the phone call, he showed up here in a baseball cap crying. He had shaved the top of his head. He was crying and begging me to fit him with the toupee. So, I did.”

“My God! I knew he was a little off the beam, but nothing like this. So, you fitted him with the toupee?”

“I had to. I couldn’t let him leave looking worse than Larry from the Three Stooges. It was awful. He had basically taken a beard trimmer and mowed down the middle of his head. I told him to get in the chair.”

“How did the fitting go?”

“The fitting was routine once I got his scalp prepared. He had buzzed himself to a Norwood four, but the toupee was sized for a five. After I shaped it to a level five, I was ready to shave the stubble. I got the hot-foamed lather and quickly removed all the stubble. At this point he was totally into the whole process. The boy had a ton of hair. When I turned him toward the mirror with his curly toupee setting there on its stand, he made the strangest sound. He actually shot a load in his pants. I wouldn’t let him get up. I made him sit there in all that goo while I finished. I got the toupee off the stand, put tape on the underside, and attached it to his head. The next bit took forever, and I do mean forever, over two hours. I hate working with curly hair. He kept telling me to keep his fringe longer. It really wasn’t all that long, but I did as he asked. It looked well blended, but I knew that without the toupee he was going to look like a clown. He ended up coming back every four weeks for a trim before he got that job in Atlanta. When he moved, that was the last time I saw him. Well, that is the whole saga of my first fetish client. I am sorry you lost the job to him. You are a great reporter.”

“Thanks, Sam. Can we start on my wig now? You can tell me about that other guy then. What’s his name?”

“Yes, we can start. You had better undress. These wigs are long and loaded with tons of hair. They make them that way. They come fuller than necessary. Anyway, the guy’s name is Howard. I’ll tell you about him when you get back from the bathroom.”

Troy got up and went to the bathroom to undress. He always did this whenever he had a new fitting. It was easier, cleaner, neater, and just more comfortable. As Troy walked across the room to the bathroom, he moved various items from his pants pockets to his suit-coat pockets. He also thought to himself, “How many times have I done this? How many toupees have I gotten since I was 21?” Today was something new for Troy. When he got into the bathroom, he removed his coat and hung it on one of the pegs inside the door. He closed the door and looked at himself in the full-length mirror. He loved how his tight athletic undershirt looked beneath his crisp white dress shirt. He removed his tie and hung it up. Off came the shirt and down came the pants. They slid off easily over his wing tips which he liked to keep on. Seeing himself in his tight undershirt tucked into his knee-length boxer shorts, thick-n-thin socks and garters, he gave himself a queer little smile. He said out loud to himself, “And now off goes the hair, old man.” Troy walked out of the bathroom, sat down in the barber’s chair. Sam put a fresh cape around his neck and slowly lifted the back of Troy’s toupee. Same removed it from front to back. The extent of Troy’s baldness was overwhelming to take in. Sam had been right. Troy was almost a full Norwood six. His peaks and his temples were completely gone.

“Are you sure you want to do this,” Sam asked.

“Yes.”

“Sideburns as well,” Sam asked.

“Sideburns as well.  There is too much gray in them, and I never really liked them anyway. Shave it all. It will be easier in the long run.”

Sam turned on the clippers and removed Troy’s sideburns and all of his fringe. Next, he got the hot-foamed lather and the razor and removed the stubble. Suddenly, there sat Troy Duncan - Channel 14’s lead anchorman totally bald and slowly getting a massive erection.

“Oh, God! I knew this day might come, but I wasn’t really prepared for it. I’m totally and completely bald. I don’t believe it. I am completely bald.”

“Okay, Troy. Get over it. You’ve been bald most all of your adult life. Now, it is just a greater level of baldness. Welcome to my world," Sam said as he laughed.  Troy lied, as well.

Now Troy, I have two styles for you. There are four wigs, two in each style. One is a traditional left-sided part, just like the toupee you’ve been wearing for several years. The other style is slightly fuller with a casual, brushed-back look to it. I really think you should go with that. I think it looks better with your facial features. Also, with this youth-obsessed market, I think it will be more attractive. What do you think?”

“I think I need to go with the hipper, brushed-back look. I’m changing from a toupee to a wig. I might as well get a better looking style as well. I also want to stop talking about my hair so you can tell me about Howard and some of your other clients. Confession is good for the soul. Confess!”

Sam put the wig on Troy’s head and turned him toward the mirror.

“I’m not going to leave it like this of course. It will be over the ears and above the collar - very professional, but casual. Okay, now about Howard. I think you might know who he is. He has a newsstand at the airport. He runs an okay business, but with him, everything is about toupees. He loves spotting guys who wear them. He also loves being spotted. He really gets off if someone notices his rug. He actually gets sweaty palms if someone stares at his hairline while they are talking to him.”

“Really? I think I know who are talking about. Maybe I should chat him up sometime just to mess with him. He’s not dangerous, is he?”

“Howard! No, he’s harmless. If you do decide to chat with him, you might pull back your coat so he can see your undershirt. He has a real underwear fetish as well.”

“Should I flash him a glimpse of garter,” Troy asked as he kicked his gartered leg out from under the giant barber’s cape.

“No, Howard might soil himself right there in the airport,” Sam laughed.

“Okay, who else is there? Keep going.”

Same continued cutting and thinning and styling Troy's new wig as he proceeded to "confess" about more of his clients.

"Well, there is Larry, the used car salesman."

"Don't tell me.  He's overweight and wears a lot of gaudy jewelry?"

"No.  Larry hates jewelry.  Plus he is somewhat trim, even if it isn't totally natural."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I happened to notice that he looked like he had lost weight, so I complimented him.  He informed me that he got tired of dieting and had gotten one of those girdle shirts that flattens everything."

Troy laughed.  "So what about his hair?  Is he one of your fetish clients, too?"

"Yes.  He had always wanted to wear a rug, so he started tweezing his hair out.  However, he quickly discovered how tedious and painful that was.  He had me laser his hair off so he could permanently wear a hairpiece."

"You mean you destroyed his hair?  I didn't know you were licensed to do laser hair removal, Sam."

"I've been licensed to practice that for years.  Anyway, Larry had found this blond synthetic hairpiece online that he really liked.  His bio hair is almost white, and doesn't match the hairpiece at all.  Still Larry loves it and the attention he gets.  Anyway, I have had quite a few clients over the years who have had me do laser hair removal.  One of my clients is a security guard at one of the casinos here in Vegas."

"You mean some guy had all his hair lasered off?"

"Yes.  He said he was tired of shaving it all the time.  He's huge and muscular.  The look works for him.

"Okay, Troy.  I need to rinse this wig, remove it, and begin on the other one."

Sam rotated the barber's chair and lowered it.  He gingerly rinsed all the loose hair from Troy's new wig.  He raised the chair and gently applied a towel to Troy's head.  He took a blow dryer and began styling Troy's new wig.  He knew Troy wanted a hipper version of his old style, but he knew Troy's conservative tastes.  He styled it off the forehead, with an easy, brushed back look.  He turned the chair toward the mirror.

"So, what do you think, Troy?"

"It's perfect, Sam.  Just like what we have discussed a few times over the past year.  There is just enough up-sweep which I like, but not a retro pompadour.  Now, any more stories?  The confessional is still open."

Sam removed Troy's wig and placed it on a stand in front of the mirror next to the other, uncut model.  Suddenly Troy felt vulnerable, as he always did without his hair.  He shouldn't, but he did.  He had been bald for half his life, hiding it under a rug.  He liked to think he was fooling most of the people all of the time, but deep down, he knew most people strongly suspected that he wore a hairpiece.  Yes, this new wig was nice, but it was even more obvious than his toupee.  He knew he would get tons of junk emails commenting on his new look.  He didn't have any fringe in which to blend it, and now no sideburns.  Sam had done a great job thinning out the wig, but the temples were obviously taped to his now totally hairless scalp.  His fringe before had been thin and wispy.  He knew this fuller wig would look a lot better.  Sam put tape on the second wig and put it on Troy's totally bald head.  He liked the tight grip of the tape on his scalp.  Since that first day he had put on his new toupee in his dorm room, he had always enjoyed how it felt sitting on his bald head.

"Well, Troy," Sam said as he began cutting on Troy's spare wig.

"Well what, Sam?  Are you going to continue with the confessions?"

"Let me make a quick phone call, and then I'll give you an exclusive confession that will snap your garters."

Sam quickly returned a few minutes later with a smile on his face.

"So, what makes this next confession so much better than the others you have shared?"

"Well, this one is about me, Troy."

"You?  I thought you were naturally bald.  When I first came here all those years ago, you were already wearing a toupee.  If I remember correctly you're only four years older than me.  Isn't that right?"

"Yes, Troy.  I just turned 52.  And, yes, I was wearing a toupee when we first met, but it was partly due to my desire to be like my dad."

"I don't understand, Sam."

"You knew my dad along with two other barbers in town kept all the male stars and celebrities looking their best when they would perform at the casinos.  Whenever one of the barbers would order a new wig for a certain tipsy member of the Rat Pack, he would also order one for my dad.  My dad really liked that full style.  All the Hollywood stars had their own barbers or used Max Factor.  Here in the desert, if a man was going bald, he either went without hair or went with second best.  Anyway, I'm getting away from my story.  When I started working here, sweeping up after school as a teenager, I noticed that a lot of my dad's customers were uncomfortable with me around because I had a full head of hair.  One day after work I asked my dad if I embarrassed him because I didn't wear a hairpiece like he did.  That really upset him because he said that I could never embarrass him.  That's when I told him that I really wanted to wear a toupee like he did.  He said that I was being silly.  He said there was no way he would let me wear one when I didn't need to wear one.  I asked him if he would let me wear one if I did need one.  He said he would.  So, I took the clippers and gave myself a tiny bald spot.  He couldn't believe I did it.  He made me wait until the next day to fit me with a little slider that he had in a drawer."

"A slider?  What's that?"

"Oh, that is a little piece for the crown area.  It can be worn with clips or glue."

"So, you're telling me that you had a toupee fetish just like some of your clients?"

"Yes, Troy, I am.  I started wearing a rug when I was still in high school.  By the time I graduated and went to beauty school, I was a full Norwood five."

"What did your friends at school think?"

"Those that knew, thought that my dad made me wear one for his business.  I couldn't let people think my dad was that cruel.  I told them that I was losing my hair and didn't want to be bald.  Remember Troy, this is Los Vegas.  Everyone cares about how they look.  Half the girls in my graduating class wore extra padding in their bras!"

As Sam was finishing his confession to Troy, the chime on the front door rang.

"I thought I was your last client, Sam.  I can't let anyone see me.  The public may suspect that I wear a hairpiece, but I don't want them to have a face-to-face confirmation."

"He's not coming in here, Troy.  Let me rinse and style this wig while I explain.  Now, he is a long-time client, but he's not here for an appointment.  You see, I have a second confession to make.  You probably don't remember Sean Dugan.  He was a professional bodybuilder and model, but after a car accident, he was working part-time as a security guard at your station when you were having all those issues with Justin.  He found out that Justin was the one who kept sabotaging your network chances.

Sam turned Troy around in the chair, rinsed all the loose hair from the spare wig, and then began styling it like he had the first one.

"Troy, Sean, was the one who brought Justin here.  He hated how Justin would talk about you behind your back at the station.  Sean hated the snide comments Justin made about your toupee.  Sean put a stop to it by convincing me to teach Justin a lesson with my laser.  He didn't have to work very hard."

Troy got up out of the chair, took off the barber's cape, and walked into the lobby.  He didn't say anything.  He just walked up to Sean, softly put both hands on his face, and kissed him the way he had always dreamed of years ago when he would see him at the station.

After that long, passionate kiss Sean just looked down at Troy Duncan's old-fashioned undergarments and smiled.  Troy just smiled as he glanced up at Sean's light cocoa colored toupee.

Later, the two of them went out to eat, but ended up back at Troy's condo for dessert and more.

(You can fill in the rest!)

[equius]

The stylus is cool to the touch as he expertly flips it between his fingers. It has a decent weight to it, despite its small size. He crosses his legs, catching a sliver of his argyle-printed socks as his pant leg rises up just slightly. The idiot tailor finally got his damn measurements right.

Staring down the long, wooden table at the other executives, Maxwell raises an inquisitive eyebrow, not wanting to wait any longer for any answers, waving his hand in an exasperated manner to get someone, anyone, to open their mouth.

“Well,” one of them finally says, “I would like to see more hard data, rather than just your projections. Are you conducting current experiments?”

“Of course, Mr. Cruz,” Maxwell answers calmly, the gentle smile on his face a work of perfected artwork, as fake as can be, and fooling even the most knowledgeable. “I currently have three shells actively being tested with live brain matter, and another sixteen are in production, being modified from the past and current tests ran.”

Cruz nods, satisfied with the answer, but he still doesn’t look too convinced yet. “I would rather confer with my own staff and wait for the results of your tests before I commit to a partnership,” he says at length, to which several of the other men seated at the table nod in response to. “I have always admired your work, Mr. Rose, but you’ve seemed just a few steps behind lately. I hope that this isn’t indicative of your projections for the future.”

“On the contrary, it should speak volumes of my caution, as I am extensively testing until things perform correctly, instead of just moving along with errors. Also the care I put into my work, and that which I hold for my partners, as I would never in a million years consider asking anyone to form a business agreement with me were my work not perfect.”

The words are like broken glass, arranged to form a window. Transparent, and obvious. He is so full of shit, and so is everyone else in the room.

Another executive clears his throat, and the entire room collectively participates in a silent groan. “Even with the data you’ve provided,” he says, tossing the datapad back onto the polished table top, “It is still a paltry success compared to what’s going on over at Braytech.”

Restraining himself from screaming, Maxwell forces another smile, the corners of his eyes aching from how painfully fake it is. “As you know, Mr. Kim, Maxcorp is more people-focused, as I’ve made a point to dedicate my work and both its benefits and profits alike to my partners and the company shareholders, whereas Mr. Bray has been growing more and more reclusive as of late, and hides his work behind closed doors, sharing it with no one.”

“The point still stands.” Kim rises from his chair, nearly prompting Maxwell to stand up instinctively along with him. “I am not willing to back any kind of project without the kind of exceptional data that Clovis--”

“THIS IS NOT FUCKING BRAYTECH!” Maxwell shouts as he jumps to his feet, both of his hands slamming down on the walnut table. His chest heaves as his veins surge with a dangerous cocktail of rage and adrenaline, and he can feel himself trembling against the seams of his expensive suit. “You will not, no.. you will NEVER compare me to that piece of shit again. Not now! Not ever!” 

Fingers sliding under the edge of the table, Maxwell presses a hidden button, and the board members begin to rise apprehensively as they watch the windows of the room shutter themselves automatically. The vents in the floor open, and the room is now filling with a sleeping agent in gaseous form, developed by Maxwell himself, and has made himself immune to. He stands there, casually adjusting his sleeve cuffs as the crowd of executives have made a mad dash for the door, only to find it locked, and curse his name in various languages before they inevitably succumb to the effects of the drug.

Humming a lively little tune, Maxwell straightens his tie, presses the button again to reset the board room, and begins collecting the datapads from the table. Carrying them all under one arm, he meanders over to the clustered pile of unconscious bodies at the door, sorting through them like a pile of socks, and registering their thumb prints to each contract pulled up, pledging their money to his business, and their lives to his experiments.

Stepping over the pile of people, Maxwell opens the door, finding his assistant standing there, waiting for him. “Start with Kim,” he says, pushing the assistant out of his way, “I’ll be down to the lab in twenty minutes; have him prepped and ready for transference.”

The sound of ceramic shattering forces him to open his eyes.

Maxcorp is gone. The bright hallway lights are gone. His human hands are gone. Everything is gone and everything is dark. He blinks with eyes that do not exist, drowning in darkness that is so damning that it feels like his brain is suffocating. He drops to his knees, gasping for breath with a body that doesn’t need air in the lungs it doesn’t actually have. He can feel broken ceramic shards around him from the plate he was carrying. Dropped. Shattered. The nerves in the carbon appendages he calls fingers tell him so. But what are they? Sensory pads and wires and conductors and oh my god what is happening to me??

The howling is guttural and horrible to hear. It sounds organic, like something a body made of metal should not be able to produce. Amidst the involuntary wailing, a small, metallic voice cuts in, calling out the same name over and over. Shift. Him. Me. Who am I. What am I. Oh god what have I done to myself, what have I done to everyone else? What have these hands done, these hands that I can’t see. Oh god, oh god, oh god, fuck fuck fuck FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!

He’s curled up on the floor, a shaking carbon form amidst scattered ceramic shards.

The sound of a nearby transmat goes unnoticed, as does the sound of hurried, frantic shuffling. A hand on his shoulder. Three fingers. Large fingers. 

“Don’t touch me!” he wants to scream. But he can’t. He can’t override the howling, the howling, the howling.

His body is being lifted up like he’s nothing more than a sheet of paper. Held. Cradled. He can smell gunsmoke, peppermint, and ether. He can smell it with the nose he doesn’t have, registering its familiar scent with that of Misraaks, in the brain in a jar he has trapped inside his cranium. He can hear Misraaks saying something, but he can’t hear it over the sound of the howling, the howling, the howling.

He can feel his body settling, molding into a comfortable shape in the arms of the large Eliksni. He can hear the familiar rumbling chitter inside Misraaks’ chest as he breathes. Are the howls quieting? Or is his head just so close to the Eliksni’s body that it’s drowning them out? Don’t know. Don’t care. He focuses on that sound, wrapping it around his mind and soul like it’s the only thing in existence that can tether him to reality. Whatever this hellish existence is, it’s still better than the one he’s lived hundreds of years before, with his hands soaked in blood and the pockets of his designer suit overflowing with money.

He howls. He wails. And he weeps. He gasps for breath that he doesn’t need in a body that isn’t his, made possible by the lives of people who once lived and then died on his watch for his own dime. His innards are cables and wires and they’re pooling with the blood spilled that was used to create what he is and what he has been. His brain remembers what he wants to forget; this was done intentionally. He had once wanted to remember, and now he wishes to forget.

To what purposes does endless memory serve him if it causes the kind of pain, agony, and internal betrayal such as this? To swallow non-existent bile in a carbon-coated throat at the memory of smiling as the life faded from a metallic body with a brain placed inside of it, like a box of crackers in a cupboard. To what purpose, and to what end?

It’s quiet now. 

He can feel one of Misraaks’ hands gently petting down his back in long, deliberate strokes. Three seconds long, and repeat. Okay. Focus on that for a moment. He tries to exhale a steady breath, but it’s more of a crumpled groan that was trapped in the back of his dentae. It makes his entire body shudder. Misraaks’ hand doesn’t falter.

“You are safe,” Misraaks says simply, “The only harm that befell you is in a place I cannot reach. But you are safe. I am here.”

Gunsmoke. Peppermint. Ether. Gunsmoke, Queenbreaker. Peppermint, candy. Ether, food. 

He shudders a second time, trying to settle, and he can’t. Body wound too tight, like a coiled spring, ready to let loose at the slightest touch. Body hurts. Body aches. Heavy torque. Neural lines overloaded like a livewire from his toes to his neurodes. Body hurts. Body aches.

“Help,” he finally says. His voice is raspy. How is it even like that?

“Tell me what troubles you,” Misraaks replies. The words rumble deep in his chest. It sounds like home. He sounds like home. “Even if I am unable to provide you with a solution, I will listen to you, Shifre, the stars in my sky.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Then say what you are able.”

“I don’t know if you’ll want to hear it.”

“I do.”

“It’s not good.”

“No less am I.”

Gunsmoke. Peppermint. The peppermints are in the kitchen drawer, next to the drawer with the silverware. Misraaks is quite fond of them. He usually sneaks a handful or two whenever he buys a new bag from the corner store.

“I don’t want to face what I’ve done.”

“We must all do this, even I.”

“Like that time with Eido and Eramis?”

“Yes.”

“Did it hurt?”

“More than I could ever say with the words of either tongue.”

“Did you feel better after?”

“No.” Misraaks shifts his position a little, cradling his Guardian closer to him, now able to rest a gentle hand on the back of his head. “But it helped Eido. And it helped me, even if it did not feel that way at the time.” His clawed fingers gently rub the smooth metal casing of his exo cranium. “I still feel the pain of that moment, but I also feel the light that blooms in my chest from the healing that followed, like flowers that grew from the gaping wounds I never let heal.”

“Will the hurt always be there?”

“Yes. But.. in time, it might not be as painful. You cannot heal until you allow the process to begin.”

The smell of ether is sharp and pungent. He can practically taste the cold, alkali notes in his mouth. Misraaks had just come from his meal. Come here? Had Sights gone to find him? 

“Would you go through the process again, knowing what you know now, having experienced just how much it hurt to get there?”

“Mm. Yes.”

“You might not approve of what I say.”

“My approval is negligible,” Misraaks says plainly, his hand still moving in those three-second strokes down his back. Comforting. Gentle. “I will listen to what you say, but I cannot excise the pain you feel, as much as I wish I could. I can provide comfort, but you must open yourself to receive it. Do not punish yourself by denying yourself that.”

“You think I’d do that?”

“Well.. I did that. And we are very alike.”

Peppermint and ether smell good together.

“We are.”